NationStates Jolt Archive

The glistening rain slithered down the cold, veiny surfaces of the marble structures; the endless torrent of the typical Taledonian weather highlighting the storm below. Fires spread and engulfed temples, houses and anything else in their path; an unquenchable tempest. The Senate house, once the heart of a great society, was in turmoil. The once pristine marble pillars covered in ash and soot, black from the smoke. The high ceiling of painted glass shattered, the beautiful mosaics of victories and legends it bore destroyed. The pennants, bearing a symbol that once stood for peace, virtue, strength and justice, now sat whimpering in puddles of mud and blood; filth being its only meaning now.

The mob in the streets, once proud, dignified citizens of a different age, ran about greedily searching for anything of value, looting and killing any who stood in their path; and each seeking to remain alive. The soldiers, dressed in their silver power armor now stained with dirt and blood and smoke, once the pinnacles of discipline and organisation, now strode along in broken formations, disdaining rank and orders, killing and destroying for what seemed like no reason.

Above, amongst the brilliantly shining stars, the mighty hulks of the warships fired upon each other mercilessly, no thought to the fact that they had once been apart of the same great fleet that would sail to distant systems and conquer in the name of a greater power. Raining their own hell down upon the planet's small landmass, the defense stations that were once to protect the planet now tormented it. Death to Taledon. Death to the Republic.

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Flavius chewed lightly upon the small block of cheese he had placed in his mouth, then took a sip of his wine. The fire in the corner of the room was the only light in the room, barring the moonlight that filtered through the gaping hole in the roof. Unlit candles sat evenly spaced in the center of a large dinning table full of polished silver cutlery and delicate plates of stained glass.

For years they had watched the galaxy silently, observing those nations that sprout up suddenly and without warning, seemingly out of nowhere. They had all been invited, the new, small or weak peoples of the cosmos, to send an ambassador to this ancient seat of power, to Taledon. To the ruins of the curia itself. They were instructed to send emissaries, without escort of grand fleets or armies. Small craft, no bigger than shuttles was ideal, to arrive at the scene. To hear an offer, which would be very hard for them to turn down.

Far, far out in space.
"Aye, we hear you all too well. So, many stars have twinkled only to wane soon after their birth... This is Loku Akash, acting emissary of the Xocotl Manifold. We wish to meet and to share...Waiting for further clearance. over." He hoped the transmission was heard.

There was no answer, only stony silence over the waves. It was clear in the original message. Come in a small band, with modest transport, to an ancient world of relics. There are no guards to stop you, no passport control. Enter at your leisure.

They listened. They always listened. They had learned early on that listening often brought opportunity in the wider galaxy, presenting them with new species, new worlds. Now a summons erupted across the void; come to us, we are waiting, an offer one couldn't refuse. It was as though these Taledonians spoke their language, knew which buttons could be poked and prodded to bring the Myenyans out into the open.

There was a pulse, singular and mighty, ringing throughout the system from whence the message came. A ship hung where before there had been nothing, glimmering lightly in the light of the sun, a great teardrop shaped craft capable of holding millions within itself. As suddenly as it had appeared, so it disappeared, mirror-fields encircling it with a fluid ease. They would be cautious now, watch, observe, slinking closer like housecats. Sensors fluctuated and examined with expert scrutiny now, as it slid through the void. Silent. Poised. Waiting...

A message flickered forth now, reverant and friendly;

This is the shipbrain of the Myenyan DEV I'm Not Cleaning That Up. We have received your message and deemed it of wonderful interest to the Myenyan Collective as a whole. As a result, we have decided to pop in and visit. I shall displace a delegation consisting of my captain and an avatar of my mindstate.

We await you at your leisure

There was a flash now, far below, a sudden burst upon the surface of the world. A man strode forth, his slim form wreathed in dark official, but ultimately comfortable robes. He possessed pale green eyes, short cropped black hair, and a delicate, almost elfin face. He smiled, pale pink lips creasing as he glanced about him. To one side stood a tall slim humanoid form, entirely black. It was nearly skeletal, yet of a smooth and gleaming metal that seemed to mimic the mans flesh, moving and pulsing and breathing, as though with life. Pale yellow eyes flickered momentarily in its featureless face, an aura-field rippled about it, pale red, gentle amusement.

"Well." The man, whose name was Yre Bator, said gently. "Here we are."

The city was a graveyard, its once proud monuments and structures cast down to rubble, its glory gone. Little life seemed to thrive in this ruin, except the rats that scurried around after one another, fighting for bits of edible items. It was night, and the rain came down in torrents as usual upon the planet consisting of mostly water, soaking everything. Ahead, however, was the gentle glow of light that seeped through the hole in the curia roof, the only indication of direction.

On the hulking Mechanium Worldship a message came through the array of communications servitors, it spoke of an offer that could not be refused the Grand Mechanus of the ship, Tasyxx contemplated it in seconds, the computerized half of his brain processing the facts instantly.
"Technomotrist," he said in a scraping mechanical voice to the nearest holder of the rank, "go to this planet, take with you a small entourage of Axicaania, apparently an offer awaits you which cannot be refused. Go now, The Mechanium Demands."
"Yes, my lord" The black-cowled technomotrist replied. Using his cybernetic link to them, he called forth his most trusted servants: two Axicaania, dressed in black greatcoats which covered their semi-mechanical bodies and chrome helmets adorned with multitudinous respiratory and optic systems and armed with complex plasma rifles; one hulking comm servitor, who's form was a mess of stippled flesh, tubes, wires and chrome plating; and one small Icaryyx, an artificially created creature akin in size and shape to a small child but with a chrome skull covering it's face and capable of some degree of telekinesis and telepathy. It wore a tattered purple robe. The technomotrist, who's name was Xallyx, send a cybernetic message to all of them simultaneously to follow him to his small ship.

Once the group was inside, the ship was teleported as near as possible to Taledonia, and the little round ship hurtled towards the planets surface.

The ship landed gently as it's landing gear deployed and the group exited. They found themselves in the broken shell of what must have been a beautiful city once. The Axicaania took up standard protective positions to either side of Xallyx. He released a hiss of air from the respiratory enhancements that adorned the lower part of his face.
"The Mechanium Demands" he said in a low, grinding voice.

(OOC: Just so you know, Mechanium, I was sure I made it clear in my posts that that was in the past that the riots took place, and now the city was a deserted ruin. So, please adjust accordingly, thank you. As for everyone else, just enter the Senate building and we'll get underway.)

OOC: Oh, sorry, will edit.

Xallyx spotted an impressive official-looking building nearby, surely, he thought, that would be the place to go. He dusted down his robes and marched towards it.