NationStates Jolt Archive

The Aidionians are a primitive people, eking out a bare existance close to the trees and caves that spawned them not so very long ago. They live on a distant lush forest world, oblivious to the many advanced cultures spread throughout the galaxy.
~~~~~~
Deep in one of the great forests of this world, a lone tribal shaman slowly makes his way through the vast expanse of trees, hoping to find a suitable spot for his meditation, to commune with the ancestor spirits, praying to them to help his tribe. Finding a large metallic boulder, he retrieves his spirit weed from his shoulder pouch and rests against the rocks strange curves.

Beginning his meditation chants, he eases into the ancient ancestor spirit ritual of his tribe, the Aidioniaze. During the elaborate physical part of the ritual, he trips on a protruding part of the boulder, and lands on his face, to his extreme embaressment. Speaking to himself in a feverish tone, he tries to come to terms with what this means for his tribes future, and his own already shaky position as tribe shaman.

I... have dishonoured my people, and my creators by this shameful mistake... At that moment, the protruding part of the metallic boulder, the source of his shame, began to retract into the main body of the boulder. Intrigued, the shaman prods and pokes the boulder, which causes it to shed its ages old coat of leaves and dirt, revealing itself to be an elongated metallic box, with many shiny lights, and intriguing curves.

After many minutes of inspecting the shiny lights, and hitting various parts of the box, he pokes a small red square on its side. The entire side of the box hinges open, revealing many lights, buttons, switches and antennae, only exciting the shaman further. He presses the biggest, shiniest button he sees, and an alien voice emanating from the box crackles to life. Transgalactic Communications Module activated and ready for service, all subsystems reporting 100% functionality. The by now overly excited shaman pulls a random switch, and presses another button. Extracting all archived contact details...FTL communications selected...general broadcast on all channels to all recognized
civilizations approved...Audio recording function enabled...now.
Hoping that this strange device was just another physical manifestation of his long dead ancestors, he drops to his knees and begins praying, for his life, for the continued success of his tribe, and for the general wellbeing of his people.

On the fly translation to all known languages and applicable forms of communication proceeding at 100% capacity...Location Tracker applied to current TCM controlling being, coordinates intergrated into message...Streaming broadcast with all options enabled beginning in 3..2..1...Glowing furiously, the box flings the shamans prayers to all corners of the galaxy, and all the while, said shaman continues to offer his hopes to his ancestors, in the form of this metal boulder of wonders, hoping for a reply, anything, from this divine gift.

OOC: The 'metal boulder of wonders' is broadcasting the shamans prayers(and his exact location) to every civilization in its memory banks, all across the galaxy, across all channels. Respond how you wish, though I would rather there be no ortillery for this minor disruption of com channels.

BUMP/[tag]

It was a normal salvage run. They scoured this isolated system for perhaps any derelicts, any sign of former civilization that could be recovered by the guilds. Unfortunately, the entire system was lifeless. A third preening was in proccess, and the arachnid Arane salvage runner "Auateph". However, something very strange was detected as a FTL transmission was intercepted by the comm systems. The Symbions processed this and transferred it to the ship's Coordinator.

"Coordinator, this transmission is from the nearby planet, undesignated. Message is unclear. Investigation required."

"Agreed. Close in on location, and drop off extraction team."

The ship turned to the planet and soon made its way downwards, coming into the atmosphere at top speed. The shaman could see a streak of light across the sky, like a burning comet that got closer, and closer, burning with the intensity of a sun. Soon the salvage runner passed over the spot and began to slow down the ion engines shut off as it backed up using frontal thrusters. It stabilized itself and landed in a nearby clearing. From the tail, five pods were dropped. The pods quickly opened and the extraction team stepped out, a Coordinator, three Protectors, and a Technician. The procedure for adaptation was very quickly finished, the Technician scanning environmental conditions and tailoring the conditions within the Omar carapaces for this purpose. It only took a few minutes before the team looked to the forest. The Coordinator raised his hand, and motioned for the team to cautiously make its way, as they closed in on the Shaman's position.

Extract from A.J.P. Baylor's The Dalek Chronicles:
'When the Dalek Fleet reconquered Skaro, their former Empire was still scattered, with many different minor groups of Dalek maurauders unable to return to the home planet. The replacement of these lost forces was considered pivotal to aid Dalek growth and to make dreams of a new Dalek Empire secure. While the Daleks experimented with new techniques of increased Dalek mutation, a small division of Daleks under the command of a Red Dalek (believed to be unit #562) were given the duty of establishing ways for better interstellar communication, in the hope of re-establishing links to the lost Dalek bands...'

"Somani gruppita domum caragastni obshchestvo..."
A Dalek's domed head spins around, flashing lights dancing of its curved, chrome head. "COMMANDER!" It screeched in an unearthly high, yet strangely robotic, voice.
"Suptati Bulloom nas novem drugarem bolohomei, metati..."
A dark shape slowly glided up to the first Dalek, hidden in the dark shadows cast by overhead equipment. It was slightly below the height of an average human, a mere four foot something, slanted in the front to give the image of it scooping through the very air. Two tall lights protruded from its dome, the lights currently dormant, and an eye-piece glared studiously downwards. The 'eye' dilated. Half spheres dotted the lower half of this creature, shining golden, in contrast with the gaudy red colour of the armour. Two 'arms' protruded from the midsection. One was a claw-like appendage which waved menacingly and dramaticly, a perfect 'hand' to place ones noble white handkerchief. The other was a useless stubby arm that ended in a slight hole crowned by four curved sheets of metal, in the shape of a tulip.
The lights upon the top of its red domed head.
" REPORT!"
The first dalek, a mere grey with blue bulbs and half spheres, shyly looked to its superior and dilated its 'eye'. The lights upon its head flashed.
"WE - HAVE - PICKED - UP - ALIEN - FREQUENCY
IT - APPEARS - TO - BE - RESPONDING - TO - US - AS - IF - ON - DALEK - TRANSMISSION - 05 - 08 - AND - 09"
The lights on the Red dalek flashed again.
"FREQUENCY - 09 - IS - FINAL - TRANSMISSIONS - FREQUENCY.
IT - IS - ONLY - UTILISED - WHEN - A - DALEK - IS - ABOUT - TO - BE - EXTERMINATED - WHEN - ITS - HEADPIECE - IS - TAMPERED - WITH.
WE - MUST - EXPLORE - WHATEVER - IS - SENDING - THESE.
CAN - YOU - IDENTIFY - THE - TECHNOLOGY?!"
The other Dalek's 'eye' dilated in panic, as it quickly searched through its databanks, trying to link all existant information with the source. It flashed again.
"NEGATIVE. TRANSMISSION - NOT - OF - DALEK - TECHNOLOGY."
The Red Dalek's eyepiece swivelled around 90 degrees to its left, positively glaring into the eye piece of its subordinate.
" THEN - ISSUE - A - GENERAL - CALL - FOR - THE - FOLLOWING - ORDER!
ANY - DALEKS - NOT - NEEDED - AT - THE - MOMENT - TO - REPORT - DIRECTLY - TO - THE - SHUTTLE - BAY! THEY - ARE - TO - GO - TO - THE - SOURCE - OF - THE - TRANSMISSIONS - AND - LOCATE - THE - DEVICE - THAT - EMITS - THESE - SIGNALS. THEY - ARE - TO - LOCATE - IT - AND - EXAMINE - IT.
UTILISE - CUNNING - IF - OUTNUMBERED - BY - NATIVES - BUT - ANY - ATTEMPT - TO - OPPOSE - US - WILL - BE - EXTERMINATED"
The other Dalek quickly, swivelled its eye-piece upwards, to stare at the ceiling, while emitting the words:
"I - OBEY!"
The Red Dalek continued to shout the words EXTERMINATE for another five minutes. It was a luxury it had recently enjoyed in, and a luxury it wished to occur soon.

Mere minutes later four Dalek fighter/bomber pods were given instructions in typical symplified manner: 'SEEK - LOCATE - EXTERMINATE' at Galatic Coordinates 542136. Eight Daleks thus set off to explore, seven of them the dull grey with black, one of them again a dull grey, but with bright blue half spheres. The Daleks had returned to Galatic raiding.

http://www.billsly.com/images/dalek%20_sky.jpg

Looking up, and slowly coming out of his deep trance, the shaman notices several strange creatures approaching through the dense forest. Demons from the spirit world come forth to destroy our tribe! I must flee and warn the elders! Springing to his feet with the agility born of a lifetime of living in dense forest, he sprints for the tree line, hoping to get far enough so as to warn his tribe of the impending danger.
Sensing the increase in possible hostile activity in the general area, the Box retracts its hinged side, and, with a loud hiss, seals itself off completly from the outside world.

The Omar Coordinator raised his hand as he stared off into the forest, seeing the thermal outline of the Shaman, who was shouting and running away. Processing the situation he realized that it would be very likely that he would first of all alert any one of his kind to Omar presence. He then realized that this entire thing could be a trap, and thus made a very quick decision. Reaching out his free arm, he latched on the crossbow and knelt, zooming in with his ocular enhancements and finding the shaman running through the dense woods. The Omar hesistated, he could not get a clear shot. It would be essential to Omar survival to sedate the target. The Omar froze, stiffened the arm, and fired, hoping the the tranquilizer bolt would reach the target. The rapid firing crossbow soon constructed a new bolt and another was fired, and the Omar followed the Shaman's path, taking as many shots as possible.

Crossbow bolts embedding themselves in the thick trunks of the trees all around him, the shaman dashes through the deep forest as fast as his legs can carry his slim frame. Breathing heavily, he chants a few words, and the largest of the trees between him and the Omar snap in half, falling to the ground. He was, after all, the village shaman, and the most skilled in the matters of the supernatural, though he knew he had little chance against these demons from the sky, he was still a long way from camp, and the hunting parties of his people were in another part of the forest entirely.

The Coordinator looked in at his location, and sent the coordinates to the Protectors. He raised his hand and pointed towards the direction of the Shaman, and immediately the three protectors readied their crossbows and began to run at full spead, leaping and dodging through the trees, whilst shouting, in a language that was used in a nearby system, even though it was probally useless.

"Cease and desist! The Guilds have no hostilities!"

The Omar began to catch up with the Shaman, whom they could see through their thermal ocular enhancements. Their glowing orange eyes could easily be seen through the woods, looking like a pack of wolves closing in on their pray as torchlights reflected off their eyes. They were heavily armored, but moved with an almost supernatural alacrity. As they moved, they attempted to stabilize themselves enough to fire a couple of shots, hoping to catch the pesky shaman.

Being the holder of the tribes knowledge, and solely responsible for passing it on to future generations, the shaman recognized a few of the words uttered by the Omar. Skidding to a stop, he turns to face his pursuers. Who are you, demons, to be invading this place? What is your purpose here? Answer me , or i shall call the wrath of my ancestors down upon your unholy head!
The shaman began to glow lightly, obviously trying to convey to the Omar the sense of what little power he had. Personally, he was hoping that these strange creatures were not really demons from the spirit world, but instead just another one of his visions, however unlikely though that was.

The Protectors kept their large weapons trained on the Shamans, not flinching. One of them looked to the others, and then spoke with his synthesized voice that seemed not of this world to the Shaman.

"Halt, organic. We do not wish harm on you. The Coordinator will be here to explain the situation."

The Protectors hesistated, until the cracking of branches could be heard and the more sleeker, less armored Coordinator came into few and motioned the Protectors to be at ease. They lowered their weapons slowly and stood straight as the Coordinator began to speak.

"Sovereign, we wish no harm to come of you. We are the Omar. We are not demons. We came to the world seeking commerce.. Resources. We investigated a transmission, a message, that came from this location. It depicted a shaman as you dancing, and we thought it might have been a distress signal."

The Omar hoped that the native would understand, though he could not guarantee it.

The Dalek crafts loomed above the target from orbit. The four crafts arranged themselves into formation, and began a planetary desent.
"UNITS - ONE - AND - TWO - ARE - TO - KEEP - ARTIFACT - TRANSMISSIONS - LOCATION - PINPOINTED.
UNITS - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - AND - SIX - ARE - TO - EXAMINE - LOCAL - AREA.
UNIT - SEVEN - WILL - AID - GUARDING - OF - SPACECRAFT.
INCOMING - ORDERS - FROM - RED - DALEK...
ARITFACT - IS - TO - BE - DESTROYED - IF - WE - CANNOT - OBTAIN - IT
PERMISSION - TO - UTILISE - SELF DESTRUCT - MEASURES - GRANTED!"
The thrusters fired, burning first deep blue, but slowly changing to an orange, then yellow, as the crasts broke through the orbit and glided softly downwards, no more obviously lumps of metal than mere feathers thrown to the mercy of gravity. And like feathers, the Dalek crafts decended safely to the ground, in a small area in the great forest. It was near the artifact and allowed for the safe landing of such bulky crafts, which was good news for the Daleks. Unfortunately, it also emitted a terribly loud noise to the surrounding area.

The doors of the crafts opened, and a two daleks from the first two crafts that landed emerged, bopping comically wherever they 'glided' over stones and outcrops of rock. Eye stalks waving, the Daleks turned to face the artifact...

Taking the message in, the shaman slowly forms the necessary words in his mind. You are not of my people, not demons, and claiming to come from the heavens, seeking resources! I...have no words. Only the earthly wisdom of the elders can determine your true intentions, and if you are indeed not demons. Your chief elder shall follow me, to the elders of my people, so that we may settle this disturbing matter of not-demon-spirits from the sky. Several heavily painted forms materialize from between the trees, seemingly out of thin air, bows and flint daggers at the ready. And these, the scouts and beast trackers of my tribe shall escort us to our camp, safely, for there are many savage beasts in this part of the jungle, and my brothers tell me that we are not the only ones within a short distance of the divine boulder of the ancestors. There is something even more unnatural than you, here in this forest with us.

The Omar heard the huge shock of the sound the Dalek landing made.

"It would be best if we did not remain here. We will follow you and your guids."

It was hardly SOP for possible first contact to be made by somebody as important as the Warprince, but he was in the area...and it was a long trip home. So...

The Wanderer was a sleek, black, winged craft of the typical Ascended design. It was about 400 meters long...and extremely deadly. Which was unsurprising, considering it was the personal yacht of the then-Heir to the Lordship of House Stark.

Dysaryn, the yacht's current owner, rarely used it. Because it wasn't replaceable. His normal conveyance was the Changer, a strike cruiser...but, the Wanderer was his in the way no other ship could be.

It was also of sufficient size to house the full one hundred men of his Blood Guard. Which was nice.

At any rate, when the...strange...message was received, Dysaryn placed his hand over the long, curved knife-like Riftpiece...and closed his eyes.

The Wandered vanished in a burst of aquamarine light, re-appearing exactly seven seconds later in orbit around the proper planet...

Never screw with the Ascended.

At any rate, Dysaryn had decided to lead First Squad himself, so eleven individuals inserted from orbit in the usual manner...

Daleks.

Dysaryn frowned, rising from his crouch as the insertion film scattered away from his body. He was understandably bold...the Wanderer carried his Gunslinger War Armor. It looked like a thinsuit, save for the bump on the left shoulder, but it was far and away the most effective suits of armor ever created by the Ascended Supremacy, and as such, most probably, the universe...

But it didn't like being taken away from the Wanderer. Oh, he could wear it about a planet orbitted by the Wanderer for as long as he wanted, but remove the Wanderer...the suit tended to get pissed off. Which wasn't fun.

"Hey, you! Yeah, you, the idiot tin-cans looking like they crawled out of a bad sci-fi flick. The hell do you want?"

Daleks? They were a human concoction. Dysaryn Stark had never heard of them.

There are many new visitors to my peoples forest, in addition to you and the unnatural ones. My brothers tell me that the unnatural ones are closing in on the divine box, a manifestation of the ancestors that I cannot afford to lose. The elders, in all their wisdom, can wait. The shaman gestures to the beast trackers, and they melt back into the forest, as if they were never there at all. He starts into a loud rant, seemingly to no one in particular. My brothers, the sanctity of our forest is threatened! We cannot allow these invaders to deny us a relic of our ancestors!
The chief elder will greatly reward the warrior that brings him the heads of these filth!

A deafening chorus of roars, beastly noises and noisy hammering of weapons on the ground is heard, which lasts for a few seconds, then just as quickly as it began, falls silent. You, the not-demons, are about to be witness to the unnatural ones destruction. Either help my brothers, or stay here, for there shall be no room for cowards in this fight.

The Omar seemed to stare, before then comisserating silently before the Coordinator nodded. The Protectors swtiched out their crossbows for larger pulse rifles, and adjusted their nano-ammunition as such and set the settings for the pulse rifle ammo. The Coordinator kept his crossbow, as it was very effective in these settings.

"If it would show to you that we are not hostile, the Omar will assist in protecting your relic from the intruders. We believe it fitting of Omar survival."

Somewhere in the forest, another tree appeared. Quite literally, it appeared, slowly materialising from thin air. A line in the tree’s bark opened outward, into a double set of doors, which swung wide, and a young man in a homespun brown robe stepped out, “Hum, hum, almost forgot it,” he said, walking back inside for a moment and taking a long staff of ‘wood’ from inside the strange 'tree.' Closing the door behind him, and locking it with a key that fitted perfectly into a knothole in the tree, he began walking through the forest, whistling softly.

----

Days earlier, or years later, it didn’t really matter, what did matter is that the Monk had spent a practical eternity sitting inside a, well, it was awfully uncivilised, but it was really a cell. Admittedly, it was a cell larger than most palaces and more opulent than most races could even imagine. But it was still a cell.

It was hard to determine time in the cell, but there seemed to have been no shortage of it. Years? Decades? It didn’t really matter. Honestly, as if blowing up Harald Hadrada’s fleet would have been so bad, he thought to himself, “Ahah,” he said, “And who is my guest?”

“A friend, from the Celestial,”

“Yes, the Celestial Intervention Agency. What do you want with me?”

“We have a use for you at last. The Matrix indicates that your old friends the Daleks have shown up again.”

“I see, and you want me to go and deal with them?”

“In exchange for a full pardon.”

“Do you have any idea what they’re up to?”

“No.”

“What fun!”

----

A type fifty, mark two Time And Relative Dimension In Space vessel was a highly sophisticated piece of equipment. Dimensionally transcendental – bigger on the inside than on the outside, like a three dimensional object touching the plane of a two dimensional universe – remotely powered by its link to the Eye of Harmony on Gallifrey, the interior was, overall, mountain sized. Sophisticated navigational systems allowed the TARDIS to travel to any time and place, and its ‘chameleon circuit’ allowed it to reconfigure its exterior aperture to resemble whatever shape was appropriate to the environment or desired by the operator.

This was what the tree was.

And the Monk - he was one of the Lords of Time.

Tagged for possible intervention

"UNITS - FOUR - AND - FIVE.
ATTACH - FLAMETHROWER - DEVICE-
ACTIVATE!"
Bursts of firelight roared from the appendages of the two Daleks in front. Fire, primative fire, writhed naked in a seductive dance for which the Daleks, had they but stared into it, would have felt no wonder, no remorse, no pity, no joy. They saw only hate, only dashed dreams, and the tendancy, the urge to set alight planets, galaxies, the universe itself!

UTILISE - CUNNING - IF - OUTNUMBERED - BY - NATIVES - BUT - ANY - ATTEMPT - TO - OPPOSE - US - WILL - BE - EXTERMINATED"
The message played on, again and again, trying to coerce the Daleks to act in such a way, to retreat from the desire for victory, from Dalek bloody victory. It was a demand on the Daleks to survive. The message played on as the Emperor Dalek had demanded it would, but old habits are hard to break.
"SEEK - LOCATE - EXTERMINATE! SEEK - LOCATE - EXTERMINATE!"
The cries grew louder and louder, reaching a screeching frenzy, a sheer carcophany of the desire to kill. Emotion had not been removed from the Daleks, only compassion.
Area fire...single beam shots...paralyzation...manipulation of gravity utilising the 'hand'. So many different ways of exterminating.
But first the forest had to burn, it had to be destroyed. The trees were not wide enough to allow otherwise, to allow Dalek passage. But flames do not hurt the Dalek...
Torches blare out, fire kissing greenery, granting them the beautiful kiss of death. Engulfed in such an embrace, dozy bushes surrendered their souls, unleashing sheedings of their mortal forms upon the forest surface. Tiny animals of various varieties screeched in terror, some of those, being primitive bipeds, rubbed their eyes comically as if trying to comprehend the unnatural blaze heading towards them. Only ash and dust remained, and even these were trodden on by the Daleks.

The sky grew heavy, not with clouds, but with spaceships. Apparently the universe had come to observe the insignifcant planet. One critic shouted out:
"Hey, you! Yeah, you, the idiot tin-cans looking like they crawled out of a bad sci-fi flick. The hell do you want?"
A quick 'banter' between the leader Dalek and his immediate subordinate, the pilot, thus took place:
"WE - HAVE - ATTRACTED - TOO - MUCH - ATTENTION - TO - OURSELVES
TRANSMIT - ALL - INFORMATION - DISPLAYED - BY - ALL - DALEK - UNITS - TO - THE - CENTRAL - INTELLIGENCE - BANK - ON - SKARO - NOW.
EXAMINE - THE - ITEM - IMMEDIATELY.
WE - MUST - BE - ABLE - TO - DUPLICATE - THE - POWER - OF - ITS - EMISSIONS.
THAT - IS - OUR - PRIME - DIRECTIVE - FROM - THE - RED - DALEK.
LINK - ALL - SELF DESTRUCT - SYSTEMS - INTO - OUR - COMBINED - MENTAL - COLLECTIVE.
NO - EQUIPMENT - IS - TO - BE - LEFT - ON - THIS - PLANET - SHOULD - WE - FAIL!"
"I - OBEY!"
However, as the Daleks eye-stalks began to turn, several instruments on the control panel began to flash a bright green. A warning siren, resemblent of a drunken highlander's bagpipe regiment, rang out through the space craft.
"TIME - DESTORTION - LOCATED."
"IDENTIFY - COORDINATES!"
"COORDINATES - INDICATE - TIME - VESSEL - LOCATED - IN - SECTOR - 52.3 OF - SURROUNDING - AREA.
WHAT - ARE - INSTRUCTIONS?"
"DALEKS - FOUR - AND - FIVE - WILL - CONTINUE - TO - FAN - FLAMES - BUT - WILL - AIM - TOWARDS - AREA - 52.3. WHOEVER - IS - OPERATING - THAT - TIMEVESSEL - IS - PROBABLY - AN - ENEMY - OF - THE - DALEKS. EXTERMINATE - THEM!"

And all this time the fires burned, and the forest weeped.

The Monk was of course, unaware that his TARDIS had been detected, but was quite confident of its ability to survive anything that could be thrown at it by the locals, and he’d activated the Hostile Action Detection System before leaving, which would pluck it away from any effort to bury or blockade it. One could pitch the entire planet into a black hole and not destroy such a vessel. Of course, as he was outside of it, such a catastrophe would be rather unfortunate for him.

He continued whistling, a jaunty tune, walking through the forest.

Everywhere, the animals, the natives, the creatures in the sky, sensed the forest burning, scorched by the mechanical demons come down from the heavens. Yes, sensed it, for the people of this world were almost an extension of the trees themselves, attuned to all of the happenings in this land, their ancestral home.

Suddenly gripped by a deep sense of fear, the shaman drops to knees, and gasps for breath. The land...it is burning, these metal abominations are scorching the forest! This cannot stand!
This situation is repeated hundreds, if not thousands of times throught this part of the forest, as that many tribesmen and women fall to the ground, gripping themselves in deepest fear, for when they recovered, there would be no saving the metal invaders, as the wrath of a thousand angry tribespeople would be brought down upon their heads.

~~~~~

In another part of the forest, a few minutes prior, a lone huntress wanders through the woods, hunting for her next meal, hoping to catch enough to feed the rest of the tribe. Peering through the trees, she spots something decidely out of place, a man dressed in odd clothing walking through the forest, whistling a tune as he goes. Cautiously, she approaches the man, bow drawn. Who are you, to be walking through this part of the forest without a bow, or even a simple dagger? You are not of my tribe, and you seem to not care about the myriad dangers present here.

The TARDIS was in the Monk’s mind, and now it was in the huntress’ mind. Her language became his language even as he heard her. “You can put down the bow. I mean you no harm. I have in fact been sent to help your people.” He leaned on the staff a little more and gave her his best effort at a winning smile. “Could I trouble you to tell me precisely what these dangers are?”

Yes, odd little man, there are many dangers in this forest that you seem to be oblivious to, so I shall explain all on the way back to my village, and there is much i would ask you in return. Carefulling lowering her bow back down to her hip, she edges a little closer to the oddly dressed man.
She gestures to a far distant something deeper in the forest. Follow me, strange one, there is much we should discuss.

He nodded, and began following, walking with a step that betrayed the youth of his new body, “Very well,” he said, “I shall go with you. May I ask your name?” he said, no longer leaning on the staff. He was under the impression that he had arrived with days to spare. Which he had of course, not, thanks to the questionably functional TARDIS he’d been given.

My...name is Ceriana, strange one. Before we reach the village, just exactly what are you? Where do you come from, and you say you were sent to help my people? I can tell that you aren't completly human, and your manner, your dress, everything about you is unfamiliar to me, I am most curious. She lightly brushes her hair from her face, and sheepishly gazes at the ground, clutching her bow to her side.

“Well,” he said, “I am a traveller of sorts. I come from a place called Gallifrey, which you’ve probably not heard of.” He took the opportunity to pull the hood of the robe down and adjust a long ponytail of black hair, “in any case, I’ve been sent here by the – Elders” which wasn’t an entirely inaccurate term, “of Gallifrey to see about frustrating some unfortunate things they think might happen here soon.”

Dysaryn frowned. Usually things had the smarts to at least provide some sort of answer to his questions. Provided that the aforementioned things were capable of providing some sort of action...

and yet...

"Owen. I want your people to keep an LZ secure. Weapons are free, but I suggest you dig in. I'm going alone."

Now, normally that would have incited protest of some sort, but the fact was that the reasoning behind Dysaryn's orders was perfectly logical. He had the equipment and the training of a Gunslinger...and he had an incredible amount of experience, even for an immortal...

So Owen would nod and begin setting up a perimeter and fire-breaks...and Dysaryn would venture out alone...

Dysaryn turned towards the direction of the metallic...things, his right hand resting on the pommel of his warblade. Normally he'd have used his carbine...but his supply of blast ammunition was woefully limited, while his supply of sword slashes...wasn't.

It required all of a simple thought to overlay the top corner of the HUD display projected onto the interior of his visor with a screen that showed the combined sensor readouts of his armor and his orbitting starship at a seventy percent mask.

It was just as simple for him to order the suits onboard AI to sort the indicated "lifeforms" by readings and to indicate this with different colors...

"Hmm...quite the collection of non-natives we have today. Very interesting."

The last individual to be granted the title Gunslinger by the Ascended Supremacy frowned for a moment, then set off in the direction of the cluster of lifeforms that included a large concentration of natives, including one that gave off some interesting readings (That'd be the Shaman,) as well as a handful of Visitors (The Omar.)

He also activated the intruder chameleon system, causing the Gunslinger to vanish entirely. He couldn't -do- much with the system activated...like draw his sword...and the IC system was decidedly power intensive...point being that you couldn't fight with it engaged. But it was decidedly useful for movement purposes.

Unfortunate things you say? I highly doubt any majorly destructive things could happen to this for-Freezing in place, as if suddenly put in stasis, she stumbles, drops her bow to the forest floor with a loud clatter, and falls to the ground, hitting the side of her face on a large fallen tree trunk in the process, bruising her head. Deeply trembling, she mumbles in a deathly afraid tone of voice. The forest...forest...no...something very..wrong...has happened...to my...home... She stares at her companion, eyes slightly off focus.

The Meddler scratched his chin, things were looking grim. "It appears I've arrived a little too late. Well, Come," he said, extending a hand, to her, physically picking her up if he needed to, otherwise helping her to her feet, "It'd be unwise to be caught on the ground like this."

Slowly, and painfully returning to her feet, Ceriana thanks her companion.Yes, yes it would. Our, or at the least my first priority is to return to the village and help gather my people into a force capable of returning the forests pain to these intruders a thousand fold. Thrusting her bow into the air victoriously, she sprints off in the direction of her village.
Come, strange visitor, and see if you can catch up with a huntress of the greatest tribe on the face of this world!

"Oh good grief," he said, picking up his stick once again. He knew he really ought to be getting back to his TARDIS, but decided to run after her. Of course, though he was in excellent shape, she knew the enviroment better, and was likely more used to such running, and he soon lagged a little way behind.

Running through the forest, and in particular, this part of said forest was one thing Ceriana had grown up doing, and as such, she reached the village well ahead of her companion. Parting a clump of tree branches with one hand, she motioned to her companion to follow, who was almost completely out of sight, such was the girls speed. Follow!, the village is just ahead of here, and is where we shall find all necessary answers, and a little fun, if you so desire.

This woman has some odd sense of timing he thought, looking over his shoulder and wondering about the likelyhood of the Daleks blowing the village up as soon as he got there. "Right, yes, answers," he said, coming up behind her. He never knew, the situation may not be as bad as he'd expected...

Walking into the village, there is an obvious air of fear, of related panic, and outright madness.While I would like to ..speak with you, it is obvious that we shall have no time, as glorious battle is upon us at last! These metal invaders shall fear us for generations to come, assuming that they survive that long! Immediately before sprinting to join the assembling ranks of what warriors the village could spare, which admittedly wasn't much, Ceriana gently presses a small, delicate purple flower into the mans hands. I shall..see you later, if you choose not to come with me to this battle.

~~~~

Nearer to the coming fight, the Shaman, and the not-demons(the Omar) wait patiently for the coming reinforcements, for it is obvious to all but the smallest creatures of the forest that the fight cannot be won by this small band of warriors alone. Peering through the trees, not all too far from the Daleks, and their wanton destruction of the forest, the shaman addresses the Omar. "These creatures...these metal monstrosities...are far beyond even the power of my people's gathered warriors. I fear that this shall be a short battle, even with your more than generous help."

"I will," he said, putting the flower through a small buttonhole near the neck of his robe, "But not immediately. I need to go and fetch some things," he said, fishing a small box of metal from his pocket, "Keep hold of this for me please," he said, "I'll explain why later."

He turned and ran off into the forest again.

----

Panting slightly, he was somewhat relieved to see he'd arrived back at his Tardis before the Daleks had found it. Turning the key in the door, he disengaged the lock and threw the doors inward, briskly waking into the time machine and resting on the console. "Humm. Armoury," he said, "I wonder where it is in this thing."

Dysaryn frowned. This was taking far too long...it was long past time he hurried the hell up. 'n so, Dysaryn Stark broke into the ground devouring lope of the Fhellant'im on a one-gee planet...it was...impressive.

Not merely as impressive as when, having reached the proper speed, Dysaryn coiled his leg muscles and hurtled upwards, his arm snapping up before him and the flicloth glider deploying. The push-drive mounted in his armor's "belt buckle" sped him up to the proper speed, and he estimated his ETA to te group of ALIUMS as being measured in seconds.

"Miserable gits," he said, "you'd think they'd at least leave some guns around."

He began flipping switches on the console, transferring the space-time-coordinates of his current location to memory, with an added five seconds, and dematerialising the vessel.

Five seconds later, and one long shopping trip to Chelonia, planet of weapons, later, the TARDIS re-materialised. The Monk then ran a preprogrammed command through the sensor console, and moved the vessel to within five feet of the tracking device he had given Ceriana...

Rushing through the forest with almost lightning speed, the largest band of Aidonian warriors ever assembled presses on to their target, the Daleks, and to meet up with the Shaman and the Omar. Ceriana is among them, though lagging behind somewhat, as she is thinking of the strange little man she met in the forest earlier on. Hearing an odd noise, and sensing something wrong with one of the nearby trees, she comes to a complete complete stop, and turns to face said tree. What is this?! something has infested the tre...Her eyes become wide with fear, as a hand, then a foot appears out from the trunk of the 'tree'. Oh...it's you. Be careful with your magic next time, you almost gave me a heart attack. And I half-expected you to not come with us, as I don't want to see you hurt. But now that you have, let us catch up with the rest of my tribes warriors, and put an end to this killing of my home once and for all.

Rushing through the forest with almost lightning speed, the largest band of Aidonian warriors ever assembled presses on to their target, the Daleks, and to meet up with the Shaman and the Omar. Ceriana is among them, though lagging behind somewhat, as she is thinking of the strange little man she met in the forest earlier on. Hearing an odd noise, and sensing something wrong with one of the nearby trees, she comes to a complete complete stop, and turns to face said tree. What is this?! something has infested the tre...Her eyes become wide with fear, as a hand, then a foot appears out from the trunk of the 'tree'. Oh...it's you. Be careful with your magic next time, you almost gave me a heart attack. And I half-expected you to not come with us, as I don't want to see you hurt. But now that you have, let us catch up with the rest of my tribes warriors, and put an end to this killing of my home once and for all.
The Omar Coordinator took a minute to take in the situation and converse silently with his small squad of Protectors and the now not-so-lost Technician. They were horribly outnumbered. It would be adverse to Omar survival if they indeed went out from this. They seemed very hesistant to come to a hasty decision. Finally, the Coordinator broke through and began to speak.

"We have decided that with the combined forces of the indigenous populations here and that of this Omar, we will be able to through superior tactics isolate and eliminate the Daleks. This will take the utmost precision, and thus, we will have to prepare for this. If any of you have skills in the setting of obstacles for the Dalek's path, we can use assymetrical tactics to bring them down or at least drive them from your homeworld. We believe that with these conditions it will not be impossible to keep you safe from the domination of this inorganic attacker."

"Hah," he said, "I can't very well do so," he slung a large and fearsome looking rifle over his shoulder, and grinned, "And yes. I will try to be more careful where I land this thing in future. It likes you though..."

The shaman, obviously disappointed, shakes his head. "This is a fight my people must win ourselves. If you truly wish to help, then provide cover fire for our coming reinforcements." He points to something in the distance. "There, there is the warband. Although you most probably cannot see them yet, they are there, and will be *here* in a few minutes, or less. While my people may appear primitive to you, we have many ways of defending our home, outside of the more conventional flint arrows and daggers." As if to demonstrate, the shaman mumbles a few words, and a nearby bush bursts into flame, showering him and the Omar with sparks, and producing an oddly glowing light. "That is a mere childrens magic trick compared to what we have in store for these metallic monstrosities."

~~~~

Ceriana chuckles, trying to hide her anxiety at the coming battle. That large...weapon slung over your shoulder is most intriguing. I shall have to learn more of it, assuming we all survive this fight. Leaning over to gently kiss her companion on the cheek, she then turns and runs off in pursuit of the rest of the warriors, who were by then quite a bit ahead of her. Follow! Into the depths of the abyss we go!

The Coordinator looked to him.

"We will not interfere in whatever you chose. We will provide support and cover fire for retreat or reinforcements that will require it."

(OOC: Because I'm feeling slightly less assholish than usual, I'm going to do somebody a great big favor. I made a stupid decision by running Dysaryn in this thread, 'n I recognize that. Y'all 'll have more fun without me, I'm sure.)

Dys frowned as he heard a certain, specific noise and checked his watch. A shrug of his shoulders and he did an about face. When duty called, the Changer had little choice but to answer.

Abyss this, depths that he thought, following, why do these people never stay calm?

...True Astra volatility: 1% below normal...
...directive-net acknowledgement of instruction...
...preparing drop...
...leaving True Astra...
...Warcraft Shadlowlight stabilised...
...location: Unknown World...
...co-ordinates updating...
...scattercloak active...
...scattershield active...
...shimmercloak active...
...magecloak active...
...mageshield active...
...psicloak active...
...psishield active...
...shieldnet fully active...
...cloak secure, integrity: 100%...

The Onarrán ship dropped out of the True Astra quite a while after the others had arrived, but then it had only recently received the instructions from the High Conclave moments before. The cloaked Warcraftslid smoothly into orbit, cloaking devices at full functionality. Passive sensors observed the surroundings and brought the information up on holoscreen, along with the data analysis and threat risks. The ship's Commander came to a conclusion against a direct approach - hardly surprising, the Onarrán never used a direct approach except as a tactic to distract from a true threat. Their way of war was the tactic of misdirection, stealth and deception.

Slender fingers slid over control crystals, information came and went. After some time a small pod, also cloaked, was ejected from the Shadowlight, falling swiftly toward the planet and entering the atmosphere almost seamlessly, although those on the ground who were looking might notice the flame-trail before the landing pod slowed enough to prevent the friction burn on the air. The heat bloom caused by the friction would probably also show up on sensors, although the object itself would not.

It landed fairly close to the origin of the signal, slowing itself at the last minute so that it made only a small crater. A few seconds later the area around it was cool once more as freezing ozone and nitrogen were leaked out of the pod. For a half-second the pod itself shimmered into visibility - smooth and slender it looked more like some sort of projectile fired from an assassin's weapon than a delivery pod. Moments later the materialcloak replaced the shimmercloak and scattercloak and the object once more vanished from sight.

Inside the pod, Vaytheranil vos-H'talynusotia kas-Rose vasul-Onarrov checked over his equipment one final time, taking a patient time about it with the Allnet meticulously examining each object atom by atom with a speed that was slowly causing a migraine for the Onarrán. A few short minutes later he reset the Allnet to its standard running pattern - a mere one percent of Allnet's full capacity, instead of the six percent it had been functioning at. His suit could sustain an Allnet of up to eighteen percent, but no sane entity would go anywhere near the full eighteen, even for half a minute...that much knowledge, data, information being fed into one's mind would tear consiousness and intellect apart, replacing anyone, no matter how well trained in the Allnet, with a gibbering imbecilic wreck.

His checks complete the small doorway slid open, exposing the interior of the craft for an instant to any onlookers, and the lithe, armour form that was Vayth climbed out dextrously before activating his personal cloaks and sealing the drop pod. A short time later the crater had vanished as the pod's graphicshield generated an illusion of unbroken earth and the Onarrán of the House of Rose was running through the dense jungle with the easy grace of his race.

The Dalek's continued to push through the forest, burning as they went to ensure that they would fit between the trees, the rocks that had been thrown had merely scratched and dented the paintwork, however, the logs that were collapsed ontop of the Daleks crushed them easily, sparks and a small bang signifying the death and destruction of one of these mettalic monstrosities.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" creeched one as it fried a couple of the small fleshy creatures that had been throwing stones at it.

Back at one of the ships a large Golden Dalek twitched the controls on a pad infront of it.
'RE-PORT' it creeched as the small jamjar ears lit up.
'SUFF-ER-ING FEW LOSSES. DIS-COVERED STRANGE SIGNALS.'
'WHAT?'
'MATCHES A TAR-DIS SIGNAL.'
'THE TIME-LORDS ARE HERE! ALL UNITS CHANGE MI-SSION LOCATE AND EX-TER-MIN-ATE THE TIME LORD.'
A hundred or more creeches of 'I O-BEY' flooded the communications outlet, the large black Dalek, content in its work, continued to push the various buttons with its sucker.

Trees fell, rocks were thrown and arrows by the thousands flew, but little could stop the alien monsters from barrelling through the forest, burning as they went. And thus the shaman made a decision, a decision to use his powers to their fullest, and damn their impact on the trees.
The receeding treeline, barely metres from the Daleks.
Ceriana, along with the the rest of the hunters, continually rain arrows down on the daleks, however useless the very gesture is. And occasionally a tree 'collapses' on top of a dalek, on in front of one, to confuse and disorient it.
Severe casualties are taken, though, as the hunters are shot and killed one by one, with only the odd injury as a tree explodes and splinters shoot into arms and legs. Ceriana suffers one such injury, as a nearby tree explodes under a hail of Dalek fire and several large pieces of wood strike her on the arm and chest.

Aaargh! She slumps down against another tree and drops her bow, bruises already beginning to form.
Her companion,the brown robed man slowly walks up to her, rifle slung over his shoulder. He extends his hand down to her, obviously to help her stand up, injured as she is.

The Armamentophiles of Actrax, one of the most distant and irrelevent worlds in the galaxy, have never been touched by war. For this reason, they seem obsessed with it. The Armamentophiles have one of the universe's most extensive weapons collections - probably one of the reasons no one has ever made war upon them - in which every artifact has its own unique classification, lovingly compiled by the Master of Archives.

The rifle the Time Lord had aquired was mounted on a gold plinth in the hall of smallarms, and the plaque under it read:

Chelonian XIE-91, production model, Corfican Era.

A weapon using autotargeting systems to determine the appropriate kinetic energy for its projectiles against any target, and extensive field bracings to dispense with the problem of grandcoilgun recoil. Unfortunatley, the wide bore turbo-penetrating projectiles used in this weapon limit its ammunition (a mistake corrected later in the upgraded variant, which utilises a snake-drum magazine with inregal motors and energy flow regulators...

----

Of course, for the moment, his concern was not using the weapon, but removing his 'primative' associate from danger, and this he did rather effectively, if not entirely gently.

The three Daleks, all a muddy gold in their colour rattled through the trees in a column.
The lead one suddenly turned its head and raised its stalk slightly, the phased blue sight zoomed through the trees and spotted the two figures running. One was holding a weapon which did not suit what the locals had been using.
'Tar-get Iden-tif-ied, Pro-ceed-ing to com-plete Prim-ary ob-ject-ive.'

It wheeled its mid-section and fired, the shot sang past and blew out a tree near to the two figures.

Garbling a curse at itself, it turned in the direction of the fleeing figures.
'Foll-ow!' it creeched to its similarly coloured bretherin, who also fired....
and missed.

Elsewhere in the forest, a group of a dozen of the light red coloured Dalek's stood around the "tree"
'We Have loc-at-ed the Tar-Dis.' one crackled as its "ears" danced on and off.
'Guard it, the Time-Lord Will Come Back Here, it has too...'
'The Da-lek's shall ann-ih-halate The Time-Lord.'

The all turned when they heard the different snap of the "New" Dalek's weapons.

The TARDIS blockaded by the Daleks let out a low whine, slowly fading from view. The same sound could be heard a few yards away, in a clearing, where a large rock appeared in the same slow manner. Doubtless the Hostile Action Detection System, something the Time Lord they were most familiar with, should have made use of more often, but then, as the Monk would say, “that fool can’t even turn the Chameleon Circuit on, how would he manage to find the HADS?”

----

He unslung the gun and fiddled with the settings as he ran. A little image appeared behind his eyes, and he mumbled something about “bloody impolite thing.”

Settings flew across his eye, and he laughed, “Right. Yes. Autofire – Military Grade Metals. He swept the gun across the ground, and three shots abruptly flew out, smashing through the trees as they shot with perfect precision toward each of the three daleks - and promptly disappeared to vapour as they entered a matter disruption field around each of the metallic pepper pots.

“Okay,” he said as readings on the heads up display indicated the lack of damage, “This is new…”

The sheilds hissed very gently as the bullets were simply iradicated from existence.
The Supreme Council had made another wise decision.

The Three Dalek's each shot again, the distinctive "buzz" of the weapons whipping through the trees. They suddenly they stopped, a log lay in their way, almost puzzled the Stalks of all three glanced down, then back up at their fleeing Quarry.
'El-E-Vate!' they yelled at the same time.
With a gently glowing blue they floated up and over the log, with the advantage of height they stayed aloft and began to pepper the ground with fire, sending branches and leaves cascading down onto the two fleeing figures.

---------

At the slight whine all the red Dalek's spun their heads simultaneously, some shifted back, as if stagging in shock at the dissappearence.
'Wheere...' stammered one in a low, rumbling voice, the lights in its ears barely flickering.
Each one now began to spin and look frantically around, up down, left right, all the way around.
'We-Have-Lost-It! Fan-Out and find the Tar-Dis.'