No game enders (e.g 'And then everyone died, the end.')
Don't kill other people unless they've confirmed that you can.
No mind-control or making other people do your bidding.
Try not to make an impossible scenario. Use common sense when introducing themes to allow the story and RP to flow.
You can introduce new elements to the story, just make sure that it does not it effects everyone else drastically or existing threads.
Plan these events and build to them over a number of posts.
At some point your path will cross the path of another player. If there is a need to discuss plotlines and how they will affect both characters or storylines we encourage players to discuss ideas between one another via private message to add to the overall story being told and avoid conflicts.
If you would like, you can post a quick little snippet of a description or backstory of your character, such as their name, planet, faction, etc.
And lastly, have fun! Remember, it's a roleplay, it's not a matter of life or death. Don't get too worked up over it if something goes wrong.
Following the fall of the UBank and the complete collapse of the Units system in the Galaxy, the nomadic pirate faction known as The Armada moved from their hunting grounds in the outer rims of the galaxy towards the Centre, leaving a path of destruction in their wake, bringing war to the High Council in what came to be known as the Bloodshed Uprising.
The war and conflict leaves an already reeling Galaxy on its knees. No Units, no established powers or factions, no leadership or guidance and above all the disappearance of the Sentinels.
The High Council leadership is assassinated. The Atlas at the centre of the Galaxy is destroyed by their forces attempting to prevent anyone gaining access to the power stored at the gigantic facility.
A safety mechanism inside the Atlas dissipates its most important components in the form of fragments throughout the Galaxy in an attempt to concealed them, preventing the destruction of aeons upon aeons of knowledge.
Established factions and new emerging powers race to gather the fragments for themselves. Some for altruistic motives, others to claim the power of the Atlas.
The race to gather the Atlas fragments* has begun! What path will you take? How will your choices affect the Galaxy?
* The Atlas fragments no longer are sentient. They are just extremely powerful artifacts. Some are vast repositories of knowledge, others are weapons, others can affect technology in some unique ways. Use your imagination but avoid creating God like pieces.
"How could this have happened?" Ahl asked himself. His tankard of ale was running low and the barkeep of the ship was on break. "I thought training with the space whales would help me to regain control of my magic," he finished off his drink and threw the tankard across the galley, "but it has only made matters worse." He laid his head on his arms to stop it from spinning; apparently he must be getting soft since it only took him 6 ales to feel this way.
"If only I could rein in this power a bit more," he said choking back some unsettled beer in his throat, "I'm so close to finding them. I just need a little--"
A hand hit the table next to Ahl 's head causing him to jump and immediately output the beer he was fighting all over the floor beside the table. There was a familiar laugh and a voice Ahl knew all too well, "Seems you have been at it again. When are you going to straiten up and fly right?" It was the Commander of the ship, clad in his purple robe and pointy hat.
Ahl wiped his chin and stared up at him, "You know, your not that high and mighty." Ahl made a rude gesture referring to the Commander's height. "And it's not like you images can replace the real--" The Commander's fist caught Ahl 's cheek and sent him toppling into the pool on the ground.
"What was that about images, Ahlpha?" The perfect mirror image of Ahl said as he brushed his knuckles off on his robe. "Get yourself cleaned up. Captain Ahl wants a word with you." Commander Ahl smiled wickedly, "Seems the Captain has found a new job for you today." As Commander Ahl walked toward the door he paused and called back, "Oh and you'll want to wear the red shirt for this mission." He gave another hearty laugh and left the galley.
Ahl used the chair and table to climb back to his feet. His cannon leg was just itching to fire off into that pompous jerk but he merely dusted himself off and stumbled toward his cabin to change. "Nomad (deustriplo), I hope our paths cross soon. I need your help with more than you know."
Nomad stood in the War Room of the Juggernaut. It seemed to him that since he had returned to the Armada all he did was sleep, eat and spend time reviewing the latest reports. He didn't thin k he was very good at it. And that is why he wasn't the one reviewing the reports personally. Lilith and a few other data rats helped him with that. They would drone and drone on the background about stats, supplies and other generic info while he would think of taking to the stars and fight. He would dream and remember the times he pitied his life against others and pace. He would pace endlessly. The data rats would eye him nervously waiting violence at any moment. Some would actually flinch when he approached them. Councilor Twilight told him he had a knack for it. He would stand and listen to pieces of information and some instinct would take over and address the most pressing ones. Lilith kept teasing him that the Councilor was grooming him to one day take over the Hold. He would fume at the suggestion...
Reports from several systems spoke of how the mysterious Plague continued to spread like wildfire, engulfing entire systems and species. Those lucky enough to escape it spoke of a biological virus that took over sentient beings as well as machines with its green pus. Some in the Armada were starting to refer to it as the Bugg-Shash plague. He was known as the Black One in olden days. The Filler of Space, He Who Comes in the Dark. Ancient prophecies that spoke of Old Gods kept at bay by the Atlas for millennia coming to reap the galaxy.
The Cult of the Atlas continued to spread and its leader now claimed influence over several of the more fortified sectors in known space. Words of the group's goal to resurrect the Atlas and with it a cure for the plague meant thousand flocked to its banner at alarming rates.
Reports from USSF held territory spoke of incursions into nearby systems as they continue to bring order to a galaxy in flames after the events of the last cycles. Nomad wondered how Walker was doing with his mission. There was no need at this time for the Armada to involve itself with this new rising power however he knew that once they established themselves they would come for the Armada who many blamed for the destruction of the Atlas. Nomad started wondering if may the Armada should involve itself now before they consolidated any power remaining in the galaxy.
The age of reasoning was coming to an End.
Before he could make any further considerations two data rats shouted simultaneously...
He turned and glared at them. Both man stood up and approached him. "We found something..." they whispered. He looked at the data and was out of the room in a heartbeat followed by Lilith. "Tell no one.." he growled before disappearing from sight.
The two data rats looked at one another and smiled. What a coup this would be for the Armada...
Last Edit: Sept 4, 2017 18:49:42 GMT by deustriplo
See you all around the orbit of some dark strange star!!!
The cryopod hissed open. He coughed. He stumbled out, fell over and lied face first on the cold, hard ground.
Nova. James Nova Jackson, but they called me Nova. That was his name. He barely remembered now. He shook himself awake and sat. He put his hand on Razeous' cold paw. It had been... a long time. Hundreds of cycles. But that didn't matter anymore. His inter-dimensional twin, James. He was still asleep in the cryopod. James could wake him up. But what would be the point? The Armada had won. Nova hadn't a clue what had happened but they had won. What happened before that? He was still fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was heading to Valhalla to help the Protectorate. Try to help, at least. That was the plan. But, plans change. A stray asteroid. A broken engine. An explosion, a wounded beast and a lucky escape. PotA was struggling. And then... denial.
We'd sleep it out. We'd wake up and it'd all be over. Peace restored, all of that. PotA would prevail. Of course they would. How naive. We couldn't help so we hoped someone else would. And now here we are. Low oxygen, no fuel. Stuck here. Orbiting around a dying star on the outskirts of the galaxy and waiting for the rescue mission that would never come. He'd managed to convince James that it'd be alright. He'd be alright. It didn't take much to convince him. And now he'll stay under it. He'll never know how helpless it was. By Atlas, this isn't even his dimension, and now he's here to die in it. Maybe he knew this mission was doomed to fail. Maybe he knew he'd die here. But for him, maybe it's better to stay sleeping for all eternity. The only way to win is not to play.
Another light goes out. Another little star snuffed out by some mysterious force. And all I can do is sit here and wait. Wait for either it to get here or for me to die. Whichever comes first.
There goes another...
It didn't matter what happened. Really.
And so Nova sat. Razeous lay quiet. Quiet and cold. At this point, he didn't know if his lifelong friend was hibernating or... not. Maybe he didn't want to know. Nova ran his hands through his fur all the same.
There was enough power in his multitool for one last log. A captain's log, never to be read. Best make it a good one. "If anyone is to find this, to hear this... well, it's unlikely. We crossed galaxies and it did us no good. We made friends and we lost them... We lost more than them. We lost. We lost, completely and utterly. But we tried. And really... isn't that what matters? Maybe not. But... I'm making this log anyway. Just... try to remember us."
And so, Nova sat. Cold. Alone. Alone with two friends. All three cold. Around a star. All four dying.
Doomed, to stay quiet, around the orbit of
"Mother of Sean, the hype has transcended space and time!"