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Post by Angrybirds on Oct 19, 2013 22:15:08 GMT -8
 January 1, 2795War. At thousands of times the speed of light, the Imperial Tarkan Army sped towards the front. To Etzan, the stellar convoy seemed to stretch for many innumerable miles and then disappeared from view. The outline of the largest of the Tarkan vessels were visible among the distortions of warped space. The smallest were just specks of light against a backdrop of stars. They were in his quarters, a sparsely furnished room with only a bunk and a square block of a table in the corner. Etzan paced restlessly at the foot of the bunk while Sirga watched him with concern, lying down and submerged in fur. The flattened head of a Hoeviss, a feline with flat, angular features and razor sharp claws, was sprawled across her chest. In life, it had to have been enormous. A Tarkan was allowed no other bedding than the pelts of beasts he had slain and skinned himself. A novice Tarkan had nothing but cold marble to sleep on, but Etzan truly slept like a king. There was to be no sleep for him tonight as he impatiently awaited news, any information that might alleviate the suspense. They did not speak for a time. Finally, the door opened, and a female Tarkan officer garbed in black chainmail stepped through the portal. She handed Etzan an armful of datapads silently took her leave. Etzan took them to the side of the bunk, sat down, and began to devour them with his eyes one by one. Finally, Sirga broke the silence. "What are those?" "Reports." She made an effort to laugh. "The warlords of old didn't spend the night before battle obsessing over reports. They feasted and drank and mated. Look at you!" "Those are just stories, sister." "You're going to be a story someday, you know? Etzan V'klor, the Gran Beyvik who slew his coward father, defeated the oathbreakers, and everyone else as an afterthought!" She grinned. Etzan snarled, "Stop it." This was not the time for flaunting pride. His empire, the dominion he had spent a year conquering and another year rebuilding, was now at stake in a useless roll of the dice. "It's too close!" he exclaimed as he flung the datapads onto the floor and began to pace again. They had matched him everywhere, and he no longer had any room to maneuver. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sirga had sat up and was now watching him. The damned woman did not know what to say, he realized. "They have not your skill." she finally offered. "You beat them once, you can do it again." Etzan stopped and glared at her. His skill? Feeble minds likened it to magic. They thought that just because he had the "skill," he could win any battle he wanted. Could his ability wage war against the laws of reality? Sirga's features had hardened under his gaze, but she did not back down. Instead, she disentangled herself from the furs, strode over, and hit him. Hard. "You spent the last year preparing for this war," she said harshly as she stood over him. "You knew it was coming. Now it's here. Win it." |
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Post by Tek0516 on Oct 20, 2013 18:31:34 GMT -8
 The component AI known as Tekari saw all within the Farengeto fleet. Over ten thousand ships and more than a million soldiers. Tekari saw it all in a way few commanders could. Every sight and sound; every bit and the surface of every mind. Had it not been for his own computational limitations and that of his physical avatar, he might have been the greatest commander in the sector. Not even the FPC's "ROUT AI" could match him. Despite their violent past his people were a peaceful one. But peace was gone from the processes of Tekari. He wanted revenge. He would have Etzan's head. Nearly 27,000 warships followed him in warp, awaiting his orders. They hurtled towards Etzan's fleet on a direct course. Though scanners detected a surprisingly small fleet, Tekari was not fooled. He knew the tricks of their light ships. He silently arranged the armada into battle formations. Etzan would undoubtedly use their infamous quick draw-style approach tactic, and Tekari planned to grant him the same. The fate of the war would depend on theit battle. In a closed-off section of the ship a group of Farengeto supersoldiers, his elite troops, readied themselves for combat. They would not fight with the rest of the fleet; Tekari had special plans for them, and their ship's cargo was evidence of such. |
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Post by Angrybirds on Oct 22, 2013 0:20:51 GMT -8
"His Imperial Highness, the Gran Beyvik!" As the ceremonial horns blared, the massive double doors swung open. Etzan, flanked on either side by a dozen sworn warriors, marched into the chamber. Etzan was wearing his finest suit of armor, a resplendent coat of black chainmail covered by dark plates which were intricately adorned with crimson red designs. A flowing black cloak, dark as night, flowed from his shoulders. The crimson sigil of V'klor was imprinted upon its back. All who could had gathered here; lords, courtiers, his handpicked warriors were packed in the truly enormous throne room of the mobile palace ship, the Uk'vir. The walls were see-through and curved until they met high above them. A path to the Imperial throne had been cleared down the center of the room, and it was towards this that Etzan walked. Inside his mind, he was raging with frustration. Their enemy was several hours away and they were busy holding court! Like many other absurdities, it had been required of him by tradition. The great kings of old had abided by it religiously, and now it was his turn to lead his host, possibly the largest in Tarkan history, into battle as Gran Beyvik. Etzan ascended the steps leading to his throne and regally sat down. Sirga and Manial Ukalor, to whom he had entrusted command of his flanks, knelt before him. Slowly, every Tarkan in the room followed suit. A melody of clinking metal and rasping plate filled the air as they all knelt. "Sirga V'klor, Daughter of Dishal." Etzan began. "And you, Manial Ukalor, Daughter of Kodir." His eyes landed on the elderly woman beside his sister. Beyvik Manial Ukalor, Master at Arms of the Grand Tarkan Empire. With so many sons to contest her throne, it was a wonder she was still alive. By some scheme, she had managed to keep them at bay. Two had died in battle, while her third stood behind her now, attending to her. She had served as Master at Arms for longer than Etzan had been alive, and had taught him everything she could about the conduct of warfare. She was a master at it. Normally the Empire was no place for the weak, blind, and frail, but Manial Ukalor was an exception. She would prove invaluable over the coming battle. "You have both served the realm honorably," Etzan continued. "and have devoted your lives to furthering its causes and to bringing about the destruction of its enemies as my sworn vassals. Allow me to call upon your strength and sacrifice once again on this great day." A general clamor rose as many bat their fists against the ground in support for his words. "The enemies of the Empire lie ahead of us. They are many." He paused to let those words sink in. "YES! They are many. But WE are strong. And with you at my side, we will be victorious!" The room was rocked with thundering agreement. "Do you accept this charge?" "Yes, Gran Beyvik," the two unanimously replied. Satisfied, Etzan stood. "And you," he spoke to the entire room. "Sons and daughters of the Empire, what say you?" "WE ARE YOURS, GRAN BEYVIK." "To battle, then!" |
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Post by Tek0516 on Oct 25, 2013 15:18:24 GMT -8
The bridge of the flagship RSS Eternal was filled with tension as the fleet grew ever closer towards the Tarkan Armada. Tekari sat contemplatively in the command chair, projecting a fleet simulation into the empty space of the room. Bridge staff silently watched as the admiral experimented with a simulation of the fleet. Those his face was blank, how fast plans were modified only to be thrown away spoke volumes. A proximity alert echoed through the fleet as the fleet began its final approach. Tekari motioned to the comms. officer to open a channel with the others. His message was broadcasted to every ship and simeaultaneously in every language. "My brethren and allies, "Today we gather to fight the battle that will decide history. Today we fight to return what the Tarkans stole from the Miperians 2 years ago. Today we fight to bring true peace and stability to our sector. "If the last decade has shown me anything, it is that alone we are weak. But together nothing can stop us. When the Dominatus arrived they overran us. No single nation stood a chance. But just 2 years ago we chose to stand together and make a stand , and since then nothing has stood in our way. One by one our foes have fallen to our unified might. The Mardor, the NCKU, the Dominatus... each victory mightier than the last. We have proven to the universe that we shall not go without a fight, that we of the Katar Sector Alliance will stand strong no matter who we face. "But there is one last challenge we face. The combined forces of the Alliance charge against the warmongering Grand Tarkan Empire. Etzan V'Klor himself stands against us in command of the fleet. With half their fleet deploy against ours, we lead the battle that will decide not only this war but the course of history. The Tarkans are strong, but so are we. They stand facing the crashing wave of progress and we shall sweep them away! We shall crush their fleet and rip their conquests away. We shall avenge the civilizations destroyed by the V'Klor Dynasty! And we shall ensure no more lives are lost in their pointless wars!" Cheers echoed from the lower decks as the fleet exited warp. Tekari's expression grew cold as he prepared for battle. "All ships assume formation! Full power to combat systems! All pilots prepare for immediate launch!" Tekai loaded up a display of the battlefield, and acivated a subroutine on a channel with Etzan "Gran Beyvik Etzan V'Klor, I offer you one last chance to surrender. Stand down and this conflict can be averted. Your empire will be granted a reasonable deal and you may even keep your crown and title. Continue, and I guarantee nothing." A small group of gunships deployed from the Eternal. Equipped with TekNet-designed advanced stealth systems far beyond what would be available, the ship would prove virtually undetectable to the Tarkans as it inched into the heart of its fleet. Their plan would not stop the Tarkans, but it would deal the necessary damage. |
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Post by Angrybirds on Oct 25, 2013 16:26:53 GMT -8
Etzan gripped the armrests of his command chair tightly as he watched with fascination the two dots on the map projected onto the transparent viewscreen––representing himself and the allies––gradually come closer to each other. He was still wearing his black-and-red armor, figuring that he might has well put on a display for his immediate subordinates. Though it was uncomfortable and at times cumbersome, it made him truly feel like the emperor he was. It was strange that that feeling came only then, two years after he first donned the crown, and only after he had garnished himself in a suit of resplendent armor. Despite his confidence, doubt still bit at him––banished to the far corners of his mind, but present nonetheless. Along with Sirga and Manial, the lords had been sent back to their ships and given their final instructions. Battle was imminent, and neither side seemed willing to back off. What is he doing? Etzan thought as he joined his index fingers and pressed them up against his lips. The commander on the side of the Katar Sector Alliance had not wavered, not even flinched when Etzan had risen to meet him. Just as if he was expecting it. Who was he dealing with, here? How formidable a commander had they sent to rob him of his throne? It was not within Etzan's power to answer. Now, that mysterious opponent was headed straight for him––without stopping, at maximum warp––as was the Tarkan way. It was custom for two fleets to rush at one another and deploy into preordained formations, a test of nerve and confidence, for it was just as easy to field exactly the wrong deployment as it was to field the right one. He's either extraordinarily brave, or a fool, thought Etzan. Or he knows something that you don't, Doubt whispered back. The bridge suddenly became more active, drawing Etzan out of his thoughts. One of his subordinates had begun counting. "Dropping out of warp in five seconds, "Four, "Three," Etzan rose from his command chair, his eyes riveted on the massive viewscreen. "Two," This was the decisive moment. The fate of his Empire was about to be decided by a throw of the dice. He had done this countless times before, but never with so much riding on it. "One." The palace-ship shook as it fell from warp, followed closely by the Tarkan armada––twenty-seven thousand ships. "We have contact!" "Show them to me," ordered Etzan, apprehensive despite himself. The windows of the bridge at the very front of the palace ship gave a panoramic view of the battlefield. Etzan's frigates could be seen immediately in front of them, and beyond them, the enemy. A sensor map appeared, projected on top of the transparent metal. It gave Etzan an arial view of his deployment and that of the enemy. He could not believe his eyes. Gears began turning in his mind. Orders spilled from his mouth with absolute confidence and determination. He was Gran Beyvik, then. Master of not only the Tarkan people, but of destiny itself. "Sirga, Manial, advance as quickly as you can. Fold around their left and right wings, keep them from extending!" Etzan took a breath. "We will let them pass us, then the center will advance." *"My lord, the enemy demands that we––" "Nevermind that!" Etzan cut him off. Yes, yes... This was going to work. This mysterious opponent had played right into his hands. *These orders will be delivered through the electromagnetic spectrum in a sort of Tarkan equivalent of Morse code. This kind of communication is used everywhere, as it is common practice for enemies to jam each other's subspace transmissions. Yes, the Tarkans are jamming the Farengeto and the Farengeto are probably jamming the Tarkans. |
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Post by shredderdx on Oct 26, 2013 7:08:20 GMT -8
The Night Sound was the designated flagship of the Vixaian fleet. It took the form as a carrier. Aboard this vessel was Commander Blissthenes Clarryl himself. The highest ranking Vixaian out of politics, he is well-known and well-respected by his nation. Preceding the battle, he resided in the command center. The command center was not glamorous in any sense - hard, cold, silver metal lined the inside of the vast room. Holographic monitors shone green light, and each was accompanied by a Vixaian. Each individual poured over the intelligence they had, attempting to propose the best strategies for what was upcoming. Commander Clarryl rested in his cold, steel throne. It was fitted with armrests, and the back stood taller than he when seated. The throne itself rested on a raised platform, but only superficially higher than the rest of the domain. However, the height difference provided a great view of those in front of him, and those in behind when he chose to swivel.
Before Clarryl, there rested a game of strategy. He was playing against his advisor, Detriisthen Treth. Clarryl wished his mind to be already fluid and thinking before he sent his men into battle. Treth was a brilliant adversary at all games of strategy. However, Clarryl almost always emerged victorious. Such was a part of his reputation as an intellectual. It was peculiar, however, that each race had their own qualifications for what was considered a great intellectual. Many would say that an average Vixaian was a great intellectual. Then what would they consider a great intellectual among great intellectuals? Perhaps this question could be asked from a war prisoner. Assuming they would be entrusted with war prisoners, that is.
Clarryl studied his allies as well as his enemies. The Farengeto fleet, which is located to his port side of his fleet, were great allies to have. Tekari was a very admirable commander. He has all of his trust in the Farengeto, and in Tekari. Clarryl holds in his heart, and in his mind, that Tekari will lead them to victory.
Anticipation gripped a hold of Clarryl. Rising from his steel throne, he ordered for the map of the battlefield to be projected. He studied it studiously. As of the present moment, he was delivered no commands. It was a strange feeling, to wait to receive orders. Clarryl had not felt this in decades. This feeling was unimportant - vigilance and patience were key.
Below deck, countless soldiers, mostly Vixaian and Nepatan, stood at the ready. Clarryl felt he should give them some sort of pre-battle speech, but decided against it. The amount of time they had before battle was unknown. He had no desire to be forced to maneuver whilst celebration was commencing, or when he was still speaking. Instead, Commander Clarryl focused on the projection of the battlefield, awaiting orders.
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Post by Tek0516 on Oct 28, 2013 18:48:23 GMT -8
Tekari had quickly realized the flaw of his deployment. But despite his doubts his avatar's expression did not betray him. The fleet had been ordered to pull back in full reverse, covered by a missile volley from thime entire armada. Reverse thrusters would not allow him to outrun the Tarkans, but gave him enough time to begin extending his flanks. Tekari was quiet, never speaking a word. As far as his crew was concerned he preferred to communicate directly through his implants, and for the most part it was true. Freed from the limitations of speech, Farengeto commanders could relay messages at the speed of their thought, which Tekari exploited fully. "-Clarryl, extend right flank. -[Sindar/Nakeimato Commander], extend left flank -All non-Farengeto Line units to outer flanks -All Medium units between the line groups." -Artillery groups 1 and 2 target Tarkan left flank. -Artillery groups 3 through 5 target the Tarkan forward formation, focus on Tarkan artillery. -Artillery groups 6 and 7 target Tarkan right flank." Tekari's orders flew out as fast as he could relay them. Though the situation looked bleak, Tekari prepared to utilize a few tricks. Should it come to it he would even dare to use the F.L.E.I.J.A., the Treaty of Farengeto be damned. He would win this war, no what it took.  |
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Post by Angrybirds on Oct 29, 2013 14:32:19 GMT -8
"Stop!" Etzan ordered, extending an upraised palm. "The center will hold here." They had managed to avoid his initial death blow. No matter, they were still in a precarious position. He would have to proceed with caution. "Sirga, Manial, continue your advance." His fingers curled into a fist. "Spread out your lines to strike at their flanks!" "They are launching fighters!" Etzan saw them quickly. They were sending three squadrons of bombers down the center under cover from a dispersed artillery barrage. Yet, his center had not moved. What is he getting at? Etzan could not find the answer. "Advance light battalions four, five, eight, and nine to cover the front line. Ignore the barrage, target the starfighters!" Had he done exactly what his opponent wanted? What other viable move could he make? Was he missing something? He quickly scanned the enemy center. If there was any indication of what he might be planning, it could be found in his deployment. To his frustration, Etzan read nothing. "The reserves will advance within a kilometer of the battle line and stabilize." That way, he had something to respond with if he was taken unawares. His attention was then drawn to the army's flanks, where Sirga and Manial were deploying their lines in preparation to attack. Manial's deployment was flawless and took into account the enemy's every weakness and nullified his every strength. Sirga's, on the other hand... As able a warrior as she was, she had not the mind of a strategist. She never thought ahead. This reduced her to reaction; action was lost on her, and it showed in the way she moved. That is what Etzan hated about delegated command. From his vantage point, he could see every flaw in his subordinates' formations and plans. He knew why they would not work or result in more losses than was necessary, and yet he could not intervene. Sirga always wondered why it took him days, even weeks to warm up to her again after a battle. That was why. |
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Post by shredderdx on Oct 30, 2013 11:42:12 GMT -8
Commander Clarryl called out orders as Tekari commanded. He saw the Tarkans approaching on his display of the battlefield. He toyed with the idea of engaging in a game of chicken, but decided against it. He would rather keep his ships out of range of the enemy ships, for the most part. Whilst the Tarkan center had halted, the single unit of Vixaian artillery continuously fired towards them.
Before him, where the majority of the Vixaian ships were located, the enemy ships were still advancing. His artillery on this flank were able to hammer the Tarkan advance. Clarryl hoped for each shot to be lethal. Studying the formations, he tried to probe their strategy, so he may interject his with allied victory. At the moment, he feared that the allied fleet would be strangled. Never before had he faced that position, and he hoped he would never have to.
Seeing as the artillery bombardment was scattered rather than focused, he decided for a change. "Artillery 6 and 7, target the light ships," he ordered. Hopefully, this would give the allied fighters and bombers some protection as they sped towards the right Tarkan flank, his Tarkan flank.
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Post by Angrybirds on Oct 30, 2013 19:21:52 GMT -8
Opposite the Vixaians, forces under the command of Beyvik Manial Ulkalor advanced. Screening them was an avant-guarde of Condors that immediately filled the space in front of them with burning-red flak. No missile barrage was going to get through. On the far right flank, the oncoming Vixaian starfighters would be faced with a similarly impenetrable wall of exploding plasma. Were they to fly brazenly into the fire, the pilots and their ships would not last very long. "They are throwing away the lives of their pilots at the first sign of trouble? How pathetic." Alasdair Ukalor spat. He was standing upright with his arms folded over his chest. Next to him was the command chair upon which his mother sat. Manial Ulkalor remained silent. She knew that a desperate opponent was dangerous. If Etzan moved too far, too fast, and closed the last route of escape too early, they would have to contend not only with the enemy's numbers, but with the force of desperation as well. Her son did not realize this, of course. She was convinced that he did not care. He spent his days with his concubines and in the city with his following of low-lives, picking on those weaker than him. He was unfit to rule. And yet, she knew he would kill her the first chance he got. She was weak, nearly blind, and old. He had every right to challenge her for her throne, and would likely win despite his cowardly ways. There was a catch, of course. He loved a woman, the mate of an Irike. She was so far under him, and yet her unavailability -- the ecstasy of their secret meetings -- excited him. Manial had made arrangements that, if her son were to raise a finger against her, that woman would die. Knowledge of this had managed to keep her son at bay for years. He was still useful occasionally. He acted as her eyes now that she could barely see, and read her communications to her. Now, she relied on him to know what was happening on the field before them. If he had one quality, it was observation. That, and obedience and a fear of authority. Despite this, she figured that she would never let him inherit. She had grandsons that were more worthy than him. "Beyvik," one of her communications officers called, "his majesty is ordering us forward. We are to destroy their flanks." Manial recalled a mental image of the battlefield as her son had described it. "Transfer line battalions eleven and twelve to our right flank," she said in a creaking voice. "Line battalion thirteen is to advance to the front line. Slow the formation down until our far left catches up. Light battalions within range of enemy missiles and strike craft are permitted to fire." So it began. She had called upon the ancients the night before in an attempt to divine the outcome of this battle. What she had seen in the heart of the fire had terrified her. That day, she would play her part with humility, both for herself and for all of Tarkan kind. The ancients had ruled. The future was immutable. |
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Post by Tek0516 on Nov 3, 2013 15:58:56 GMT -8
The simulated emotions that a biological might call rage and frustration grew within Tekari as he calculated the battle. He had often questioned whether he even possessed true emotion. Were they merely simulations or had they become something more? Or was it all emotion in the end, even his basic programming. Was he even alive? TekNet felt increasingly so. He could think, he could feel... Could an AI such as himself ever be "alive"? Did all those transistors make the difference between alive or not? Had Tekari been biological he might have chuckled. He was rarely this philosophical. He had an entire subprogram to do that. But being this far from even the Coalition meant he had a lot of time to think. For now though, he had a more pressing concern. "Pull the fighters back. Hold positions at the line." It wasn't going to work... Tekari contemplated the situation, his options rapidly decreasing. "Focus firepower on the Tarkan light vessels. Once neutralized our bombers can support the main assault. Maintain the line, we don't want to stretch ourselves too thinly." Down below the F.L.E.I.J.A.s were prepared for deployment, a Deus Ex Machina for a Deus Est Machina. |
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Post by shredderdx on Nov 6, 2013 16:03:45 GMT -8
"You heard the Commander Tekari, pull the fighters back!" Clarryl ordered. Excitement gripped his being, and shook him to his core. He attempted to keep a cool, even mind, and channeled his excitement into quick thinking. To come up with a solution to conquer the Tarkan light ships, he needed to think quickly and decisively. He had no desire to throw away his light ships to bring down the enemy's. Studying his line, his mind probed each and every possibility. There is a foreign game of strategy of the name of chess. It was a brilliant sort of game. There were several different assortments of units, such as knights, pawns, and rooks. Clarryl adored the knights. They were the trickiest of them all to control, and to predict. In many times, he has seen a staggered line of pawns in chess. That line was never static. Instead, it remained fluid, and protected their end of the board, which contained the most important piece: the king. Clarryl saw Tekari as the king, and he saw himself as a knight. He must protect the Commander Tekari, even if he must sacrifice himself to do so. And now, he surveyed his line of pawns, thinking of ways to adapt that line to destroy the Tarkans'. Something different, something unexpected.... It hit Clarryl. The best route available. The only route that promised forward progress. "Issue the following command to every captain of every ship, and to every admiral of every subsection," Clarryl commanded. After hearing a confirming "you're online," he proceeded to his order. "We have been issued to focus our firepower on the Tarkan light ships. To avoid throwing our light ships at the enemy, a slightly different formation is to be assumed. All ships of the line, all mid ships, advance. Ensure the light ships are in your rear. Light ships, hold their six. Focus all of your firepower upon the Tarkan light ships, even the Vixaian light ships to target Tarkan light ships. Stay out of range of the Tarkan medium ships and their ships of the line. I repeat: stay out of range. Artillery: attempt to avoid the flak, shoot around the light ships, and target the heavier ships behind. Pursue this order immediately." Clarryl sat back down into his steel throne, watching the new formation being birthed. "I hope to the All Mighty this works." |
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Post by Angrybirds on Nov 7, 2013 14:16:30 GMT -8
"Have they moved, my son?" Manial asked in a voice that sounded like creaking wood. "They've pulled back their fighters," the son answered gruffly. "Nothing else?" “No. Wait, they’re doing something.” The formation opposite them blurred messily on the display as it rearranged itself. The computer was having trouble keeping track of the mesh of ships moving in two different directions. Manial sighed with exasperation. Could he be any more vague? “What, my son?” Alasdair held in his frustration. “Hold on!” The enemy formation righted itself, allowing the computer to render it in a recognizable form. Slowly, it advanced towards them. Alasdair ran his eyes along it in an effort to see what had changed. It seemed identical to what it had been before. Then he noticed. “They’ve switched their front and rear lines, and are moving towards us.” He grinned. “Like lambs to the slaughter." Manial immediately raised a hand. “All forces, full stop.” Her son whirled on her. “What?!” |
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Post by Angrybirds on Nov 7, 2013 16:32:16 GMT -8
Etzan nodded with satisfaction. Excellent; Manial had seen it too. He had forgotten how unaffected she was by Tarkan sensibilities. To order a subordinate to not go into battle could be taken as a grievous insult. “Gran Beyvik, Ulkalor is reversing course,” one of his subordinates told him in a tone that dripped with contempt. “Should she be ordered to return to the battle?" “Ha! That coward,” chimed another. “No,” Etzan said, returning to his command chair. “Our right will support Sirga as she attacks. I have no further orders.” His subordinates looked at him, surprised, and then returned to their consoles. They knew better than to question him. Etzan had grown calm, strangely. Victory was all but achieved; there was no doubt in his mind, the path was clearly marked. From here, he would divide his force. One contingent would race to the mainland, led perhaps by Manial, to establish a defense there. Abanan’s forces would be lost by the time she got there, he figured, giving the alliance a perfect base from which to launch an invasion of the main empire. With luck, Manial’s mere presence would serve as a deterrent. A second contingent, Sirga’s force, would peel off and head to the Aeoneonatrix zone to tip the battle there. He would delve south, into the Farengeto zone. With the better part of the armies of Katar in ruins, there would be no stopping Etzan V’klor, Gran Beyvik, Emperor of the Tarkans. Empowered, Etzan’s lips curled into a grin. His enemy would want to surrender soon. Etzan was suddenly curious. “Lieutenant, you said that he demanded our surrender in the opening moments of the battle?” Laughable. “Yes, Gran Beyvik.” The female Lieutenant turned from her console to look at him. “Play it back for me.” Tekari’s voice echoed throughout the massive bridge of the palace ship: "Gran Beyvik Etzan V'Klor, I offer you one last chance to surrender. Stand down and this conflict can be averted.
Your empire will be granted a reasonable deal and you may even keep your crown and title. Continue, and I guarantee nothing." “Look at him now!” one of his subordinates cried. General laughter ensued. Etzan was not laughing. “Silence!” he ordered in his booming voice. He had latched on to something. A similar message had been issued to him in a different time. “Do we have the communication logs of the Isaav during the Miperiors Conquest?” Etzan asked the female lieutenant. "We do, your grace." "I want to hear the message we received from the Farengeto. The first one." It came over the comm system. "Attention vessels of the Grand Tarkan Empire. This is Admiral Tekari of the non-aligned Farengeto Republic.
Your warships are entering the territory of our soverign ally, the Miperiors Empire.
We request that your fleets stand down so that we may negotiate and prevent this conflict. This is a diplomatic force,
but should you refuse to desist the Farengeto Navy will take action. This is neither a declaration of war nor a threat, simply a warning." They are one and the same, Etzan realized; both the messages and the foes. Thus, the picture was complete, or so he thought. He rose from his throne with a smile of intense satisfaction. "Allow me to issue a declaration of my own." Time to end this game. "Admiral Tekari. You have done all that the honor of war commands. As we speak, my beloved sister overwhelms your left flank.
Your center and right are no better off. You are beaten. I invite you now to save your life and those of your men.You of all people should know that the Tarkans treat their prisoners well." |
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Post by Tek0516 on Nov 9, 2013 21:37:27 GMT -8
Tekari played back the message several times as he contemplated his course of action. The entire bridge had fallen silent after the message, its crew staring at him. How could he have let this happen? All of his plans crumbling around him. Everything he had worked for, ruined by this stupid war. The fate of Katar torn apart by a foolish resolution which dragged them into a war they, even when it was declared, stood a low chace of winning. His left flank was pulling back in collapse, their defeat seemingly inevitable. Tekari would not allow things to end like this. It was time to execute his last resort. Tekari stood up and activated a public channel. "And so it would seem that I am defeated, Gran Beyvik Etzan V'Klor. But do not allow yourself do be decieved. "Have you ever heard of the Fall of Cholsav? 40 Standard years ago the races of Farengeto were locked in a brutal war. After several years the war had stalemated and the Lagahti, seeking to break it, developed a new weapon, called the F.L.E.I.J.A. They would deploy it against the Modian world of Cholsav. Within hours its fleet was annihilated and the planet an uninhabitable wasteland. When the war ended the nations of Farengeto banned the weapon and destroyed the project. Something which persists" To the confusion of the crew a warhead was launched the Eternal, immediately arcing towards their right flank. "I dedicated everything to this empire, I put my entire life towards this military. I will avenge what happened a [Farengeto] year ago. I will do whatever I must to win this war. But no matter what happens and whoever arrests me, be it your people or my own, I want to make one thing clear: everything I have done has been for the good of Farengeto. I'm not proud of what I'm going to do, but laws means nothing if we're dead." In a flash the missile vanished into warp before reappearing in the heart of the Tarkan fleet. Before they could react the missile detonated. Over 4,000 ships would be caught in the explosion. The entire Farengeto navy had fallen silent in shock and horror; though strengthened through refinement they had all seen the sight in history class. It was Paetag Dalir, Tekari's Modian first officer, that was first to speak, still audible on the broadcast "Admiral Tekari... It can't be... You used a F.L.E.I.J.A.? |
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Post by shredderdx on Nov 10, 2013 12:35:03 GMT -8
Overwhelmed with bewilderment, Clarryl stared at the battlefield projection. The Tarkan flank that he faced suffered an explosion he had never seen before. But why that flank? Why not the central, or to their left? Why help the Vixaians? Two options laid before him: to flee, or to fight. Clarryl was no coward, but he wished for the survival of the Vixaian soldiers. If he could defeat his flank, then perhaps he could lend his fleet to help defeat the other enemy vessels. It was unknown to Clarryl whether or not the rest of his allied fleet would flee. If they did, he would die if he stayed and fought. If he didn't, but they did, then they would die.
He chose to fight.
Uncertain of the possibility of radiation emitted from the explosion, he grew weary of the blast radius. However, trying to maneuver around it could prove to be deadly to the rest of the fleet. So, Clarryl proceeded to issue two commands. "Continue to pursue the previous command. Half the bombers, engage with the line ships attacking our rear." They were still on the defensive, and needed to go on the offensive.
This decision may haunt him for the rest of his life, however short that may be.
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Post by Angrybirds on Nov 10, 2013 23:38:24 GMT -8
The flash was more than visible from the Manial's flagship. It was a blinding purple that shone brighter than a million suns, blotching out everything but itself. Seconds later, lights went out, control panels burst, equipment went flying. The entire ship rocked with the power of the F.L.E.I.J.A.. And yet, in the depths of space, death does not make a sound. Alasdair Ulkalor was vaguely aware of having been thrown to the floor. The inside of his skull seared with pain as if somebody had taken an iron to it. Manial's son heard, and saw nothing. He tried to open his eyes, but could distinguish only blackness. The ceiling, he hoped. He turned his head to one side. Shapes. There were shapes, vaguely defined images barely distinguishable from the void that surrounded them. Some were crawling on the floor, others were struggling to remain upright, while others still were perfectly inert. Alasdair blinked. A red light suddenly obscured his vision, and then was gone. He waited, thinking that any second he would slip into the void and never wake again. Three seconds, then another red flash. A bomb? A weapon? Three seconds. Another flash. The emergency lights, Alasdair realized. He tried to prop himself up with his forearms, but the movement sent a violent pang of pain through his skull as if someone had struck him. He lay back. Slowly, he brought a hand up to the side of his head where it hurt the most. He touched it. It was moist. He drew back his hand and brought it in front of him to examine the blood and thereby determine the severity of the wound, but he could not see the hand. It was a malformed shape hovering in his line of vision. He could not focus on it. Then, suddenly, dark shapes were upon him. There were two of them, perhaps three, grabbing him by the arms and torso, hefting him up. He did not struggle. He had not the energy, though he did not want to die. A fear overtook him, and he found himself praying to his mother's gods--any gods who might hear him--to let him see the end of this day. The shapes dropped him in what felt like a rough leather chair with high armrests. His head lolled to one side, and he fell into unconsciousness. He awoke a while later. How much time had passed--a minute, an hour, several days, a month, years--he could not tell. His head still throbbed, though he could faintly hear noises around him--the crackling of broken technology, the vague beeping of a seemingly distant alarm. Everything was surreal. He opened his eyes. Hanging before him was the broad face of a Tarkan, a breaded beard flowing down the sides of his face. He was shouting, though Alasdair could not make out the words. "Beyvik!--You are--dead--They--enemy--My lord!" Alasdair closed his eyes again. It was no use, he needed to rest, to sleep, to sleep... Two hands grasped him violently by the shoulders and shook him. "My lord!" he heard the Tarkan say, "You are Beyvik! Your mother is dead!" Dead? Alasdair did not understand. "My lord, open your eyes! We need your command!" Alasdair did as he was told. He looked up at the Tarkan with vacant brown eyes. Staring back at him was Dar'shan Krivanir, his mother's first officer. "I... I can't..." Alasdair managed to whisper. Dar'shan released him, letting him fall back violently against the back of the chair. It hurt. "Contact all remaining ships!" he vaguely heard Dar'shan yell. "Order them to fall back! We need to regroup!" Then Alasdair remembered no more. |
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Post by Angrybirds on Nov 12, 2013 9:59:34 GMT -8
On the bridge of the palace ship, alarms rang loudly from all sides. "Battalions six through ten, confirmed lost!" "I can't raise the left wing!" Etzan stood at the center of the chaos, dumbstruck, eyes riveted on the malfunctioning viewscreen. Where is Manial?! He raged inwardly. Had he just lost his entire left flank -- a third of his army? Strategy and tactics are useless against that kind of power! "The heavy reserves were also caught in the blast!" Etzan snarled, frustration welling inside of him. No! I will not lose here!A number of bridge officers, finding their consoles to be useless in the wake of the explosion, had crowded around the leftmost windows. Etzan turned his gaze in the direction they were all staring. It was truly a sight to see. Where previously there had been nearly three thousand ships, there was now empty space. Incandescent debris flew in all directions, forming a faintly glowing ring around the void. "Get back to your posts!" Etzan boomed over the chaos. "We have not lost!" The viewscreen was still useless, forcing him to recall an image of the battlefield from memory. He had to act quickly. "All surviving forces on the left flank," he began. "Retreat to behind the main line, rally to me!" He then turned to his helmsman. "Move the palace ship to the left wing, and order the remaining reserve light and heavy battalions to follow." He had to keep his left from collapsing, but if they could fire another shot... Could he shoot the missile down while it was at warp? No, it had been going too fast. In that case... He rose his voice for the next order. "All remaining units, charge! Close with the enemy!" If they dared fire a second time, they would be destroying their own forces along with his. Any sane opponent would not risk it, but... You are fighting a cornered animal, Etzan, he heard Manial whisper from a long-forgotten age. They had gathered on the bridge of the Ha'jar before the assault of Arkheer castle. Ardir, along with other key members of his retinue, had stood beside him, while Manial sat opposite them. She looked exactly the same as she did now. With all of his options exhausted, all of his resources spent, his army crumbling, nowhere to go, he fights with the force of desperation. There is no price he is unwilling to pay.
How do I stop it?! There seemed to be no answer. At that moment, the viewscreen crackled to life, displaying a vaguely blurred image of the battlefield that quickly gained focus. "We have sensors back!" one of his bridge officers called. Etzan devoured the enemy formation with his eyes, desperately looking to taste some weakness, some flaw he could exploit. "Find me the ship that fired that weapon!" he yelled. A crazy idea had taken form in his mind. It was honed in upon, a ship at the very center of the KSA fleet. Reinvigorated, Etzan grinned. Virtually unprotected. It was crazy, but he had no other choice. |
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Post by Tek0516 on Nov 17, 2013 8:22:38 GMT -8
Paetag Dalir could scarcely believe what he had just seen. How could Admiral Tekari have used a F.L.E.I.J.A.? None of those accursed weapons had been built in Farengeto since the project was destroyed after the Great War. But despite of every military treaty in Faregneto they still found their way to the battlefield this day. Somewhere among his superiors he was being lied to. How high could this go? All he knew was of the executor the plot lay in front of him.
Tekari was as cold as ever as he continued to speak, "Etzan, you have witnessed the true power of the Farengeto Republic. I urge you to stand down, for that was only the first missile."
Only the first? Dalir was horrified; had the 6 billion of his kind slaughtered that day meant nothing? Dalir stood up and drew his sidearm as Tekari cut the transmission.
"Admiral Tekari, you are under arrest for the possession and usage of class A illegal weaponry. I order you to stand down or be forcibly removed. War or not, there are laws to follow and you have violated the highest." Other bridge staff began to stand up, clearly also in dissent.
"Dalir, this is hardly the time. Can we not save this for after the battle?" Tekari didn't even bother to face him. How could he have been so emotionless after unleashing such horrendous destruction?
Before he could respond Bespir T'Jobix, the weapons control officer, yelled to him, "Missile bay loading! He's going to launch another F.L.E.I.J.A!"
"Restrain him!" Dalir yelled to a pair of Security Officers, "Can you shut it down?"
"I'm locked out of the systems! I can't stop it from here!"
Dalir opened a broadcast on the Farengeto fleet channel. "Admiral Tekari has willingly violated Farengeto law and used the illegal F.L.E.I.J.A. superweapon, the Great War's weapon of massacre. As such we have judged him to no longer be fit to command this vessel or the fleet and hereby remove him from both. He is preparing to fire once again, but has locked us out from control of the system. To all Eternal personnel, we must penetrate this section before the next warhead can be fired! Location data transmitted."
The channel exploded into cries of support and protest, and within minutes Tekari loyalists were combating the rest of the crew outside the chamber. The loyalists were hopelessly outnumbered, and not wanting to hurt each other with the fight rapidly turning against them, the loyalist forces surrendered. Blasting through the door, they found themselves in a full automated firing station as it prepared to load the next F.L.E.I.J.A. into the tube. Though automated defence turrets would put up a fight they too failed to hold them back. Soon after the warhead clattered to the ground, followed by a series of panicked and ultimately unnecessary flinches.
With the crisis resolved, back on the bridge Dalir faced a more pressing matter. With their left flank overrun and their forward flank failing they were running out of time. Yet somehow, even with everything going on Tekari had managed to maintain some semblance of control to the fleet, commanding the battle even as his crew mutinied. Did he even need them?
"Open a channel with Admiral Gordanan Khrelal. He's the senior commander now."
"He's dead, sir!"
"We don't have time for this... open a channel with all surviving admirals!"
The images of 8 admirals appeared on the bridge. Dalir swore, 2 of them dead or injured already?
"Admirals," Dalir began, "as you know Tekari has been removed from control. Our left flank is gone and our right flank is helpless to stop their advance which is rapidly encircling us. Retreat is no longer a viable option. We have no choice but to surrender. But as the ranking officers the choice is yours."
The vote was unanimous, even as explosions caused them to lose communications with Admiral Rovot Fallapadax.
"Make sure the others know." told the Communications Officer Murslon
Dalir hailed the Tarkans on a public channel.
"Gran Beyvik of the Grand Tarkan Empire, this is First Officer Dalir of the Farengeto flagship RSS Eternal. Admiral Tekari, the one solely responsible for the illegal launch of the F.L.E.I.J.A., has been removed from control of this armada. We have agreed to surrender to you.
Dalir cut the transmission. "Destroy all remaining F.L.E.I.J.A. warheads. Purge any data on them from our systems. It's bad enough that we have them."
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Post by shredderdx on Nov 17, 2013 18:46:14 GMT -8
"Sir, activity on the allied channel," spoke a technician reading a monitor.
"Play it from the beginning," Clarryl ordered. What he heard shook him to the core. Tekari had fallen by his own men? What betrayal was this? Such disloyalty could not have arrived at a worse moment. The battle hung in the balance, and they were preoccupied with laws. As much as the Vixaians loved morality, victory for the good could not be surrendered to it. His thoughts were soon interrupted by activity from a public channel.
Their allies had surrendered. The men under Blissthenes Clarryl looked to him. They wondered if they Vixaians would surrender as well. Clarryl knew what he would not do. He looked to his advisor, Detriisthen Treth, the one who he had warmed his mind with. "You know we cannot surrender," Treth told him.
"We will never," Clarryl responded. "Open a private channel with this Officer Dalir," he commanded. He knew whether he would like a person or not very quickly. Clarryl already knew he would not like First Officer Dalir. Betraying his commanding officer, and then surrendering to the enemy, all are actions that are hard to look over.
"You're live," a technician stated.
"First Officer Dalir of the Farengeto Allies, we cannot surrender. Whatever laws you may have towards weapons of mass destruction, they must not allow the many to suffer. If Admiral Tekari is solely responsible, then do not put the lives of your brethren and allies into the hands of the enemy. None of us will live to tell the horrors we would face. Stand, my ally, for your Republic, for all that is good and just. Stand for freedom against tyranny, against the evils of this Universe. Stand with me. Together, we can defeat our Tarkan foe. They shall know our combined wrath. We will conclude this battle in victory for us, and for the reason why we fight: for the Miperiors!
Clarryl's voice rose with excitement and purpose. "Do not fail our brothers. They count on us to save them! We must liberate our brothers, the Miperiors, from the evil Tarkans. When they look back to this day, they will be grateful to us for what we did, not for what we did not do! We will achieve this victory. Not in our own name, but in the name of the Miperiors! Stand with me, my brother, and fight the evils before us!"
His men looked to him with astonishment. Never have they seen him seething with such energy, such vigor. They felt drawn to him, and trusted him in his objective. It was as if he emitted a new light; a light that gave him great strength and protection. They saw him as invincible.
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