Univaria

[Univaria]

Greetings from Univaria, I suppose.

Univaria is comprised of two political alignments that, while technically under a single banner in times of need against outside foes, tend to be at each other's throats. These factions are known as the Dreamchildren and Nightmares respectively, the names being representations of their creation according to folklore. The primary inhabitants of Univaria are human beings (Terrans, if you will?), although their culture is one spawned of isolation and rebirth.
The tale goes that a single colonisation craft landed on the planet successfully, but an error in the stasis beds damaged the memory of the occupants. As such, the occupants created a culture largely from scratch, although they could learn science, mathematics, other languages and various other skills from the craft's libraries. Dreamchildren are considered the perfect offspring of those times, and as such they are considered the dominant faction. Nightmares are feared for their confrontational nature in art and scientific theory, and are considered strange in the head.

In terms of battle, both factions act similarly. On an individual level, ranged weapons such as rifles and pistols are commonplace, but a knife isn't considered out of place in a gunfight due to the advanced stealth training and technology of Univarians (specifically, the Nightmares take this approach to compensate for inferior funding and resources). In terms of mass combat, Univaria relies on superiority in the skies and space, employing their technologies to create fleets with highly exceptional dexterity and shield-piercing technology. Such focuses, however, neglect armour-piercing technology and infantry presence, meaning that a Univarian military force is in serious trouble without its air force.
Tanks and other ground-based vehicles are employed, but these are largely used for strategic security rather than becoming assaulting forces on their own. Univaria is highly interested in mech technology, as according to the First Militant Spokesperson, "It would be hella cool. Fuck, seriously."

I could go on and on, really. Enough for now, however.

[Zerstorendar]

Oh hay there. I look forward to beating on your rudimentary ground forces/showing you how it's done. And roleplaying in general.

Assuming you pass the tests, which I'm almost certain you will.

[Trailers]

Hello. Welcome to the ESUS application process. In case you haven't read the sticky, the way this works is I am going to issue you three RP scenarios that you will play out to their completion. These scenarios are relatively freeform, which means you can do what you want as long as you remain within any parameters I set. You don't have to play out the scenarios as your nation, however, and can simply take up the role of some random civilization. These are just tests, so if you do play as your nation, they don't have to be counted in your nations history. Also, the scenarios may or may not refer to each other.

Ok, ready?

Scenario #1 Something has crashlanded in the suburbs of your capital. Something big. It obviously isn't a natural object, but seems to be some sort of spacecraft far larger than anything you have yet constructed. You don't know whats in it, where it came from, or how it slipped past your radar/LIDAR or any other detection devices that you may have. Play this scenario from a pre-FTL development point, and play out how your government reacts to the crash and deals with the possibility of first contact.

When you're done with this scenario, I'll give you the next one.

Good luck.

[Univaria]

Scenario #1 Something has crashlanded in the suburbs of your capital. Something big. It obviously isn't a natural object, but seems to be some sort of spacecraft far larger than anything you have yet constructed. You don't know whats in it, where it came from, or how it slipped past your radar/LIDAR or any other detection devices that you may have. Play this scenario from a pre-FTL development point, and play out how your government reacts to the crash and deals with the possibility of first contact.

Interesting. Tragic as well, but interesting. Some thing had ungraciously situated itself over the space of about three blocks of Univarian housing. The number of dead and wounded couldn't be confirmed, not that Professor Friedman cared. No, no, all that mattered is that he know what, how and why such an object had partaken in such an unfortunate action. Resting his chin on his hands, Friedman tossed the joy of this occurrence as though it were a treat in his mouth, feeling exultation in the fact that he was the one chosen to lead not only the research of samples, but initial collection and observation.
It occurred to him that it might be time to leave for the site of the landing, so he put on the clothes he kept for situations just like this - a ragged pair of jeans, worn sneakers, a grubby white shirt and the top of a lounge suit that had a number of humorous statements sewn in, such as Your mother's so fat, I learned the relationship between mass, velocity and gravity by watching her trip over. Professor Daniel Friedman, a man of much intelligence and just as much ridiculousness. The escort craft awaited him outside his living area - a small flying contraption that was built specifically for the pilot and a single passenger, using weak anti-gravity technology as a basis.
The good professor entered the passenger chamber and allowed it to strap his torso, forearms and thighs into place. Very promptly, the screen in front of him lit up, allowing him to view the... incident from a distance, surrounded by a considerable quantity of infantry.
Shining a brilliant silver blue, the intrusive object stole Friedman's heart instantly and he felt the lusty pulse of progression in his mind. Perhaps, at most, the trip would take five minutes by air for any other passenger, but in the head of our beloved Professor Friedman, who knows how long it might've taken had he been subjected to the image for the entire trip?
As abruptly as the image had ensconced itself on the screen, Friedman's basic briefing began. A voice he recognised gave him the latest information:
"Now, Friedman, if you would care to observe the heat/light ratio around the obj-" The professor's face lit up at the voice, "Cassy? Is that you? About the other night..."
"... object, you'd find that it seems to absorb heat. Therefore, at the landing site, you'll find-"
"Look, blame me all you want, but as I remember it, you were the one-"
"... find thermal suits for you and your team, who have already arrived. In addition, the reflective nature of the surface implies great smoothness, which-
"Smooth? Sure you were; that's what I like about you. Maybe we can make time agai-"
"... which means that you'll be unable to scale it on foot, although we have confirmed a number of entry points on the sur-"
"My dear Cassy, that one's just too easy!"
"Shut up, you ridiculous man"
The screen sighed in frustration and went silent. Friedman grinned widely. Oh yes, she was a keeper alright.

_________________________________________

Friedman liked the thermal suits. They fit quite nicely, and brought out the shapeliness of the female members of his research team, which he rarely failed to comment on. Despite his like for the thermal suits, he liked his silly little jacket more, and insisted on wearing it over the top. Perhaps it set him apart from the others, but perhaps it also made him a common target for mockery and jokes - not that he cared, of course! Oh, no, heavens, no! Mockery was the penance of brilliance and daring and Friedman knew this well. If anything, such treatment inspired confidence rather than hurt emotions. In any case, he was now touching the surface of Univaria's little uninvited guest.
There seemed to be some kind of energy field around it. It buzzed when he touched it and made his skin tingle, but the surface below was the main attraction. It was technically liquid, and so he presumed that the field served to contain structural integrity from the inside. This was confirmed when he attempted to scoop a sample out and was effective until the sample hit the field, sending it bounding back into place. No sample collection, it seemed, and preliminary observations had been quite thorough. Nothing for it but to enter the craft, he supposed.
Of the dozen members of his team, Friedman chose two to accompany him. One was a dexterous young man that went by the nickname "Goose" for reasons unknown to you and I. The other was a more experienced man, referred to as "The Colonel" or just "Colonel". They chose the closest entrance to begin their investigation, with Friedman at the helm stepping through the single-file "door" and The Colonel holding up the rear. At least the hallway seemed solid enough, if a tad dark.

_________________________________________

The Militant Wing wanted the destroy the craft, of course. The Research Wing and the Art Wing opposed this most thoroughly while the Politic Wing attempted to lie subtly enough to appease them both, failing quite solidly. While the Medical Wing was desperately trying to heal the Politic Wing, the Psychology Wing proposed that the lot of them were insufferable control freaks and did the job of the Politic Wing by suggesting a vote to determine the fate of their guest.
The Art Wing then went back to painting a pretty, pretty picture.

_________________________________________

Friedman's visor limited his peripheral vision, but it was not as if there was much to see that wasn't directly ahead. In any case, the hallway would now be pitch black were it not for the visor-mounted lights. Right now, Friedman's major obstacle was a door. Well, presumably a door. Touching the appropriate pressure point on his headset, Friedman waited for his visor to download the appropriate structural information from what was in front of him. Accessing the newly created log, he read aloud:

Code: Select all

Undefined Structure: SZ-042

- Composed of 3 compounds, 4 alloys. Compounds and alloys unknown.
- Low structural integrity. Could be destroyed with a small expulsion of energy.
- Appears to be independent of surrounding structures.
- Engravings present, although impossible to analyse given the light conditions. 

Being the informed man of science, culture and sensitivity that he was, Friedman proceeded to kick the door down without warning. The Colonel and Goose expressed their dissatisfaction most ungracefully, to which Friedman paid no heed. Information collected, progress made. Happiness. Indeed.
Light burst into the hallway from in front of him, and he could see the light of the Univarian sun pouring into the chamber from a gap in the hull far above, disorienting his visor for a moment (and presumably the visors of his team). The chamber was quite large, filled with metallic pods. Friedman's visor informed him that the pods appeared to be made of simple steel and appeared to contain... nothing. Odd, Friedman thought. To go to all this trouble to house nothing. Nothing for it but to open one.

_________________________________________

The Military Wing wouldn't take no for an answer, but democracy was working against it and the other Wings seemed to like the idea of waiting for more information before nuking the thing to high hell. The Research Wing was highly interested in the technology it potentially brought, while the Politic Wing was daydreaming about diplomatic relations with a new ally. The Medical Wing was quite busy swooning over the possibility of healthcare breakthroughs, while the Psychology Wing was busy writing down rather nasty conclusions about the other wings. Except the Art Wing, who just wanted to paint pretty, pretty pictures.

_________________________________________

Corpses. Decayed, rotten corpses. That's all the pods contained, and all that filled Friedman with glee. The bones and tissue remnants implied that the corpses were human, although he couldn't be sure until a complete analysis. He spoke evenly over the comms network, despite his excitement:

"Lifeforms confirmed. Deceased, probably human. Further investigation required. Pulling out to gather resources and manpower" Friedman chuckled to himself, and added, "dead things don't appear to be feasting on cortical tissue. Rest easy, ground-pounders"

Just the beginning. A whole new world of technology awaited him at the very least, and there was a chance that these corpses were not human. There'd be lots of money for research grants, awards, further recognition. And Cassy would be damned impressed, he knew. Oh yes, Friedman mused, I'll be eating out again tonight.

[Univaria]

Oh yes, Friedman mused, I'll be eating out again tonight.

My goodness, I should be shot.

Also, can you present the 2nd and 3rd tests to me in the same post? That way, I have plenty to keep me busy during the time it takes to pass judgment on said tests.

[Trailers]

Aye, can do.

Scenario #2 A small, poor, but belligerent nation nearby has recently acquired some very high yield weaponry and the means to deploy them. They are now threatening other poor, belligerent, small nations on the borders of their territories. Some of these third-world civilizations are trade partners of yours. As one of the biggest dogs in the pack, how will you handle this situation? You may play this scenario out as either a modern tech or future tech nation, the means of how its done are up to you.

Scenario #3 Fourty years ago, your people made the FTL technology breakthrough and have been welcomed into the galactic community. Since then, you have been inducted into a relatively small, but still influential trade and service alliance of bordering civilizations. Unfortunately some other alliance has some grievance with your new friends, and now they're gathering arms to rectify their grievance. 'Galactic diplomacy'. These foes are centuries ahead of you in war technology. Play this one out to a reasonable conclusion; the war itself does not necessarily have to be concluded, just your nation's assured survival.

Oh yes, Friedman mused, I'll be eating out again tonight.

Oh trust me.

You'll fit right in.

[Univaria]

Aye, can do.

Thank you.

Scenario #2 A small, poor, but belligerent nation nearby has recently acquired some very high yield weaponry and the means to deploy them. They are now threatening other poor, belligerent, small nations on the borders of their territories. Some of these third-world civilizations are trade partners of yours. As one of the biggest dogs in the pack, how will you handle this situation? You may play this scenario out as either a modern tech or future tech nation, the means of how its done are up to you.

They had it. God-fucking-damn them. The dirty Nightmares had the Pulse Cannon technology and General Morgan was absolutely sure they were going to use it. Clearly, they had planned it from the beginning and someone inside had aided them. Not only was the technology itself gone, but the data files wiped clean and all traces of information non-existent. The weapon that was supposed to adorn the Flagship Ereshkigal was in the hands of those self-serving, sociopathic demons and Morgan blamed himself. Not that he had anything to do with its actual administration, but man has this propensity to blame themselves in order to take responsibility and thus validate themselves upon completion of a task that was never theirs.
Which meant that Morgan knew he could get it back or destroy it. The vehicle used for escape was a military airship that included a GPS, which was placed so deeply into the inner workings of the craft that finding it would require the ship to be taken apart completely. The airship, which was nicknamed "Richard" due to its unfortunate shape, had landed in an area known to be a hotspot for Nightmare cultural gatherings. The general laughed; for your value of "culture", anyway. The Nightmares were known to partake in barbarous displays of dissonant music, vile spiritual rites and public sexual behaviour en-mass. Under human rights conventions the general had not been allowed to touch them, but since they stole the technology, their protected status ended and it was time to end them. However, there was one issue.
The Airship Richard had landed in a mountainous region. That meant that to retrieve the technology, there would have to be underground exploration, which meant facing the Nightmares on their terms in dark, cramped terrain. No matter how the situation was sliced, it looked like the technology would only be taken back by massive force of arms or... infiltration. General Morgan thought about it for some time. The infiltrator would have to have high intelligence and fantastic communication skills, of course. They'd have to be able to achieve a high standing very quickly and have the charisma to get what they wanted. Yet, this person would have to have low enough standing in the main part of Univarian society to slip under the radar of the Nightmares, but have the skills and proof of them to seal their place as the infiltrator.
All of this, of course, had been discussed with other military leaders and the research team working on the Pulse Cannon. General Morgan sighed deeply. He wanted to send a military man in, but the others had overpowered his influence. Sending in an untrained man, barely more than a civilian... but according to them, he'd be the only one able to locate the damned thing anyway. Apparently, the man had the technological know-how of the specific technology and the charisma to negotiate, even with Nightmares. He had done it before, or so Morgan was told. Hesitantly, General Arnold Heisergine Morgan gave the order: "Send summons for... for..."

_________________________________________

Daniel Friedman stood outside the door of an aged house. It was quite pretty, if uneconomical. And so old-fashioned! Friedman wasn't bothered, though. It was a little piece of the past, a good past, so it was worth protecting. Wearing a full suit (but not without the ridiculous phrases) and holding a bouquet of flowers, Friedman awaited an answer from the door. Cassandra Soryu was many things: beautiful; intelligent; strong-willed, but she was not in the least bit punctual or organised. Emerging five minutes later, after many exclamations of "Wait one minute!" and "Just gimme a sec...", she hid her organisational error under a shroud of carefully-brewed grace and posture. Friedman could only grin and lead her back to their transport, where he proceeded to question her tardiness continuously.
"Slept in a tad, my dear Cassy?", he teased, "I should've brought a sleeping bag"
Cassandra was not to be outdone, however. Leaning forward and squeezing her arms a tad into her chest, she established for Friedman a royal seat to look into the objects of his heart's desire. "You're so cruel to me", she pouted, "It's like you don't appreciate the time we spend together"
Oh dear, Friedman thought, it's going to be one of these conflicts. There was, probably, no use in retaliating. However much he enjoyed Cassandra's mockeries and intellect, he also quite enjoyed her body and was quite aware that she would withdraw access to it out of principle if he continued. Not that she was genuinely hurt, oh, no. She wanted him to squirm, or at least squirm socially. Groaning and grinning inwardly, Friedman found the words that would reconcile him:
"My apologies. It wasn't my intention to slight the feelings of my lady. Do accept my humblest reconciliation"
Cassandra's back snapped upright and she twitched with poorly concealed satisfaction: "You're such a genuine gentleman when you speak like that. Perhaps if you were so well mannered the rest of the time, I'd be more willing to partake of your depravities?"
Friedman could do nothing but sigh inwardly. She's won this little game. This time. There were others. Some he won, some he lost. But mostly, he just lost.

_________________________________________

Lieutenant Page was to intercept a researcher by the name of Daniel Friedman. He had worked on the Pulse Cannon for a while, but had resigned for goodness-know-what reason. In any case, Page was told, Friedman was the only one who had any kind of records regarding the Cannon's construction, logistics, requirements and other specifications. He had the only reliable capacity to predict where it might be stored and in what state. Not that he was technically allowed to have the records, but for the kind of mind Friedman had, certain exceptions were made and deals were left unsaid but firmly established.
The intel told Page that Friedman was meeting a ladyfriend and that they were eating out together. That is, if all went to plan. Page's job was to intercept said plans and bring Friedman to General Morgan for briefing. A pity, all things said. Certainly, Lt. Page took no pleasure in destroying the plans of a man and his woman. Or a woman and her man. Apparently this Cassandra Soryu was a bit of a pushy thing. Probably the idiot idealistic type that got in the way of military operations.
Traveling down the hover rail, Page spied their carriage, pulled along by a single-man anti-grav vehicle. As he thought, Page would have to apprehend them when they got to the venue. The Rikaza House, it was called. Funny name. Speaking into his headset, Page confirmed his position and theirs, splitting off the hover rail and taking a shortcut to Rikaza House.

_________________________________________

"So, the research?", Cassy inquired. The game had ended and the pair were genuinely ready to communicate. "So far, inconclusive", Friedman said, perhaps a bit too brightly for such a statement, "but we've only analysed a single room. It was a stasis chamber, we think, but evidently it was deactivated"
"And how long would it have to be deactivated for in order for the bodies to reach that state of decomposition?"
"Anywhere between fifty and a hundred years, but the technology still surpasses our own by leaps and bounds" Friedman was slightly manic at this point.
"To think that such a scattered man is on the brink of technological breakthrough. I despair for the future of our great nation, I really do" The game was on again. It was common to have repeats. Sometimes, they ended up playing a dozen times.
"Well, my dear, I'll have you know-"
DESTINATION REACHED, called the disarming, robotic voice of the carriage. It would have to wait, at least, until they had ordered. Friedman stepped out of the carriage and gave his hand to Cassandra, who daintily hopped down. She took great pride in being dainty. She practised it, in case it would be handy one day. Goodness knows that it didn't come naturally to her. The carriage sped off, and an unseen pair of hands locked Friedman's arms behind his back.
"Gotcha, my good professor. Come on, don't struggle. No, no, lady, if you retaliate I have to hurt him. Just the orders miss, I don't want to - OW!"

COMPLETION OF TASK 2 IN NEXT POST.

A.K.A

TO BE CONTINUED!

[Univaria]

General Morgan's communications headset crackled for a second before declaring, "This is Lt. Page, Daniel Friedman has been captured"
Morgan paused for a second, and tentatively stepped into the word, "... captured?"
"Yes, General"
"You mean 'summoned', of course, Lieutenant"
"... oh"
"..."
"Damn!"

_________________________________________

In the end, Cassandra had to be captured, too. Page, being something of a white knight, was reluctant to actually harm a woman and had no real intention of damaging Friedman. Therefore, his only option was to restrain the both of them. The pair were cuffed, hand and feet, but considering that they had been put in the back seat of a soundproof vehicle, Page thought it was fair to allow them the privileges of speech and proper inhalation and exhalation.
There was a screen between the front seats and the back seats. Friedman thought he could hear some sort of communication taking place, but couldn't be sure. After about a minute, he heard a panic'd "Damn!" and the driver-passenger screen came down. Lt. Page's face was a spitting image of Apologetica, the Univarian deity of reconciliation.
"Um, so it turns out I didn't have to restrain the two of you", Page said slowly. He was, of course, in no danger, but he felt a bit guilty and already kind of liked the pair. Friedman faked outrage:
"Didn't HAVE to!? Fucking hell, man! What do you MEAN!? Who says you didn't have to? Why in heaven's name are we tied up in the first place!? What do you WANT!? Maybe we can compromise!"
"No, I didn't have to. Yes, I'm a man. I mean that I didn't have to restrain you. General Morgan. I thought I had to capture you. He wants your knowledge in regards to the Pulse Cannon. No can-do."
Cassandra decided not to intervene. While she would usually enjoy sticking her nose into matters that had a direct link to her physical placement, she thought it best that she not confuse things further for the sake of petty amusement. Friedman sighed.
"Whatever the hell happened to just asking?"
"I blame the media"

_________________________________________

It was no secret that the Military Wing and the Research Wing had a casual on-and-off relationship, but the Psychology Wing was quite interested in the affection that was currently taking place. Perhaps if the Military Wing would stop petting the Research Wing so heavily, questions could be asked but it seemed as if they had no time for anyone but each other. The Psychology Wing wasn't happy about this, as there was some vital interaction to be done with the Research Wing and, besides, you could never tell what the Military Wing was putting its hands on.
Meanwhile, the Medical Wing gazed wistfully at the Research Wing while the Art Wing painted a pretty, pretty picture.

_________________________________________

"So, I'll take you to the General", Page declared. Phew. Job almost over.
"The General can suck my dick" wasn't a very nice thing to say, but Friedman said it anyway. Page sighed. "Now, don't make my job any harder, Miste-"
"I never said I wouldn't go, I'm just expecting a top-class sucking when I get there" Page opened his mouth to respond, just in time to be cut off: "However, I think it's in quite good manners that I escort my lady to safety"
Page turned around, took the address of Cassandra's living space and proceeded along the correct set of hover rails. When outside, Page undid the restraints on both of them and set off with Friedman in the front seat. He was so relieved to be rid of one burden that he didn't notice the vehicle now trailing them.

_________________________________________

General Morgan had no dislike for Friedman, but he was reluctant still to have him on the task. Therefore, he kept his statements short and simple.
"Friedman, everything to do with the Pulse Cannon has been stolen. Everything."
"What, absolutely everything?" Friedman was visibly surprised. Surely there should be a trace of information left.
"Everything. Physically and digitally. I know you have private information regarding it, and I know you'll never admit that to me"
"I haven't the foggiest clue what you're talking about!"
"Precisely. We know the area in which the Pulse Cannon should be. Your job is to gather information on its precise location, state of construction, potential enemy threat and the potential deployment points of the cannon"
"Understood. Now make me understand why I shouldn't decline right now"
"Money, mostly. The weapon is rather priceless, as you should know very, very well"
"Money? Don't make me lau-"
"I'm sorry, did I imply a certain quantity? I meant to say that, for this, you'd receive unlimited research funding"
"fgfds!"


_________________________________________

Friedman had a week to prepare. A bag of necessities (for instance, hentai), plenty of cash and his favourite guitar were the chief items of interest in his packing. He'd have to tell Cassandra that he was going away, of course. For however long it took to complete the assignment. The excuse would be that... he was given an assignment that would force him to move temporarily, but that he'd be back before long. The beauty of this is that it wasn't a lie at all. If she asked more specific questions, he might reference the reprisal of old research, which was another truth.
Friedman also considered this a prime opportunity to open that damned woman's legs again. Oh no, no woman with a heart would allow a man to leave unmolested. As it turns out, Friedman got what he wanted without incident, which struck him as odd and frankly, out of character for Cassandra. Maybe she had seen the light? Maybe she had realised how much of a good thing she had been abusing? Warm thoughts to inflate Friedman's already bulbous ego.
He was to be airlifted to the outskirts of the territory by a stealth transport. Claiming to be from another Nightmare colony, Friedman was to claim that he wanted to teach advanced science. This way, he'd find an easy way into the technological community and find means to access information regarding the Pulse Cannon. Once he had the information, he was to relay it to General Morgan and "get the FUCK outta there before our boys come in, or you're gonna have three new ways to shit". That made him a tad uneasy. It was clear that General Morgan was planning genocide, but the funding and progression this could bring...

_________________________________________

The craft was uncomfortable. Military standard. Made for transporting troops. Made Friedman's bottom hurt. The ride was short and entertaining, mainly because Friedman could never stop being amazed at heights and the beauty of nature. As planned, the craft made a smooth landing.
Ideally, he would meet the main road that led from the nearest railway (the Nightmares hadn't upgraded their transport since the advent of hover technology, for the most part) and walk along it until he reached the mountain city, probably hitch-hiking along the way. The ideal road was in view from his current position, but it was disappear for a while as he descended, and descend he did. Navigating by the sound of traffic, Friedman eventually spied parts of the road and begun testing his absolute threshold for vision out of boredom. That is, until his world turned black and a voice in his ear whispered, "Thought you pulled a fast one, Dreamchild scum?"

NEXT TIME ON PROFESSOR FRIEDMAN II: SEARCH FOR THE PULSE CANNON

THE ACTUAL STAGGERING CONCLUSION

SOMETIMES THIS SHIT IS BEST DONE IN SEGMENTS, I THINK

[Trailers]

*Suspense!*

[Zerstorendar]

Moar.