Active Plots (Alphabetical) - Updated 8/21/2010

Can't I Have Any Time? - (Eruantion Doriath [?], Amonost Doriath [?])

End of Solitude - (Verda Stelo [?])

No More Grape Soda - (Alex Dean [?], Samuel Jorgenson [?], Leon Mecheeto [?])

Questionable Means - (Tawny Black [?], Ishkan Ma'z)

Author	Comment
Asmod Doomfinger MASSIVE WARRIOR DO NOT CROSS Dominion Master 4/22/2007 3:16:47 AM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 46	RE: Bad Choice of Vacation Spots Asmod has been digging with the Rippov for some time. They have long figured out that he is not of their ranks, but they seem to only hold ill will for the humans, as luck would have it. Apparently, they didn't get the memo--that his body count is nine or ten. He's fine with that, though. It's always good to be on good terms with all factions of the war. Why's he digging, though? Because it gives him something to do. Ooh! Paydirt. Two unarmed ihbrims/grizzlies lift an enormous machine out of the hole they have dug. It appears to be... What does it appear to be? Asmod shrugs. The Rippov seem to be dismissing him--mostly the big shot in charge of the digging operation. It looks like he wants him out of here five minutes ago. Asmod finds and mounts his trusty zorish steed, tips his hat to the group of grunts/reapers with whom he spent his last three hours, and rides off. Rockets fly across the street into the Rippov. Gibs fly everywhere. In the interest of keeping up his relations with both factions, Asmod doesn't bother looking. If nobody can prove he even noticed, nobody can say he intended to decline helping. After the gunfire dies down, an orc warcry resonates in the concrete surrounding Asmod. His ears twitch. He would squint if it was possible to squint further. A fellow orc! Tonight, he RIDES to intercept.
Amonost Fighter Pilot/Bounty Hunter Dominion Master 7/24/2007 10:37:47 PM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 19	RE: Bad Choice of Vacation Spots Slag. Amonost is standing atop a gray pile of rubble where a wall used to be, right leg extended in front of him, stepped up onto a large rock. He has two large Rippov rifles, one in each hand. He is shooting from the hip and emitting a defiant roar. The Rippov are nearly afraid of him. The rifles click in announcement of their emptiness. He tosses them and picks two more up off of the ground, resuming his defiant stand. Holy Xylophone. A War Wagon descends from the cloud and ink cover, every turret ablaze, vaporizing pachees and Rippov fighters, as well as ground troops. The entire base erupts in a hoot and holler of excitement. The front ramp opens and the glow of jump packs fills the sky. They're Ellixan. Beam weaponry and firearms blaze from the sky, peppering the ground in a deadly laser show. The War Wagon continues its descent as more and more shock troops pour out. When it finally touches down, the turrets on both sides continue firing, suppressing the Rippov. One of the assault troops slams into the ground right next to Amonost, still firing. Amonost screams and falls backwards. The assault trooper is entirely clad in thick armor. He looks awesome, in more ways than one. Amonost touches the armor, giggling. The soldier doesn't react, still firing his weapon. One of the assault troops has already found somebody in charge. The voice emitter on his helmet blares. Soldier: WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE? Marine: I am! Soldier: WE'RE EVACUATING ANYBODY THAT WANTS TO GET OFF OF THE PLANET. YOU NEED TO GATHER THEM. IF ANYBODY HAS THEIR OWN SHIP, WE CAN ESCORT IT, BUT WE WON'T GUARANTEE THEIR SAFETY. The marine observes the battlefield. There's not much of a Rippov presence, but a heck of a lot of gunfire. Marine: I'm on it! The assault trooper turns and blasts off, disappearing from sight.
Amonost Fighter Pilot/Bounty Hunter Dominion Master 10/9/2007 11:36:19 PM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 19	RE: Bad Choice of Vacation Spots Sunny: Sir! The marine attempting to coordinate the evacuation turned to a lone Sunny. Sunny: The Rippov have fallen back to regroup their attack force. They're organizing ihbrims and torravs. Marine: ... Slag. We need to get out of here before they arrive. Sunny: Yes, sir, that would be advisable. Marine: Okay. Go get Major Evans and Captain Levine and tell them to gather everybody they can in the eastern wing. Tell everyone we have to evacuate the planet RFN, and if they're not there within forty five minutes, they get to suck torrav spit. Sunny: Yes sir! The Sunny ran off. Meanwhile, the Ellixans had set up over thirty heavy automated sentry guns in a perimeter around the building. This was all they had on the War Wagon, and they needed to empty it to fit as many people as possible. In the end, they would probably only be able to pack a bit over half of the survivors onto the ship, but none of the marines that knew this relayed it to their men. Amonost felt a knot in his stomach. He knew there were still a lot of people out there, all over the planet, that probably wouldn't ever get off. But he and Eru had gathered their stuff and uncovered their ships already, because they sure as slag weren't staying here. He checked his watch over and over, causing the time to pass agonizingly slowly. Twenty five minutes to go. The farthest sentry gun boomed, its explosive rounds resonating through the city. It had been only fifteen minutes, and the Rippov had already regrouped. Amon looked up at Eru, who had climbed up the wreckage of an outbuilding to get a better look over the lower buildings. Amonost: What's going on? Eruantion: They've got pachees. I think they're inking that gun the Ellixans set up. Amonost: Great. The gun fell silent. Two more erupted, slightly closer now. A massive explosion followed, and only one gun could be heard. The rest began to roar. Eruantion: Oh my gosh. They're everywhere. He scanned to the right. Amonost could see his eyes widen behind the binoculars. Eruantion: TORRAV INCOMING! A massive orange gob of bubbling phlegm blasted through the corner of a building just a few blocks away, where one of the Ellixans had stationed himself. Eru couldn't see what became of the soldier. The beast soared over the building, the ground rumbling and the buildings shaking as it passed. A few pachees strayed from a pack, heading straight for Eru. He dropped the binoculars, dangling them from the strap around his neck, and reached for his pistol. A barrage of beam weapon fire tore through them from the ground before he could get to it, and a... piece of one of them hit him in the chest. Eruantion: I just got gibbed! Amonost: Ewww! Eru began to climb down from the half-collapsed wall he was on, as the situation was getting a wee bit too hot for him. The War Wagon rose above the rooptops again, every gun focused on the massive, flying torrav. Several of the assault troops flew up and took up position on the ship's roof, covering it from incoming pachees. Amonost realized now that every single sentry gun had already gone silent. This wasn't a good sign. Twenty minutes. A bull horn sounded from the eastern wing, nearly drowned out by the ungodly scream of the torrav as it hurled another gob of spit through the air, this time at the hovering ship peppering its armored carapace with ion blasts and railgun fire. Eru and Amon broke into a dead run, fearing what that bull horn meant. ----- Hundreds of miles away... After two hours of work, Asmod Doomfinger and Engell Hammerskull finally freed the CP3 Vexxer entirely from the hole in the side of what was once a hotel. Engell: These things eat crash landings for breakfast. He pulled the unlatched door open and climbed through the hatch. Engell: Glory, Doomfinger! There is light! This bodes well for us, friend! Engell stepped through the mess all over the floor. It looked like a lot of stuff came off of the shelves and out of cupboards when the ship crashed. Ducking low, Asmod stepped inside after him. The cockpit hatch was fully open, and Engell squeezed in. Surveying the controls, he pressed a button on the main console and sat down. He felt something uncomfortable under his butt, and reached under, pulling something out. It was some kind of tag, reading "GRIGGS, MALCOLM U." and some other information. Shrugging, he tossed it over his shoulder. It clanked off of Asmod's shoulder guard. The screen was still black, though Engell could hear the humming of computer components. His hopes were falling. Finally, gray text appeared on the black background. REBUILDING KERNEL_ ----- The War Wagon was doing little to hurt the torrav, but the beast seemed to be irritated and trying to take down the ship before continuing the destruction of the marines' makeshift fortress. Several of the assault troops had taken up position on the ship's roof to protect it from incoming pachees and weapons fire, as its mounted guns were focused entirely on the torrav. In the eastern wing, the leaders were announcing that evac just moved up. Fifteen minutes to the deadline, but as soon as that War Wagon came back down, they were leaving with or without you. A second scream joined the first. Another torrav whipped around a building at street level, its trailing limbs moving in mind-boggling ways. It jerked up in an instant and headed toward the War Wagon. The way the thing moved was unreal. Another huge gob of boiling saliva erupted from the second beast's mouth, barely missing the ship and crashing into a parking garage behind the marines' base. Some of the ship's guns turned toward the new threat, but it was obvious this was one fight they weren't going to win. The War Wagon began to approach the ground. ----- The computer continued to sit at the nefarious screen: REBUILDING KERNEL_ It had been five minutes. Engell: I fear that this will not w-- The screen began to spit text rapidly. REBUILDING KERNEL DONE COMPRESSING . . . DONE CHECKSUM . . . FAILED BAD CRC RECOMPRESSING . . . DONE CHECKSUM . . . OK RETICULATING SPLINES . . . OK DECOMPRESSING BRONZECAP LUNIX 3.3.4_ Engell: I fear we must wait a little longer. ----- The War Wagon touched down with the forward loading ramp already down. The assault troops did not move from their position, nor did the ship's guns stop firing. The evacuees had to be careful to stay out of the turrets' paths. It had been decided earlier that the wounded would be loaded first, so that if they ran out of room, the ones who had to be left behind could at least put up a fight until the ship came back for another load--if it even came back. Amonost and Eruantion entered their ships, still concealed under a makeshift sheet metal garage, and watched the chaos. It was quickly becoming apparent to the evacuees that there wasn't enough room on the ship for all of them. Men began to volunteer to stay behind. It was heartwrenching to even Amonost, the gutless butthole, but he accepted that they were braver than he, because he still sure as slag wasn't staying here. By the time the ramp raised, there were still thirty men left. It would take something serious for them to survive this. Amon looked over at Eru through the cockpit window. He was only shaking his head. Some kind of war cry blared from either a speaker on the War Wagon or all of the soldiers' suits simultaneously--it was hard to tell which. Amon looked back and saw that the ship was already taking off. It was time to get the heck out of there. Their engines already warmed up, the brothers Doriath kicked on the thrust and tore out of the garage, as they had planned, pulling up quickly and slowing down to match the War Wagon's speed. Its speed was somewhat surprising, gaining altitude quickly, and they soon left the range of the torravs and pachees. Upon exiting the atmosphere, the brothers bid the evacuees farewell over S2S and headed off to a Sekran space station. ----- Engell: Doomfinger. Look! His meaty finger jabbed toward the screen. The text had disappeared and a single image, similar in appearance to an hourglass, sat in the center of the screen. Asmod: ... I have a bad feeling about this. Engell: No, Doomfinger. This is good! The operating system has booted! Asmod stares blankly. Asmod: What does that mean? Engell: It means that this vessel may yet run, brother. Finally, the desktop rendered. The hourglass began to rapidly change between an arrow and the hourglass. The hard disks chirped, whirred, and clicked wildly. A presence presented itself behind them. Asmod swung about and released his battle axe from its clip. A man in large battle armor, holding a similarly large battle rifle stood before him. Malcolm: Who the heck are you? He seemed to pay no attention to the battle axe held at ready. Asmod: I am Asmod Doomfinger! What is your name, HUMAN?! Malcolm: I own this ship. Now get out. Asmod: Finders keepers! He stooped even lower, his stance spreading, and his huge teeth becoming visible. The fedora and too-small T-shirt along with steel shoulderguards didn't lend themselves to a menacing appearance, however. Engell looked up from computer to see what the ruckus was. Engell: Ah! Human! Are you... Griggs, Malcolm U.? Malcolm had noticed the dog tags on the floor. He bent down and picked them up. Malcolm: ... Yes. Engell: I assume you were unable to recover your ship from the wreckage of this building. Perhaps we can come to an agreement to leave this planet with you. Malcolm: Fine. Engell: Excellent! With much difficulty, Engell climbs out of the cockpit. Malcolm takes his place and gets everything running. The ship soon rises from the surface and clunkily leaves the planet.
Short Billy Gold Captain and Crew of the Frozen Chicken Pirate Dominion Master 10/10/2007 12:03:39 AM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 21	RE: Bad Choice of Vacation Spots Avast! Short Billy Gold and Mr. Mozart were too late. They arrived in time to see the War Wagon disappear into a cloud. Short Billy: Avast! ... Short Billy: Avast! A glob of burning acid spit lands not more than four feet to the left of Billy. Mr. Mozart yelps. Short Billy: Well, Mr. Mozart, looks like we be stranded. Mr. Mozart wimpers. Two Rippov grunts burst from within a nearby storefront. Short Billy lets out an Arrr! as he draws his musket, firing on the first, felling him. He drops the pistol and yanks the worn cutlass from his belt, bringing it to bear upon the remaining grunt's rifle. The grunt proceeds to parry Billy's attacks with his rifle, firing shots right past Billy's head. Billy manages to trip him up and takes the opportunity to split, snatching his pistol from the ground along the way. He and Mr. Mozart disappear into an alleyway. The grunt shrugs it off and proceeds toward the stranded marines.

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