NationStates Jolt Archive

The Taledonian flag fluttered gloriously in the cool breeze, it's colours shining brightly in the hot sun. The flagpole, a shining column of steel, was glowing brilliantly in the glare, and planted firmly into the hot sand below it. The scattered paving stones of red brick that had once covered the entire square now simply provided islands in the sea of dirt and sand, which spread to the streets of equal condition that separated the rows of red-brick buildings of an Arabic style architecture. These houses and shops were, themselves, in a state of disrepair. The plaster that had once completely covered the brick was now hopelessly clinging to select few areas, and the glass windows were nearly completely covered in soot and dust.

The people of the city walked about seemingly aimlessly, with no real task to complete. The markets had run out of items to sell months before, and no one had any coin in any case. The only real daily routine they had was the trek towards the walls of the city garrison. There, at noon of everyday, the large wooden gates would be thrown open, and grain distributed to the citizens in ration. For the rest of the day, the people, much beyond despair, strode about with no purpose in mind, only for something to do. It was the guards only who had purpose. They, in the tan fatigues of the native forces and the black fez, patrolled the ramparts of the high mud walls. Heavy weapons entrenched every so often along the walls, pointing out past the river Nagale and into the endless stretch of desert beyond. A bridge had once existed, along with a road that led to the decrepit spaceport that could vaguely seen in the distance, as if it were a mirage. There they knew that the vast hordes of the Gahib were camped.

A year ago, a hermit had emerged from the deserts near the city of Jab. He hailed himself the Prophet of Ishta. The Gahib, the chosen one of Ishta, the local god, had rallied a strong force of believers and slaughtered the local garrison. Armed with the weapons of the soldiers, they quickly moved from city to city, rallying more to their cause and killing all who supported the Taledonians. Six months ago they arrived at the planet's only spaceport, located a few kilometers from the planet's capital of Taraka. They set fire to all the buildings and took the weapons and supplies of the installation, before moving on to besiege the city itself. The bridge had been destroyed, and the Gahib's forces had retreated to the spaceport where they set up camp.

General Frederick Gord had been sent to Taraka a month before the siege had begun, in an effort to restore order to the planet. He had been sent with a paltry force, the Taledonian parliament believing the local garrisons strong enough for the job if they had good Taledonian officers to command them. They now sat entrenched in their blighted city, constantly assaulted by bands of the rebels and the occasional artillery strike. The last transmission they were able to send before the comm array was destroyed by an artillery blast, was that any small trade craft should land in the square of Taraka itself, and would be paid handsomely for their supplies in this time of need.

They wore loose clothing, with colourful patches everywhere to display their poverty and thus devotion to their deity. The cloth on their heads obscuring all but the eyes. Those that appeared to hold any authority what-so-ever began to shout at anyone nearby, pointing at the sky as a small shuttle came into view. They did not know who it was, nor did they care. It wasn't theirs.

Plasma began to streak the sky as the warriors of Ishta began to unleash their captured weapons. They were clumsy shots, lobbing the blasts in high arcs that overshot significantly if they even came close to the shuttle craft. They did not know how the equipment worked, and believed that turning all the settings up on the control panel to maximum, it would make the round all the more powerful.

The others ran through the ruins of the spaceport, shouting angrily as they watched the vessel continue towards the besieged city, firing wildly into the air with the stolen weapons of the soldiers they had slaughtered. Stopping at the end of the ruins and climbing on any debris they could, they waved their arms angrily and cursed the infidels who were now reaching the city; arcs of plasma tracing the way after them but falling anywhere but the city who was ruled over by the infidel Gord Pasha.

Shrieks of delight erupted from the holy warriors as they saw the craft spiral and crash into the sand mounds. They ran forth in a massive surge of men, many of them atop camels and horses, shrieking and ululating and waving their rifles and broadswords in the air. The crash was only a few kilometers from the camp, and they would overtake it soon.

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"Well, that's that, isn't it?"

Lowering the binoculars, General Frederick Gord stared coldly out at the scene. A lucky shot pierced the walls at the east side of the city, sending rubble and those stationed atop the ramparts flying into the air. To his left was Ferez al-Quabal, Captain of the Taraka garrison, his tan fatigues and black fez in stark contrast to the red military regalia of Left-tenant Micheal Price, who stood to the right; the polished black boots glinting in the sunlight. Gord wore the tan fatigues of the garrison, but a red fez to distinguish his rank.

Turning to Price, he took a minute to view the emotion in the man's face. The mouth was a firm frown beneath the thick mustaches that sat on his upper lip and the blue eyes held hatred beneath the bushy brown eyebrows. Without waiting, Price opened his mouth and spoke without emotion.

"Should we deploy some sort of recovery force, Sir?"

"I can have our cavalry move out immediately, Pasha." Ferez piped in.

Gord shrugged, appearing as if un-phased by the event and the fact that it signified no relief in the dwindling food stores. "No, no. The Gahib will be there before us, and I wouldn't waste any of our horses in such a pointless endeavor. After all, I hear horse meat, if cooked properly, can taste rather..." he paused, then smiled to himself, "No, not that great, probably. Keep an eye on the situation, Captain."

Handing the binoculars to Ferez, he and Price traversed the ramparts and descended the steep steps to the ground. The guard who stood at the foot of the stairs snapped to attention and saluted as they passed on their way to the garrison. "Have the wall breach repaired so that it's adequate enough to keep them out. Will you be attending dinner at the palace tonight?"

"Yes, Sir" Price replied amicably.

"Then I'll see you later tonight."

The Phale A'Theins were compulsary oppertunistic capitalists, as such, a vague message promising a high payout for supplies for even basic items was simply too good to be true. Which was why as Ie' Aiezt Ooo Aai' sat above the origination for the signal in a geostationary orbit, a city it turned out to be, he assessed the situation.

What are we picking up? If anything that is.
Not much, the planet is obviously part of an advanced civilization or at least capable of F.T.L
Defences? Offensive systems?
Firstly, do you honestly think our sensors are advanced enough for such indepth scans? Secondly, your being paranoid sir, this may be a warzone but no matter where we land they're going to want our services.
Ah yes, war's a commodity provided we're not on either end; very well, send down a transport filled with basic medication equiptment and basic food items; human classification this one is presuming.

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A simplistic rocketship descended directly above the city itself, aiming for the square of Taraka it kept itself vertical by a number of swivelling propulsion modules placed around it's side, it's lower propulsion pods burnt steadily to control it's descent. Although it was thought that the inhabitants were lacking any forms of communication they sent out a message across the wide band spectrum; hoping they would either pick it up on radio and perhaps be able to respond;

Greetings, this is the privatly owned cargo vessel Capital City of Ooo Aai' Enterprises, this one is Ie' Aiezt Ooo Aai' and as such am responding to your received transmission of trade invitations. We are approaching your given co-ordinates to hopefully engage in peaceful trade relations with your people.

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(OOC: If I land without mishap, that is nothing unanticipated comes my way or your men turn me away with cannon shots or the like then ignore this section and I shall role play from there.)

The rocketship descended down upon the square like a bulging antiquated church spire, touching down upon three stabalizing fins it's engines became quite before switching off entirely. A large hatch halfway up the rockets length groaned open, a large platform slowly and cumbersomly emerged and landed in the square using anti-gravity technology. The platform was seven by five meters, it's accompanying merchant waited patiently upon it to be approached by an official. As water dwelling jellyfish the Phale A'Theins were unable to move about on land, as such they utilised habitation "tanks" to move about, a three wheeled platform, resembling the robotic rovers utilised by primitive space faring races for planetery exploration, carried on top of it a large glass dome, filled with water the Phale A'Theins could comfortably interact with it's surroundings by a cluster of extendable arms and speakers operated by an interior console.

(OOC: Wow, interesting, squid people o.0)

IC:

A few soldiers ran up behind their officer, their tan dress against his red uniform as they waited for the creature to descend the ramp from his ship.

"Afternoon, erm...Gentlemen...We thank you for coming. I am Captain Ballantyne, at your service."

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The swarmed the shuttle craft, climbing atop it and bashing every section of it, attempting to make an entrance. The rear of the craft, which looked like the actual entrance, was partly open already, so they took advantage of the situation and began to pull at it and use their weapons as pry-bars. The shouting and ululations did not cease, but instead grew in intensity as they tore at the hull as if tearing open a can of sardines.

"Thank you Captain Ballantyne, this ones name is Ooozt Aii' Ahh, but you may simply call this one "Ahh". We received your message requesting for open ended trade, we have supplies on board of basic human food stuffs and medication, the prices are open to negotiation, and as such I will require the exchange rate of your currency to one standard galactic credit. Although we have only basic foodstuffs and medications you may make requests and my captain will endeavour to accomodate your needs. Would one wish to see the stock list?"

"Yes, I would like to have a looksie, at what you've brought. I shall assess the quality and review your logs for quantity, but it will be Governor-General Gord who negotiates the price. If I may board?"

The air became loud as more transport craft began raining down upon the city, sending up dirt and sand in annoying blasts that sent anyone in the area running for cover. Ballantyne crouched slightly, covering his face with his arm.

"What in the Hell?!" he shouted, peering over his arm at the vessels that began to descend. He saw through the haze of dust the hurried movements of the Taraka soldiers as they moved to group themselves with the Taledonian officers and prepare to take charge of the situation when these people landed. The real question was where would they land. The square was already occupied, and the streets were nowhere near large enough for a craft, and far too crowded besides.

The vessels had no intention of really landing, though the pilots simply wanted to drop the pods and allow whatever wasn't hard enough to resist a missile blast be their landing zone but Lutron wouldn't have any of that. Instead they simply hovered over the areas large enough to support the troops simply dropping into the city. As for the crowds, the pilots actually moved their craft to create sort of a barrier to allow the direct drops in the north, western and south eastern areas of the city. Marine power armor was equipped with thrusters for use in space battles. too weak to create any other sort of lift they slowed the troops decent onto the ground. Though the crowded streets were indeed woefully insufficent for a proper troop drop so the majority of the units were dropped in squads all around the city aside the cheetah.

She jumped too late, hitting a building as the craft started to speed off. The initial force of the blow wasn't enough to hurt her just disorient her completely. She was part of a squad that was trying to land near the largest street, to hopefully clear it for the next landing party. The feline got on her feet seeing how close to the main avenue she was.

Oootz was about to explain that the ships interior was not built for easy viewing when the transport descended from above. Although safe from the sand blasts Oootz nethertheless looked up at the transport with interest, seeing the troops descending across the city he said to the Captain, "Do you know if these ones are hostile? They seem rather organised, it would be dificult to negotiate buissness whilst being shot at after all."

Ballantyne looked at the alien trader sternly, somewhat annoyed at being asked a question when he was himself being asked questions by the eyes of the native troops who had arrived with him. He shook his head quickly, signaling no, then turned back to the soldiers before him.

"You. Go. Now. Alert General Gord of the situation immediately. You, stand guard outside this craft and ensure nobody touches it." Running off, he rallied a group of stray soldiers and led them towards one of the landing grounds.

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Gord stood on the balcony of his office, peering out above the walls of the military compound of the city. The sentries about the parapets looking with interest at the troopers who were invading their city; moving their rifles from their shoulders and tensely holding them, ready to take action at the word from their officers.

"Damn fools," he said gruffly, then replaced his cigarette into his mouth. "A besieged city, surrounded by religious fanatics that could at any minute storm down upon us and they decide to simply jump in amongst the already jumpy garrison and terrified, starving people. I'm glad they have tactical sense."

The steel gates of the compound opened, and a hurried soldier ran towards the building. Most likely ordered to report the situation to me, he thought. He shouted down to the man before he went out of site, and told him to report back to whoever had sent him. Well, I guess I'd best get out there and find out who these morons are.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me observing

Two Flashs of light hearled the Arrival of the UHS Sentinal and the UHS Guardian into Orbit of the Planet. They got into high orbit and scanned both the planet and ships in orbit.

(OOC: Actually, Battlehawk, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to keep it down to three players for now. This situation is one that doesn't call for a lot of people, and in fact would be ruined by too many nations entering, especially when they come not simply as small traders but as well armed military vessels capable of destroying the rebels. Takes away all the elements of hopelessness when you do that.)

OOC: I wasn't planning to get involved but yea, sure i'll leave if thats what you want

Ooozt curled up two of his tendrils in a sign of annoyance which the Captain would undoubtably miss, keeping his eight eyes focused on the unravelling situation around him he stood by at a moments notice to escape from this hotzone; he began setting up a communications link with his superior to update him of the situation.

(OOC: You have me confused, GPI. Your shuttle was downed somewhere between the spaceport and the city, not in the city nor very close to it, otherwise the horde of soldiers wouldn't of swarmed it. You, however, have landed in the city, where normal troops are. You would not hear the shouts of the rebels nor are the rebels attacking the city at the moment. The only battle ground is around your downed shuttle, which is not near the city, but closer to the spaceport.)

(OOC: Well...haven't seen you change it yet, so I'll just go ahead and pretend you did, in the interests of moving this along.)

IC:

Gord entered the square with his guard. Surveying the scene, he noticed with grim satisfaction that his soldiers were quickly moving to intercept these landing parties. Then there was the trader's vessel in the middle, left with two guards to ensure none of the frightened, starving townsfolk attempted to board and raid the stores.

"Afternoon, Gentleman." He strode up the ramp and extended his hand to the tentacles of the creature. "I am Governor-General Gord. I do apologize for the state of our colony at the moment, but these damn religious fanatics get so worked up. As for whatever is going on at the moment, I'm ashamed to say I haven't the foggiest. While I'm here, however, might you provide me with an inventory of supplies?"

OOC: you know what. Why not we pretend I was never here in the first place since I don't know where you want to take this and quite frankly I don't care. see you, or rather not.

(OOC: Fine with me.)