EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

[futurologists]

STATE OF THE PLANET Efforts in convincing the Qorral to stop drilling have been tentatively successful. Longterm solutions have been brought to them and, perhaps most importantly for the immediate, the fracking fields have been destroyed. The entire field has collapsed in on itself, taking mining equipment with it and creating a barren wasteland. In effect, the Qorral can no longer drill for argecite here, which means they will be leaving earlier than expected now that there is no use for the mining colony. It also means that the planet has been saved from being hollowed out completely. On the other hand, attempts at dealing with the Deemers have been a little shaky. By now, it's known that Miz Poppy is host to the Mother, the queen of this Taraxa hive. She remains elusive, slipping through the fingers of any who manage to find or capture her. Meanwhile, the infested Qorral have been dealt with in many ways: some opting for wholesale slaughter, some hoping to extract the Taraxa in the field, and some sending both extracted Taraxa and infested hosts back to Oska to be examined. As varied as the Deemer solutions have been, they have all resulted in the Deemer population being decimated. The numbers have dwindled as their camps are hunted down by ALASTAIR recruits, and attacks on the town of Perdition's Rest halt. But the Mother is still out there and free, and that's a problem . . . THE INVASION (DAY 1) In the morning, the ships come. Visible from the ground are massive spaceships in the upper atmosphere, gently drifting clouds sometimes blocking them from view. The Qorral don't recognize the ships; they're neither from their homeworld nor from any species they know, friendly or otherwise. For a few hours, the ships just hang in space like looming, silent buzzards, waiting. And then -- sparkling, metal objects start falling to the planet. It's difficult to tell what they are, as their scale is minuscule compared to the gigantic warships above, and their descent is strangely beautiful. But as the objects come closer to the surface, the details become clear: individual spacecraft. They're gleaming in gold and white metal, a triangle sigil painted on the sides, and cannons mounted on the bottom. These are Zymandis fighter craft. And they are not here to make nice. The fighter craft swoop down close and send a barrage of lasers down on Perdition's Rest, causing the local Qorral to scatter. But their fear doesn't last long: many immediately take up arms to fire back at the ships when they're low enough, including Sheriff Holladay, who shouts commands to anyone who will listen, Qorral and ALASTAIR alike: take cover, give 'em hell, and for sun's sake, don't be a hero. (Those who have been officially deputized may access the sheriff's armory, which includes all sorts of fun toys of the shooty variety.) But some Qorral have something else in mind. A small pack of locals rides out to the farm of Amos Zephyr -- and if you're suspicious enough to follow, it'll pay off. Beneath Zephyr's farm is a hidden defense platform: earth slowly moves aside as a metal platform raises up, home to mounted anti-aircraft cannons and fighter craft of their own. The Qorral fighter craft are intuitively designed, and the Qorral will also quickly give any curious ALASTAIR recruit a run-down on how to operate them. They're short-handed since so many of their number joined the Deemers, so they're very eager to allow anyone to try their hand at flying the two-man ships, which have their own mounted cannons and, of course, escape parachutes. The fighter craft are not meant for high altitudes, though, so your dreams of space travel will have to wait for another time. Those who do not wish to take flight and aren't comfortable with projectile weapons may find luck searching the desert for prey: namely, Taraxa agents attempting to flee in Zymandis escape pods. It seems as though the fighter craft are a distraction from the real goal of Zymandis helping its agents flee the planet. The Zymandis agents who are not Taraxa are variously humanoid, all equipped with laser weapons (spears, rifles, whips) that they will not hesitate to use against any who interrupt their attempts at escape. For those who aren't battle inclined, there are civilians who need to be ushered to safety, and quick repairs to weapons, equipment, horses, or even the Qorral fighter craft will be needed. This fight is going to be a long one. THE AFTERMATH (DAY 2) It's peaceful now. The Zymandis warships have fled into space with the surviving Taraxa agents in tow, the Mother presumably among them. The combined efforts of team Audentes and the Perdition's Rest colonists have successfully staved off the attack. The destruction wrought by Zymandis (and, perhaps, by overeager recruits themselves) is visible across the planet: deep fissures and scars from the laser cannons, fighter craft wreckage from both sides, burned buildings and trees, perhaps a fire still raging in the scrub grass somewhere. The Qorral aren't quite sure what that was all about, but they're more concerned with ALASTAIR's efforts in helping than in pointing fingers. Q-65 is no longer a suitable home, so the locals begin to pack up in preparation for the arrival of their homeworld's ships in the next few days. An old man puts his chess pieces away; a little girl clutches her robot pony doll, unwilling to put it in her suitcase; the stable owner and the blacksmith stand close together and talk in hushed, affectionate tones. Sheriff Holladay lets her deputies know they've served the colony well. It's bittersweet, but the Qorral always knew this settlement was never permanent. The mission complete, Audentes should expect to arrive back at Oska shortly. Use the time to say goodbye and finish up your business. Or, if you'd like, drink some of the booze that someone just found in the cellar beneath the burned-out saloon. It doesn't keep during interstellar travel, and no one will begrudge you a little celebration. OOC NOTES This log wraps up the Perdition's Rest mission! The log will last two IC days, after which characters will immediately return to Oska via dimensional rift (on 21 December in OOC time). Mission epilogue details will go up at a later date, but for now, Audentes can rest easy knowing that the mission has been a success. We will be posting an OOC post-mission assessment on 14 December so we can discuss how the mission went and talk about the state of the game in general. There is a new bounty on the Oska Bounty Board! Perdition's Rest bounties remain open until 21 December, at which point you will no longer be able to turn them in. You can also request bounty missions at any time. Please direct all questions pertaining to the mission to the dossier page to keep questions and responses in one place for easy player reference. General game questions should be directed to the FAQ. To submit a player plot or future mission idea, please go to the Suggestions post.

Comments

[gutpunching]

[His wit is so unappreciated. Because they're short on time, he spares her the explaining the joke. Watching her stagger from the shot, his eyes narrow and his hackles raise. She takes it like a champ, but it certainly stunned her. And that would have put a nice big hole in him. This little bolthole isn't going to be very sustainable for long. Ducking out of it before the heat they're taking clears will be worse. But the gun turrets are all the way over on the farm, and he's packing pistols, not rockets. So, a little more tersely—]

Depends, come into any new superpowers lately?

[Because a little heat vision or something might come in handy right about now. Unfortunately, tempting fate with flippancy seems to work against him this time—the Zymandis craft circling them gets shot down just above their heads, raining debris down on top of them. Seconds later, it crashlands into the buildings they're braced against, sending a shockwave through the air that crumbles walls and sends the both of them sprawling before they can clear the way. Jason lands a good dozen feet from where he'd been braced—and doesn't immediately get up.

The good news: he's probably not dead yet. The bad news: he's definitely not moving, at least for the moment. And the Zymandis mooks already evac-ing from the downed and burning ship probably aren't going to wait for that to change.]

[heavyhitter]

[ No new superpowers, but she'd been strongly debating just leaping straight up at the thing, seeing if she can catch ahold of a wing or whatever and start wrecking. It was probably a terrible idea with a 99% chance of failure, but when you're basically untouchable you get to consider even the dumb ideas.

(Almost untouchable, her stinging shoulder reminds her.)

But then someone else takes the whole thing out of her hands and shoots it down for her — practically right on top of them. That could've worked better. She lands in a less than comfortable pile of bricks, takes a second or two to feel bad for herself, then pops her head up to look for Jason. ]

Jason? Hey, we — 

[ Her eyes find him a lot more still than she'd been hoping to. Her heart freezes up for an instant, and the cold terror of assuming the worst seizes her. Then she's scrambling forward, to get to him before whoever'd been in that ship comes into sight.

She makes it, but just barely. She scoops him up easily, but doesn't even have time to reassure herself of a pulse before there's the first wildly aimed shots of laser fire around them. It's instinct that has her bolting, and then when a few less wildly-aimed shots find her back and send her (and Jason with her, still held as compact as she can manage in front of her) sprawling forward again, it's forethought that keeps her down, sprawled protectively over Jason. They'll assume she's dead, and she's really counting on them not having the time to double check. ]

Don't fucking move, alright? [ That's a whisper, to someone she hopes can actually hear it. ] We totally got this.

[gutpunching]

[The only thing worse than getting carried away from danger like a damsel is getting shot full of holes while you're out cold instead. Unfortunately he misses out on the exciting parts of the heroics—or they wouldn't be quite as necessary in the first place. He finally comes to and shifts just enough to tense up under her weight—freezing when it aggravates the collateral damage from the blast (gunfire or shrapnel, doesn't make a difference right now.)

The worst thing he could do at a time like this is panic and kneejerk into throwing her off. Luckily he's not much the panic type—and she speaks up in time to help him shake off the disorientation and catch on to her intentions. Playing opossum. It's not a plan he likes, because it involves being a sitting duck out in the middle of a battlefield. But given he's not exactly up to date on their situation, and he's not going to get a lay of the land without risking a bullet between the eyes, the only thing to do is decide if he's going to trust her judgment. Blind faith is not a risk he's taken in a while.

But he doesn't fucking move—save to subtly-if-pointedly wrap his fingers around hers to at least let her know that he's listening. Got it. Story time all over again—don't say he never listens. It'll have to be enough to get the idea across—he's smart enough not to risk the attention that a nod or a return whisper might draw. Not when the crunch of boots is drifting closer over the sounds of the gunfire, punctuated with a rapid fire of some alien tongue that their tech doesn't see fit to translate.]

[heavyhitter]

[ That squeeze of her hand is the most relieving thing she's ever felt. She even sighs out a breath Jason is sure to notice, although she's kept it light enough not to break the definitely totally dead illusion. The talk gets louder, and it's killing her not to be able to crane a look around and see how close they've gotten.

She almost jumps when the gunfire starts up, but she doesn't feel any of it. Not aimed at them, she realizes. Some other target out there has their attention instead, which is only better depending on who it is. Lucky them, though, the gunfire is loud and means their attention is gonna be pretty focused elsewhere. ]

Hey, can you see these guys? [ That's out in a mumble, inaudible to anyone other than Jason over the sound of a fight. See them over her shoulder, she means, and without lifting up his head. He's not that dumb, she trusts. ] How many meters away?

[gutpunching]

[A few seconds of waiting to die can go by really fucking slowly, he knows that from experience. Luckily, this time it's not so much inevitable, as it is merely probable. So fighting the instinct to, y'know, fight, he waits it out, straining to listen for a count on the number of combatants, the distance between them.

In that respect, the gunfire breaking out is good news. Cover enough to answer. Maybe cover enough to act, if they play their cards right. He chances opening his eyes, focusing over her shoulder to estimate the distance. They've passed by, but they're still pretty close.]

Less than three. [If it sounds strained it's probably from his shallow breathing and the weight of her on top of him and not necessarily from any life threatening injuries. (Necessarily.) Hard to say anything more detailed unless he cranes his neck, and that's a gamble he can't see well enough to take.]

Half a dozen of 'em. Squaring off with the natives.

[Well, "natives." As native as the Qorral are to this place. Whether or not the natives are winning is up in the air.]

[heavyhitter]

[ Three meters, six targets. She doesn't want to keep betting that all six of them will keep ignoring these two corpses, but as far as rushing them? That's odds she'll take. Her body goes tense — not that she's moving just yet, but she's getting ready for it. ]

I'm going in for them.

[ It's a plan made as she decides it, with no more forethought than that. ]

You move when they're distracted — grab cover, then cover me. [ She finds it important to stress the order. As long as he's going to be drawing attention to himself by firing on them, he'd better be somewhere good for it. Growing just a little more taut, ready to spring: ] Got it?

[gutpunching]

[Despite an enormously petty kneejerk from a part of him that hackles at being ordered around—now is really not the time, Jason, please—this is not actually an order of affairs he's going to argue with. You don't survive against superpowers and alien artillery without knowing when a tactical retreat is in order. So, after a slightly steadier breath—]

Got it. Right behind you.

[Meaning : as soon as she's up, so is he. Rolling over to push himself up into a crouch so he can gain his feet and move. And that hurts a lot more specifically, knifes between his ribs when he breathes too deep and moves too far, but he doesn't have to keep on his feet for long. Luckily, there's a hell of a lot of wreckage scattered around from the downed ship and the now-demolished building they'd been hiding beside. And he's fine for long-distance. As soon as he's clear, he braces himself back against his cover and grabs for a weapon.]

[heavyhitter]

[ Ramir doesn't take any longer than hearing his confirmation to start moving. She slams into motion explosively, spinning and leaping into a dash before she even has a chance to really take in the scene she's turned to meet — she trusts Jason's report of it. And rightfully so, she realizes as she finally sees it. Six of them, three meters off. As promised.

And, for once, she's not barreling in unarmed. She tugs an innocuous black stick off her belt as she runs, which, with a practiced twirl, turns itself into the hilt of a buzzing purple lightsaber. It's her first time using it in an actual fight, but she's trying not to think about that. More important is skidding under the startled shots that the group have just started to turn on her, and slicing the legs out from under the alien closest to her.

Jesus that's effective. She rolls as he topples, trying to keep ahead of the rest of the gunfire, trying not to think too hard about the way that guy with the sudden lack of calves is clutching at the stumps, more startled than anything else. ]