epidemiology | EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He's in his cowboy getup, so he's got a long coat and a silk vest available for grabbing. As she tries to find purchase, though, he just goes ahead and sweeps her up directly into his arms. She's obviously not capable of bearing her own weight right now.

Sealed. Did they make a pact, or is this just a function of how she talks? He's willing to say the latter. Not like he's in any position to judge on that score. ]

Keenly so.

[ Her skin is fiery to the touch--another side effect of alcohol. But just as with the dulled pain, he knows the flush of heat isn't the full picture, either. She's not really warm, and she's not really free of pain, either. ]

Let me bandage your hands.

[The long coat had seemed a prime target... but she will just. Take that sweep up, thank you. Sieglinde sort of sags into it like a limp noodle, not even caring as one of her horn-like braids tumbles from her head. Who needs hairstyles!?

At Koltira's request, Sieglinde raises her hands as if to inspect them, spreading her fingers and staring somewhat vacantly at the scrubbed red skin.]

Such a kind gesture is truly appreciated, if not slightly unnecessary.

[She isn't about to refuse a bit of pampering a the moment, though.]

[ He sits down on some remnant of a porch, sighing. ]

You are a scientist, are you not? You must take good care of your hands.

[ Once he's got her settled in his lap, he takes a roll of shimmery, frost-blue bandages out of the bags hanging from his belt. He tears off several thick strips, then begins to slowly, carefully wrap her hands with them. The bandages have been treated with a magic poultice of herbs from his homeland; their effect is both calming and curative. ]

Technically, I must take much better care of my skull...

[But that's a pointless bit of arguing, and she settles somewhat limply in his lap, presenting her hands and the raw skin there for bandaging with no more protest.

They did feel cool and nice, but. Her expression falls slowly, until she looks rather morose more than anything.]

... I have something for you, as well.

[ He sighs as he presses the bandages into place; he's not going to run in circles with her about it. He doesn't have much patience for argument even on his best days. Fortunately, she changes the subject pretty quick. ]

Oh?

[ He rubs her bandaged palm gently. ]

You do not seem enthused.

It is not something to be enthused for.

[She had spent many a day debating whether she was even going to give them to him, and in retrospect doing it... almost any other time would likely be better, but. That level of rationality was already out the window.

She manages to extract a now bandaged hand and fish about for the small pouch she wore at her waist, sticking her hand in... past the wrist... past the elbow... and she comes back out with three glass vials, each equipped with a needle on the end shielded by a thin glass tube she'd designed to slide upwards under sufficient pressure to allow injection of the viscous looking dark liquid within.]

I have yet to succeed, in finding a better solution to your frenzy. But this- it could bring a stop to one that has already begun.

[Reluctantly, she offers them.]

... it would be extremely painful.

[ Those are wicked things, he thinks. But he is wicked, too, and so for her to produce such a poison for him seems natural. He takes the vials from her, turns them over several times in his hands. Frowns as the liquid slowly oozes back and forth beneath the glass.

She doesn't have to put too fine a point on it. The injector says it all. ]

I understand. It is something.

[ He closes his fingers over the vials, carefully. ]

I do not fear pain. I expect the others will not like the gift I have for them, though.

[ Soft touches as they (mostly) are. ]

[It is wicked.

But perhaps it's fitting, she thinks, because really, almost everything she creates tends to be wicked, to be the sort of thing that hurts rather than heals no matter how she tries.]

I tried to create something that would attack the frenzy in your blood... but all this does it burn it up.

[That was the best analogy she had, handing them over regretfully.]

... but I will keep working on it. Rest assured I shall not be content with this.

I appreciate what you've done.

[ He tucks the vials into his coat pocket. ]

But, Sieglinde ... do not strain yourself in this effort. It's hardly worth it.

[ Koltira's curse feeds on pain, and his body was designed to satisfy that hunger. Only wicked means can soothe what ails him, so the fault is not hers, but his alone. ]

If it makes you feel better I shall not make it my priority any longer, now that we have a... stop-gap measure...

[She pauses for a sudden jerk of her shoulders, clapping her lips shut tight for what... might have been a hiccup. Ignore that.]

But I shall remain vigilant for breakthroughs no matter.

[ Koltira's not sure he'd go so far as to call the vials a stop-gap measure. They'd allow an individual to run from him, that was all. But he doesn't want to encourage Sieglinde's efforts, so he doesn't say anything.

He squeezes her hand gently. ]

Take time for yourself. Or for the others, if you insist against the former.

["Time for herself" was such a funny word. People kept saying it, asking her to do it... but she didn't know how anymore. Not in a way that didn't end with her alone with all the thoughts she usually tried to ignore.

But explaining that never goes anywhere she likes... so she doesn't say anything either.

Instead, she just nods vaguely, head nodding forward, eyelids heavy.]

I have many projects now... very interesting ones. It is very nice.

[So no need to worry.]

Hmn.

[ He glances back at the blasted out remains of the saloon, at the damaged buildings lining the town's main street. He hefts Sieglinde up fully into his arms, carrying her princess-style down the road. ]

You need to rest. Come with me.

[ He's been working for a farmer, and that family's little homestead escaped the brunt of the fighting. Their house stands intact, and largely untouched. Sieglinde can borrow a bed. ]

[Now this is familiar. Sieglinde sags quite comfortably in to the type of carry she's used to, lips twitching up into a knowing smirk as she gives a limp attempt at a grand sweep of her arm.

"Knowing".]

If this is an elaborate trick to get me in to bed, I applaud your methods. Bravo.

[ KOLTIRA LITERALLY HAS NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH THAT STATEMENT ]

It is an elaborate trick to get you to a bed, yes.

[ He shakes his head as he brings her into the farmhouse; the Qorral who live there welcome them warmly, and the farmer himself shows them to a guest room. Koltira sets her down on the bed, which is small, but cozy--covered with a warm, gingham-patterned duvet. ]

Here. Sleep.

[The way Sieglinde laughs off that response of his as if she knows better and really, there's no need to cloak your intent! might be cause for some concern... but at least she keeps her hands to herself despite the tricksy facial expression until she is set down... and promptly flops on the bed, arms spread, awkwardly trying to simultaneously toe off her shoes.

That have laces she seems to have drunkenly forgot about.]

I have projects to address early tomorrow morning, so sleep is well advised-

[Fingers move to try and loosen her dress buttons, but that goes about as well as her shoes.]

To that effect, let us get this done with quickly- !

[WHAT IS "THIS", SIEGLINDE?]

[ The tiny alarm bleating in Koltira's mind rises to a shrill pitch as Sieglinde starts undressing. Koltira looks away quickly, covering his face with one hand, his ears drooping low. ]

Sieglinde, stop. What are you doing?

[ He immediately regrets having asked the question. He wants to simply walk away and shut (possibly lock) the door, but it's important to make sure matters are clear between them. ]

[What is she doing... taking her... boots off? She stops moving for a moment to process the question, before it finally makes sense to her. Ah hah...]

Oh... you are the type who prefers it with shoes on?

[She gives up trying to toe off the laced boots quite gratefully- most difficult process, that.]

Very well- I am amendable.

[ ENOUGH OF THIS.

He growls slightly, his smooth voice turning guttural with irritation, its otherworldly echo more pronounced. ]

I have work to attend to. Stay here. Rest.

[ He turns 'round. HE OUT. ]

[... Well. That was odd.

Sieglinde, for her part, is not sure if she's miffed or confused. For such an offer to be refused... what great self control Koltira must have for a male. Almost commendable!

Intent on mulling this matter over, Sieglinde flops back on the sheets, humming to herself...

For all of maybe sixty seconds before the hum turns into a snore.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject