StoryTime with Voc

[Vocenae]

I hear the noise the sound of hope the ringing ringing of the bells

and all i can think of is that i'm trapped in this hell there is no hope no morning bells

echoing across the beach as seas of boiling blackened pitch froth around my feet

no golden light no sunshine breeze just crashing waves and a cold wind's shrieks

where is the candle burning bright to guide us through this darkened night

a beacon amidst the fog, forever extinguished, sorrowfully missed as curling black clouds fill the sky

a bright pale moon shines like a baleful eye as children burn and the whole world cries

oh why oh why do false gods die

silence now thundering, deafening, a whisper in the storm

as nothing moves beyond the moon and bedrock marks this airless tomb

as spirits drifting through the void cry this din this awful noise and wonder why it went all wrong

why they sang their hopeful song for nothing moves beyond the moon and nothing moves below it but dead dry earth and a people cursed

there will be no final morning

[Vocenae]

God, it feels like years since I just sat down.

Is this what it is? This...fading feeling? The dimming?

I'm so tired. All I want to do is...sleep.

Funny how you notice the little things you take for granted when it's all blurring at the edges.

The smell of the air. They undeniable tang of the ocean over all that...stench. Every breath is like moving a mountain. I can't help but wheeze.

I don't want to leave her, but I can't hang on. I can barely see her face, those tear filled eyes and that dopey hat.

Hurts to talk, but I have to tell her. Tell her what to do.

What.
Has.
To.
Be.
Done.

I tell her I'll miss her.

I give her a smile as she raises the gun. She's strong. She'll make it.

Hammerfall.

Li...ght...

[Vocenae]

I can't get Pastebin to work on IRC, posting this here so I can link it later.

Team Name: SAMCRO
Team's Allegiance: Private contractor.
Fodder Available: x5 combat drones, x2 soldiers.
Fodder Equipment: Drone combat packages ranging from micro-grenades, small scale energy weapons, recon equipment. Soldier equipment includes low quality cybernetic augmentations, plus energy pistols and energy rifles.
Heavy Assets Available: x1 Chariot starship, x1 energy grenade launcher
Team History: SAMCRO is a hastily cobbled together team consisting of four private operatives. The history and identity of each operative is classified, operatives know each other only by a single letter.
Team's Interest in the Spirit of Man: Recon and data extraction. Secondary objectives are retrieving/capturing any unknown technology, command crew, or if possible, commandeering the entire ship.


Character 1's Name: Samantha Xerosi.
Description: Female. 5'5. 31 years old. Sandy blonde hair. Close cropped. Numerous scar tissue along the body from genetic and technological augmentation. Obvious increase in strength and agility over natural human due to augmentations.

History: Samantha Xerosi was lieutenant in the Imperial Republican Army for seven years before the Battle of Foer. During the battle, she disobeyed direct orders and abandoned her post to defend a convoy of Bavinese civilians as they made their way to the last evacuation point near the city of Abraham. Xerosi was left behind on Foer as she was unable to board or find any form of transport off the planet, and ended up becoming part of a smaller community located in the southern hemisphere of Foer. For three years she was forced to hide her identity from Huerdaen law enforcement while working hard and sometimes humiliating jobs on the numerous farms surrounding the community. Eventually, Samantha was able to barter her way off the planet, and upon her return to Vocian space, immediately arrested and court martialed for her actions during the battle of Foer. After being dishonorably discharged and her belief in the system broken, Samantha was recruited by mercenary group that offered her revenge against the system that she felt had horribly wronged her. Outfitted with basic and cheap cybernetic augmentations, Xerosi took part in the Owl Lake missile crisis, proving that her combat and leadership skills were far more capable than the rest of her group.

Samantha was given another round of cybernetic augmentations and given genetic augmentation as well, making her a much more effective weapon for her employers. Promoted to captain, Xerosi led several other successful terrorist operations against the IStaR government before her contract was bought by a private contractor. In the past several years captain Xerosi has performed several critical black operations for her employer, and now finds herself tasked with boarding a Huerdaen ship of previously unseen size.

Assets: Custom operational armor (powered), kinesis gloves, automatic energy pistol and assault rifle. Three energy grenades. Combat knife.

Powers/Vulnerabilities/Expertise: Samantha is a example of Vocian military training combined with top of the line and very illegal genetic and cybernetic augmentation. She is faster, stronger, and superior to the average non-augmented human. She is a capable soldier due to her military training, and her terrorist and para-military experiences have given her some skill in combat improvisation. Xerosi is a proficient rifleman, though she is less so with explosive weaponry. She often defers the use of such weapons to others who are more capable. She lacks pilot training for any sort of aerial vehicle, and will again defer the use of normal vehicles to others, preferring to lean on her marksmanship skills.

Her other weaknesses are largely internal. As the years pass and her anger at the Vocian government fades, she struggles to justify what she has become. Samantha's growing doubts of her actions have compounded her existing trust issues from her time on Foer, and has led to paranoia, knowing full well that she is being watched by her employer for any sudden changes of heart, having been the harsh hand of punishment more than once. Samantha is always prepared to shoot her own men at the first sign of betrayal, choosing alienation from her squad than having her loyalty to the mission put into doubt.

She feels trapped, and very alone in her plight.

Picture (Optional):

Character 2's Name: Oril Tavison
Description: Male. 24. 6'0. Dark hair, green eyes. Bulky, muscled. Aggressive. Same scars of genetic and cybernetic modification apparent on skin. Pale.

History: Oril is an example of a career criminal who went as legit as a criminal can. As a youth in one of the IStaR's corporate sector colonies, Oril quickly took to a life of petty theft to survive. The third son of second generation 'sustenance' miners, Oril was the victim of neglect, his parents often choosing to drown their sorrows in beer or drugs, leaving the children to fend for themselves. During the formulative years, Oril was cared for by his two sisters until his tenth birthday, when one was arrested for prostitution, and the other simply disappeared into the black market. He left his parents several months later, falling in with a street gang and being used as their police bait. His overall speed and at the time small size allowed him to escape police sectorlocks. When Oril was seventeen, the gang disbanded and Oril took the only job that his largely non-existent education could provide for him: mining.

The long, hard, dangerous labor of mining led to explosive muscle growth. This, coupled with a fiery temper, often led to vicious brawls both in the mines and in the bars, and eventually led to the company firing him, and having him arrested. After doing time, Oril was released back onto the colony streets, where he was recruited as a enforcer for a black market dealer. Eventually his contract was bought by a mercenary group who fitted him with cheap cybernetic augmentations and sent him to the core worlds, where he and several other mercenaries caused a government MAGLEV train to derail in the middle of a city, killing several hundred soldiers and civilians. Oril survived the operation, and others like it across IStaR space, until his contract was bought again, only this time, he received higher quality cybernetic and genetic augmentations, and found himself on a very small ship heading into deep space.


Assets: Custom operational armor (powered), kinesis gloves, automatic energy pistol and assault rifle. Three energy grenades. Combat knife. Energy grenade launcher.

Powers/Vulnerabilities/Expertise: He is faster and stronger than a normal human due to his augmentations, however Oril is also very prone to violent behavior that borders on the psychopathic. His volatile nature was only encouraged during his previous operations, and he has developed a certain skill with setting explosive devices, though he has little patience for accuracy. Capable driver.

Picture (Optional):

Character 3's Name: Calina Osvaros
Description: Female. 24. 4'9. Black hair, neon blue stripe. Ruby eyes (altered). Darker skin.

History: Calina was born in the Vocian core worlds, on the colony of Celeste to Marika and Gudar Osvaros, the owners of a very successful chain of hotels on the planet. She was, from birth, groomed for success and enjoyed a brief, if short, pampered life on the Vocian pleasure colony. She was kidnapped and sold on the black market at age eight, and tossed around like a rag doll to various owners for a period of seven years, before being rescued by law enforcement officials. Having been violated and abused for six years, Calina viewed herself as little more than a submissive slave, and underwent extensive psychiatric therapy. Calina was released back to her parents after two years, and they spared no expense in welcoming her home. Private tutors, lavish gifts and parties, everything that they could give to her, they gave to her, and eighteen year old Calina became something of a reluctant celebrity in Vocian media for a short time before fleeing a life that was, in her own words, smothering her just as much as her other life had.

Calina fled Celeste and moved to the harsh world of Larani, where she enrolled at the Jace Corvu university, though instead of Xenoarchaelogy or Geology, she was instantly drawn to flying. In four years Calina graduated at the top of her class and was instantly offered a job flying transports and shuttles for one of the mining corporations on the planet. Eventually her contract was bought, and Calina found herself flying a ship into deep space, carrying an armed crew.

Assets: Pilot, Chariot class starship. Kinesis gloves. Special cybernetic implant for increased flight performance. x1 energy pistol. EVA suit with protective plating (military grade).

Powers/Vulnerabilities/Expertise: Excellent pilot, though little combat experience past self-defense training. Calina still carries her childhood trauma with her despite the extensive therapy, and is often billed as a 'silent loner'. She speaks very little, and avoids physical contact with other people at almost all times when possible.
Picture (Optional):

[Vocenae]

Explain it to me one more time general.

The speaker was not an overly stubborn man when it came to matters of state but he had never had to formally declare war on a foreign nation before. He, chief justice kreia and the military trinity all sat in his private office in the vocian capital, months of planning and preparation coming down to this single moment.

The general sighed and nodded, his knees creaking as he walked across the room.

Operation aegir is to serve as a secondary front to the ongoing League UFA conflict at karthay. Its purpose is to split the enemy's attention and forces from karthay And secure a secondary route to the homelands should allied forces fail to secure the island. The primary focus is the far gone archipelago.

Rough post for rp.

[Vocenae]

The dirt crunches softly beneath my feet, brown, lifeless, cracked. Burnt earth. Pockets of snow dot the expanse, small drifts that until now escaped the wrath of the spring sun. The snowmelt would provide nothing for the ground, nothing would ever grow here again without help. In the distance the mountains rise under the clear and chilly sky, their snow capped peaks fading into the glare of the afternoon sun. There are no sounds of life in the air, just hte lonely howl of the wind as it gently rolls across the dead plains.

This is Turaan. My home.

Like all Tor, I bear witness to the injustices visited upon us by our so-called 'brothers', and the wounds left upon our home world by the shadow beings they unleashed upon us. I remember it so clearly despite the lifetime I have lived. Funny that I should return here at the end of it. I close my eyes for but a second and feel the weight of this dead world on me. I have no idea how I remain standing on the blighted plain as the memories rolled in.

We knew only of war and pain. Once we had conquered the elements survival became a secondary concern, all we had cared about were making the 'chosen' of the gods pay for stranding us here. The image of the marble temple in Torak'Cho and the urn that once held the sands of Azaad as a sign of the righteousness of our crusade, but even that holy place had not survived the coming of the shadows. Gilded suits of golden armor walking step by step next to the demons they had summoned from the Well of Souls. The drumbeat of war continued until every city on my planet had burned and the planet bled what little life it had into space.

Turaan died a slow, miserable death and we were scattered to the winds. Here and there we eked out an existence with what technology escaped the purge. No longer did we inhabit cities of marble that stood as a testament of how we defied the gods and the fate they had sought to impose upon us.

I remember carrying my son into the heart of a Nuvaka frigate while Torak'Cho burned in the distance and tears form around my eyelids. Suka my friend, your sacrifice saved my family.

Captains from what was left of our fleet had come to rescue us once it was clear the battle was lost. Some fled into space only to be lost, hunted like animals or simply disappearing into the void. Those that remained knew there was no escape. Suka and his men took as many as they could and sped the frigate away from the cities. The mountians became our home, and the frigate the womb from which our community had been reborn. It was a hard life as the shanty town grew from the frigate's hull as we were forced to face the brutal wilderness of our planet unprepared for the first time in any of our lives. My wife died only a year in, crushed by landslide. My daughters, frozen of simply gone. My son lost an arm to infection. I suppose that I should consider myself lucky to have made it to old age with my bloodline intact. The shadows that crept across our planet would always kill the men no matter the age and the women were either taken or left to die. The attacks were so specific that there was no question they came from the Chosen.
Just as it seemed like we were to be wiped out entirely, the shadows left and the Chosen and their ships left our skies. The Purge was over, but there was no hope of revenge. Our civilization had been too gravely wounded, our heritage all but destroyed. All we could do now was to survive.

I open my eyes and realize the sun has dipped for the horizon. Hours have passed. My joints ache from the vigil, and movement does little to ease their cries. Age has caught up with me, and I should have known better than to wander this far from the camp. It is dark when I return, the small fire illuminating the two tents that hugged the plain. A giant of a man sits with his back to the desolation as he feeds the fire with what tinder he can find. He holds his single hand close to the struggling flame, drawing what warmth he can from it. I smile to myself; my son has always been a fighter. I make my presence known before entering the camp's perimeter, and I am greeted with a thin smile and welcoming wave towards the fire. A thin figure emerges from my son's tent, wrapped in so many bundles of linen that I can barely make out my daughter in law's face. She hands me a small bit of dried meat before vanishing back inside the tent without a sound like a proper wife from the far gone days of yore. I nod to my son, and he begins to speak of the day's poor hunting, speculations on how much farther we must travel to our destination. I answer with muttered acknowledgements and rough estimates, there is not much more to say and we lapse into silence, chewing on the preserved meat.

In the decades that followed the Purge I had watched my son grow into a man, the loss of his arm never once preventing him from contributing from his duties around the village or from obtaining a wife, though her mother had been less than pleased when her daughter had revealed she had slept with the village 'cripple'. They had made a strong pair, her voice to his strength, though that had changed with time as well. Illness took hold, her body slowly dwindling away while horrible coughs racked her frail frame and tore at the lining of her throat. Though she survived, her voice never recovered and she had become a shadow of who she once was. She took to tradition when her body failed to regain it's former strength, and whatever words she had to speak we for the ears of my son only. Myself and all others were treated with a kind smile or a gesture, but I had not heard a word from her in well of seven years.

I watch my son finish his meal and go about finishing his tasks. He lays his hand on my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze before ducking inside his tent. I am left alone on the cold plain as the fire begins to die. I stare up at the sky and try to make out the thin red lines of the nebula in the darkness.

We were on the plains for more than just attempting to find food. Actual hunting was a rarity, the delicate ecosystem that had survived the Purge would never recover and the only creatures that roamed the world now were vicious beasts, each a survivor of the holocaust, each a warrior in their own right. You only killed them when there was no other choice, there would never be another to replace him. Most food was preserved or grown in what little fertile soil there was left. Our village was lucky enough in that regard, but fortunes never last for long,. In the years that followed the Purge many of our people that could not find shelter had become raiders, looking to take what they did not have by force rather than work for it themselves. I often wonder if Seenah is still out there, a woman surrounded by a band of thieves that grabbed her while she was out among the rocks looking for herbs. I often wonder if my blood runs through the veins of a bastard, just now coming into his own among whatever counts as a clan among thieves and murderers.

I shake my head and tell myself to let go of that dream. Better to focus on the known than hope for a disgrace.

My son's wife was with child. IT was still early, but the signs were there. Given her earlier illness we were on our way across the plain to the one people that could promise a safe birth, the chosen. Three months ago a runner came to our village with the message. I cannot remember where he was from, or where he was going, but the message was clear: The Chosen have returned, not with fire and fury, but with healing hands and open arms. The Shadows were gone from them, and they spoke only words of peace.

Debate had filled the village, every adult had an opinion, some were in favor of risking the journey back to Torak'Cho, some were convinced it was a plot to finish us off once and for all. Some, namely the children, either wanted to go out of curiosity or stay out of fear of something they had known only through bedtime stories. My son and I had agreed that the village was safe enough until his wife had told him he was to be a father. I was informed upon the dawn that they were leaving, and I had no real choice but to follow. I would not let my son and my entire bloodline go out into the wilderness alone. Stong or not, one man is not enough to deter raiders, and so we made our preparations, said our goodbyes, and left. Maybe, gods-willing, this isn't a trap and we will one day see the village again, but the closer we get to the city, the more I realize that we will not return. Do I suspect treachery from the Chosen? Yes, but I also suspect that if they have come here in peace, to right their wrongs against us, then there will be no reason to return. If they can provide my family with a home safe from the elements, safe from starvation, plague or raiders, then I will make sure they give it to us, honor be damned.

The chill worms it's way into my clothing and I shiver in the dark. The night sky is filled with stars set against streaks of the nebula's crimson. the astronomer in me wants to remain awake, to view the stars where we once sailed in all their majesty, but tomorrow we must travel as far and as fast as we can. WE may have been safe today but fortunes can change so quickly, and I am a old man who needs his rest. I smother the last few embers of the fire with a clump of dead earth and crawl inside my tent, though shelter does little to keep the cold out. Another night on the plains I think and let the sound of the wind lull me to sleep.

[Haruspex]

That is an awesome post Voc