NationStates Jolt Archive

The ships plunged through the atmosphere of the planet; Troop Transports and Garuda Fighters, weapons blazing as uncertain fire arose from the world to attempt to discourage them. A gout of raw energy tore one fighter from its moorings amongst the heavens, sending it spiralling in death towards the ground.

Orbital defences cracked and shattered above, under the onslaught of the Leviathan Roused Cruisers, and the hammering fire of the Slumbering Giant, a converted Glorious Heritage Class Heavy Cruiser. On board, watching with a certain bored resignation as he ran a hand over the teasing blade of a knife, and let his other drift to the gun at his side, sat Tyr Anasazi.

"Sir" A Kodiak came to the bridge, saluting his Alpha in the Nietzschean manner. "Your conveyance is ready"

"Good; finally we can end this little tumult; and put the kludges in their place. We control the slave trade; that creates a dependancy amongst the Drago-Kasov and Sabra-Jaguar, that shall form weakness."

"Orca and Majorum are also issues..."

"Potential allies; we are the Kodiak; we are the keepers of the Progenitor's remains. Our Pride fell once; this time, we shall rule ascendant."

tag. Open?

OOC: Yup; entirely.

OOC: Is this a call for aid in the rebellion, or is it about getting diplomatic contacts?

OOC; its me raiding a planet for slaves...Hence the title.

OOC: Oh, ok. I thought it was slaves raiding your cities.

One of the ‘hundred worlds’ of Atum lay below. Its name, Skith. With a population of around ten million, it was a middling world, all told. Its people, like all under the cancerous dominion of Atum, eked out precarious lives in fields under the relentless glare of twin suns.

In truth, they were slaves already. Their bonds were both physical (to the land itself, ruled over by the ‘wise and benevolent’ nomarchs indirectly through tiers of feudalistic hierarchy, and spiritual, their minds enslaved by the false religion of the so-called God of Mnewer. Skith had no real resources other than people.

The ruling infrastructure of Skith, led by an absentee viceroy who spent his days on the distant capital world, was run by a council of around twenty goa’uld who were for the most part nomarchs, the lowest rank a goa’uld could hold, with a scattering of the next lowest rank, overseer. Enforcing their tenuous will throughout the planet were forty thousand jaffa warriors.

It wasn’t enough to rule effectively of course, thousands of the iron age people died every year, in their own curious little war in the far places, where the goa’uld and their soldiers cared too little to tread.

There was one thing that was prominent about Skith though. Its people were ripe for the picking of anyone who chose to take them.

the Newvarians are a nation of slave traders and it is there 2 biggest export in the world. they would be glad to aid a raid and send divisions of there para-mlitay Storm Troopers to you, in return for some of the product

OOC: SO, Atum, are you saying you want to be the world that I'm raiding? Cause that'd be quite cool.

OOC: Sure do. Atum's my 'get beaten up' puppet. Though you'll have to wait until tomorrow for another post from it...

OOC: OK :) Its always nice to have a nice little scenario in the making.

Well, the ball's in your court at the moment. Feel free to post some raiding. ;)

A blast of orbital fury tore through the atmosphere in a sunderign blow of flame and shell; the demented shrill choir of ionising air echoed in the void; echoed about the world; as the Nietzschean fleet plunged forth. Weapons roaring in its initial bombardment of the world. Garuda class fighters tore through the air; aflame, weapons roaring as they strafed the air; laying into buildings and defences with heavy weapons; while Troop Transports plunged from the air (Once used to transport High Guard Lancers). As they surged forth; their weapons roared in discharge; howling in assault.

"Take them alive!" Came the bellowed cry of Tyr Anasazi; slammed an extended force lance into the brittle neck of a passing kludge; feeling grim satisfaction at the snap; while his rifle roared and bucked in his grasp. How he loved this bitter-sweet sensation of war.