NationStates Jolt Archive

April 22, 2 BFC

Scientists announce the coming of a new ice age. People panic. The government assures the people that modern technology is effective enough for us to survive; assuming, that is, everyone moves to the equator.

October 15, 2 BFC

The government begins the first evacuations towards the equator. Construction of high-density dome cities begins.

March 15, 1 BFC

A third of both the Northern and Southern hemispheres are buried beneath ice and snow. The climate change is occurring more rapidly than originally predicted. Evacuations of the area were far too slow and ineffective to get everyone out. 15% of the worlds population freezes to death; the bodies and buildings now ice sculptures. Government steps up evacuation schedules.

December 30, 1 BFC

Two thirds of both Northern and Southern hemispheres have been claimed by the encroaching ice. Scientists estimate that it shouldn't spread much further. A national holiday is declared to commemorate the millions of lives lost due to the slow evacuations.

December 31, 1 BFC

As the future site of City 7 is excavated, a strange structure is unearthed. A giant half-arch made of a peculiar material.

December 17, 1 AFC

The night air was frigid, and the driving snow slashed at Atlas' face. His clothing was soaked through and tattered, providing little protection except to keep his genitalia from being common sight to everyone. He hugged his rifle close to his cheek, the warmth emitted from the weapon as each slug was sent hurtling down the rails by electro-magnetic propulsion being his only source of comfort. He could barely see through the blizzard, and what he could make out was either the darkness of the night or the thousands of energy blasts of terrific colour being shot back at him. Continually he thought he should simply get out into the open and be hit, knowing that the blasts left burns all around the point of impact. Then he thought of the effect the cold would have on a burn and remained squatted behind the mound of snow.

Another soldier was slinking towards him through the snow, his face and hands pink and raw. Atlas wondered how anyone could think of crawling through this storm, and he cursed those who had sent him and his men out into it in the first place. "Sir," the soldier's teeth were clicking together fiercely as he tried to speak, his voice low and afraid. "We've just received the order to retreat, Sir." Atlas sighed, his breath clearly visible in the cold. "Let's get out of this Hell."

December 29, 1 AFC

Atlas looked out the window. Before him was the modernistic city. It's perfectly straight roads making a checkerboard of the building blocks. In the distance, towards the center of the city, skyscrapers stood. The few businesses that had been able to survive the cold and the invasion. Moving back from the center was then housing complexes. There were large mansions mixed with the tiniest of homes. Apartment buildings beside grocery stores. All leading towards the ending street, which made a giant ring around the whole city. On the far side of the street was the beginning of the giant dome that enclosed the place, allowing a more temperate climate than afforded outside. This was City 3.

"The final transports have arrived. From this point on we no longer have anything on the continent." General Frank Heller was giving a briefing by a television screen showing a map of the world. The two continents, separated by the blue of the oceans, were dotted with smaller depictions representing various things of importance. "Our birds have scanned the coasts, and it looks like they've set up rather formidable land defenses. Too much for anything we can take on, especially since their weaponry and shielding technology is much more advanced than ours. The navy has positioned themselves around the main waterways towards our continent, and the air force is on a hair trigger, with constant sweeps of other areas. The sea wall of City 4 is nearing completion, and should guarantee that those bastards don't get us from anything but air."

"Very well, General. Commander, are your men prepared for deployment?" Atlas turned to the man addressing him, a certain Mr. Thompson, President of Taledonia. "Yes, Sir. Say the word and we'll put on our snowshoes again for the good the rest." Mr. Thompson shrugged, and eyed Atlas with a look of anger. "We're sending you into enemy territory on a demolition mission. We know that those devices of theirs...their...their...webway gates? We know that that's how they get around so quickly, and we know it was that big one near City 7 that brought them here in the first place. We want you to take it out. Maybe then we can start pushing these bastards back when they haven't a constant supply line with where ever the hell they came from."

Warlock Ne'vir stepped out from the webgate that had allowed them to come to this planet and in force. Their explorations and missions deep into the heart of this strange galaxy had revealed many things. Many Eldar artifacts were lost or hidden in this galaxy, and there were also several Maiden Worlds which were left intact and ready to be reclaimed by the Eldar. One such world, this one, had been found in an ancient data cache that had revealed an Eldar Craftworld in this galaxy had put down. Ne'vir mourned their passing; they had died preventing the Tyranids from ravaging any more of the galaxy, or at least, one of their Hive Fleets. However, it was to their great horror, as they sent Rangers to scout out the world, they found the planet in a dire state. There were human inhabitants, unsurprising really. They would offer to have them leave and if they did not, they would annihilate them. It was when they discovered that, somehow, the planet was going into an ice age. Much of the world was already ice and tundra. Ne'vir and her Eldar were filled with rage, as the humans must have done something to cause this destruction of their Maiden World. There would be no offer to let them leave, though they looked as if they couldn't leave as it was. They would be slaughtered, as a blood-price for doing such a thing to their ancestor's works.

So she had summoned a full War Host, granted this by Taldeer when she had been informed of what had happened, and they had constructed great webway gates in secret, hiding them under stealth fields and quietly gathering an army. When they were ready, they had struck. Their Aspect Warriors struck out from their hiding positions on this continent, striking hard at their domed cities and installations. Blood filled their streets as the Howling Banshee's ran free, killing all who stood in their path and their psychic wails seeming eerily close to the ones in myth that foretold death. Their warriors destroyed the domes, letting the cold in, as they brutally fought the human defenders. Their enemies were determined, Ne'vir could say for them. Even in tattered armor and clothing, they still fought. Futile as it was, it was impressive to see the Mon-Keigh fight for their homes instead of fleeing like cowards. Together with their legion of vehicles, the Prism and Falcon Tanks, the Wraithlords, Jetbikes, Support Batteries, Nightweavers, Firestorms, and Wave Serpents. It didn't help that some webway gates were made large enough to handle the size of fighters, allowing them to take the battle to the air and engage their air forces.

It was within weeks that the humans had been forced off this continent, to retreat to the one across the sea. Their domed cities were destroyed, laid to waste by distortion bombs, and then new bases were constructed. Large buildings were set up, to house the warriors, weapons, provide power, and the ever increasing network of webway gates to allow their forces to enter this world. Defenses were established, and more and more of the War Host entered. They secured the status of the Avatar, whose call Ne'vir was sure they would hear soon. For now, however, Ne'vir consolidated their position. The only way out was through the Webway for these humans, to go off onto the ice and die. She could afford to wait. The door to her Sanctum opened and an Banshee Exarch walked in. The Warlock nodded.

"Yes, J'la? You wish to see me?"

The Banshee nodded. "We have finished the defenses as you wished and set up the stealth generators, protecting us from long range bombardment and sensors. The humans should have an impossible time of finding what buildings to hit. And as you requested, we have begun patrols of Darkstar fighters around the coasts and local airspace. The humans have been making reconnaissance runs and we have begun to deprive them of that. The War Host is ready and we are only waiting on your order to begin the attack."

Ne'vir nodded. She stood up and walked forward a few steps to look at her weapons and armor on the wall. Her reflection was mirrored on her armor in the light, showing black hair and violet eyes, along with the stunning elf-like shape of her face and ears. She was always amused when she came across human fantasy literature and she saw the stories involving the elves. It was almost as if, on an instinctual level, humans had known the Eldar existed and put them in their form on paper. And with most she read, it was almost they knew that such advanced civilizations weakened or caused a Fall of their own, causing their slow fading from the world. Turning back, she nodded at J'la. "We will not begin the attack just yet. We need information on the human's defenses, I will not allow any unneeded casualties because of arrogance."

The Exarch nodded. "As you wish, Warlock. I will have the fighters begin pushing the human's patrols at once, and have our sensors begin scanning the coast." With that, she bowed and left, leaving Ne'vir alone again. The Eldar walked to the window and gazed out at the vast ice fields. In their own way, they were beautiful. But it was more of an agonizing beauty to the Eldar, to see such a lush world had become like this, their ancestor's work reduced to lying dead under a vast sheet of ice. Ne'vir's hand clenched. This was not something she would abide. The humans would see that soon enough.

As she had promised, the Darkstar fighter squadrons stopped patrolling the coast and began to head for the continent the humans were hunkering down on. They swiftly moved to engage the human fighters, demonstrating speed that no fighter they had ever seen being capable of. Their shielding protected them from incoming fire as they launched their tracking missiles and swiftly engaged with their rapid-fire laser cannons. As they pushed against the fighter patrols, but remaining out of range of the shore defenses, the sensor arrays back on the other continent activated and began to scan the shores, seeking to find out what kind of defenses the humans had set up.

The turbines were silent running through the air, disguised even further by the howl of the wind at such an altitude. It was hard to tell if they were seeing the ground or not, for the clouds were as white as the snow and ice they concealed. The light turned from red to green. Taking a breath, Atlas closed his eyes and jumped out the open back of the transport. He fell with increasing speed towards the earth, the frigid air biting him through his clothing and armor. Even the jump helmet seemed to afford no protection against the wind. He opened his eyes to the white abyss. He looked around the cloud, attempting a view of any of his men; there was nothing till they broke the clouds, and even then the falling snow cloaked them somewhat.

Once on the ground, they removed their gliders from their backs. Small devices that allowed the to float in gracefully, while keeping them small enough to avoid detection by even the most sophisticated of scanning technology. The storm was on their side in that respect as well. Nothing was said, but the soldiers looked at each other. The navigator was busy with a small device and within a few moments had pointed them in the direction they had to go. It was the site of City 7; the site where they had unveiled the alien structure that had allowed them to come.

It had taken an hour, and they were miserable and cold, but they hunkered down behind a large snow dune. "Where the hell is it?" asked one of the men. Atlas peered over into the large crater. There was nothing but snow. "Check satellite positioning" he ordered. The navigator tinkered with his device for a few seconds then acknowledged that they were in the right place. "Switch to infrared. They must have some way of cloaking their buildings like they do their soldiers. Right, just like that. As populace as the last recon had said. Look there, along the left edge of the crater. That seems to be our best infiltration spot. Few sentries or automated defenses. Jonathan, Myles, stay here and pop any of them in the head that gets too close to us. Make sure it's discreet."

"Fuck it's cold" was the only comment.