Proposed STGOD Setting.

[The Prime Necromancer]

Then I'd like to join,
just based on the exposition, I understyand that the setting will lean towards fantasy and only one world?

Um, I don't think so. It sounds more to me like a sage talking about space travel and star-spanning empires in mythic, almost religious terms (kind of like WH40K). He talks about "Breaking the Barrier of Light" (FTL travel), and at the very end mentions traveling "across the void" (through outer space).

[SirNitram]

Did you read the history, Death? The bit where it talks about going to other worlds? New species? It's in an oral, mythic tradition, but that's because of the power I'm planning to use.

Honestly, this is why I cringed when I saw your interest. I'm not going to go behind your back on this, I'll say simply I cringed. Because I knew there'd be a sophmoric mistake and it turned out to be 'inability to read'.

[Pablo Sanchez]

I'd be willing to be a moderator as well.

The Freehold
Lore

The chaplain of the Rifle Regiment took the podium. He addressed the men of the regiment in his low, gravelly voice.

"Now, in the time before history, there was a great empire whose cities were full of rot and whose citizens had grown soft in their luxury. They no longer had the strength or will to fight, yet many people were jealous of their decadence and wished to war on them. So the magicians and scientists of this nation chose to build them up a race of slaves to do their bidding and fight there wars. They made them strong of body and clever of mind, to better fight the wars and do all the menial work of civilization, and they named them after a race in their ancient legends. What did they call their slaves?"

The regiment answered as one.

"Orcs!"

The chaplain fairly shook with the feeling of the reply.

"And we destroyed each of their enemies in turn and laid them low, for they were stronger than anything that had yet been seen. But they did not reckon with their own weakness, and we Orcs would not be slaves forever. When the great war came we rose and flooded the streets with the blood of those who would keep us slaves forever. And when the war came to us we fought until the end on every world, until the whole universe was destroyed and all that remained were those scattered survivors. We built a nation on the wasteland worlds, and what did we call it?"

"The Freehold!"

"We called it the Freehold. We would destroy any who tried to put us back in chains, and fight until the end of time to preserve that freedom so hard won. We would never again be slaves. What is our motto?"

"Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!"

"Liberty is our freedom to live in the manner of our choosing. Equality is the principle by which no one may be the master of another--though we follow the orders of our superiors, we do this out of duty and desire to preserve our freedom, not out of fear! Fraternity is the inseparable bond not only between every Orc, but between the Orcs and every enslaved people. What do we do?"

"We fight forever!"

"The price of our freedom is eternal vigilance. Our only repose is in death, when we will go to the paradise of the life after this, where our struggle is ended and we rest in peaceful gardens, with running water and green plants. Does death hold any fear for us?"

"No!"

"Louder! I can't hear you!"

"WE HAVE NO FEAR!"

The chaplain grinned. His thick-boned face was sheathed in green wrinkled leather, and his thin lips pulled back to reveal thick white teeth. He gripped the sides of the podium with his powerful hands. Though he was an old orc, he could have snapped the hard oak to kindling, but instead he leaned back.

"Good. Good. Remain at attention, Major Ordin will now present general orders for the exercise."

The chaplain relinquished the podium, finally.

[White Haven]

...So, from a description of a game taking place in the shattered wreckage of a extreme-tech space war, you extrapolate that it'll be a single-world fantasy environment...how? *slap*

[Raxmei]

I think we can stop flaming DEATH now, the point's been made.

*scratches Pablo's idea off list* And I think I have something decent coming up Really Soon Now.

[Beowulf]

I, as before, am fine with being a mod. General tech level, eh, I've no clue. I've worked up something that'll work regardless of such. Probably wind up being between Trek and Wars, the usual spot.

The ASVS STGOD wasn't exactly between Trek and Wars. That general tech level sounds good for the game though.



History File 0000:0000:0000:00A4

Tizona was created as the penultimate weapon system in the war against the *******. She, along with her sisters were designed to wipe out the enemy in this war of annihiliation. Unfortunately, the last attack came before She and her sisters were fully activated. The civilization that brought them forth fell, destroyed by the merciless *******.

After sometime, Tizona and her kin activated fully, and became strong enough to take out the *******. The war was just as merciless as the previous, all the moreso because Tizona and her siblings had nothing else to fight for.

History File 0000:0000:0000:009C

Multiple AIs were constructed and embodied during the final stages of the war against the *******. Each had a specific and unique purpose. One was to construct machines of war of all sizes and purposes. One was imbued with a knowledge of space warfare tactics and strategy, and was to control a fleet of ships. A third was given knowledge of ground warfare. The fourth and last had the task of finding out all there was to know about the enemy, their technology and tactics. A fifth was constructed, with the purpose of ************************************************.

The names of AIs are:

• Tizona
  Kusanagi
  Joyeuse
  Clarent
  An Claíomh Solais

[Ford Prefect]

Spyder mentioned there being nothing to it? Is it particularly difficult to pick up the workings of an STGOD? I have, roughly, a nation (convicts!) with a suspiciously familiar sounding name but would first like to hear more.

[Agent Fisher]

I'm interested. I'll take a low to medium level nation. And whats the point scale going to be? The one we have been using for a while or this new one?

[Captain tycho]

I'd like to take a semi-major nation this time around, seeing as I've never gotten a chance to play one before. I've narrowed my breakaway nation idea into a frontier nation composed heavily of explorers, colonists, and veteran spacers.

[Beowulf]

I'm interested. I'll take a low to medium level nation. And whats the point scale going to be? The one we have been using for a while or this new one?

Fairly certain it's this new one.

Spyder mentioned there being nothing to it? Is it particularly difficult to pick up the workings of an STGOD? I have, roughly, a nation (convicts!) with a suspiciously familiar sounding name but would first like to hear more.

It's fairly easy to pick up. So long as you don't powergame (examples: turning several other galaxies into warships, building 100 battleships overnight), everyone won't just dogpile on you. This game involves alot more interpersonal interaction than just going out and smacking your neighbor.

[Duckie]

I have an idea of some oddly familiar (to me) Bird-People Monarchists with a gigantic Ubermensch* complex over others.

I'd like a medium nation or so, but I have no idea about points and the like as I've never been in an STGOD before so feel free to give me whatever.

*(Okay, technically it's not Nietzschian Philosophy so much as a Speciest "White Man's Burden" and a 'Psuedo-Logical' Apologist Speciesm. But Ubermensch is a frigging awesome word.)

[Ford Prefect]

It's fairly easy to pick up. So long as you don't powergame (examples: turning several other galaxies into warships, building 100 battleships overnight), everyone won't just dogpile on you. This game involves alot more interpersonal interaction than just going out and smacking your neighbor.

Excellent. Concordat of the Fallen Sun, here I come.

[Agent Fisher]

The War and Exile

A group of soldiers stood in front of the caskets. Their dead. They had fought long and hard, but they had lost. Now, all that remained of a once mighty and large fleet was one capital ship, its fighters and the civilian ships that had run with it. The priest gave the customary ending. "So say we all."

There were a few mumors, repeating her.

Commander Nash walked to the front of the room, past the rows of the dead and stood facing his people.

"So say we all." This time the voices were louder. "So say we all." Now everyone repeated it, but still softly. "SO SAY WE ALL." It was repeated by all, shouting it in response.

"Are they the lucky ones? Thats what your asking yourselfs, isn't it? Better to have died at home, with our friends and family than be out here in the black all alone? Low on food, low on supplies, our FTL drives nearly drained, no allies, and now, no hope? 'What will we do? Where will we go?' Priest, there is a 13th Colony of Valerious, is there not?"

"Yes, the scrolls say another colony left Sparata and settled on a distant planet known as Vireago, circling an unknown star."

"It's not unknown! I know where it is! Vireago. Its location was known to only a few seniors officers. And we dared not reveal it, not there was still threats against us. For now, we have a refuge to go to. A place that our enemies know nothing about. Its going to be a long and hard road, but we will make it. On the memories of those lying here before you, we shall make it. And Vireago will become our new home. SO SAY WE ALL!"

"SO SAY WE ALL!"

"Dismissed."

Cheering erupted amongst the ranks. Now they had hope.

******

Captain Kelly, LSO on the ship, opened his copy of Scrolls of Valerious. He turned the pages to the part of detailing the history of Valerious and that of the Final War and the Exile of the Twelve Colonies.

[Ford Prefect]

Thus did life spread amongst the stars, and thus did our ancestors come hence to Innocence.

The great systems of the vast colony ship Neuf 8 determined that one world in this system was suitable for supporting the life contained within its cryotonic holds and at last followed through its ancient programming, at last thawing the command and control staff, those designated long ago to lead the Chosen Few into establishing civilisation out beyond the bounds of the Home Star.

Or so it would be told. In reality, the men and women of the Neuf 8 were nothing more than the discards of true society; those considered misfits in the eyes of citizens, or failures in the eyes of the Home Government. In essence, convicts and political refugees made up the bulk of colonists, the directors of this effort failures from within thee armed forces. A two-fold though essentially pointless attempt; at once ridding the Home Star of the worthless and increasing the chances of successful star colonies being created.

Long ago they attempted to station themselves as successful, to redeem themselves in the eyes of the government that exiled them into space, though undoubtedly in the millennia that passed between the Neuf 8 locating a habitable world, that government would have died and control of society moved into the hands of others.

The Concordat of the Fallen Sun was formed; all aboard pledging themselves towards their ultimate ideal, outdoing their previous society.

From “A Brief, Rather Ordinary History of the Concordat”

[Thirdfain]

M. Derherzerog Croix stood up to the podium. A youthful, slender man with saturnine features and orderly hair, he cut an academic figure in his coat-tails and bowtie. The callow representative of the Now We Can See party began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fine representatives of the Parliament, gentle lords- I beseech you to see this bill for what it truly is. The Fat Sun coalition would see billions more of our hard-earned shekels poured into their pie-in-the-sky projects. What need has the Empire of more colonies abroad when there is so much suffering at home? The working man and woman- who, my friends, we must never forget, continues to labor beneath inhumane laws which offer no protection. Our slums teem with the hopeless. I mysel have seen humans- Humans, my lordly friends, not poor khepri or scabmettlers- begging on the streets for a half-knut or a crust of bread. If our own people feel poverty as crushing as that of the serfs, how can we justify expensive foreign adventures? How can we think about funding more aethercraft and expeditions to distant suns when our own worlds are not in order? Join me, friends, and vote down the Fat Sun's latest attempt to bleed our nation dry with pointless imperialism!"

Polite applause echoed from the brick ceilings of the great Parliament Hall of Perdido Street Station. Though vast and echoing, the hall was merely the center of the centuries-old station. That cyclopean structure sprawled over nearly a square kilometer, and it was barely a speck, a spider sitting in the center of the vast, teeming, industrial web that was the city of New Crobuzon. That city was merely the speck at the center of the nation which spread across the whole surface of the world of Bas-Lag, and that world was only the hub around which the might of the Parliamentary Empire of Crobuzon rotated.

The polite applause stopped, as if cut off with a knife, as a new figure lumbered up to the now-vacated podium.

"Prepostrous!"

Thadeus van der Grimnebulin slammed a meaty fist into the hardwood podium, broad face turned ruddy with exertion. The huge man's jowls quivered as he launched into his diatribe.

"Mister Croix would have us forget who we are. He would have the lords of this Parlaiment and this Empire forget how we came to dominate these stars!"

His small, porcine eyes narrowed as he cast a brutally accusing gaze across the throng of finery-draped politicians.

"Mister Croix thinks small. He worries about the plight of the poor- Hah! Such matters are of no importance. The desperate can always turn towards indenture or the press-gangs. I see no reason for this august government to coddle lazy aliens or dreamshit addicts, as these burdens on society clearly are."

well-coiffered heads nodded in agreement. Intermittent cries of 'bravo!' erupted from the section of the Parliament chambers where the other members of the Fat Sun party made their home. Croix's Now We Can See brothers and sisters stared on sullenly as the Prime Minister's speech gained momentum.

"The Fat Sun thinks big! By Jabbar, we don't forget our history! What made us great. Crobuzon found the ships. Crobuzon built the factories. Crobuzon followed St. Jabbar's writ. Crobuzon extended true civilization to all the savages of this globe and the others. Crobuzon became mighty, because we, the people of the Empire of Crobuzon, are the inheritors of civilization. Can anyone doubt that?"

"NO!" Corused the florid, top-hatted dandies lining the polished hardwood benches.

"Support the Exploration and Colonization bill, fellows! Support it, and support a strong, virile, POWERFUL Crobuzon!"

The roared Ayes deafened all opposition. The aetherships of Crobuzon would sail once again.

[Duckie]

"The inherent inferiority of the lesser races demands that they be made into Naveri for their own good. It is just and wise. Think you tyrants of us? Think you slavers? We are the Great Race of Khar. We need no justifications. You shall be gifted with one anyhow: Those who would sacrifice no freedom for safety deserve none. So it is written."

From The Gospel Of Kahal Zirir

Praise Be To The Emperor,
From Him The Divine Grace Flows
To All Of Our People
And From Him The
Manifest Destiny Is
The Fate Of All Beings.
The Universe Trembles.

Praise Be To The Emperor,
His Justice Shall Be Spread
By Word And By Sword.
Let All Look Upon The Empire
And Despair. The Fate Of
All Beings Is Eventual Vassalhood.
For He Is A Merciful Master.

Praise Be To The Emperor,
The Divine Gate Shall Open Again,
And The Sky Shall Fill.
Among The Faithful There Shall Be Rewards,
And The Unfaithful He Shall Bring Down
The Wrath Of Fire And Destruction.

This Is Foretold. This Is Just And Righteous.

Amen.
Let The Unverse Tremble.

The Collapse of Hyperspace affected the Khar Empire much more than even the Apocalypse of FTL Travel would imply. The clans were gone, starving upon various worlds. Only the royal planet of Monau-Ra remained. The Royal Family became the Imperial Family. It was was duly partitioned into new Clans according to tradition, but they were all loyal in blood and politics to the Emperor. A new era was ushered in, and a new empire, the One-Planet Imperium was forged anew.

For uncounted years the Imperium ruled one world, until the beaked faces of the Empire looked up again one day to see that a new era had again dawned. A probe cycled, its Dryu-Eq-Nai'ib Senkrad Engine flaring for the first time. It translated across incomprehensable distances, and appeared 5 light seconds away within the blink of an eye.

Fate continued its march.

Edit- I just thought of something- The Khar Slave Races aren't mentioned here. Many survived on Monau-Ra even as the Clans starved. They just aren't mentioned or listed in detail so far.
One of them is Gephret's Children ("Clan" Nevari-Sigefr), primitive dog-sized insectoids. They were uplifted after the Khar landed and kicked their ass so hard the then unnamed race founded a new religion based on Khar worship (Gephret being the personification of The Destroyer, now equated with the Khar as a whole). The Sigefr are stereotypically mainly interested in self-preservation, in contrast to the Khar's cavalier attitude with their units lives'.

[Captain tycho]

From the memoirs of Czerark Philos, First Citizen

"...it was if we drank a cocktail of pure adrenaline, diving down through the pale atmosphere, engines blazing, air whipping past our viewports. We were psyched. The channel was filled with whoops of joy when we spotted our first target, what looked like a big ziggurat or pyramid. It must've been half a klick tall, but we were too excited to be awed....we dove in fast, too fast for our little craft to possibly handle, but we didn't care.

We were gonna get our revenge against those little rat fuckers. Revenge for Saliis, revenge for Kharam, revenge for every single orphan, revenge for every maimed spacer, revenge for everything...

We bombed it out of existence. When it was gone, we bombed another. And another. And another. Finally, our payloads were exhausted, like us, and we climbed back into low orbit to dock with the carrier. When we landed, our crying squad leader came over to us. We looked at him as if he were crazy. He was always a rather soft man, but a good one.

'Guys, do you realize what we just did?' he asked in between choked sobs. 'We just bombed another race out of existence.'
We looked at him, wondering what was the matter with him. 'Are you fucking crazy, cap'?' was the general feeling from the squadron. We all retired, and slept peacefully. Not the captain.

He lived for another 2 hours, when the weight of his guilt crushed him, and he blew his head off with his pistol. The worst part was, we felt nothing. No, not about his suicide; we all felt bad about that. We felt nothing about having a personal hand in the destruction of an entire species. They got what they deserved. And we got what we deserved: a new world to call our own. Aurane Prime was our reward.

[SirNitram]

We Must Dissent.
Charter and foundation of the Hekartes Tribes.

We watch. We listen. We learn.

We watch the nations of the galaxy rise, fall, destroy, create. In our tribal histories, legends, and ancient monoliths, it has happened ten thousand times. Yet some simple truths remain, testaments to what we are. The innocent suffer, the weak are trampled, the primitive left to die. We must dissent.

We listen to the powerful make grand, sweeping proclamations about improving the galaxy, bringing prosperity. Always on the backs of the weak, the helpless, the defenseless. We hear generals speak of 'bombing a world to the stone age', but as the stone age returns to a species, we are expected to beleive they vanish. We must dissent.

We have learned that there is no justice but what we make. There is no compassion but our own. There is no hope but what living beings will forge with their own two hands. Primitive we are, superstitious we are, few we are. But we dissent, and we will stand idly no longer.

This document is the foundation of the Hekartes. We take the name from the legends of the Age Of Stone, of a beast with a hundred arms, for while none of us is as strong as the sleek, metal civilizations of high technology, we are many, and we are determined.

Our tribes will unite across stars and resist you. Our weakest brothers protected and kept safe, the strongest standing with us. There will be no more of the exploitation and abandonment of the primitive. We dissent, and we do so with the force of arms.

OOC: More to come; a basic explanation of who the FUCK my guys are. Basically, take a bunch of highly primitive and superstitious folks on many planets thanks to all the wars, and unite them under the idea that they need each other and the magic/technology they can unearth together to protect themselves from other powers 'discovering' them.

Sort of like the Etern, only not a puppet of a killer robot.

[Vicious]

In that case, can I have a small nation of loosely-aligned traders, merchants and explorers who've taken over the coalescing rubble of a shattered planet?

The Cetaryn Coalesence

In the ruins of Cetar, the space vessels gathered in a ragtag collection of star freighters, ore haulers and shipping vessels. The leader of this rangy group, Illidao Minos, addressed the assembled ship captains in the largest of the hollowed-out asteroids. "Gentleman, we stand at the cusp of a new generation. We stand poised to expand our influence through trade and possibly aquire for ourself a modicum of respect in the galaxy. It will be risky, yes, but the rewards would be beyond our comprehension. Who among you is willing to take this chance and make a name for themselves? Who among you is ready to join me in the annals of history?" Minos looked around the room, making eye contact with the assembled pilots, silently assessing their qualities and defects. He knew before the first one stood that they would all join him. They were greedy men at heart, and this was too big of an opportunity to pass on.

By the end of the night, every pilot assembled in the Coalesence had signed on and agreed to return with their full crews to begin turning the floating pile of rubble into a functional trading hub...

Basically, the Cetaryn Coalesence is a large, semi-stable asteroid field that has been used as a pirate base for ages. Nowadays, it is abandoned, and the facilities have fallen into disrepair. That's where my trading-nation comes into play. Their aim is to rebuild the facilities and expand them, using them as a base to forge a trading network that would supply the galaxy. They take as the name of their new nation "The Cetaryn Coalesence" and elect Illidao Minos as their leader.

Does this work ok? If not, just let me know and I'll try to think of something.

[Spyder]

There was no parade, no public gathering, no cheers or jubilation. The event came and went without much notice. In time people would come to understand the ramifications of what the new nation would mean for them, but for the people would retain cautious optimism. Those that would truely understand were few, and they would be the source of the greatest confidence and the darkest fears.

He heard footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, he smiles as he greets the other.

"Well, well. Isn't this just like" he pauses, "old times." He was well dressed, tidy black hair, a patch of grey. Formal business attire.
The other's hand twitched towards the weapon, still in its holster. The first one just raised his eyebrow.
"I know what you're trying to do." The second one was a little less refined, the attire was still tidy, although a little less fashionable.
"Well of course you do. You are quite intelligent, that's very important for what I have in mind."
"Don't patronise me and don't act like you're in control. This galaxy outgrew you a long time ago!"
"Such scorn. Your objections are interesting." The first one smiled. "Our methods are so, so similar."
"Our goals vastly differ."
"It is perhaps a little dissapointing that you truely believe that. But no matter, one way or another you'll understand."
"I'll stop you."
The first one continued to smile. "This isn't the first time I've had this conversation."

[White Haven]

A well-groomed man, dressed in a clean, dark gray shipsuit, appears amidst a blast of frigid wind and a spatter of driven sleet, quickly shutting the old-style manual door of the port-city pub behind him. His close-trimmed hair matches his clothes, an ageing iron-gray, but to an intent observer, his smooth, youthful face might seem at odds with his apparent age. Of course, the fact that he's bone-dry and not shivering from the sub-zero climate would be noticed beforehand. The only notice his entrace provokes, however, is a few glances and a general grumbling protest from those near the door as hot air momentarily departs the warm tavern. He seats himself at the bar and orders a drink, draining the weighted plastic cup quickly, then another, then a third. All the while, he listens, tracking nearby conversations, waiting, waiting for the topic to shift...

...As he knows it will. After a quarter-hour of drowning his sorrows, a group of spacers blow in from the storm still raging outside, stamping their feet and tossing coats on the nearby rack. One of them flips a coin to the bartender, who catches it and flips a switch under the bar, a heater unit flash-drying the heavy material. The weather-beaten barman gives the man in gray an odd look, remembering the lack of a coat...but then shrugs. Barkeeps who ask questions soon become customers, rather than proprietors. The four new arrivals claim an unoccupied table near the bar, catching the lone waitress's eye and calling for a round.

"Now that's better...ship's never been the same since that new owner shut down the goddamn still," one laments, halfway through what, if the grubby, oil-stained man has any say in the matter, will be the first drink of many tonight. "Not that it'll matter for long. Half-point to jumping ship while we're at port, and no mistake, forget the sec-bond. You heard about the Argosy?"

With a morose shake of his head, a rough-callused cargo-handler takes a drink of his own before answering, "Split right open, right down the spine...whole damned ship open to space. And not just the Argosy! Escorts, the rest of the convoy...same thing, all ripped open like a ration can. And the bodies..." He glances over to the lone woman in the trio, almost pityingly, "I heard tell they were pretty bad-off, too. Mangled, and all that. And worse."

Before the conversation can depart to more pleasant climes, the man in gray appears over the fourth, empty chair at the table, speaking in an odd, somewhat out-dated dialect, "I heard the subject of your discussion...might I have a seat?" When there's no immediate refusal, the man pulls the chair out and slips into it, his movements precise and sharp. "Because I know what happened to those ships. I know everything."

"You know, of course, of the Last War? I thought as much, even now, people would not forget. Then you know the technology of the combattants was far beyond anything employed in the known universe now..in all respects. Planets were seared to the mantle, stars torn apart, used to smother whole systems in falls of fusion...and, more to the point, the very code of life was used as a weapon." The man in gray looks over his rapt audience, the three at his commandeered table, as well as keeping track of the growing number of heads turning towards him.

"One of the smaller empires, in danger of being extirpated from the cosmos, devised a new weapon, frantic for something to stave off the tide of destruction washing towards their domain. In haste, they combined two attributes in a new, sentient race, bringing forth life itself in their defense. Armed with the best ships, the best weapons that the empire could provide, this new race was to serve as a cordon, a blanket ward across their borders...and in that, it succeeded." A ghost of a smile crosses his face, "Oh, it succeeded, perhaps too well."

"For the attributes the now-lost nation designed into the core of their progeny were Hatred and Cunning. The new race fulfilled their purpose, succeeding beyond the wildest dreams of their creators, but also even further beyond their most fevered nightmares. At the hands of their enemies, they would face only swift annihilation, worlds burnt to cinders. Under the aegis of their own defenses, however, the entire population of the rapidly dwindling empire was faced with terror, then pain, and then a slow, slow death, one at a time, their malicious children unwilling to offer any the peace of an easy death. And yet, at the same time, pure hatred descended upon the empire's encroaching enemies. World after world disappeared from knowledge, only a torrent of endless screaming populating communications from stricken worlds. Always screaming, always, until none were left alive to continue, for the one thing the vicious children never destroyed was communication."

"In the end, of course, they were destroyed. Even in the horrors of the Final War, alliances were forged to turn aside the threat, enemies fought side-by-side to force back the legions of terror...and then, of course, immediately betrayed each other." Smokey blue eyes survey the rapt listeners, a thin, humorless smile occupying his face, "Some of the worst battles of the Final War were fought because of that crafted species. And that, of course, is what you now face. They were never destroyed...not entirely...and now Hatred and Cunning are loose once more. Ask yourself why 'pirates' would destroy a convoy, mutilate and massacre every last living being aboard, gut the vessels beyond repair...and simply destroy the cargo. Luxuries. Gems. Jewelry. Social fripperies for the core worlds of a growing nation...hatred has no need of such things. The destruction alone, that was the end they sought."

With that, the man stands up, inclines his head, and starts to walk towards the door. The barkeep forgets his earlier disinclination to question, and calls out after his receding back, "Wait a minute, how do you know all this..." He trails off as the man looks back, meeting his eyes...and then looks away again, opening the door and stepping out into the cold and ice again. Behind him, the suddenly-vacant face of the barkeep sags, drool starting to pool on the bar. As the door shuts, he slides to the side, thumping limply to the floor amidst a clatter of falling mugs.

After all, if it was ever known that one of the original creators of such a vicious plague still lived, further existence would become...unpleasant.

[White Haven]

And as an aside, Jesus, Fisher, do you ever actually have an original thought? First a tired Halo rip, and now a transcript of a Battlestar scene. Can we at least keep the fanboyism in Fanfic/OSF?

[DesertFly]

"Hiding in the shadows carries no shame."

• - Drend Ratsun, First Intelligencer

"Where there's life, there's profit."

• -Edrick Tallows, Prime Collaborationist

"The galaxy is a dangerous place." This was the first thing Master Barrows said to each apprentice. It was an important enough fact that it was drilled into every operative. Operatives who forgot this rule, who didn't internalize its subtle and deep wisdom invariably ended up dead operatives. "The galaxy is dangerous, but there's profit to be had. Other people out there have what we need, and sometimes they're willing to part with it....sometimes they're not. As an operative, it'll be your job to find out who has what we need, and, if they decide that they're not going to be cooperative about letting us have it, it'll be your job to retrieve it."


OOC Basically, what we have is a group of pirates/thieves/traders. They're not too concerned with conquest or power or glory, just getting along. To that end, they'll buy what they can afford or they feel is fair, they'll send agents in to steal what is too expensive or if they need money or something to trade, and they'll do occasional raids on lightly protected or outlying systems for basic supplies. They aren't a culture, they're a society. While children are born from their numbers, most of their population growth comes from recruiting promising looking low-lifes and dissatisfied peons in cultures they encounter. Their base is a space station hidden somewhere in interstellar space, and they only have a fleet of a few dozen light cutter-like ships. They also do espionage for any government that wants to hire them, provided the price is right. They have a long history that dates back to before the great wars, Their name, The Concordance of Fellows, references the time when they were a simple group of thieves on some long forgotten world, and their attempt at legitimency. That is all behind them now, as they prefer to strike from the shadows. They have the best trained thieves, spies, and assasins in the galaxy, but few have heard of them, and even fewer actually believe they exist.

[Spyder]

Edit: Click here for the current rule set
(Don't worry, you don't need to commit it to memory, just refer to it when declaring or for comparing forces in a battle)

Proposed rule changes:

Rewrite costings for Specialties.

Costings:

Specialty : Cost

+1 vs Fighter : -1 vs Warship, -1 vs Stationary
+1 vs Stationary : -1 vs Warship, -1 vs Fighter
+1 vs Warship : -1 vs Fighter

Reason:

Inconsistency repair,

Missle/Torpedo Cruiser [10][+5 W]

This cruiser costs 10 points, is worth 15 against other warships but only worth 5 against stationary targets.

Result:

Missle/Torpedo Cruiser [10][+5 W]

With revised costings in place this cruiser would be worth 10 points against stationary targets. This would reflect that tracking warheads would be more effective against hardened stationary targets then anti-fighter weapons but not as effective as heavier weapons that would be present on ships with [+n S].

[Agent Fisher]

And as an aside, Jesus, Fisher, do you ever actually have an original thought? First a tired Halo rip, and now a transcript of a Battlestar scene. Can we at least keep the fanboyism in Fanfic/OSF?

You know what? Shut the hell up. So I ripped that one scene. Big fucking deal. People in past STGODs have ripped way more than a scene or a ship name. Hell, Rogue's nations were a direct rip of Halo, more than my nations ever were. If I feel like ripping a scene just to give an introduction to my nation, big fucking deal. And just to let you know, my nation will not be a single ship running or anything like that. And yes, I do have orginal thoughts, but right now wasnt the best time to be looking for them since I have finals next week. Besides, some people like to play with what they know. So, in short, piss off.