Topic: The Halcyon Crown - Chapter Two: ProtoKen System (Read 41403 times)

Eschar · « **Reply #450 on:** May 26, 2023, 11:03:27 am »

Victoria says this is a forward operating base. We should ask about her superiors, and why previous managers had trouble with this post.

19_EgarAlnis · « **Reply #451 on:** June 02, 2023, 10:49:38 pm »

Basil’s dark eyes shift to the amber liquid, before returning to Victoria’s face. She looks at the glass too, then at him, before hobbling over to her desk and dropping back into her chair. A chipped data slate and bent stylus is pulled from the depths of the desk. Pushing papers aside, she sets it in front of her and powers it on. “How many people?” An application is loaded on to the device. “Six.” “How long?’ “Six months.” Her lips quirk. “Do you have cold storage?” “Plenty.” “Lucky. We don’t have nearly enough.” Victoria pauses, “Perhaps we could make further concessions if you have spares. It would ease some of my people’s suffering.” “My people are refurbishing the Fortress. We’ll see if it's possible. What else would ease your people’s suffering?” “Generators. Water purifiers. Medicine. Weapons. Food, of course.” Victoria takes a sip of her drink, “Not much of a technological base left here. Organization systems would also help. I have the only computing system on site.” Basil nods, but returns to the main point. “About that food?” “I can provide three months of unprepared perishables. After that, I need results. I might be top bitch right now, but the people under me want results just the same.” “What results?” “The satellite not dropping rocks on any farming community big enough to be worth a damn.” Victoria takes another small sip, swirling the liquid around the ice. “Three months, or else we’ll consider you hostile, take action.” “What action?” Victoria looks up from her glass and, for the first time in minutes, makes eye contact with Basil. A slow, crooked grin twists her lips. Menace pours off of her, her dull eyes suddenly gleaming brightly. “Don’t think we survived this long without being able to back up a threat. Trust is important. Keep your word and we’ll keep ours. We’ll both have food.” Basil stares back, then nods. Victoria nods too. Reaching out, she takes the glass she set in front of Basil. Lifting it to the air, she states, “[To-our-future-endeavors].”

[16 vs. 17]

Basil tilts his head, confused by the sudden change in dialect, but he echoes the stiff, formal, compound word, pronouncing it perfectly. “[To-our-future-endeavors.]” Victoria gives him a cold smile and drains her amber-filled glass. Then she stares at him, vacantly, still smiling. The ice in her glass clinks as she swirls it around and around. Then, breaking from whatever reverie seized her, she rises to her feet, hobbling towards the door and sliding it open with a tap of the keypad. “Impose on our hospitality tonight. We’ll continue our discussion tomorrow. Perhaps we can arrange transportation back to your Base, along with the food.”

“Keep an eye on him, Alexi. Bring Jean with you.” Victoria orders Alexandria, duly appointing her as his chaperone for the evening. “Show him around. Get him set up in a private bedroom before lights out. Twelve-Bee, please. Get him some food, water, and a shower. Answer any questions he has. My leg is bothering me.” “Yes mum.” Alexandria dutifully replies. “It has been a pleasure, Basil. I’m sure we have a long and prosperous future between us.” Victoria offers, nodding her head at him as she hobbles back to her office. “Alexi will see your hospitality met. She’s actually good at that. Unlike most things.” “Goodnight mum.” Despite the polite tone, Alexandria gives a single finger salute to her receding mother’s back. A universal symbol among humans, no doubt. “I’ll break it if you do that again!” Victoria calls back. Twitchy approaches from the corner it sat in, guarding Basil’s flank. Alexandria pulls a radio from her belt loop, raising it to her mouth and speaking into it. Shortly thereafter, Jean, or someone Basil assumes is Jean, approaches from a hallway. He’s a tall man, with curly brown hair and pale, nearly translucent skin. Barker and silent guard in tow, Alexandria and Basil set off. First, as having a one hundred and thirty seven kilo dog following his steps is a little cumbersome, Twitchy is deposited within a room labeled Twelve-Bee. Cordoned off by paper walls, it is three meters by three meters. A hard looking bed is softened with a thin mattress of stuffed cloth and a thick, wooly blanket. Next to it is a small table with a single drawer. Both pieces of furniture are crudely carved from thick, brown wood. Looking up, Basil can see the heavy steel beams steadying a cracking, crumbling concrete roof. New, darker plaster holds the worst of the rot at bay. “Twelve Bee. Our guest room.” Alexandria explains, tone pointed as she stares at Basil and Twitchy, “We bunk up about six to a room. Having a full room is a luxury.” “You’re packed tight.” Basil remarks, setting his bag down on the bed. “Yeah.” “How long have you all been living here?” Basil questions as the three of them leave the bedroom. “Five or six years now.” “Ah. Your mother mentioned-” “She’s actually my grandmother.” Alexandria interjects. They step down a narrow hallway, with walls of framed paper. “Ah. She’s the manager? Who’s her boss?” Alexandria snorts, “No one. She and Uncle Gregori run the Technocracy.” “The Technocracy?” Alexandria opens her mouth to continue speaking, but silent, imposing Jean places an arm on her shoulder. “Oh. Uh. Just another name for the Company.” “I believe that.” Observes Basil, tone dry. But then Jean sets a hand on his shoulder as well. A hard, grasping hand. Basil stops in place. Without a change to his placid, wry expression, he turns to stare at Jean. There’s a gleam in his eye, “I understand your threat gesture but there is no need, Jean. Please, remove your hand. Or I will.”

[15 vs. 6]

Jean lets the hand drop back to his side, and Basil gives a nod. “Excuse my prying. I will not raise any more questions about that topic. My apologies, Alexandria, Jean. Why is she here, though? She mentioned the last two managers didn’t last.” “It was the last three, really.” Alexandria is unconcerned with the exchange of threats, “The first one was good. Got ate by some concrete [gators] by the southern river during a hunting trip. The second was taking bribes from the Minors. He was executed by firing squad. The last one…” Alexandria trails off, glancing back to Basil as they approach a room with walls of concrete, “Here’s the showers. We’ll be here when you finish. Towels are in the cabinet.”

After a very cold shower, Basil towels off and redresses. Emerging back into the dimly lit, dingy concrete hallway, he notices Alexandria emerging from another stall. She’s changed into a light t-shirt and long, fluffy pants. Her long blonde hair is wrapped tightly in a towel. Jean has not changed. His eyes stay fixed on Basil. “Mess this way.” Alexandria states, cheerfully directing her guest down another hallway in the winding labyrinth of decayed concrete, rusting steel, and thin paper walls.

So far, the Mess room is the largest room Basil has seen in this structure. Long wooden tables with attached benches are scattered about. Smaller ones sit off to the corners and in alcoves marked with the rust of ancient iron decay. A kitchen sits in a larger alcove, with a bubbling pot of stew sitting haphazardly atop a burner with low blue flames. A young man works by at a table in the back, currently ladling soup into resealable containers. Alexandria approaches, and the young man, without comment, takes down three platters from a cupboard. The steaming hot, gray stew is ladled into bowls. Next, water, clean and pure, is poured into bottles from a plastic jug. Chunks of half-stale bread are broken down. Everything, down to the spoon, seems to be made of wood. The only utensil not made of wood is a small plastic tumbler that the cook fills with a stinging, clear ethanol. From a locked cabinet in the back, the cook places four tubes of paper wrapped in parchment on Jean’s tray. Jean’s stoic expression breaks into a broad grin as the tubes are deposited. The cook lets a grin spread across his dour expression at the outpouring of emotion from the man, “Mum appreciates you picking up the extra work tonight.” “Hey! I want one!” Alexandria protests. “Too damn bad, cuz.” The cook growls, rolling his eyes and heading back to his task. “Mum said you’re too young to smoke.” Alexandria rounds on Jean, “Hey, remember last month, when I saved you from that Barker? You owe me!” Jean rolls his eyes, and takes a seat at a table in an alcove. The soup consists of a protein broth, greasy, and salty to the taste. It’s filled with a good amount of fibrous tubers to chew through, and tiny slivers of meat that hide within the gelatinous broth. The bread, about a fist wide, is grainy, thick, filled with crunchy seeds that make Basil appreciate his ability to adjust his teeth. The humans pick at theirs with fingernails, and despite the lack of necessity, Basil does the same. When the cook turns his back to cut some of that starchy root into cubes, Jean unrolls the pack and passes one of the tubes over to Alexandria, and produces a small device. He flicks the small jet of flame to life, and she leans over the table. Exhaling a breath of smoke, she lifts her plastic tumbler into the air. “To new friends!” Basil, after a moment of hesitation, lifts his tumbler as well. The humans tap them together, waiting for Basil to follow suit, then tap the tables, and toss the ethanol into their mouths. All of them swallow hard. Jean and Alexandria give a gasp. Basil, on the other hand, swallows again for effect. “Throat of steel!” Exclaims Alexandria, shaking her head and grinning, “So, Basil, where did you grow up?” “In space.” Basil explains, after a moment, “On a really big Void Ship.” “Was it bigger than this building?” Basil nods, “Probably bigger than this city.” “A Sovereign Class.” Jean speaks, his wooden gaze turning to Basil. “Why are you here?” “My mother kicked me off.” Basil explains, vaguely, “Things happened. Ended up here.”

After ten minutes of pleasant conversation between Alexandria, her cousin, and Jean, the meal is truly completed. Or rather, the social aspect of it is. Without further ceremony, Basil is escorted back to Twelve-Bee by the two. Both wish him a cheerful goodnight and the paper door is shut behind him. He settles himself on the hard bed and stares up at the decaying ceiling. Twitchy sits in the corner, silent, save for its breathing.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Powers (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Inventory (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Bonds (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Concepts (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Holdings (click to show/hide)

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S1lentWanderer · « **Reply #452 on:** June 02, 2023, 11:33:21 pm »

((getting married tomorrow morning, don't have time to make it poetic.))

We should use Synthesis to whip up something as a gift to them. We should ~~[zalgo]devour[/zalgo]~~ study a cold storage unit, and give it to them as a gift, the next time we come to visit. Also we can replace the one we ~~[zalgo]devour[/zalgo]~~ study Possibly more than one. Also we can print generators with synthesis. Might be a good idea to do that and give them a couple. They've got water, so they can make power. DO NOT DO THIS WHERE THEY CAN SEE YOU.

Also, we need to actually deal with the satellite, should get on that pretty soon.

Head back home as soon as polite. We've got work to do. We seem welcome, but they may have ulterior motives.

Look into this "technocracy" thing using the base computer. Seems interesting to study, little scholar.

ZBridges · « **Reply #453 on:** June 03, 2023, 03:51:45 am »

((Congrats!))

While we're here, we may want to learn a little bit more about the Hegemon, assuming we have the chance to ask a few more questions.

19_EgarAlnis · « **Reply #454 on:** June 03, 2023, 08:14:55 am »

((Congratulations!))

King Zultan · « **Reply #455 on:** June 05, 2023, 02:35:25 am »

(Congratulations!)

Finding out more about the Hegemon seems like an important thing to do before we leave.

19_EgarAlnis · « **Reply #456 on:** June 08, 2023, 08:00:50 pm »

Basil sits awake in his bed, curling his feet beneath him and resting his back on the headboard. He doesn’t bother to unfold the itchy, warm blankets over the mattress. Twitchy falls asleep, resting and recovering energy for the day ahead. Five hours pass before there’s a knock upon the frame of the paper door. “Proceed to the Mess Hall for a meeting with Victoria.” A voice orders, polite but gruff. Basil, after rousing Twitchy, does as he is bidden proceeding down that winding hallway to the Mess Hall. The quiet of last night is transformed into a bustle of activity from every room. Men and women are dressing themselves with heavy gear, both weapons and armor, and bustling out into the narrow hallways. They clank, clatter, and curse. Some shove, but theres still order to the pandemonium. Basil joins the throng, letting it carry him into the dining room. A horde of armed and armored scavengers wait in the line as a team of white coated cooks ladle out gray, protein enriched porridge, slices of caramelized sausage and thick, yellow curds of egg. Dried bread is distributed at the very end of the line, along with bottles of water. Victoria is sitting alone at a table tucked into the corner. She spoons a thin, goopy paste into her mouth, her eyes lighting up when they catch sight of Basil. She smiles when he drops down across from her, but doesn’t speak until she finishes off her meal. He waits patiently, looking over the work crews as they arrange themselves table by table. All wear a knee-length leather hauberk, studded with spars of metal. The hauberk thins at the torso, supplemented there with plates of kevlar and ceramic. Further Kevlar fabric is wrapped around their faces, and a Brodie-Style helmet is secured by their chins beneath it. Some have stubby shotguns and machetes hanging from their belts. Some have scoped rifles. Few have las-pistols or rifles. Even fewer are wearing heavy kevlar greatcoats with symbols or stars above their hearts and on their backs. The groups form themselves up around these scarred and proud individuals. Officers. Basil assumes, turning back to examine the navy blue coat that Victoria wears. A white star adorns the right breast, but there is nothing besides that to mark her out. When Victoria finishes her porridge with a noisy slurp, Basil turns his attention back to her. “Could you provide me with information on the Hegemon?” “I’ll send for the dossier. Not hungry?” Victoria questions, turning to murmur into her headset afterwards. “No. Thank you.” Basil dips his head and gives a small smile. “Well, the plan is simple. We’ll take a hovercraft to your stronghold, drop you and the food off and call it a day. The map will be in one of the crates.” Victoria explains, leaning back in her chair. “And the Planetary Telemetry?” “You’ll get that after you fix the satellite.” “I need it for the satellit--” “Go towards the bright thing in the night sky. You’ll reach it pretty quick.” Victoria cuts him off, lips tilting into a hard frown. The dossier is produced by none other than Jean, who gives Basil a nod and vanishes back down the hallway from whence he came. After a quick scan by Victoria, she pushes them over his way. “We use the [Pan-American] Standard, as most Empyre trained groups do. A corps is roughly twenty-five to fifty thousand. Brigade is three to five thousand. Squad is six to ten. That squad in question is nine, however.” Basil makes to open the crumbling paper of the booklet, but Victoria stops him. “Our ride is here. Read it on the flight.” Once again shouldering his bag, Basil makes his way back to the room to collect Twitchy. Directed by Victoria, the pair make their way to the courtyard of the great warehouse turned military base. A hovercraft, a long, heavy affair, obviously designed for cargo, sits waiting for them. Victoria gestures them up the gangplank and follows them into the hold. A scavenger crew, seven individuals with las-guns, already sit within. Two rise to their feet, helping Basil and Victoria get strapped into their own seats. Crates fill the rest of the space, full of green leaves, starchy tubers, golden grain and dripping meats. Basil turns his attention to the file, ignoring the Scavenger Squad’s intense gaze.

Spoiler: Dossier (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Local Map (click to show/hide)

The ride is smooth and silent. Basil peruses the documents within the dossier concerning individuals within the Hegemony, filing them away within mental databases for future use. He doesn’t truly process them, instead taking mental snapshots. Victoria stays silent and leans back. Her eyes shut, and soon, she’s snoring, much to the squad’s quiet amusement. When the vessel lands, Victoria is gently nudged awake. She takes her time unstrapping herself and rises with a languid stretch. The Scavenger Squad need no command to begin unloading the products. With trained efficiency, they divide into teams of two, with the officer marking things off a paper checklist as they are unloaded. Victoria picks up a box from nearby, and, after a single terse order, they haul a large crate off the transport and set it on some flat ground. Seats are produced, and she places the box atop it. Popping it open to reveal some sandwiches and a corroded thermos. “Tea?” She offers, pouring Basil a glass before he can even speak. A sandwich, wrapped in paper, is set beside the thin plastic cup. “[So, I'll admit two things to you Basil.]” Victoria sips her tea, intoning in that formal, stiff dialect from yesterday. Basil takes a sip of his tea, opening his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a lift of her hand for silence. “[The first is that this crate contains one of our antimatter warheads, wired by laser transmitter to a gentleman who is sitting in the cockpit over there. I give a signal, or act strange in any way, and he presses the metaphorical button. If I fail to report, or give the wrong code, we have another vehicle above us ready to drop a much smaller bomb to activate this one.]” “[Second, if it wasn’t obvious by the overkill, I know what you are, and I know you wouldn’t survive this. So now’s the time to come clean. Who are you, what's your sphere, and what are your true intentions?]”

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Powers (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Inventory (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Bonds (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Concepts (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Holdings (click to show/hide)

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ZBridges · « **Reply #457 on:** June 08, 2023, 08:51:58 pm »

She must think that we're an Ascended. Would she even believe the truth?

King Zultan · « **Reply #458 on:** June 09, 2023, 01:51:12 am »

It seems like we've been truthful about pretty much everything except about ourselves, so guess that's what she's wanting and I highly doubt she'll be okay with mentioning any of the plague stuff so saying we're an ascended is probably the best bet, but I'm not sure what we could tell her that she'd except as the truth.

Fluffe9911 · « **Reply #459 on:** June 09, 2023, 04:03:19 pm »

I mean we could tell the truth although I'm not sure if telling her we are a spawn of a literal sentient plaque that wants to wipe out all of humanity would go over well assuming she even believes us so let us try telling her what she wants to hear first (aka a half truth) and if that fails then we can tell the full truth I guess. (I can't believe she came to the conclusion we are an ascended over a dang cheer)

Also I have a feeling that she is bluffing about the bomb but I see no reason to risk anything.

ZBridges · « **Reply #460 on:** June 09, 2023, 11:13:00 pm »

Here's an option, though I don't know what we would say our sphere is:

We are Basil Basilískos XVII, a Noble scion of the Rim-exiled House Basil. We don't have a place to return to, so our intentions are to make this planet our new home, and cut our teeth, while cooperating with the locals.

King Zultan · « **Reply #461 on:** June 10, 2023, 02:59:37 am »

I cold see that working but we need to come up with a reason why we were on the ship before it got here.

Eschar · « **Reply #462 on:** June 10, 2023, 09:11:15 am »

The Navy ship? Well, we've already said the captain decided we were most competent to keep his crew alive

Superdorf · « **Reply #463 on:** June 10, 2023, 10:59:23 am »

Quote from: ZBridges on June 09, 2023, 11:13:00 pm

Here's an option, though I don't know what we would say our sphere is:

We are Basil Basilískos XVII, a Noble scion of the Rim-exiled House Basil. We don't have a place to return to, so our intentions are to make this planet our new home, and cut our teeth, while cooperating with the locals.

The Ascended must concern themselves with spheres - a Noble wields them all, if I recall. It's a good story, and we can confirm it with that data-pad.

{Congrats S1lent!}

Eschar · « **Reply #464 on:** June 11, 2023, 12:15:06 am »

She may not trust the datapad (navy trusted their own datapad that we had not had for extended amount of time) but explaining we're a Noble can save us trouble down the line that going along with Ascended and sphere story might not: If we picked a sphere and then were witnessed with much more granular control for example.

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Author Topic: The Halcyon Crown - Chapter Two: ProtoKen System (Read 41403 times)

Eschar

Re: The Halcyon Crown - Chapter Two: ProtoKen System

19_EgarAlnis

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S1lentWanderer

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ZBridges

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19_EgarAlnis

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King Zultan

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19_EgarAlnis

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ZBridges

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King Zultan

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Fluffe9911

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ZBridges

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King Zultan

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Eschar

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Superdorf

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Eschar

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