NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is one of the fragments of the shattered Realm. As explained below, they're becoming mercenaries. I considered coming back as a major empire again, but that's boring. Coming back as a wildcard is fascinating. I'm going with that.

IC: Zegenthis, Cycle Five Thousand, Two Hundred and Nineteen

The planet floated in the void. Little had changed for almost five thousand years. A green and verdant landscape was surrounded by peaceful oceans, wildlife nattering about, looking for their next meal.

"Back here. It seems to have started here. That's appropriate."

A sniff.

"The Council of Return won't be happy."

"They never are. But despite their control over the warships, they're not in any position to destroy us. AI protocol won't let them. More importantly, they're fragmented anyway. Their strategy is foolish. Ours is more.. palatable."

"Here, though? We haven't been here for almost five thousand years."

"So much the better. This was before the Realm. Before the Leagues, before the petty empires, the conquests. Before we had our delusions of grandeur that led to real, dangerous grandeur."

The ship flitted through the atmosphere, slicing the air without the flames that should have existed at such a speed. It landed with aplomb, silvery legs scraping the earth, and then expanding at a terrific rate until they formed a platform surrounding the entire ship.

"How many do we have?"

"Fifteen thousand. We can improve that. We focused too heavily on survival previously. This time, we shall achieve perfection."

"Geneoperants?"

"No, operants are dead ends. They can only acquire so many skills. We shall train Lyn."

"Those.. combat junkies?"

"Not the modern-day imitation. The real thing. Warriors without peer. We will not exist otherwise. A station for defense, and none who are not the greatest. In empire, we lost our roots. In conquest, we forgot perfection."

"Shall we sell ourselves as of old?"

"Of course. The perfect mercenary force. Without morality, and therefore without weakness."

"To the highest bidder?"

"To the hardest cause. We must winnow our ranks constantly. We can automate an industrial base of some ten billions if it is required. I do not believe we shall need more than ten thousand warriors in total. Each one shall be a Lyn, and each shall possess his own combat vessel. We shall be feared, but that is irrelevant. We shall attain purity. That is all."

The ship buried itself in the earth, blasting and searing in order to obtain materials. Within minutes, it had built constructors. Those would build more, and within a matter of months, Zegenthis would become an industrial planet. Those industries would be hidden undersea, to leave the land to train those who existed.

They must not have housing. They must be tested at all turns. This planet must be a deathtrap, and they must defeat wherever they go. So it is commanded.

Fifteen thousand wanderers leave the ship, wondering where they are. What they are. What they are to do..

Haidar swept his legs across, kicking the creature in the chest. It looked at him, wryly amused, if a face comprised of teeth and acid vents could be said to be amused.

Acid spat towards him, and he dodged, his blade sweeping towards the beast's face. It was only carbonized steel, but he had made it himself. It had taken months. Without it, he would die, like so many others. Out of his group of fifty, ten were dead already. It had been two years, now, on Zegenthis, and survival was a matter of alertness. The planet, apparently, was designed to kill them.

He grunted as claws raked his chest, quick-acting poison preventing him from feeling it.

"Damn."

With exceptional speed, the sword found itself hurled into the beast's head, sticking all the way through.

He laughed, coughed up blood, and died.

Nearby, a woman ran towards him, and picked up his sword. She looked down at him momentarily, and knew he was dead.

"Damn. That's eleven. We'll have to move on tonight. These damn Actakkers are taking their toll."

In orbit

A single station sat, supported by six elevators, whisking materials into space. It was not complete yet, but it would soon be. Within a few weeks, perhaps. Its firepower was extraordinary, and its capacity for construction equally so. On the other side of the planet, the first vessel sat, unmanned. It awaited the first Lyn to reach the Elevator, the only construction onworld capable of personnel transport into orbit.

The ship would be earnt by the most capable. It remained to be seen if any were sufficient to it.

Six years since Planetfall

Ten thousand ships sat above the planet. Only a tenth were manned, the others awaited their Lyn. Some were small, others large. Most were the equivalents of frigates, a few were dreadnoughts. They were manned by the most capable and deadly of the Lyn - those who had managed to build their ships ever-greater by permission of the rulers of the Lyn.

It had been a time in coming. Yet it was complete. The Lyn were trained. Battle-ready. But yet to be blooded.

They needed to find a buyer..


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OOC: So. If anyone wants a giant FT mercenary force approximately as powerful as most major FT nations these days, just ask. Keep in mind they're interested in hard missions, not well-paying ones. The entire planet's undersea surface is an industrial factory. The Lyn can produce ships and defenses with impunity, and they're not lacking in defense. You don't have to hire the entire lot, indeed, you can hire just one Lyn if you desire. Keep in mind they're ten thousand in number, and appropriately overpowered when it comes to combat. Pay is negotiated by each individual Lyn.

So if you have an immensely tough cause to take on, or if you're being gangbanged without real due cause, I like to thing of myself as an orchestrator of balance.

An Imperial shuttle dropped out of one of the newly plotted hyperspace routes which were starting to litter the Milky-Way. Having proceeded directly from waypoint station nestled within deep space, the Empire had deemed the situation necessary enough in the Outer Rimm to begin hiring mercenary forces to deal with certain dangerous situations that the Republican Remnant offered.

The Galaxy Gun had been stolen, the Emperor was purely focused on retaliation of the more subtle variety, and the fortress system of Mon-Calamari was where his eye had fallen.

Imperial forces were not stretched thin by any means, but why expend effort and resources when you have the financial capital to have someone else do it for you. And so the shuttle passed through the outer defence lines, past the orbiting fleet, and through the upper atmosphere until it descended upon a landing pad, reserved for the richest of clientele.

Rigid, dressed in Imperial grey, Ambassador Lethtik exited towards his welcome.

Secured. This was perhaps the only word for the landing zone. Grey and nondescript, three concentric semispheres of hyperdense glass surrounded the zone, automated drones buzzed around the holes in the top that had allowed the shuttle to enter.

Past the spheres lay a single immensely deep, fifty-metre wide trench, and, beyond that, a circle of automated guardian posts, each fitted with armaments enough to destroy any landing craft, or anything on the ground.

Beyond, the spectacle of ragged Lyn fighting desperately for their lives offered surety to the visitor - and the customer - of the effectiveness of the training methodology.

Two had died since the ambassador had landed. For this landing zone was the end of the training of the Lyn, near the great elevator which would, if conquered, take them into space, to their ship. The whirling blades, the spitting rifles, and the occasional yellow flame from an explosive were unimpressive - they only became so when it was revealed that all Lyn were sent naked and weak into this deathtrap, and were required to build all such weaponry by hand.

A single man awaited the ambassador. As Lethtik approached, he inclined his head gracefully, and spoke.

"Greetings, ambassador. It is well that you are here. The advertisement of our position has been minimal - I see the Empire's intelligence has kept its position as the premier service in galactic affairs. I apologize for the minimal facilities - even I am a Lyn, and therefore must not become accustomed to luxury. If you would treat with us, make your offer here."

OOC: Welcome Back HT, long time no see.

Post coming soon.

OOC: Sorry, Sithy, I'm horrifically indecisive. Consider this all retconned. I'm ashamed of myself for even stealing concepts from The Way.