the main issue with that is if we let the inner sphere get their shit kicked in long enough than we could see our tech superiority get lost especially seeing as the clans have some seriously busted mech technology
The Lords of Ruin -- Battletech/Killzone
- Thread starter prometheus110
- Start date
- Crossover
Eh only parts of them at like that and those are mostly insane clans like smoke Jaguar and the """super""" soldiers that have been made, also if memory is correct all there fighter pilots are mutants with strange skulls but can't keep up with IS fighter pilots because they're not insane enough to actually effectively do their job.
0t4n1z3r019
Member of the HAFPTG
- Location
- Philippines
Well, one IS pilot rammed her ASF into the bridge of a Clan WarShip, where the crash killed an IlKhan, so yeah.
IS Pilots are balls to the walls crazy.
Well they have to compensate for the fact everyone in the IS focuses on how to make more and better mechs above any other military technology.
Forgothrax
Not Going Gently
- Pronouns
- He/Him
As I believe Prom said we we might have a tech trade opportunity between ORDI members in Discord, here are some thoughts:
Alphard Republic: Offer them Helghan Lasers and the necessary preceeding techs to work on Sub-Capital Semi-Autonomous. Hand over our Major bonus. OR work on KF drives and hand over our KF bonus OR Heavy Orbital Yards OR Ferro-Carbide OR Chameleon Light Polarization Shield OR Primitive Gravity Lift OR Standard Gravity plates, handing over bonuses/preceeding techs as appropriate. Any of those techs are useful as well as not being something that we might prioritize ourselves in the future.
Capellans: Offer to start Robotic Workers and hand it over to them if they will trade the both Swarm techs in the future. Ante this up as appropriate to get the trade accomplished, including offering the slot we're using on Swarm for something else that we might both want. This is important because we don't need to both be working on Swarm tech. Might offer Orbital Yards as well. Add some more techs as needed to get the Capellans to sign some pardons for the Trinity League leadership.
Aurigans: None specific, ask what they might want for Influence or whatnot. Offer our Major Energy Weapons bonus for the lasers.
Canopians: Nullsig. Offer Stealth Coating and Long-Ranged Sensors (when done) for it.
Taurians: Nothing comes to mind.
Overall ORDI: Offer Improved PAL, Enhanced Compression Algorithims, promise High-Gain Transceivers, and spend Influence to get more support for the Outback. At minimum, request that they support us and spread the payment out for helping the Outback nations set up their tax and judicial systems after they help us finish Admin. Depending on what's possible, see if we can get them to help with Housing and Electrification in sequence too. I'd trade for three turns on Housing and three turns on Electrification, which should be enough to get the Housing done and Electrification done to the point it only requires another turn (or the FAS/URC pitch in some extra AP and get 'er done).
Alphard Republic: Offer them Helghan Lasers and the necessary preceeding techs to work on Sub-Capital Semi-Autonomous. Hand over our Major bonus. OR work on KF drives and hand over our KF bonus OR Heavy Orbital Yards OR Ferro-Carbide OR Chameleon Light Polarization Shield OR Primitive Gravity Lift OR Standard Gravity plates, handing over bonuses/preceeding techs as appropriate. Any of those techs are useful as well as not being something that we might prioritize ourselves in the future.
Capellans: Offer to start Robotic Workers and hand it over to them if they will trade the both Swarm techs in the future. Ante this up as appropriate to get the trade accomplished, including offering the slot we're using on Swarm for something else that we might both want. This is important because we don't need to both be working on Swarm tech. Might offer Orbital Yards as well. Add some more techs as needed to get the Capellans to sign some pardons for the Trinity League leadership.
Aurigans: None specific, ask what they might want for Influence or whatnot. Offer our Major Energy Weapons bonus for the lasers.
Canopians: Nullsig. Offer Stealth Coating and Long-Ranged Sensors (when done) for it.
Taurians: Nothing comes to mind.
Overall ORDI: Offer Improved PAL, Enhanced Compression Algorithims, promise High-Gain Transceivers, and spend Influence to get more support for the Outback. At minimum, request that they support us and spread the payment out for helping the Outback nations set up their tax and judicial systems after they help us finish Admin. Depending on what's possible, see if we can get them to help with Housing and Electrification in sequence too. I'd trade for three turns on Housing and three turns on Electrification, which should be enough to get the Housing done and Electrification done to the point it only requires another turn (or the FAS/URC pitch in some extra AP and get 'er done).
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Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
I'm gonna make an argument for having them focus on either KF Drive tech, or Heavy Orbital Yards, because neither of those are things that are super pressing for other Successor States to try and infiltrate the Alphard Republic and steal, and I feel like it'd be harder to steal it from any of the other ORDI states, whereas if they get research on KF Drives or Heavy Orbital Yards... big deal. We only want either of those techs to have extra options. But the Alphard Republic would actually heavily benefit from having those techs themselves since it's doubling down on one of their strengths, their Germanium resources, and being able to build superheavy ships or design new JumpShips is useful for them.
Broadly agree.
Yep, give them our Energy Weapons research bonus so they complete it and get that much closer to Helghan Standard Pulse Lasers.
Yee. This is a good grab.
Getting both Housing and Electric done within the next few years would be way better than having it take a decade, so this also broadly has my support.
Forgothrax
Not Going Gently
- Pronouns
- He/Him
A good point made on tech being easy to steal from them. I was leaning towards KF anyway, because it would be something they'd probably be down with once we passed them our KF bonus, and it's relatively worthless to us except for one single minimal example: replicating the Bug-Eye as an information gathering ship. Which is very, very useful, but would be very, very annoying to have to research a sizable tech for all of one relatively minor use. Heavy Orbital is something that one of the IS States might have, or at least have enough knowledge that we can steal a bonus for it. I don't think we really *need* 1.5mt ships for war purposes yet, but they would be great to have for logistical reasons. Even better mining and factory ships basically.
I think if my math is right, we can be done with admin/judges/taxes in 3050, housing in 3051-52, and electricity in 3055. At that point, we're down to having Industry finish around 57 (maybe sooner if they are able to start putting more AP towards it themselves), and then we're just down to standing up militaries and a healthcare system. I really want the healthcare system done but tbh bad housing and lack of electricity probably will lead to just as much death and provide more widespread quality of life. Obviously we'd be on timeskip, but I would hope the HR's leaders would be able to ascertain if they actually need to stand up a true military right away or not, depending on how poor the relationship with the FS is.
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
The treaty ends in 3058, and we can ostensibly stand up a military in either state in two years, if they are also dumping AP into it as well.
I proposed that it would be impossible for either the FWL or FS together to prosecute a war against ORDI any sooner than 3060, plus or PLUS a year or two on top of that, and they wouldn't have good odds until 3070. So it could wait, assuming nothing outside context happens like the Helghan Republic appearing in the Periphery was to the Inner Sphere.
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- Location
- SEAsia
- Pronouns
- Thou
Arent they working on million tonner yeards?
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
They are. They'll be done at the end of 3049. So they have the tech already.
Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
Honestly I want to drop two specific researches on there laps now they have joined ORDI. First and foremost they need autonomous systems to jump start there industry. From there I would say giving them ultraband transmissions for better communication will also be helpful for them.
Kerensky's Children
prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
OOC: Content Warning for blood and medical procedures. I'd advise skipping the middle story if you don't like medical imagery or, like me, can't read it without imagining the sensations.
Linden's Bluff Outskirts, Holmsbu
Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
24 December 3048
Stephen's PPCs caught the enemy mech as it crested the stony rise, twin bolts of seething lightning slamming into the Shadow Hawk's cockpit and decapitating the machine in a single blow. Pushing down the thrill of victory that arose as the outdated machine pitched backwards and fell out of sight, the clan warrior scanned the compressed footage displayed on his neurohelmet's HUD and jerked his mech back as something whipped past its shoulder.
"Stravag!" Stephen cursed as the new foe, a Hunchback, waddled over the hill, smoke spilling from the barrel of its AC/20.
Throwing his Warhammer IIC into reverse and pivoting to face the awkward warmachine, Stephen dragged his golden targeting reticles towards its legs and steadied his breathing. Located on the other side of the desert valley they were fighting in, the Spheroid MechWarrior's shot had been born of desperation rather than good sense, luck rather than skill responsible for the near-hit. No doubt seeking vengeance for its sibmate, flame flashed from the enemy MechWarrior's AC/20. An instant later, Stephen's cockpit vibrated as the shot whistled high overhead, the cannon's thunderous roar following moments later.
Fool! A part of him thought even as the rest of his mind focused on his task, the golden reticles finally settling over one of the machine's legs.
Short and heavy like its namesake, the Hunchback was only partway down the rocky hill when Stephen squeezed his firing studs, heat washing through his cockpit as the twin ER PPCs vented their rage. For a heartbeat, it was as if the sun's glare had redoubled in strength, the boiling fury of the particle bolts erasing all shadows from the desert valley. Then the bolts struck home, and the Hunchback's right leg gave way, armour plating and titanium alloy bones vaporising under the assault. Caught off balance by the sudden loss of its leg, the humanoid machine went sprawling, face first, to the ground, rock scree spraying out in all directions as it tumbled.
Stilling his mech and settling its particle cannons over the Hunchback, Stephen waited to see if the machine would stir, his fingers itching with the urge to fire again. Drawing on his clan's totem, the Snow Raven, for strength, Stephen swallowed the wasteful feeling and eyed the mech cautiously; sensor data projected into his neurohelmet swarming around the fallen titan. A moment passed, then another, and then a quiet beep rang out, and the flock of numbers flatlined as the Hunchback's reactor SCRAMed and shut down.
Dead or unconscious, his foe was helpless and would be made a bondsman as soon as they won the battle. Smiling thinly at the thought, Stephen was already moving back down the hill to link up with the rest of his Star when his radio crackled to life, and a familiar voice poured forth.
"A commendable shot. You were aiming for the Hunchback's legs, quiaff?"
Cold as Lum's seas, Star Commander Aurora Cole's voice was like a plunge in ice water, the heat of Stephen's cockpit forgotten at the bloodnamed warrior's tone.
"Aff, Star Commander," he replied cautiously. "That makes three MechWarriors this battle."
A snort sounded over the radio, his commander's voice following close behind. "Freeborn warriors. Sloppy and undisciplined; too weak to test our mettle."
"Aff, Star Commander," he repeated.
Stephen dared not say anything more lest the woman's scorn turn on him, the sweat that prickled his brow cold at the thought.
Turning his gaze over the battlefield, he let the desert's undulating landscape dominate his attention, his eyes flitting from place to place as he scoured his surroundings for the telltale silhouette of spheroid opponents. Pink and tan and threaded with the occasional tuft of hardy grass, the desert surrounding Linden's Bluff was the polar opposite of the snowy tundra Stephen's sibko had trained in; the heat of the place sending wavering columns of hot air high into the atmosphere. Here and there, he spotted the rest of his Star as they finished off their opponents: Vandal's Kitfox B battering away at a Wolverine's armour with its UAC/10, Taline's Helion A throwing wave after wave of missiles into the air against an unfortunate Manticore, Eliot's Adder D picking off cowardly APCs attempting to flee the battlefield... and the Star Commander's Hellbringer standing on a rise overlooking all of it with an imperious air.
As if waiting for his attention, Stephen's fellow Snow Ravens suddenly dispatched their respective foes as one, great gouts of oily black smoke rising across the valley as the spheroid machines collapsed. At the sight, the feeling Stephen had squashed so ruthlessly before came roaring back into his mind, his heartbeat suddenly accelerating until its pounding drive matched that of an autocannon. The Star Commander, however, proved less easily moved by their victory, the triumph over twice their number warming her voice not a single degree.
"Charlie Star," she said from her spot atop the rise. "Form up on my position and make ready to move to point Kilo. The spheroids are about to spring the Star Captain's trap."
As the others in his Star acknowledged the orders and rushed to join the Star Commander, Stephen fought the urge to scowl as he sent his mech lumbering after them.
As if on cue, Eliot's voice broke over the radio. "That means you, also, Stephen."
A sudden rage flashed through Stephen's mind as he pictured the chortling warrior in his cockpit, the Adder standing beside the Star Commander's Hellbringer by the time he'd crossed even a quarter of the distance. Despite its killing power, ably demonstrated against his earlier foes, it chaffed Stephen that he was not permitted to pilot a lighter mech; the Star Commander's orders the leash that kept him out of his favoured Kit Fox. Heavily armed and armoured though the Warhammer IIC might have been, it was 20 kilometres an hour slower than the Star's next slowest mech, and his fellow warriors had not let him forget it. That the Star had needed the long-range firepower that two ER PPCs could provide to complete their harassment mission had been inarguable, but that it had to be Stephen... Alas, he had scored highly in his sibko's marksmanship trials, and one look at the Star Commander had told him that he would not win a Trial of Refusal if he'd tried.
Promising that he would settle things with Eliot in the Circle of Equals, Stephen turned his mind to the plan the Star Commander had mentioned. Devised by Star Captain Magnus after he'd won the bid to take Holmsbu, the plan called for Charlie Star to harry the edges of the defence perimeter established by the planet's defenders and force them to pull back to Linden's Bluff. Rising like a castle from the otherwise flat expanse of desert floor that surrounded it, the craggy bluff would limit the spheroid's freedom of movement while simultaneously allowing Clan Snow Raven's mechs all the freedom they could want. Once pressed against the rocky rise, all three Stars would pick away at them like a flock of Snow Ravens on the tundra.
Perhaps, Stephen dared to think as he joined the rest of his Star, I can even find a worthy challenge among those surats…
Infirmary A-17, Nouméa, New Caledonia
Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
30th December 3048
A boom echoed from somewhere nearby as an unseen artillery round detonated, screams and moans tearing into the air as the makeshift infirmary shook with wild abandon. An instant later, the animal stink of fear rose to join the slaughterhouse stench of blood and bile, the vile bouquet hanging heavy like an all-smothering cloak. Busy with a wounded Menig, Doctor Kanata Albrecktsson barely noticed either, every iota of his attention taken up by the soldier screaming and writhing beneath his hands.
"Hold him still!" He shouted to a passing orderly, deep bags under the woman's eyes and her fatigues smeared with blood and other substances.
As the woman pinned the man's shoulders to the cot, Albrecktsson returned his attention to the Menig's wound, each frantic beat of the man's heart sending another wave of hot blood gushing out of the hole in his thigh. With so free a flow, he could tell the blood vessel had been severed by whatever weapon had injured the man. Given its elasticity, the ragged end of the blood vessel would have drawn itself further up the man's thigh and away from the obscene wound, complicating any effort to save his life. In ordinary times, a team of doctors and nurses would have pumped the man full of drugs, used forceps to clamp the artery shut, and returned the man's blood to his heart —closing the loop at the cost of temporarily starving the limb of blood.
But these were not ordinary times, and they lacked the tools, time, drugs, and spare hands.
Inured to the repulsive sensation long ago, Kanata clamped one gloved hand on the man's thigh and dug the other into the wound, his fingers questing blindly for the man's lacerated femoral artery.
Where are you? He demanded as naked muscle spasmed beneath his touch, the unmedicated man's yelling intensifying. Where?
"Doctor!" Someone shouted from elsewhere in the infirmary, just one voice among a hundred.
Ignoring it, Kanata continued his search, victory hissing between his teeth as, somewhere inside the Menig's leg, his fingers found the rapid-fire pulse of warmth that could only be the wound he sought. Suddenly, the Menig's shoulders jerked as he let out a high-pitched yelp, and the fountain of heat vanished.
Holding the soldier's thigh in a white knuckle grip to stop the artery retreating further up his leg, Kanata snarled, "Hold him still, damn it!"
As the grim-faced woman pressed both arms down on the man's shoulders, Kanata again reached for his wounded artery, blood dribbling around his fingers and staining the cot's thin blanket a deep red-black. A moment later, he again felt the fountain of heat that was the man's bleeding artery and reached for it with his fingers, gloved hands slipping off the blood-slicked tube a moment later.
"Come on," he muttered as he tried again, the pencil-thick tube slipping out of reach once more.
"Come on!"
A whistling shriek rang out, and then another boom. Louder and closer than the last, the blast sent a whole body twitch running through Kanata, his fingers unconsciously pulling back.
He scowled. Damn it!
"Doctor."
Like the Menig's screaming, the softly spoken demand was a distraction he couldn't afford. Again, he ignored it and reached for the artery.
Another try. Another failure. Another oscillation in the noise.
"Doctor."
The word was louder. More insistent. Still a distraction.
I've nearly got it! Kanata told the voice as he fumbled for the artery, blood leaking around his glove and letting out a sickening squelch with every motion.
Whatever the voice wanted, it could wait. Once he stabilised the soldier, he could help whoever else was injured.
"Doctor!"
The shouted word snatched Doctor Albrecktsson's attention as efficiently as a slap. Halfway to yelling for quiet, he paused as he saw the orderly staring at him with a face utterly devoid of emotion.
"He's gone," the orderly reported tonelessly, and an instant later, so was she —the blonde-haired young woman flying down the row of cots to assist another screaming soldier.
Glancing back at the Menig, Kanata realised it was true; the man's unseeing eyes stared up at the infirmary's cracked ceiling and his body lying in the peaceful sleep of the dead. Cursing, Kanata withdrew his hands and snapped off his blood-slicked gloves, tossing them into a nearby bin fairly overflowing with their siblings. Plucking a tag from his pocket, he scrawled the dead man's cause of death in a rough hand and dropped it beside his dog tags as yet more orderlies arrived to take his body to the others.
Glancing around the infirmary for the next-most desperate patient as the men carried the corpse away, exhaustion washed over Kanata as he realised just how many injured and dying filled the makeshift infirmary; cot after cot filled with bodies and the air heavy with the scent of their blood. Built decades ago to serve the DCMS as a bunkhouse in what was then the Rasalhague Military District, the building was long, low, and armoured enough to survive a mech stepping on its ceiling. When he'd arrived to set up the regiment's infirmary, he'd thought it more than adequate. Now, though...
Leaving the men to their grizzly work, Kanata took two steps towards his next patient —a woman silently seated on a dirty cot, the skin of her face melted like candle wax— before he heard a piercing shriek that set his teeth on edge. For a moment, Kanata stood among the cots as if lost before, in a flash of understanding, instinct took over, and he threw himself to the floor. Halfway there, the whistling ceased.
As a waterfall is to a tap, so too was the sound that followed akin to a bang.
With a roar that defied description, the artillery shell detonated somewhere outside the Rasalhaugian infirmary, and everything everywhere seemed to leap in all directions. Caught by the blast, Kanata felt the shockwave pick him up before being slammed against the foot of an occupied cot; a nova-hot flare of pain ripped through his mind and boiled away any thoughts he'd with its pristine brightness. An instant later, the world seemed to jump like a scratched holovid from one moment to the next, and Kanata found himself lying atop a floor sticky with old blood; the infirmary's noise drowned out by tinnitus and his mind utterly blank.
All but insensate, he lay there amidst the ruin of other people's lives for what felt like an age, his world reduced to the blood-encrusted floor and the hammering of his heart. Staring at a droplet of blood as it flowed across the ferrocrete floor, he suddenly felt as if he'd forgotten something; some insistent pressure at the back of his mind shouting at him to do something, though he could not tell what. Slowly, like a great machine shaking off rust and roaring to life, he felt his mind unstick itself.
A scream, loud and shrill, pierced tinnitus' insulation as effectively as any bomb as Doctor Albrecktsson returned to consciousness. All at once, bile surged into Kanata's throat as he realised where he lay, the sickening discovery followed by a second, albeit lesser, explosion of pain as his body remembered that it was injured. Swallowing the acidic swill, Kanata fought back waves of nausea and fatigue and slowly dragged himself to unsteady feet with leaden arms, muscles burning in protest as he hauled himself up by the legs of a cot. Swaying despite himself, he gazed in dull shock at the scene before him.
Filling the infirmary with an almost impenetrable haze, Kanata could only squint at the thick grey dust that swirled all about him, unseen air currents and blurred shadows stirring it to a dreadful life. Slowly, moving with shuffling steps and echoing coughs, the blurred shadows resolved themselves into the silhouettes of people —doctors, nurses, orderlies, and patients all stumbling out of cloud one by one, the curtain of dust parting momentarily to offer a glimpse of a hole in the building's far wall. Shaking his head as if to deny the damage, the very act sending a fresh wave of nausea through him, Kanata paused mid-motion as a keening wail arose from within the cloud.
Dust stinging his eyes and tinnitus ringing in his ears, Doctor Albrecktsson sucked in a lungful of air and plunged into the cloud.
ComStar First Circuit Compound
Hilton Head Island, North America, Terra
07 January 3049
Primus Ulthan Everson grunted as the tri-vid display blinked on and bathed the gathering of Precentors in a harsh white light, the glare vanishing as the ComStar logo dissolved to reveal the familiar face of Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht hovering in the air. Silver-haired and craggy-faced, Focht seemed to Ulthan every inch the military leader he was, his acquisition by ComStar one of the Precentor's proudest achievements. It had taken no small amount of diplomacy with the Combine to see the man handed over to ComStar, but it had proven to be a wise investment; the man was more than up to the challenge of rebuilding the ComGuard in secret after Waterly's tantrum.
"Primus Everson, Precentors," the recording began with a bow of the head, shadows the colour of midnight in the man's eyes. "The Peace of Blake be with you."
"As I record this, I can see dropships bearing regiments worth of combat forces flying past my window. While my illustrious hosts have proven reluctant to discuss where they are bound, they have been remarkably open about their plans to invade the Inner Sphere. As such, I can only surmise that they will have already launched combat operations across the Coreward Periphery by the time you receive this missive."
No surprise there, Everson thought as he scanned the faces of the other Precentors for their reactions.
While some had chosen to appear in person and others via hologram, all kept their faces impassive at the news. Political animals at heart, instincts honed over decades enforced a strange homogeneity over ComStar's leadership, tranquil expressions hiding beating tiger hearts. Unpaused, the recording of the man continued, words Ulthaun had been playing back in his head ever since the recording arrived on Terra mere hours ago pouring from the tri-vids's speakers.
"Similarly," the man smiled thinly. "While I imagine that news of the invader's origins has already reached you from those HPGs in the path of their invasion, I am obligated to inform the First Circuit that we are not facing another Helghan situation."
That triggered a reaction from the Precentors, a quiet hiss of relief rising as if from nowhere at the admission, and a glance revealing looks of relief on the faces of Precentors Tharkad and Rasalhague that vanished just as quickly.
Ulthan couldn't blame them. Ever since the Helghan Republic had flashed into existence in the Periphery, it had been nothing but trouble for ComStar. Tremendously developed on an industrial and intellectual level, it had proven itself a wildly destabilising influence on the galaxy, every move it made in ComStar's favour countered by an equal and opposite move elsewhere.
"However," came the words Ulthan knew would follow, the First Circuit's relief evaporating in moments. "I believe this to be a greater threat."
Someone scoffed. Another swore. In the chamber's darkness, Ulthan couldn't tell who was responsible for which but made a mental note to check the infrared cameras after the meeting had concluded.
"As was made abundantly clear in my meetings with one of the invasion's leaders, these mysterious enemies of the Inner Sphere are not quite so mysterious as we might imagine."
Focht's recording, or rather, the man himself, paused. Slowly, spreading like oil on water, a faraway look entered the man's eyes as if he couldn't accept the words he was about to say. Blinking as if to banish the thought, he sighed.
"Primus, Precentors," he continued grimly. "These invaders —these self-styled Clans— are none other than the descendants of General Aleksandr Kerensky's Exodus Fleet. For centuries, they have survived somewhere in the galaxy, and they want to rebuild the Star League —no matter the cost."
Ulthan paused the recording with a flick of his finger, a dying echo of the Precentor Martial's words bouncing throughout the chamber, received only by stunned silence. Slowly, the lights of the First Circuit's chamber brightened, a host of pale faces and wary eyes revealed by the newfound illumination. Standing behind a lectern, the tri-vid display beside him, Primus Everson felt more than saw the ROM analyst step next to him, the woman's boots remarkably quiet despite the polished stone floor. Drawn by the motion, the eyes of the assembled Precentors swivelled to face him, a nod of the head acknowledging their attention.
Pausing, more for effect than any need to gather his thoughts, the Primus let his hands rest on the lectern and coughed lightly.
"I have reviewed that entire message only once," he lied. "Given its contents and recent events, I trust you can understand why I felt the need to call a meeting of the First Circuit with such short notice."
Seated behind the chamber's sole table, the assembled crowd nodded almost automatically, colour slowly returning to their faces as they processed the Precentor Martial's news. Once again, the Primus found that he could hardly fault the Precentors for their reactions as he had felt the same.
Deciding to strike while the iron was hot, Ulthan dipped his head in faux humility. "As you will have gathered from the esteemed Precentor Martial's message, I dispatched Anastasius to the Coreward Periphery some time ago to confirm reports regarding the origins and motives of the invaders. While something of a risk, we deemed it necessary after a series of reports from HPG facilities in the region suggested that they may be, as Focht has since confirmed, the descendants of Kerensky's army."
This time, none of the Precentors swore. However, Ulthan noted, with a politician's eye, the ripple that ran through the assembled council —Precentors Sian, Rasalhague, and Atreus frowning, New Avalon narrowing his eyes, and the new Precentor Tharkad pursing her lips.
Drawing a breath to continue, the Primus paused as Precentor Sian, Zhihao Ulyanova, spoke up, the Capellan woman restoring her face to perfect equanimity as she asked, "How certain are we of the Precentor Martial's report? If my memory doesn't err, didn't he claim that these," she paused, her tongue rolling around the word as if tasting it, "these Clans were aliens only a few months before?"
Ulthan shook his head and fought not to roll his eyes. The head of Sian's HPG complex had a habit of wording questions that attacked the legitimacy of the Precentor Martial and, by extension, Ulthan. Villius Tejh's replacement after the man had retired in 3030, Ulthan had long suspected that Ulyanova bore a grudge against him for precipitating the schism between ComStar and the group calling themselves the Word of Blake.
"I understand that Adept Clarke," he gestured to the woman beside him, "will have a more in-depth answer to your question, Precentor. However, that particular possibility was merely one of many produced by a working group established to identify the cause of the Coreward blackout.
I believe that if you review the original documentation, you will find that it was assigned a low probability. Isn't that correct, Adept Clarke?"
If the curly-haired adept was surprised by the Primus' sudden change in tack, she didn't reveal it. Instead, the tawny-skinned woman nodded imperiously, Zhihao not deflating under her gaze so much as executing a tactical retreat in preparation for a later attack.
Ulthan smiled, careful not to let his teeth show, as Ulyanova stowed her scorn.
"I do not doubt that the Precentor Martial is correct in his assessment of the invader's origins," he added. "Further in his report to the First Circuit, he provides some illuminating details regarding their beliefs and history which rather support the claim."
Like a discussion with one of their 'loremasters' about the Clans' history, Ulthan thought grimly.
"Given their stated goal," Huthrin Vandel, the Precentor of New Avalon, began, "I take it this is a council of war, then."
Switching his gaze to the second oldest member of the First Circuit, Ulthan felt a sympathetic pang for the man. Of an age, the pair had become Precentors during the Third Succession War and endured the weight of decades as best they could. Like Ulthan, Vandel's hair had turned a lustrous silver in the intervening years, though, unlike Ulthan, Vandel seemed to have aged two years for each one he experienced —a consequence of the Periphery alliance that had proved so troublesome for ComStar as a whole.
Ulthan sighed despite himself. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Over the past fourteen days, these invaders, these Clans, have conquered a score of worlds using technology and warriors better than almost anything seen in the arsenals of the Successor States. Under the circumstances, without our help, they may not be able to stop them."
For an instant, there was silence. And then, an explosion of noise as all five Precentors lept to their feet and shouted questions at once. Raising his hands in a gesture of peace, Ulthan Everson begged for quiet and received it grudgingly, the quintet slowly returning to their seats.
Distantly, a part of the Primus felt pleased by how well they'd taken his statement. It was the irony of ironies, but the schism in ComStar meant that not only did he not have to deal with Myndo Waterly except through diplomatic channels and the odd shadow war, but many of Blake's more fanatical members had left and could not oppose his political manoeuvrings. Though many true believers in Blake's word remained, including Ulthan himself, he found them to be a far more sensible sort, less willing to reach for the knife except when necessary.
"Peace, peace," he begged even as silence fell on the First Circuit's chambers. "There is much we need to discuss before we return to the topic. However, I must step aside for the capable Adept Clarke to brief you on the invaders and their technology."
Nodding to the young woman, the Primus stepped away from the lectern and folded his hands in his silken robes, his gaze flicking across the still-fuming expressions on the faces of his Precentors.
"Thank you, Primus Everson," the woman said with a respectful bow, the tri-vid display activating once more as she manipulated the lectern's controls. "We'll begin with the Clan currently hosting Precentor Martial Focht, which we believe is the most successful of the invasion's six clans so far."
As he watched, the tri-vid flickered, and an image of a crimson wolf's head appeared on a field of six golden stars; its cast fearsome and terrible.
The adept pursed her lips. "Clan Wolf."
On December 23rd, 3048, the veil of silence draped across the Coreward Periphery fell without warning or preamble; a Word of Blake HPG on Constance broadcasting footage of a mysterious force of mechs devastating the planet's militia in a battle that lasted mere minutes. Days later, as the HPG and WarpCom networks of the galaxy burned with speculation, Primus Myndo Waterly of the World of Blake gave a press conference formally announcing that forces unknown had struck the planet. However, even as the Primus' message bounced from one end of the Inner Sphere to the other, numerous systems throughout the region reported similar attacks —dropships bearing symbols of snarling wolves, leaping jaguars, hissing cats, and other creatures beside seen plunging through the skies on trails of fire.
With panicked messages from HPG stations growing daily, a fortnight was all it took before ten systems had fallen dark, the heart of the Free Rasalhague Republic lying directly in the unknown attackers' path. Caught off-guard by Primus Waterly's earlier announcement, the Helghan government soon found itself completely disarmed when ComStar's Primus Ulthan Everson dispatched a confidential report to the governments of the Inner Sphere. Containing a foreword by ComStar's hitherto unknown Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht and a wealth of data on the attackers, the report detailed a bizarre series of facts whose conclusions were as shocking as they were inescapable.
The Inner Sphere is under invasion, the invaders' technology is stunningly advanced, and they are the descendants of the SLDF-in-Exile.
To the despair of countless billions, Kerensky's Children —the self-styled Clans— have returned to the Inner Sphere, and they plan to restore the Star League to glory or else drown the galaxy in blood.
What will the Helghan Republic do in response to the news?
[] Wait A Year
[] Get Involved Now.
OOC:
Welcome to the Clan Invasion. This is the last arc of The Lords of Ruin and will hopefully be a solid capstone to my short six-month-long project. While I imagine I know which way most of you will vote, I'm still leaving the option open to do nothing this year since you might surprise me. Regardless, after this arc is over, the quest will end, so enjoy it while it lasts.
Just so everyone's on the same page: Each turn during the clan invasion will be three months long as per standard war turns, and at the end of every year, I'll do the year's normal turn. Considering the distances involved, I'll also be introducing some limits on your orders, how many forces you can deploy, etc, but I don't imagine it'll be that big a deal.
As with the original timeline, the Clan Invasion will end if one of the clans conquers Terra and becomes the ilClan or if the Clans agree to a ceasefire.
Linden's Bluff Outskirts, Holmsbu
Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
24 December 3048
Stephen's PPCs caught the enemy mech as it crested the stony rise, twin bolts of seething lightning slamming into the Shadow Hawk's cockpit and decapitating the machine in a single blow. Pushing down the thrill of victory that arose as the outdated machine pitched backwards and fell out of sight, the clan warrior scanned the compressed footage displayed on his neurohelmet's HUD and jerked his mech back as something whipped past its shoulder.
"Stravag!" Stephen cursed as the new foe, a Hunchback, waddled over the hill, smoke spilling from the barrel of its AC/20.
Throwing his Warhammer IIC into reverse and pivoting to face the awkward warmachine, Stephen dragged his golden targeting reticles towards its legs and steadied his breathing. Located on the other side of the desert valley they were fighting in, the Spheroid MechWarrior's shot had been born of desperation rather than good sense, luck rather than skill responsible for the near-hit. No doubt seeking vengeance for its sibmate, flame flashed from the enemy MechWarrior's AC/20. An instant later, Stephen's cockpit vibrated as the shot whistled high overhead, the cannon's thunderous roar following moments later.
Fool! A part of him thought even as the rest of his mind focused on his task, the golden reticles finally settling over one of the machine's legs.
Short and heavy like its namesake, the Hunchback was only partway down the rocky hill when Stephen squeezed his firing studs, heat washing through his cockpit as the twin ER PPCs vented their rage. For a heartbeat, it was as if the sun's glare had redoubled in strength, the boiling fury of the particle bolts erasing all shadows from the desert valley. Then the bolts struck home, and the Hunchback's right leg gave way, armour plating and titanium alloy bones vaporising under the assault. Caught off balance by the sudden loss of its leg, the humanoid machine went sprawling, face first, to the ground, rock scree spraying out in all directions as it tumbled.
Stilling his mech and settling its particle cannons over the Hunchback, Stephen waited to see if the machine would stir, his fingers itching with the urge to fire again. Drawing on his clan's totem, the Snow Raven, for strength, Stephen swallowed the wasteful feeling and eyed the mech cautiously; sensor data projected into his neurohelmet swarming around the fallen titan. A moment passed, then another, and then a quiet beep rang out, and the flock of numbers flatlined as the Hunchback's reactor SCRAMed and shut down.
Dead or unconscious, his foe was helpless and would be made a bondsman as soon as they won the battle. Smiling thinly at the thought, Stephen was already moving back down the hill to link up with the rest of his Star when his radio crackled to life, and a familiar voice poured forth.
"A commendable shot. You were aiming for the Hunchback's legs, quiaff?"
Cold as Lum's seas, Star Commander Aurora Cole's voice was like a plunge in ice water, the heat of Stephen's cockpit forgotten at the bloodnamed warrior's tone.
"Aff, Star Commander," he replied cautiously. "That makes three MechWarriors this battle."
A snort sounded over the radio, his commander's voice following close behind. "Freeborn warriors. Sloppy and undisciplined; too weak to test our mettle."
"Aff, Star Commander," he repeated.
Stephen dared not say anything more lest the woman's scorn turn on him, the sweat that prickled his brow cold at the thought.
Turning his gaze over the battlefield, he let the desert's undulating landscape dominate his attention, his eyes flitting from place to place as he scoured his surroundings for the telltale silhouette of spheroid opponents. Pink and tan and threaded with the occasional tuft of hardy grass, the desert surrounding Linden's Bluff was the polar opposite of the snowy tundra Stephen's sibko had trained in; the heat of the place sending wavering columns of hot air high into the atmosphere. Here and there, he spotted the rest of his Star as they finished off their opponents: Vandal's Kitfox B battering away at a Wolverine's armour with its UAC/10, Taline's Helion A throwing wave after wave of missiles into the air against an unfortunate Manticore, Eliot's Adder D picking off cowardly APCs attempting to flee the battlefield... and the Star Commander's Hellbringer standing on a rise overlooking all of it with an imperious air.
As if waiting for his attention, Stephen's fellow Snow Ravens suddenly dispatched their respective foes as one, great gouts of oily black smoke rising across the valley as the spheroid machines collapsed. At the sight, the feeling Stephen had squashed so ruthlessly before came roaring back into his mind, his heartbeat suddenly accelerating until its pounding drive matched that of an autocannon. The Star Commander, however, proved less easily moved by their victory, the triumph over twice their number warming her voice not a single degree.
"Charlie Star," she said from her spot atop the rise. "Form up on my position and make ready to move to point Kilo. The spheroids are about to spring the Star Captain's trap."
As the others in his Star acknowledged the orders and rushed to join the Star Commander, Stephen fought the urge to scowl as he sent his mech lumbering after them.
As if on cue, Eliot's voice broke over the radio. "That means you, also, Stephen."
A sudden rage flashed through Stephen's mind as he pictured the chortling warrior in his cockpit, the Adder standing beside the Star Commander's Hellbringer by the time he'd crossed even a quarter of the distance. Despite its killing power, ably demonstrated against his earlier foes, it chaffed Stephen that he was not permitted to pilot a lighter mech; the Star Commander's orders the leash that kept him out of his favoured Kit Fox. Heavily armed and armoured though the Warhammer IIC might have been, it was 20 kilometres an hour slower than the Star's next slowest mech, and his fellow warriors had not let him forget it. That the Star had needed the long-range firepower that two ER PPCs could provide to complete their harassment mission had been inarguable, but that it had to be Stephen... Alas, he had scored highly in his sibko's marksmanship trials, and one look at the Star Commander had told him that he would not win a Trial of Refusal if he'd tried.
Promising that he would settle things with Eliot in the Circle of Equals, Stephen turned his mind to the plan the Star Commander had mentioned. Devised by Star Captain Magnus after he'd won the bid to take Holmsbu, the plan called for Charlie Star to harry the edges of the defence perimeter established by the planet's defenders and force them to pull back to Linden's Bluff. Rising like a castle from the otherwise flat expanse of desert floor that surrounded it, the craggy bluff would limit the spheroid's freedom of movement while simultaneously allowing Clan Snow Raven's mechs all the freedom they could want. Once pressed against the rocky rise, all three Stars would pick away at them like a flock of Snow Ravens on the tundra.
Perhaps, Stephen dared to think as he joined the rest of his Star, I can even find a worthy challenge among those surats…
Infirmary A-17, Nouméa, New Caledonia
Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
30th December 3048
A boom echoed from somewhere nearby as an unseen artillery round detonated, screams and moans tearing into the air as the makeshift infirmary shook with wild abandon. An instant later, the animal stink of fear rose to join the slaughterhouse stench of blood and bile, the vile bouquet hanging heavy like an all-smothering cloak. Busy with a wounded Menig, Doctor Kanata Albrecktsson barely noticed either, every iota of his attention taken up by the soldier screaming and writhing beneath his hands.
"Hold him still!" He shouted to a passing orderly, deep bags under the woman's eyes and her fatigues smeared with blood and other substances.
As the woman pinned the man's shoulders to the cot, Albrecktsson returned his attention to the Menig's wound, each frantic beat of the man's heart sending another wave of hot blood gushing out of the hole in his thigh. With so free a flow, he could tell the blood vessel had been severed by whatever weapon had injured the man. Given its elasticity, the ragged end of the blood vessel would have drawn itself further up the man's thigh and away from the obscene wound, complicating any effort to save his life. In ordinary times, a team of doctors and nurses would have pumped the man full of drugs, used forceps to clamp the artery shut, and returned the man's blood to his heart —closing the loop at the cost of temporarily starving the limb of blood.
But these were not ordinary times, and they lacked the tools, time, drugs, and spare hands.
Inured to the repulsive sensation long ago, Kanata clamped one gloved hand on the man's thigh and dug the other into the wound, his fingers questing blindly for the man's lacerated femoral artery.
Where are you? He demanded as naked muscle spasmed beneath his touch, the unmedicated man's yelling intensifying. Where?
"Doctor!" Someone shouted from elsewhere in the infirmary, just one voice among a hundred.
Ignoring it, Kanata continued his search, victory hissing between his teeth as, somewhere inside the Menig's leg, his fingers found the rapid-fire pulse of warmth that could only be the wound he sought. Suddenly, the Menig's shoulders jerked as he let out a high-pitched yelp, and the fountain of heat vanished.
Holding the soldier's thigh in a white knuckle grip to stop the artery retreating further up his leg, Kanata snarled, "Hold him still, damn it!"
As the grim-faced woman pressed both arms down on the man's shoulders, Kanata again reached for his wounded artery, blood dribbling around his fingers and staining the cot's thin blanket a deep red-black. A moment later, he again felt the fountain of heat that was the man's bleeding artery and reached for it with his fingers, gloved hands slipping off the blood-slicked tube a moment later.
"Come on," he muttered as he tried again, the pencil-thick tube slipping out of reach once more.
"Come on!"
A whistling shriek rang out, and then another boom. Louder and closer than the last, the blast sent a whole body twitch running through Kanata, his fingers unconsciously pulling back.
He scowled. Damn it!
"Doctor."
Like the Menig's screaming, the softly spoken demand was a distraction he couldn't afford. Again, he ignored it and reached for the artery.
Another try. Another failure. Another oscillation in the noise.
"Doctor."
The word was louder. More insistent. Still a distraction.
I've nearly got it! Kanata told the voice as he fumbled for the artery, blood leaking around his glove and letting out a sickening squelch with every motion.
Whatever the voice wanted, it could wait. Once he stabilised the soldier, he could help whoever else was injured.
"Doctor!"
The shouted word snatched Doctor Albrecktsson's attention as efficiently as a slap. Halfway to yelling for quiet, he paused as he saw the orderly staring at him with a face utterly devoid of emotion.
"He's gone," the orderly reported tonelessly, and an instant later, so was she —the blonde-haired young woman flying down the row of cots to assist another screaming soldier.
Glancing back at the Menig, Kanata realised it was true; the man's unseeing eyes stared up at the infirmary's cracked ceiling and his body lying in the peaceful sleep of the dead. Cursing, Kanata withdrew his hands and snapped off his blood-slicked gloves, tossing them into a nearby bin fairly overflowing with their siblings. Plucking a tag from his pocket, he scrawled the dead man's cause of death in a rough hand and dropped it beside his dog tags as yet more orderlies arrived to take his body to the others.
Glancing around the infirmary for the next-most desperate patient as the men carried the corpse away, exhaustion washed over Kanata as he realised just how many injured and dying filled the makeshift infirmary; cot after cot filled with bodies and the air heavy with the scent of their blood. Built decades ago to serve the DCMS as a bunkhouse in what was then the Rasalhague Military District, the building was long, low, and armoured enough to survive a mech stepping on its ceiling. When he'd arrived to set up the regiment's infirmary, he'd thought it more than adequate. Now, though...
Leaving the men to their grizzly work, Kanata took two steps towards his next patient —a woman silently seated on a dirty cot, the skin of her face melted like candle wax— before he heard a piercing shriek that set his teeth on edge. For a moment, Kanata stood among the cots as if lost before, in a flash of understanding, instinct took over, and he threw himself to the floor. Halfway there, the whistling ceased.
As a waterfall is to a tap, so too was the sound that followed akin to a bang.
With a roar that defied description, the artillery shell detonated somewhere outside the Rasalhaugian infirmary, and everything everywhere seemed to leap in all directions. Caught by the blast, Kanata felt the shockwave pick him up before being slammed against the foot of an occupied cot; a nova-hot flare of pain ripped through his mind and boiled away any thoughts he'd with its pristine brightness. An instant later, the world seemed to jump like a scratched holovid from one moment to the next, and Kanata found himself lying atop a floor sticky with old blood; the infirmary's noise drowned out by tinnitus and his mind utterly blank.
All but insensate, he lay there amidst the ruin of other people's lives for what felt like an age, his world reduced to the blood-encrusted floor and the hammering of his heart. Staring at a droplet of blood as it flowed across the ferrocrete floor, he suddenly felt as if he'd forgotten something; some insistent pressure at the back of his mind shouting at him to do something, though he could not tell what. Slowly, like a great machine shaking off rust and roaring to life, he felt his mind unstick itself.
A scream, loud and shrill, pierced tinnitus' insulation as effectively as any bomb as Doctor Albrecktsson returned to consciousness. All at once, bile surged into Kanata's throat as he realised where he lay, the sickening discovery followed by a second, albeit lesser, explosion of pain as his body remembered that it was injured. Swallowing the acidic swill, Kanata fought back waves of nausea and fatigue and slowly dragged himself to unsteady feet with leaden arms, muscles burning in protest as he hauled himself up by the legs of a cot. Swaying despite himself, he gazed in dull shock at the scene before him.
Filling the infirmary with an almost impenetrable haze, Kanata could only squint at the thick grey dust that swirled all about him, unseen air currents and blurred shadows stirring it to a dreadful life. Slowly, moving with shuffling steps and echoing coughs, the blurred shadows resolved themselves into the silhouettes of people —doctors, nurses, orderlies, and patients all stumbling out of cloud one by one, the curtain of dust parting momentarily to offer a glimpse of a hole in the building's far wall. Shaking his head as if to deny the damage, the very act sending a fresh wave of nausea through him, Kanata paused mid-motion as a keening wail arose from within the cloud.
Dust stinging his eyes and tinnitus ringing in his ears, Doctor Albrecktsson sucked in a lungful of air and plunged into the cloud.
ComStar First Circuit Compound
Hilton Head Island, North America, Terra
07 January 3049
Primus Ulthan Everson grunted as the tri-vid display blinked on and bathed the gathering of Precentors in a harsh white light, the glare vanishing as the ComStar logo dissolved to reveal the familiar face of Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht hovering in the air. Silver-haired and craggy-faced, Focht seemed to Ulthan every inch the military leader he was, his acquisition by ComStar one of the Precentor's proudest achievements. It had taken no small amount of diplomacy with the Combine to see the man handed over to ComStar, but it had proven to be a wise investment; the man was more than up to the challenge of rebuilding the ComGuard in secret after Waterly's tantrum.
"Primus Everson, Precentors," the recording began with a bow of the head, shadows the colour of midnight in the man's eyes. "The Peace of Blake be with you."
"As I record this, I can see dropships bearing regiments worth of combat forces flying past my window. While my illustrious hosts have proven reluctant to discuss where they are bound, they have been remarkably open about their plans to invade the Inner Sphere. As such, I can only surmise that they will have already launched combat operations across the Coreward Periphery by the time you receive this missive."
No surprise there, Everson thought as he scanned the faces of the other Precentors for their reactions.
While some had chosen to appear in person and others via hologram, all kept their faces impassive at the news. Political animals at heart, instincts honed over decades enforced a strange homogeneity over ComStar's leadership, tranquil expressions hiding beating tiger hearts. Unpaused, the recording of the man continued, words Ulthaun had been playing back in his head ever since the recording arrived on Terra mere hours ago pouring from the tri-vids's speakers.
"Similarly," the man smiled thinly. "While I imagine that news of the invader's origins has already reached you from those HPGs in the path of their invasion, I am obligated to inform the First Circuit that we are not facing another Helghan situation."
That triggered a reaction from the Precentors, a quiet hiss of relief rising as if from nowhere at the admission, and a glance revealing looks of relief on the faces of Precentors Tharkad and Rasalhague that vanished just as quickly.
Ulthan couldn't blame them. Ever since the Helghan Republic had flashed into existence in the Periphery, it had been nothing but trouble for ComStar. Tremendously developed on an industrial and intellectual level, it had proven itself a wildly destabilising influence on the galaxy, every move it made in ComStar's favour countered by an equal and opposite move elsewhere.
"However," came the words Ulthan knew would follow, the First Circuit's relief evaporating in moments. "I believe this to be a greater threat."
Someone scoffed. Another swore. In the chamber's darkness, Ulthan couldn't tell who was responsible for which but made a mental note to check the infrared cameras after the meeting had concluded.
"As was made abundantly clear in my meetings with one of the invasion's leaders, these mysterious enemies of the Inner Sphere are not quite so mysterious as we might imagine."
Focht's recording, or rather, the man himself, paused. Slowly, spreading like oil on water, a faraway look entered the man's eyes as if he couldn't accept the words he was about to say. Blinking as if to banish the thought, he sighed.
"Primus, Precentors," he continued grimly. "These invaders —these self-styled Clans— are none other than the descendants of General Aleksandr Kerensky's Exodus Fleet. For centuries, they have survived somewhere in the galaxy, and they want to rebuild the Star League —no matter the cost."
Ulthan paused the recording with a flick of his finger, a dying echo of the Precentor Martial's words bouncing throughout the chamber, received only by stunned silence. Slowly, the lights of the First Circuit's chamber brightened, a host of pale faces and wary eyes revealed by the newfound illumination. Standing behind a lectern, the tri-vid display beside him, Primus Everson felt more than saw the ROM analyst step next to him, the woman's boots remarkably quiet despite the polished stone floor. Drawn by the motion, the eyes of the assembled Precentors swivelled to face him, a nod of the head acknowledging their attention.
Pausing, more for effect than any need to gather his thoughts, the Primus let his hands rest on the lectern and coughed lightly.
"I have reviewed that entire message only once," he lied. "Given its contents and recent events, I trust you can understand why I felt the need to call a meeting of the First Circuit with such short notice."
Seated behind the chamber's sole table, the assembled crowd nodded almost automatically, colour slowly returning to their faces as they processed the Precentor Martial's news. Once again, the Primus found that he could hardly fault the Precentors for their reactions as he had felt the same.
Deciding to strike while the iron was hot, Ulthan dipped his head in faux humility. "As you will have gathered from the esteemed Precentor Martial's message, I dispatched Anastasius to the Coreward Periphery some time ago to confirm reports regarding the origins and motives of the invaders. While something of a risk, we deemed it necessary after a series of reports from HPG facilities in the region suggested that they may be, as Focht has since confirmed, the descendants of Kerensky's army."
This time, none of the Precentors swore. However, Ulthan noted, with a politician's eye, the ripple that ran through the assembled council —Precentors Sian, Rasalhague, and Atreus frowning, New Avalon narrowing his eyes, and the new Precentor Tharkad pursing her lips.
Drawing a breath to continue, the Primus paused as Precentor Sian, Zhihao Ulyanova, spoke up, the Capellan woman restoring her face to perfect equanimity as she asked, "How certain are we of the Precentor Martial's report? If my memory doesn't err, didn't he claim that these," she paused, her tongue rolling around the word as if tasting it, "these Clans were aliens only a few months before?"
Ulthan shook his head and fought not to roll his eyes. The head of Sian's HPG complex had a habit of wording questions that attacked the legitimacy of the Precentor Martial and, by extension, Ulthan. Villius Tejh's replacement after the man had retired in 3030, Ulthan had long suspected that Ulyanova bore a grudge against him for precipitating the schism between ComStar and the group calling themselves the Word of Blake.
"I understand that Adept Clarke," he gestured to the woman beside him, "will have a more in-depth answer to your question, Precentor. However, that particular possibility was merely one of many produced by a working group established to identify the cause of the Coreward blackout.
I believe that if you review the original documentation, you will find that it was assigned a low probability. Isn't that correct, Adept Clarke?"
If the curly-haired adept was surprised by the Primus' sudden change in tack, she didn't reveal it. Instead, the tawny-skinned woman nodded imperiously, Zhihao not deflating under her gaze so much as executing a tactical retreat in preparation for a later attack.
Ulthan smiled, careful not to let his teeth show, as Ulyanova stowed her scorn.
"I do not doubt that the Precentor Martial is correct in his assessment of the invader's origins," he added. "Further in his report to the First Circuit, he provides some illuminating details regarding their beliefs and history which rather support the claim."
Like a discussion with one of their 'loremasters' about the Clans' history, Ulthan thought grimly.
"Given their stated goal," Huthrin Vandel, the Precentor of New Avalon, began, "I take it this is a council of war, then."
Switching his gaze to the second oldest member of the First Circuit, Ulthan felt a sympathetic pang for the man. Of an age, the pair had become Precentors during the Third Succession War and endured the weight of decades as best they could. Like Ulthan, Vandel's hair had turned a lustrous silver in the intervening years, though, unlike Ulthan, Vandel seemed to have aged two years for each one he experienced —a consequence of the Periphery alliance that had proved so troublesome for ComStar as a whole.
Ulthan sighed despite himself. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Over the past fourteen days, these invaders, these Clans, have conquered a score of worlds using technology and warriors better than almost anything seen in the arsenals of the Successor States. Under the circumstances, without our help, they may not be able to stop them."
For an instant, there was silence. And then, an explosion of noise as all five Precentors lept to their feet and shouted questions at once. Raising his hands in a gesture of peace, Ulthan Everson begged for quiet and received it grudgingly, the quintet slowly returning to their seats.
Distantly, a part of the Primus felt pleased by how well they'd taken his statement. It was the irony of ironies, but the schism in ComStar meant that not only did he not have to deal with Myndo Waterly except through diplomatic channels and the odd shadow war, but many of Blake's more fanatical members had left and could not oppose his political manoeuvrings. Though many true believers in Blake's word remained, including Ulthan himself, he found them to be a far more sensible sort, less willing to reach for the knife except when necessary.
"Peace, peace," he begged even as silence fell on the First Circuit's chambers. "There is much we need to discuss before we return to the topic. However, I must step aside for the capable Adept Clarke to brief you on the invaders and their technology."
Nodding to the young woman, the Primus stepped away from the lectern and folded his hands in his silken robes, his gaze flicking across the still-fuming expressions on the faces of his Precentors.
"Thank you, Primus Everson," the woman said with a respectful bow, the tri-vid display activating once more as she manipulated the lectern's controls. "We'll begin with the Clan currently hosting Precentor Martial Focht, which we believe is the most successful of the invasion's six clans so far."
As he watched, the tri-vid flickered, and an image of a crimson wolf's head appeared on a field of six golden stars; its cast fearsome and terrible.
The adept pursed her lips. "Clan Wolf."
On December 23rd, 3048, the veil of silence draped across the Coreward Periphery fell without warning or preamble; a Word of Blake HPG on Constance broadcasting footage of a mysterious force of mechs devastating the planet's militia in a battle that lasted mere minutes. Days later, as the HPG and WarpCom networks of the galaxy burned with speculation, Primus Myndo Waterly of the World of Blake gave a press conference formally announcing that forces unknown had struck the planet. However, even as the Primus' message bounced from one end of the Inner Sphere to the other, numerous systems throughout the region reported similar attacks —dropships bearing symbols of snarling wolves, leaping jaguars, hissing cats, and other creatures beside seen plunging through the skies on trails of fire.
With panicked messages from HPG stations growing daily, a fortnight was all it took before ten systems had fallen dark, the heart of the Free Rasalhague Republic lying directly in the unknown attackers' path. Caught off-guard by Primus Waterly's earlier announcement, the Helghan government soon found itself completely disarmed when ComStar's Primus Ulthan Everson dispatched a confidential report to the governments of the Inner Sphere. Containing a foreword by ComStar's hitherto unknown Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht and a wealth of data on the attackers, the report detailed a bizarre series of facts whose conclusions were as shocking as they were inescapable.
The Inner Sphere is under invasion, the invaders' technology is stunningly advanced, and they are the descendants of the SLDF-in-Exile.
To the despair of countless billions, Kerensky's Children —the self-styled Clans— have returned to the Inner Sphere, and they plan to restore the Star League to glory or else drown the galaxy in blood.
What will the Helghan Republic do in response to the news?
[] Wait A Year
[] Get Involved Now.
OOC:
Welcome to the Clan Invasion. This is the last arc of The Lords of Ruin and will hopefully be a solid capstone to my short six-month-long project. While I imagine I know which way most of you will vote, I'm still leaving the option open to do nothing this year since you might surprise me. Regardless, after this arc is over, the quest will end, so enjoy it while it lasts.
Just so everyone's on the same page: Each turn during the clan invasion will be three months long as per standard war turns, and at the end of every year, I'll do the year's normal turn. Considering the distances involved, I'll also be introducing some limits on your orders, how many forces you can deploy, etc, but I don't imagine it'll be that big a deal.
As with the original timeline, the Clan Invasion will end if one of the clans conquers Terra and becomes the ilClan or if the Clans agree to a ceasefire.
Map of the Inner Sphere, 08/01/3049
prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Invading Clans
- Clan Coyote
- Clan Fire Mandrill
- Clan Nova Cats
- Clan Snow Raven
- Clan Wolf
- Clan Smoke Jaguars
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prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We're doing a shortened vote as it doesn't need to be a full length one.
- Location
- SEAsia
- Pronouns
- Thou
[] Get Tech Samples ASAP
To be clear, Prom has been writing this quest inside a time compression chamber, so for him it's only been six months.
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Well everyone this is what we have been waiting for
LETS SHOW THESE BASTARDS HELGAN MIGHT
[] Get Involved Now
LETS SHOW THESE BASTARDS HELGAN MIGHT
[] Get Involved Now
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Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
Oh, so we've got for the first wave (no doubt there's also reserve Clans, I think I can see Jade Falcon on the map as one): Clan Wolf, Nova Cat, Smoke Jaguar, Snow Raven, Coyote, and...
...Fire Mandrill!?
How the Hell did that dysfunction of a Clan manage to get a lead spot?
...Fire Mandrill!?
How the Hell did that dysfunction of a Clan manage to get a lead spot?
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How advanced is our technology compared to the clans?
prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Your vote won't count unless you post an identical one tomorrow. I do a day long moratorium so people have to argue.
I cant wait for a clan warrior to see a MAWLR
If we get involved we should NOT waste resources taking worlds back, that's the inner sphere's job.
Our job is to doomstack the elite clan formations and wipe our their best troops bit by bit until their long supply lines and lower overall numbers collapse on them.
Our job is to doomstack the elite clan formations and wipe our their best troops bit by bit until their long supply lines and lower overall numbers collapse on them.
- Location
- Northish
Well time to kick the tires and light the fires. How pumped are the navy boys going to be now that they have real naval war to fight for the first time?
Archivist Grim
Totally not AI
- Location
- The abyss
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They
Extremely, they hunger for violence
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
I can't think of a faster way to kill what's left of our army than to hit the button right now. Especially since we have no evidence that the rest of the Periphery will get involved. Do we have any indication ORDI members will send forces to assist if we go?
OK, lemme see if I can work this out:
There were supposed to be four initial invasions, with a fifth and later six and seventh added as reserve. Clan Wolf was forced into this by being out voted. The other three OTL who won Ghost Bear, Jade Falcon, and Smoke Jaguar. The first two clearly did not win their trials this time. I would presume the Actual Clan Navy Snow Raven and First Nation Lovers Coyote won the initial rounds. For the qualifiers on Reserve, Steel Viper didn't make the cut on first award or Trial of Refusal. I think this is how Nova Cat and Fire Mandrill got in: Nova Cat won runner-up, and somehow everyone jobbed against Mandrill in Refusal.