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Agares Tretiak

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Posts posted by Agares Tretiak

    The Sentinels

    in Media

    Posted

    For the fluff, I'll be discussing a specific weapon that (at least currently) does not exist (for the Guard). But I want to run my ideas past some folks who know more about guns than I do.

    Take a minute to think.

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    Our opponents? Hah. Wipe them out. All of them.

    Having respect for a foe is by no means something to sneer at, Mr. Ishelwood. I'd never think of giving any enemy of the Ordo quarter in combat, but that does not mean I display crude and open disdain for them as human beings. Only in very specific, rare cases have I found that respect does not yield greater returns in the long run than being a dick to our foes.

    Not least of all, your conduct towards those you fight reflects as much on you, as it does their worthiness in your eyes.

    Take a minute to think.

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    Naturally, the Curia, your superiors (officers), and even the Guard are also all there to help resolve problems if and when they arise. Never hesitate to contact them, should you have concerns. That's three options for anyone in the group that they an go to if they have a problem, with their comrades, with policy, or with just life in general.

    Not that what Mr. Poitier expresses is a bad thing, it's not just an expectation, but a requirement that respect, grace, and patience is shown to all members of the Ordo, regardless of who they are, high or low.

    Remember when...

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    - Scarlet when he was crab spying.

    - Scarlet when he hated Ordo (;_;)

    - Christoph Naumova before he ever touched the SLMC (He was still an enormous D-bag back then).

    - AN in Tethys turning down my Application to join. Reason: No previous military experience or demonstrable leadership skills.

    - Making Eye Korobase break down in tears on Vent with Tiri, Grey, and I deconstructing everything he said and linking it to communism.

    - Aryte when he was a bear-cat-dog-whattheFfff was that avatar.

    - Asking Aryte if he was a cat.

    - Aryte shooting me for above.

    The Sentinels

    in Media

    Posted

    I've finished the first re-written chapter, and I present it in its raw form. It may require some proofreading and a touch of further editing. As to why it took so long, I rewrote the opening seven times, before I settled on one that expressed what I wanted.

    Without further ado, the new opening chapter to the Sentinels.

    Chapter 1

    Praestigaitor

    Telmephati was a jungle world. Raw and untamed even in this age of high technological wonders. To many, it represented just another frontier, another world to be brought to heel. To a few, it represented a last refuge from their perceived oppression. For one man, it was a beautiful symbol of his vision. Not that his vision was beautiful, he admitted to himself. If anything, it was as brutal and violent as murder. But the planet itself was a beautiful representation of the vision. Three forces, brought together by both circumstance and simple perceived necessity, fighting to the death to maintain its status-quo. Of them, he was most sympathetic to the jungle itself. It never asked to be invaded by external forces, have its rich ecosystem slowly destroyed and replaced by one more pleasing to the invaders. It simply reacted like any large organism, fighting back with it's own natural system of defenses. It was trying to survive, completely blind to to smaller considerations, such as mercy or ethics.

    The man respected that.

    By comparison, he felt the other two were merely interlopers with shallow desires, though if he was pressured on the point, he'd admit they each sought what they perceived was their own survival. Survival. That was a force he could respect, in anyone and anything. Survival was crude, it was basic, it was primal. And to him, it was pure. Unlike so much of the world now, byzantine with the insane intrigues of empires and machinations of political forces so complex that even the participants rarely grasped their full force and repercussions, survival denied perception, laid to waste all misinformation. Survival was truth, absolute. That was why his vision was necessary. Strip away the lies, and leave only the pure struggle of survival behind.

    The man himself was accustomed to survival. He'd survived untold numbers of battles, small and large. He'd survived in environments were lesser creatures would have died. He'd survived wounds that should have killed him, yet they did not. If asked in the past, before his vision, if he believed in fate, he'd have scoffed at the very concept. Now, he knew the truth. He was a vehicle for that one beautiful truth, the truth of survival, borne by the very hand of destiny to carry out his duty, to the end. At the moment, he wore heavy, crimson robes, layered and hooded such that it was impossible to obtain any discernible details about him, aside from his incredible height and broad frame. Even the hood was brought down so low as to obscure all but the lower portion of his features, of which only his mouth ever truly stood out. Currently, he stood in a large meeting room. The room was spartan, clearly utilitarian as only a military installation can be. A large, armored glass window looked out over the gloomy jungle that stretched out below the installation. In the distance, the dull glow of one of the walled cities that held the majority of Telmephati's population burned in the dark sea of trees, like a cinder in a dying fire. The sky was in late dusk, the horizon a deep reddish orange as the planet rotated on axis towards night.

    The room was yellowed by the oddly colored lights, lights he recognized as set to a different visual spectrum than a human's. It gave the walls, which were most likely white, a jaundiced appearance. In the center of the room was a long, rectangular table, with an assortment of seats. In approximately half of them, was an equal assortment of creatures, xenobiological entities, if he wanted to be technical. Aliens. He had overcome his instinctual revulsion at intelligent alien life, though he could feel its last vestiges twinge briefly in his mind as he looked over the assemblage. It was strange a collection. Some looked almost human, but the proportions were subtle and horribly wrong for humans. A face too long, eyes too large, limbs oddly jointed, or too thick. There were a few exo-skeletal reptiles, Parresshi, some of the dour looking Gaunts, and a single representative of the diminutive, imp-like Exonarii, which were probably his least favorite species. There were others, including some he couldn't really describe because of their complex environmental suits. The collection was currently murmuring, clicking, hissing, and otherwise communicating with one another in what he found to be amusingly the same as any pre-meeting murmur he'd witnessed.

    He gently tapped the table with his large, scarred fingers, which despite the apparent delicacy of the movement, caused it to resonate like a large drum. The murmur died and all eyes were upon the Robed Man.

    "Let us begin, then," the Robed Man said, his voice surprisingly soft and even. He could feel more than see his audience draw in a collective breath, which caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards involuntarily for a moment.

    "We have all come here at great personal risk, sacrificed and made concessions in order to unify against our sole and true enemy. Long, have you warred amongst one another, seeking a petty dominance, and all the while an enemy far greater than any one of you has taken what should rightfully belong to all. It is time to set aside these disputes and unify to repel the threat that lurks on the border, an enemy intolerant of your cultures and your rights. Even as we speak, they've taken territory from you, grinding slowly, inexorably towards the destruction of all."

    The Robed Man paused, letting the micro-translators to do their work, before continuing.

    "That is why I am here. Not for myself, not even for my species. I speak now, only for the act of survival. Your survival. The only thing you have lacked is a unifying vision, and that is what I offer to you. A vision removed of-" and he was cut short. A loud, keening siren sounded, first in the distance, and then rapidly joined by others, as the installation went into full alert. The lights switched from yellow to a throbbing blue warning light, the danger color of the Parresshi who maintained the facility. This was followed by rapid footsteps and shouted orders in the corridor outside the meeting room.

    The Robed Man whirled and looked out of the window that was behind him, just as an explosion shook the building and a plume of oily smoke lifted lazily into the air, under lit by orange flames. A second explosion followed a second later, and the armored glass window was obscured as an automated emergency shutter dropped down. The PA system clicked on with a short burst of static, and then a series of whistles, hisses, and clicks followed. The Robed Man waited as his own translator processed the Parresshi speech, a fraction of a second behind the PA announcement.

    "All personnel. Report to battle commander of your section. Unidentified attackers. Respond and repel. Damage control report to Sector 5-G. Medical personnel prepare to receive casualties. Repeat..."

    The Robed Man gave a furious snarl as he stormed for the exit, not hesitating to force the doors open, which splintered slightly at the hinges from the force of his push. The bewildered delegations behind him looked shocked, but scrambled to follow. The Exonarii cackled, apparently delighted by the mayhem that was unfolding.

    The Robed Man stalked at a brisk pace down the corridors, bathed in blue that turned his crimson robes into a swirling, black mass that trailed behind him. He paused only briefly to consider a turn, before striding into the facility command center. He moved directly towards the large holographic tactical readout that was set in a pit in the center of the room, pushing a few three-hundred pound Parresshi officers out of the way with a sweep of an arm. The delegations followed him, exasperated and frightened by the furious energy of the Robed Man, and the continued PA announcements that had blared as they trailed after the mysterious man.

    "Sectors 5, 3, 2, and 7 are no longer reporting. Fires have enveloped the 1st sector completely. Damage Control teams are not reporting in. All remaining combat personnel from Sectors 4 and 6, fall back to corridor C-47a. Repeat.."

    The Robed Man gripped the railing with his large hands, wringing it as his face, under-lit by the tactical display seemed set in stone, the impression that he was glaring at the Tactical display as though he could force it to reveal some hidden truth about the attack. In the background, the watch officer on duty was giving a jumbled situation report to the facility commander, who had been part of the Parresshi delegation.

    "...no idea where the attackers came from. Doesn't match the insurgents we normally have skirmishes with. They've already wiped out or cut off half the facility forces, and they're working their way steadily towards this location. We've not even gotten a clear report of -what- we're fighting, sir, and we're barely maintaining a semblance of order. If this continues..," the watch officer trailed off as a junior officer started to panic, gesturing wildly at the display.

    "There's nothing on the scanners! We can't pick up anything! No thermal information, no detectable emissions, not even sound sensors pick anything up. Our men are just dying! Dying!"

    The Robed Man began laughing, at first low, almost below the threshold of hearing with the panicked chaos of the command center. The laugh continued to rise in volume, as one by one, com channels went silent and entire sections of the defense ceased to report back in. The laughter was chilling, cold, the laugh of a man resigned to a terrible fate.

    "You cannot kill a ghost. The only thing we can do is destroy the place it is attached to,î said the Robed Man in a low, but calm voice. ìI know you are prepared for such an eventuality. Survival..."

    The Robed Man seemed to hesitate as he glanced back at the tactical display. "Survival does not acknowledge individuals, but the motions of all."

    - - -

    Low Orbit over Telmephati.

    The man didn't think of himself as an intelligence officer. It was easier, given his particular line of work, to go by the nickname people in his position got. Graveyard Attendant. The grim moniker was unpleasant, but accurate enough. After all, what else do you call a man who's job it is to ferry the souls of the dead in their obscure movements. He was about to do a routine system scan, when the ship's highly sensitive passive detectors identified a series massive explosions in the mission operational area. The Graveyard Attendant sat up in his seat and set the shipboard computer to analyzing the data, while he proceeded to check for the covert signal beacon the mission asset had implanted. There was too much interference from the energy readings of the explosions to get anything solid, so he decided to coax his vessel close to the area, slipping like a needle through Telmaphati's early-warning networks like a needle through cloth.

    The ships' computer gave a three tone chime, and then proceeded to provide its analysis in a pleasant, cultured female voice.

    "Data indicates a standard Parresshi self-destruct mechanism was triggered at the operational area, annihilating the entire facility. Approximate analog of the scale of the explosions was on the order of magnitude of several megatons, though the signature did not indicate it was a nuclear demolition. There are no discernible life readings within 140 kilometers of the blast point. All information indicates that the personnel at the facility were killed in the blast, along with the mission asset."

    The Graveyard Attendant swore under his breath. His superiors would not be happy about not having an absolutely confirmed kill, and even less so that they lost a mission asset. He reflected that it's the only time he's ever seen a Praestigiator not complete its mission as directed. He ran a simulation of the data collected, which played out as a real-time image on the ships main display screen, showing a hyper-accurate reconstruction of the explosion, and ran the numbers for the chances of anyone surviving the blast.

    "Given the provided data and simulations, the chances of anyone surviving the blasts are exactly 345,896,589,376,162 to 1 against."

    The Graveyard Attendant ran the same calculations down on data-pad, using his own math to arrive at approximately the same number after 15 or so minutes. His superiors would have skinned him alive if he'd been remiss of checking the number himself, not that he had much cause to doubt the shipboard computer. He gave a soft sigh of relief. At those odds, it would take a miracle for anyone to come out of that alive, much less in one piece. He made notes in his mission log, including pertinent information regarding the system security and general deployment of shipping routes and defensive patrols in the system, then steered the vessel on a course to the outliers of the Telmephati system. The nearly black needle-ship coasted like a shard of darkness, gliding without so much of a sign of its presence. Only the seventy kilometer crater that was once the location of a military facility, would bear witness to it ever having been there at all.

    Praestigiator can literally mean "Necromancer" in Latin. It can also refer to other, magically imbued people, such as sorceress or conjurers.

    Ordo Movie

    in Offline

    Posted

    If we can get a cross between the fiendish refinement of Jason Issacs, and the sheer physical presence of Gerard Butler, you have by about half, someone who would resemble me... Then you need to give them glowing blue eyes and a major heighth boost.

    Tiridates looks like the Doctor from TF2, but acts like the Spy.

    Ron should be played by Stellan Skarsgård, circa Hunt for the Red October.

    Scarlet is the obscure, but notable Alexander Kaidanovsky, for playing the title role of the Guide in the Tarkovsky film, Stalker, which S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Shadow of Chernobyl was loosely inspired by.

    My Canadian friends!

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    I'd recommend contacting the Customer Service lines for each carrier and asking them what their geenral rates might be. I'd personally recommend AT&T, as I know they have some simple rules and fairly cheap plans for people who need a Canada-US phone.

    20 Dec 2011 - 00:00 ~ 02:45

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    Don't feel bad about posting your questions here: Questions are good things, and if this is in the wrong place, the forum admins will scoot it to the proper one.

    Regarding your questions... It depends. If their jetpacks go higher than the designated allowed height, that's a major concern. If they propel the user -forward- rapidly, more than it moves them upwards, that is a major concern. Underslung FBs are...allowed? I think, though we don't have a ruling officially one way or another on that one (so the jury is likely still out regarding their use). If you notice discrepancies in any enemy weapon, it's better to make a note of it here, and also to your CO or the OIC to ensure it is looked into properly to see if there's a rules violation or possible abuse of our general leniency.

    The underslung flashbangs acted that way, because unless an explosive utilizes some form of ray casting, if anyone is inside its radius of effect, it will create said effect regardless of if you're in cover or not. For example, if I fire an artillery shell at you with a 20 meter diameter explosive (hypothetically of course; don't shoot artillery or anything else at comrades) and you're in a bunker with 5 meters of prim between you and the point of impact of the shell, that artillery shell is going to win because you're still within the preset diameter for its explosive radius. Which kinda sucks, when you're taken out by a grenade when you would theoretically have 4 feet of concrete or stone between you and said explosion, but... it's SL combat.

    I'm sure a scripter will be able to better explain the specifics of why SL explosions are generally like this.

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