SWRPF Archive War of the Galaxies Deux [Restart of the WOTG Saga] - Looking for players, see updated first post!

Uh huh, thats what you said LAST time!

 

Serious and relevant OOC post:

What are we looking at for Territory and what's our principles for force numbers? Fhuver and I are trying to get our "stuff" together and actually get this game swinging, but my Gods, it's been a LONG time since Chandrila.

We should get together for an AIM brainstorm session or something one of these days.

 

Its a restart. The Empire controlst he galaxy while the rebels float around causing trouble and the yuzzies are at the edge of the galaxy. So start with something you think would be reasonable. There is a lot more freedom this time around than there was in the original WOTG.

 

I mentioned this to Jello. It's mostly backstory, just bringing the Yuuzhan Vong into the forefront of the game and giving us a starting point.

Deep within Yuuzhan Vong-controlled Space

The Siege at Dathomir had lasted a very short amount of time.
When the Halikron battle group arrived at the desolate, lightly-guarded brownish sphere, the piecemeal Infidel fleet had rallied against their bizarre invaders. At the battle's onset, only the Solus Altissima and her coralskippers had engaged the modest Old Republic-era defence force. The ship had not suffered a single blow, so talented were the servants of Yun-Yammka who guided its dovin basils, by the time the rest of the terrible armada arrived. The space around Dathomir had turned into a brief warzone, before lava spouted from the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla like a dormant volcano pouring it's violent wrath upon the defenders.

That had been months ago, nearly a year now. Drawing himself to his terrible and frightening height, J'aac Domain Halikron rose from his coral throne in the now-terraformed mountain fortress and sauntered onto a balcony. The tower now stood like a coral pillar near the mountain, called Vua'thir Citadel by those who had shaped it.
He gazed out with orange eyes, scanning the horizon and surveying the vast field of warriors' huts and Shaper damuteks. To his most severe right, bellows and roars could be heard - the latest labour of his shaper cadre. The beasts, more than three warriors tall if they stood atop one another, were called 'Rancor' by the locals. Thus, beneath the eyes of Yun-Harla and Yun-Yammka, the breeding of shaper and warrior would take place to produce the newest warbeast for J'aac's vast legions...

J'aac had dressed in his blackened vonduun-crab armor breastplate, it's red shell colored by ash and blood and steroid-like chemicals. From his shoulders rose great talons, reaching for the sky like a great beast. From these his command cloak fell, black as the darkest midnight. His legs remained largely bare, save for the violently spiked greaves he wore from his feet to knees. The same loincloth adorned his groin, it's shimmersilk nearly matching the crab armor.

A vision before his eyes, trim and lithe, dressed in a dramatic flourish of deep teal shimmersilk, Jikala lead a long procession of warriors, priests, and her shaper brethern. The mountain wind was cool as it rustled the tails of her dress, tantilizing him with glimpses of her bare thighs and midrif. J'aac had to force his lust into his chest, lest he be found out by the absent licking of his heavily-scarred lips.
She looked the part of a seductress from the tales he'd been told as a young crecheling. He would claim her later, in his private sanctum atop the Citadel... but for now, she had a present for her Commander and lover.

"My lord Halikron," she said with flourish, genuflecting before him. Her shimmersilk gown parted again, giving him an ample view of her back and rear as she knelt. "I bring before you the first and strongest of our newest labour."
From behind the procession came a great beast. It's leathery hide was an earthen hue of brown, but it's sides and shoulders were covered with the same bioengineered vonduun crab armor the warrior commanders wore, like J'aac himself. "Among it's people, it was called Arigoth, 'the chieftain of the mountains', and now it shall serve you, our chieftain of the mountains. He is the first of our Ran'spar."

And thus Dathomir became the citadel world for the Yuuzhan Vong's expeditionary force, marking their first sinister footsteps into the Infidel galaxy, and similarly the Rancor tanks were born.

TAG: My dear Kane, if he so feels

 

Commander Fhuver Vil, commanding battle group a'Vil, Sernpidal system blockade

The submissive visage seemed to tremble as the villip choir reported success from the most distal I'Friil Ma-Net in his battle group.
"Lord, we have successfully consumed all non-organic satellites in the system. Our shapers likewise report no transmissions via their primitive radiation bursts prior to their immolation."

Fhuver Vil sat back in the polyp throne in satisfaction, as he nodded to the array of ship commands who stood arrayed on the choir before him. Each warrior a paragon of devotion, most hand picked via the natural selection of Fhuver's violent whim to be strict adherent's to Yun Yammka's way; the way of battle, the way of sacrifice.

The way of victory.

"Continue to maintain the cordon, and destroy any of the infidel ships that may notice our presence and attempt to lift from the surface. Executor Val Svet assures me the dovin basal is in place and the accessing of raw materials may begin within the next lunar orbit."

Signalling to the Intendant in charge of the villip choir, he had the connection diverted back to the priests, who were even now divesting themselves in ritual to ordain the coming sacrifice. Even now his favoured executor was on the surface, completing one of the more ill-fitting components of this plan, and Fhuver wanted to be sure such soiling of a Yuuzhan Vong so early in the campaign would not bode ill for the invasion.

The plan was to be simple. The Supreme Commander had chanced a foray forward to set up a strategic beachhead further in toward the galaxy core, where the planets were literally teeming with vermin. Unable to reach the Warmaster, the warrior caste had made an uneasy pact with the Priests and Shapers to begin setting up key infrastructure for the coming invasion.

Out of the way, rarely visited worlds were rife out here on the galaxy's edge, and battle groups were even now setting up coralskipper farms, villip paddies, slave farms and amphistaff polyps on viable, unpopulated worlds throughout the rim. Key outposts had been garrisoned in empty systems, such as the icy Helska system.

Sernpidal was a special case, to be attended to by Commander Fhuver Vil himself. It was relatively full of infidels, and if still out of the way, was still frequented by ship traffic on the odd occasion.

Here, the Yuuzhan Vong would not only gain access to volumes of raw materials for a new shipwomb, they'd gain a valuable proving ground, wherein infidel ships of a wide variety - or so the intendant?s had assured him - would venture, be lured in and tested against the unblooded coralskipper pilots in his battle group.

It was efficient, and worthy of Yun Yammka. Fhuver Vil would be satisfied with such a plan, but his Executor had demurred, promising more. Promising valuable intelligence on the infidel menace far greater than the prowess of their unthinking, dead space combat machines.

So Fhuver Vil had relented, knowing that the glory of Yun Yammka was sometimes only won by entertaining the guile and trickery of Yun Harla. Fhuver Vil's frayed lips upturned in a sneer at the thought of the damned goddess, but his favoured Intendant had shown a great affinity for the bitch in the past, and Fhuver Vil was not too proud to sideline the needs of lesser gods. The warring of Gods was not something even the priests could fully explain, and Fhuver Vil's one fear was that Yun Yammka may be too distracted by other matters to deign in watch on some pivotal battle, that might shame the entire race forevermore.

No, for now, all the Gods would be well served, so they may together focus on the task at hand. Yun Yuuzhan's breath lived even here, in a galaxy full of infidel vermin, and surely none of his holy children would deviate now, not with a galaxy to which the truth of his sacrifice may be soon revealed.

Looking out the viewport of his diminutive Matalok , he allowed the warrior bloodlust that was his very soul reach up and consume him for the

 

OOC: Lads, i'll be diggin my Sith out of the basement here. Soon as i get things hashed out, look out

 

Now we just need a certain pirate to return!

Hey Jello, if you still need ideas for that post of yours... there's always my Imperials she can interact with. I'm certain Daddy J could lone them to her. Heh.

 

IC as Fhuver Vil, Yuuzhan Vong outpost of Belkedan

The tentacles writhed rythmically as the sinewy web tendrils tightened their grip on the skull of the old man. Casting a sickly shadow across the crimson wall of the Grashal. The smokey ruins of the two humanoid law enforcement vermin lay still smouldering at the back of the room. They'd been the first to truly break.

They had known little, but that was not their purpose. This was about answering two questions. How durable the vermin were (and of course, the range of answers already ascertained through these three spoke testament to the differing capacity of various infidels) but moreover how willing they'd be to betray their own.

Self-preservation had been a weakness of the Chazrach, and the Yuuzhan Vong knew how to exploit it. But not all vermin reacted the same. Some showed strength.

Some, even showed a shadow of honour.

"One last time infidel, one last chance or the embrace will seize you again, taking you to an extreme of pain you'd not thought possible, and the spineray here will rip what we need from your mind...but we are not needless in our cruelty. We can show rationality, compassion. Just tell us what we want to know. Tell us the identity of the infidel Warmaster."

Fhuver Vil smiled at that. His Executor was already masterful at deploying the sour words of this galaxy, the aptly titled basic, but Fhuver had picked up enough with the help of a tizowyrm to appreciate the deft dance being met out by the Intendant. Such a promise, however ludicrous to a third party observing, was unimaginably promising to a being in such a desperae position.

Especially given the infidel's appalling fear of pain. How a species that so neglected the reverence due to the gods could continue to survive and flourish astonished Fhuver Vil. They were like rodent khul, pests to be eliminated with extreme predujice.

It was a holy task he would undertake with due reverence. He would give another lesson to the infidels, one other to that of sacrifice.

He would teach them the lesson of piety. Beginning with this one here. The one with backbone.

The old man spat a glob of saliva, tooth, greying hair and all too much blood from the gash that had once been his mouth. "You...animals...will...get nothing...from me." He managed to rasp it out from a body seemingly near death, his eyes radiating that same cold defiance as before, despite the searing white pain that must surely be engulfing his senses.

He reared against the embrace of pain, and impossibly straightened up, looking not at the Executor interrogating him but straight at Fhuver himself.

When he spoke this time, it was no rasp. It was a voice of strength. A voice of command.

"I'll not betray the Emperor. He's a good man, and he'll find you soon enough, and then you'll know his name. You'll rue the day you ever heard it."

Fhuver Vil shrugged, and looked at his Executor pointedly. Bowing, the Intendent crawled away.

Fhuver Vil strode forward, and met the human's gaze. He knew he was a horrific site to behold to most Yuuzhan Vong, and that would go doubly so for these infidels. The two dead in the corner and certainly cowered in his presence.

But he could wait. He would grind down this one until he knew just how long it would take. Even the most spirited of the infidels would break, all lesser species would.

He grinned and slitted his eyes down to a stare, stopping his teeth a mere half-phe from the infidels face.

"So you think your infidel warmaster, this jello, will stop us? Your mighty warships will come and crush us? You are a strong infidel, brave by the standards of this impure galaxy."

That Fhuver Vil had obviously known who the Emperor was all through the interrogation should of shaken the man, and indeed he did seem to fall for a time, but something about that spirit still lingered.

"We have been preparing for hundreds of your infidel years vermin, studying your galaxy, preparing to crush you. And none of you even know we are here yet

 

OOC: Someone needs to schedule that AIM chat. My mind is simply lacking the wherewithal to determine exactly where to advance with this game without puny rebels to smash like the olden days.

 

Alright then, how about 5pm Board time, on the 14th (again, Board time) ?

That's a good three days notice for people to get things in order or raise a more suitable time/date if this one doesn't suit.

See you then, infidels and comrades alike.

 

Well what's board time? We can now adjust the time to our timezones.

 

Really?

Ha! Kids today and their technology!

I had thought about half an hour ago was the time for board time, but you point out a crucial flaw in my plan.

 

And that's why you Vong lose and the Empire always wins!

 

OOC: Rise, my friend.

I found a bar in december, and, and...I got distracted by all the beautiful draught.

Has everyone already left this part?

[face_hopeful]

Hello?

Cursed computer! Infidel thinking machine!

[amphistaff_smash]

 

Im waiting on Jello.

 

OOC: Waiting on Jello, Ah, the story of our RPing.

Come, your royal highness, we haven't got all day! [face_silly}

 

Lol! You get free time and then I dont! Hmm its been so long I need to reread what's been posted between us recently. I might have a reply later this week or next depending on whether I can get a break with the essays and math homework.

 

IC as Vel Svet, Nal Hutta, the Moribund Gungan tapcafe

The stink of the intermingled excretions of the infidel did not bother Vel Svet. In fact, he had come to find it somewhat comforting, such was the time he had spent amongst their ilk. He had become accustomed to many of their foodstuffs, to their customs, and to their preening insolence in the face of the authority, this 'Empire', that stood so rightly and correctly as the sole power over the galaxy.

But the waft that he could not tolerate, that itched within his very mind, was that of abomination. Of oil. Of mechanical things, most notably, those life-profaning demons, those...droids.

The Hutt worlds seemed infested with them, and they taught a valuable lesson. The tattered remains of the droids sometimes could be found on a street corner, or outside a window or balcony, strewn to rest by the arm of an angry Hutt impatient with long-winded translations or simply tossed aside by a thief who found the outdated model not even worth the price of the scrap parts.

Wasted, littered, left to rust. And rust they did, giving parts of the undercities their own tapestry of miasmatic color, shades of ochor, browns, reds and tans, adorning the stone and metalworks of the scape beyond.

And just like this planet of criminals and slugs of such grotesque proportions a shaper could not have dreamt them from the depths of the cortex, the galaxy itself had it's undercity. It's rust. It's riot of shades that departed from the whole, the uniformity, the resolute power of the Empire.

Hutt Space was one example, but it was not the only one. Something within the mingled species and vermin of the galaxy truly bucked at the rightful authority of the infidel supreme overlord and his enforcers, and indeed, some were even in outright rebellion....

Vel Svet smiled. He gestured over to the waitress, who came to top up his glass; (a slave girl from Tatooine, another shade of rust, who had already offered the most unseemly of services to the Executor. Svet had been quite proud at remaining composed enough to seem flattered, despite the gall that rose within at such obscure mating activites being performed with an infidel) Vel Svet sipped at the infidel liquor, noting the distinct proportions of the poison that sat within it, and wondered again at the propensity of this people to deliberately deaden themselves for entertainment.

But it was more then that he mused. It was more then entertainment, at least for most. It was an escape. The people of this Empire, the vermin at the base, skittering amongst the rusted out alloys, were desperately unhappy. Unfulfilled. They lead meaningless lives at the bread-line or below, oppressed by a government they did not believe in nor saw the rightful legitimacy of.

The Gods. This was the key. These people no longer had anything in which to believe. Stunted by the heresy of their own existence, they were shut off from Yun Yuuzhan and his children, by something or some force, and they knew not of the glory that was the 'True Way'.

Commander Vil had a theory that was elegant in it's robust simplicity. The Jeedai, the warriors of repute who had mysteriously vanished, had blocked the True Way from this galaxy. Their existence was the greatest heresy, and Fhuver Vil had been quite explicit in assigning the task of finding them a priority.

But for now, it would have to wait. News on them had been obscured, or more likely, deliberately destroyed, and Vel Svet had a galaxy to conquer.

The man strode up and sat without looking at anyone else. His face was grim but sure, and his eyes met Vel Svet straight on. Good. So he still knew his place, but had not yet broken. He was still of some use.

"You have news?" Vel rasped, looking for all the world like a burley humanoid, his voice that of a metropolitan Adumari.

The smuggler nodded. "Yeah, I got news. The boss has set up another network, this time in the inner rim, working through a contact on the Wheel. As he told you, money talks, and wherever you'r