Ryksmarshal Rukkel

APPLICATION (ONLY FT) REPUBLIC OF RUMSHIP Capital: Rumship (Formerly Marseilles) Government: Ungovernable (also Rumship) Head of Rum: RUMSHIP, ALWAYS RUMSHIP (also The Honourable Captain Wolf Horatio O'Brien) Location: Former Southern France (The seven southernmost provinces between Italy and Andor) Hotel De Ville', Marseilles Wolf awoke, it had been a difficult few days. He had not expected to get the offer of a second interdimensional portal device. Not that he had known or cared what it was of course, some of his crew had simply offered it up as a way to acquire more delicious...delicious rum. The scientist in question, a Dr Haustrom, was in the tenuous employ of the Katasian government and had provided a similar device to them. This was a shame, as they had often been meddlesome in Wolf's alcohol fueled capers though they had never yet managed to capture or subdue him due to the coincidental happenings he often invited. Nobody was quite sure why but Wolf was very lucky, quite possibly the luckiest being to have ever existed. Similarly, nobody was quite sure how he developed or attained such a preternatural knack for attracting fortunate or unlikely events. Rumours had it he was a demi-god of some kind (what odd tryst bore this is omitted), others thought he might simply be an embodiment of pure luck, born of the cosmos and its propensity for strange jokes. Many more believed he bore a resemblance to Artemius Horat, one of the earliest Katasian space travelers. A canidaen who had traversed the stars in some of the first, small, entropic warp capable ships. He had often done it alone, discovering planets, species and all manner of other wonders. It was alone, too, that he was presumed to have died after nothing was heard from his final voyage to a distant unmapped star cluster that has never since been found nor charted. However these were not the thoughts pulsing through Wolf's head as he staggered to his feet after being thrown clear of his crashed ship in the center of Marseilles on this new, unfamiliar Earth. No, Wolf's booze battered thoughts were very much more like the following: "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" He stood and looked around, bleary eyed and blinking rapidly in the morning sun. Raising a paw to shield his eyes he used the other to wipe his scum encrusted muzzle. As he did this a secondary explosion occurred nearby and blew the jaunty tricorn, its colour long faded, he often wore into his waiting paw. Wolf placed this upon his head, instantly allowing him a greater view of events. A small crowd had gathered, a few police officers among them. His faithful companion and first mate, Mr Mate, balanced precariously upon the branch of a nearby tree, evidently sleeping off the revelry of the night before. The thinning fur of Mr Mate's bushy vulpinaen tail gently malted the occasional clump onto the round below, attracting pigeons. Wolf pushed down some bile. It had been a rough night, waking up in a different universe was certainly a first for his blackout episodes whilst inebriated, but here was a new world, full of new opportunities. He adjusted his translator before speaking to the assembled crowd. "A'hm...ah'm in charge of dis here place right here now. So you's all better get m' some drink an' a comfortable recliner o' some kind or ye're gonna feckin' get it" Quiet laughter followed. The townspeople were not quite sure how to react to this crazy hungover canine alien asserting sovereignty over them. Wolf soon had their full attention though as he withdrew an ancient looking flintlock pistol from among his many belts. The couple of assembled police officers pointed their own firearms at him "Weapon! Freeze, don't do anything stupid!" they cried as Wolf swayed slightly before tripping over his own longcoat into a collection of nearby spilled canisters from a truck that had crashed due to the appearance of rapidly falling spacecraft. Doing so caused the flintlock pistol to drop to the ground, the shock of the impact then further causing its lock to crash forward and set off the black powder inside. A single accidental shot rang out and all was silent for a while, save for a short, sharp hiss moving off into the distance. The silence persisted for a moment, no one quite sure exactly what was going on or what they should to deal with this situation. They all knew to run away once the nearby Central Police Headquarters exploded, followed by the Town Hall building itself. A mixture of neo-classical and baroque architecture rained down upon all those present as they ran or dived for cover. One of the police officers shot at Wolf only to have the bullet strike a piece of masonry as it fell past, rebounding and disarming him. The other officer dropped her weapon when she found the now very much awake Mr Mate had climbed down from the tree and had produced a wicked looking heavy rifle. Members of Wolf's pirate crew crawled or walked out of their various destroyed ships and escape pods, all wielding similar weaponry and the willingness to use it. This was unnecessary, of course, as the explosion had also deposited the City Mayors vast gold chain about Wolf's neck via means unknown to all but the most precise scientific instruments. The old sea dog grinned as he looked up from the position on his back that he had fallen into. It was only later that everyone discovered the bullet from his flintlock had lodged itself in a tiny but fragile power point on the outside of the Police building. This had caused an electrical fire in the evidence room which would have been a small issue were it not for the huge confiscation of illegal and very volatile mining explosives that had been temporarily stored there from a raid that morning. Similarly the Town Hall was destroyed by a single canister that, upon Wolf knocking it over, had leaked highly pressurized gas and rocketed off into an upper window of the building in the blink of an eye. This had then made its way swiftly into the Mayor's Office, where a worried Mayor had been lighting his umpteenth cigarette to deal with having to store the dangerous and volatile mining explosives there from numerous corrupt dealings that now had to be swiftly hidden due to police action. The brief flame had lit the vapour trail of the canister and it was only mere moments before the rest went up with it. Meanwhile all across the South of France crashed ships were disgorging pirate crews from an unknown alien race and each was soon carving out their own little empires here. 3 Months Later It wasn't too safe at night anymore, not since the Police had been disbanded. However this did not bother Second-Lieutenant Maghrin, an agent of the Katasian Ryk Intelligence Korp (RIK) and one of the scouts sent out by the Grand Fleet to look for signs of Katasian activity elsewhere ad report back on this new universe. As a human it had been easy to blend in and he soon slipped into a local bar before ordering a drink and sitting down in a quiet back booth to meet his contact. It wasn't long before the slightly drunk and very disheveled Katasian he had met was spilling everything about life under the new regime "Looksh" he plonked a paw roughly on the table "it's not brilliant, but it'sh not ash bad as they say. He'sh quite a responsive leader to peoplesh here when he can be bothered" "Who can?" "Captain Wolf of coursesh!" the Katasian eyed Maghrin suspiciously "you been...you beensh unda a rocksh kind of thing or somethin'? "Oh, of course yes" replied Maghrin, repressing his surprise at hearing the name of the infamous pirate lord "you said he was administrating quite well here?" "Wellsh yeah, we don't got bandits no more, that was a- it was a big problem for the first couple a' months" "How did he deal with them?" "Wellsh..." 1 Month Earlier "Stop all dis' feckin' about an' don't be banditin' anymore ok?" shouted Wolf over the laughter of the assembled local organized criminals that had set themselves up with impunity after his takeover. He had come alone to parley with them and they seemed extremely amused by the drunken antics of the supposedly feared pirate king of Rumship, formerly this area of France. "Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it" sneered the man who seemed to be their leader, raising his weapon. "No booze fer' five days or until ye think about what ye've done, whichever comes first I don' care, that's what ye get, ye sh***es" The laughing grew louder as Wolf grew more exasperated. He withdrew his flintlock in a display of lightning speed and skill, firing it into the air and loudly bidding the bandits he had found be quiet or suffer the consequences. There were, however, consequences already on the way. The tiny musket ball thundering through the air passed through a momentary lapse in space-time and struck the mother of the bandit's ostensible leader dead roughly a two years before he was due to be born. The bandit leader suffered an intense burning in his brain as his entire life, now essentially voided by the universe, flashed before his eyes in an instant. His earliest memories, childhood sweethearts, all those dumb judo tournaments he had to go to, his first kiss, first job, first everything. Everything that had led to this precise moment emptied from his eyes and he blinked out of existence. Wolf turned around and staggered off back towards Marseilles, leaving behind him a group of terrified former criminals and even more terrifying stories. There would be no more banditry from now on. The Present, Upon Leaving the Bar Maghrin found himself wondering how such a tricky situation might be approached by a severely weakened Ryk. This definitely qualified as something of interest to them and no doubt it would lead to some worried looks and hushed whispers among what remained of the government once they were informed that Wolf had not only survived The Great Ending but had come out of it as a king of a part of this dimension's Earth. "Still, this may yield opportunities in the future" he thought as the messaging probe shot up into orbit from the quiet country clearing he had found in the hillsides overlooking the city and the bay it nestled in "lets just hope Wolf doesn't do anything too stupid in the meantime"

Aboard One of the Larger Naxid Vessels "Ah've been shot at about all ah' can stand today Ivan..." shouted Desi over the din of Naxid fire towards their tenuous position aboard one of the Naxid fleet, he rammed home the speed loader and leveled his revolver at the hip before loosing another six explosive tipped rounds into consecutive bugs as they attempted to rush the position "...what in th' hell is under your shirt an' what in the hell is th' end game here?" He drew the hilt of his sword as a final Naxid approached, the blade unfolded faster than the eye could follow as an upward strike cut the unlucky attacker in half. Ivan cooly gunned down another three of the insectoids with the PDW he had brought from the cockpit of Cobalt-12 after they had landed it inside some sort of orifice that was too disturbing to accurately describe without attracting complaints from social conservatives. He somehow lit a cigarette inside his spacesuit without igniting himself and let the helmet fill up with noxious fumes whilst unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a rectangular device that semed to have various scribblings hewn into it with a mad sense of purpose "I brought a bomb...I think..." he finally replied "Ya think?" asked Desi "Well, it's some kind of hush hush superweapon deal. I don't really know what it does..." Back Aboard the RSL Grand Karak Special Projects Arsenal The EOD team sent in to deal with the suspicious package down in the Special Projects area were, if anything, even more terrified at the prospect of a non-distinct box lying in what should have been a heavily shielded and sealed compartment. They were also even more surprised when it once again burst into a shower of confetti that spelt "EVEN MORE SORRY THAN LAST TIME" briefly in the air before making a mess akin to a children's birthday party. Two of the deck officers tasked with the cleanup watched their underlings stumbling about as they tried to pick up the colourful annoyance. "So, do they know what was stolen?" asked one inbetween drags on a dog-eared cigarette "USW1054 I've heard" replied the second officer "USW?" "Unknown Special Weapon, apparently that mad b*****rd Haustrom built it just before the exodus. No one had time or space to test it but it got brought along anyway. Who knows what that things could do..." Back Aboard One of the Larger Naxid Vessels "...but yeah, it's probably a bomb I reckon, it has a timer and some buttons..." Back Back Aboard the RSL Grand Karak Special Projects Arsenal "...it might kill a planet, it might kill an entire system, a galaxy, the universe. Literally, it could do anything. From what I've heard Haustrom's various creations range from ultimate destruction to stupid toy. That's why they used to go and try and reverse engineer them remotely in an abandoned system. Whoever took it doesn't even know what power they might be wielding" The first officer took another drag and shook his head "lets hope to the Watcher wherever they've taken it is very far away from here" Back Back Aboard One of the Larger Naxid Vessels* *which, as it turns out, is pretty close to the Katasian fleet An ominous beeping filled the chamber as Desi's canine ears simultaneously twisted around for the sounds of more Naxids and flattened to emphasize his dismay at Ivan having pressed many of the buttons on the rectangular box that is maybe a bomb but no one is sure yet. "Ok, well the timer has started" noted Ivan eventually "What's it say, should we be running?" "Probably, the panel is currently reading one- no, wait, two exclamation marks, the emoticon people are using to denote their junk these days and the outline of a flightless bird" Ivan laid the device down gently and patted it twice, then he looked at Desi, contorted his rodent-like features into a toothy grin and sprinted away. Desi's gaze followed him before going back to the device, then back to Ivan's rapidly disappearing form "Oh for f**-" he exclaimed before sprinting after his unthinkingly rash rodent partner in crime. A hard jog and half a dozen more Naxid reinforcements later and they had broken back through to Colbalt-12. Ivan leaped up into the cockpit, nimbly climbing the retracting stairs and scrambling under canopy to start the few pre-flight checks he bothered to do. Desi clawed his way up into the seat behind he pilot just as the canopy closed and released his helmet, panting as he tried to regain his breath "Ya...You...Watcher damnit...Ivan" "Don't thank me yet, I'd say we've done our part here and have earned ourselves a little break from the homeland until it's next narratively convenient to appear" he gunned the throttle as the small fighter lifted into the air and began to speed down the long tunnel of the orifice that had led them here "lets blow this unnervingly sexy popsicle stand!" Now...those expecting an explosion as our heroes boldly venture forth from the, in no way allegorical, orifice that is about to deliver them unto new lives amongst new stars will be disappointed. Rather than a whole thing where they just escape, flames licking at them as they do so, our dynamic duo are actually already pretty far away from the Naxid vessel when its entire superstructure begins to violently buzz in a way that pierces the hulls of nearby ships even through the soundless vacuum of space. Instruments read odd things and every third potted plant across the entire system wilts and dies in an instant before blossoming back to life. In keeping with the deconstruction of cliched tropes, whilst indulging in the one where an omnipotent narrator consistently indicates the presence of desperate humour through breaking the fourth wall and explaining events as though they are cutting in to critique their own writing style, the ship does not explode. Instead it is transformed into a previously unknown superconductive material and is then electrocuted violently. The surface of the vessel takes on a glossy orange tinge as its inhabitants and a good few of those manning smaller Naxid vessels near it are subjected to tremors, then slight smoking, then being on fire and, finally, burning to ash. The ship lists through space, beginning to spin wildly as it loses motivation and direction like someone who has been in a job for too long and now finds it both uninteresting and unfulfilling. Then... ...and, dear reader, this is a lesson in the abject cruelty of attempting humour through an unorthodox method of reporting fictional events in sequence... ...then the ship explodes.

Aboard the Grand Karak Admiral-Nominate Dusty-Face popped some more RFLX, he was beginning to numb to its effects already but he couldn't afford to have anyone else take the helm at this critical juncture. He ordered all large guns forward, the enemy was attempting to block them but he hoped they would think better of it under that barrage of the fleet. "When facing encirclement the commander is most dependent on the virtu of his forces and the least on fortuna's whims. The virtuous actions of his forces should pierce the embrace of foruna as a sword would pierce a heart, action and not mere existence should capture the day. The commander should strive to remain the point and not be relegated to the haft, for at the point is victory, at the haft, defeat..." He repeated the half-remembered words from the Laptev Fleet Warfare Academy as though they were a mantra. Visions of time spent in the pleasant gardens among the grand buildings as he watched them hoist the flags of the Axis nations each morning, captured with rope to flutter in the gentle breeze on its platform high above the Southern Ocean, floated through his mind. All that was now so much ash, remnants of a time before the universe had become ever more vast, confusing and dangerous. "What was that sir?" asked one of his bridge officers from the console below him "N-nothing..." he replied hesitantly, before regaining his mental footing and leaping back into the action "call up all forces within the fleet, if they are to board any of our vessels we should ensure they get a welcome for their trouble." "The MarineKorp are already mobilizing, we'll call up all available Grand Armee', ArmourKorp and Guard Nationale' to stations. Sir, the frigate Lake Balaikval already reports boarders, commanders are asking to access the special projects armouries...and there was another thin-" "Tell them to do whatever they deem necessary, they have full tactical control inside their own vessels. Ensure they understand the importance of evacuating as many as they can whilst they have the time-" "The other thing si-" "I know what they want, it has been granted, but they shall have none of our transportation" "Very good sir, I believe they have their own available to them" "Let's concentrate on our own affairs, delegate all further boarding actions to Fleet COS but keep me updated" A number of vessels in the fleet were already ensnared in the tendrils of the Naxian attack craft, the largest of which was now the Balaikval, a Northern Federation vessel playing host to the many of the denizens of that tough and wintry land whose people had never truly been conquered by Katasia many thousands of years ago, even as the harsh climate had been. While other, smaller, craft staggered on against impossible odds to hold the line as civilians and non-essential personnel fled to other ships among the fleet the Balaikval had resolved to fight on. Everything was now being mustered to save it although, despite this, evacuations had begun. RSL Lake Balaikval Breach 127 Lt. Colonel Nadzov of the Katasian MarineKorp buckled on the bulky assault helmet, she hadn't been out from behind a desk in a while and its presence uncomfortable but yet familiar to her. There was something instinctively repulsive and alluring to the way it crushed her canine ears against her head, that moment of panic as the welding mask like front section closed over her features with an ominous hiss that signaled its seal against the void. Then again it took something special and stupid to be part of the MarineKorp, with its unwieldy spacesuits and handing armour panels that were hardly cutting edge a number of decades ago let alone now, and fling oneself into either the cold darkness of space or the unremitting terror of close quarters starship boarding actions. The human NCO handled her roughly as he helped with the straps, clasps and pouches of her armoured exterior suit. It was no matter though, she was used to it. She checked the chamber on her 16mm submachine cannon and the ignition on her plasma edged axe to ensure their function before looking over to the ursidaen corporal whose tense hulking frame was on guard, his massive shrapnel belching spreadgun resting on the assault shield he had just been wearily carrying. She activated VIZR comms as her HUD sprang to life "Systems test is successful. Are we all in position?" she asked before adding "don't want to be let down by the fleet anoraks from special projects" "We can hear too y'know" came the reply with the distinctive draw of a citizen of the Southern Republics "treat us unkind an' we might not get out from behind our desks to help ya'" "I'd never dream of it petty officer, you know that. What I meant to ask is have you done your magic in this section and are your engineering teams ready?" "They're ready, canisters are primed to flood the section. Once it dissipates you'll have to move quickly to support, then get out. You've got about a minute and counting" Nadzov primed her weapons and ordered the troop into formation, the larger marines went to the fore with their shields and heavy weapons, the rest including her could pick up the scraps. She went back to comms "The seals will hold right?" "Guess we're about to find out Lieutenant Colonel...10 seconds..." A sound, seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly intensified as the Naxid boarders reached the section, flooding it with a swarm of their warriors. Nadzov gave the order to hold as they deflected the first few incoming shots and huddled together, buffeted by enemy weapon fire. Then, all at once, the whole section exploded into a yellowish haze. Within seconds the Naxids were screeching and roiling around as their bodies exploded into blisters and pustules, a horror show of sickening misery that shocked even the hardened veterans among the troop of marines. Few of them even were aware of the kind of work that the special projects division of the RyksMarine and those that were had never seen any deployed up close. The WunderKraft detachments, as they were known colloquially, were responsible for Katasia's development, holding and deployment of parts of the former Laptev superweapon arsenal. They had just unleashed a particularly nasty liquefying compound that came in gas form, yet still this was only the tip of the iceberg that had been held within the larger Katasian fleet as it had escaped FB-1. In under a minute the Naxid swarm was reduced to trembling piles of goop that occasionally popped and oozed. More would come, but now they had time to lock the section down and prevent further swift ingress by the enemy. The shocked silence that proceeded the deployment of the gas was broken by a young private at the fore of the troop "f***, well I'm never eating fondue again..." Nadzov ordered them forward as the engineers rushed in behind to seal the section. All across the ship many breaches were being sealed in similarly horrible and desperate ways, and yet still the Naxids came. RSL Lake Balaikval Living Area B-67t Shell casings rattled on the faux tiles of the small plaza that made for somewhat of a central hub of the commercial boulevard in Area B-67t. Most civilians, save for those too feeble or too stupid to leave, had evacuated some time ago. It was just as well given that the Naxid hordes had broken much of the defensive lines in this sector with relative ease, sowing confusion and death amongst the halls of residences and the more open communal areas as they swept past. Barricades further in had eventually held, heavy weapons and reinforcements convincing the Naxids that they should regroup and hunt down the pockets of resistance left behind for now. Salazar Motille', a corporal in the Guard Nationale', looked down at his Magazine Replenishment Kit (MRK) with dismay. It had not yet gathered enough gases nor converted the casings he had fed into it into usable ammunition, his M2A7 rifle clicked ominously as it signaled it was now empty and that he had drawn a host of roving Naxids down upon himself and his erstwhile companion. His companion was an ursidaen warrant officer in the Grand Armee' and he was not particularly happy about Salazar having given away their position. Nonetheless he pressed a digit to his snout and waited by the door as the Naxids investigated the burst of fire. No sooner had they crossed the threshold and seen the terrier katasian corporal then the giant ursidaen was upon them. His enormous frame rippled as he tore one of the Naxid warriors in half with his b(e)are paws, aided by an influx of combat drugs through his armour and the rage in his heart, he proceeded to fight the Naxids without a weapon for a time. Eventually he drew a wicked looking combat knife before gutting the next two to enter and obliterating the squad that had begun to investigate the outbreak of firing. The ursidaen wiped the blade off against his uniform "f***ing ошибки" he exclaimed through ragged breath, a wound now springing into a cascade of red from his side as he looked to Salazar "don't just sit there pup, there will be more, you need to keep moving" Salazar scrambled to right himself, grabbing up the MRK in the process. He silently thanked the bold ursidaen before turning to leave. It was at this point a blinding flash streamed in through the shuttered windows of the small shop they had found themselves in. Salazar paused as the ursidaen slumped into a corner, badly wounded. he reopened the crack he had thrust his rifle through earlier and caught a view of the dozen or so power armoured figures now in their midst. The sounds now surrounding them indicated that this had not gone unnoticed by the Naxids. "Watchkeepers!" cried a Knight-Commander, another katasian, of the True Order of the Watcher as it had been reconstituted under Knight-Master Taylor "defensive positions, cleanse this area and do so for the Watcher" After this it was largely a blur of flashes and the clattering sounds of nearby battle as the Knights who had arrivedd via entropic short range drop tore apart all those who dared face them. Order 20mm carbines barked in the twilight of the devastated section as plasma blades flickered though the darkness and weapons Salazar could not even conceive of smashed utterly the foes that the Ryk had been struggling to hold back. After all was done the knights stood there, having been barely touched by the company strength swarm that had descended upon them, surrounded by innumerable alien corpses. A few more Naxids arrived but soon though better of it as a number of their kind were mulched by chainguns wielded by some of the larger looking power armoured figures. The Knight-Commander looked straight at Salazar, instantly seeing through his hiding place "Soldier, grab your comrades and evacuate to the remaining barricades. We will hold here" He did not hesitate and he found reserves of strength he did not think he had and made his way out of the building whilst dragging the huge ursidaen behind him. He dared not look at the knights as he passed and he hoped he never saw their like again...

Orbis VII and Orbis VIII Fronts By now the combined Katasian fleet had pushed out a perimeter around themselves. Both offensive and defensive capabilities were fully operational as the fleet mauled its way through the area it now inhabited. They pushed forward aggressively. A beleaguered grouping of larger Naxid ships was utterly obliterated by a successful "crossing the C" as they found themselves trapped between the advance of the now near-impenetrable shared defence "bulwark" formation of the main line in the center and two artillery groups and picket ships positioned both above and below. Bombers with fighter screens darted in and out on the flanks to pick off stragglers and divert the energies of smaller enemy vessels as monitor ships, which amounted to immense capital-killer guns mounted with engines and a bridge, scanned for weakened larger vessels before piercing their cores with three stage kinetic shells designed to burst inside targets with low-yield neutron radiation followed by a thermonuclear blast and then underscored by a shielded core that flooded whatever was left with plasmapalm, an unstable superheated gas mixture that adhered to all it touched as it burned. Ships caught in the sphere of annihilation either outright ceased to be or else were cursed to float, lifeless, through the void of space. Still, Admiral-Nominate Dusty Face was aware of the strategic picture. It was not good. Despite the withdrawal order he was now aware of the full weight of the threat facing them, this wasn't simply a large fleet of ships surrounding them, it was monumental. Yes, they were weak, they were distracted and they had thus far cracked under a concerted Katasian assault but it would only be a matter of time before the commanders of the enemy fleet deigned to deal with the bleeding ulcer that had appeared in the rear of their lines. Upon further reflection he was unsure whether his fleet could make the edge of the interdiction and withdraw, they were too far deep and the forces arrayed against them far too numerous. The weight of sacrifice already weighted heavy upon him, his fleet was not meant for war, it was meant to secure the future of his nation and, with engineering sections in many vessels already struggling to keep up the frantic defensive action, he already knew that the destruction of any one ship meant a dagger straight to the heart of the Ryk itself. It was about this time news of the Nalydian communication from Admiral Manster Heinz came in. Suffice to say all were shocked to find a nation of the old universe already in the new, wherever they had arrived was a strange place indeed. He sent a quick message to his comms, too busy to do it himself, but hopefully that would suffice. It was at that point he ordered a pivot towards the closer Nalydian lines, hoping to the Watcher that they would be friend and not foe as, by now, they were likely the only hope for his fleet to extricate itself from this mess. Communication from the Katasian Fleet A long snout filled up the screen for a moment as the message came through to the Nalydian fleet. It withdrew to reveal a smart looking katasian naval officer as he adjusted his comms system to the point required for a contact long thought gone. As he sat back, large earpieces clamped over his head, he began to speak: "Attention Nalydian fleet. This is the RSL Grand Karak of the Ryksmarine. We are currently heavily engaged with an unknown enemy, I am instructed to inform you we are turning towards your lines in a withdrawal. As such I have been authorized to request passage into your lines to regroup, in exchange we can offer what limited help available to us at this moment. Direction from Admiral-Nominate Dusty-Face is as follows. If you feed us targets of opportunity we will engage and destroy them. We will be sending advance strike packages for surgical operations forward as an initial show of aid, these will consist of both boarding forces and near light fighter-bombers to offer you direct aid. You will be contacted in due time, direct their attacks and make use of them where most necessary. Additionally, the inter-dimensional relations handbook of the Katasian Ryksmarine states we are to inform you that if you are, in fact, evil parallel dimension twins of previously encountered peoples then you have to tell us as it is important we know these kinds of things in advance. Glory to Katasia, Grand Karak out..." Later, among the Advance Strike Force... Rampaging drums and screaming guitars filled the small cockpit as Desi shifted uncomfortably in his harness directly behind the diminutive katasian pilot in front of him, the stars whirled past as the MkV "Assailant" fighter-bomber slowed to unleash its 105mm revolving cannons on another hapless Naxid fighter before shifting seamlessly to near lightspeed and punched through the screen of enemy ships ahead of them. It was a disorientating experience, and not one that Desi was enjoying. "Ivan...can we stop it with th' spinnin'?" he called out to the katasian pilot, who was now air drumming as they narrowly missed several hunks of wreckage and enemy fighters "No can do buddy, b****es love spinning. I can do this though, maybe it'll help ya out" he replied before rummaging through his music collection whilst piloting increasingly dangerously and selecting a new song "better?" "Lita-rally worse than killin' us" "Glad I could be of service...oo, we're coming up on the Nalydian fleet, two secs" Ivan reached up and opened a new comm channel "Attention Nalydians, we're here to kick a** and smoke cigars...and I can't smoke cigars because this is a sealed oxygen rich environment so everything would explode. That leaves us only one option-" Interfleet comms flickered to life "Cobalt-12, you are sending improper communications and we have received word that you are not the assigned pilot for this ship. Please identify yourself" "It's fine, I left a present" Ivan replied as back on the Karak an emergency disposal team was nearly scared to death when a box they thought was a bomb turned out to be a bunch of confetti poppers rigged to shoot out in such a way that they spelled "SORRY" in the air momentarily. "That is not an affirmative answer Cobalt-12-" "You're not an affirmative answer" came the reply as Ivan shut off inter-fleet comms and accelerated towards the Nalydian lines. Shortly afterwards a more official communication reached the Nalydians, informing them that the advance strike teams were in place and awaiting confirmation of targets of areas of vulnerability that required aid by either fighters or Katasian naval commandos.

Orbis VII and VIII Fronts Towards the Rear of the Naxid Forces Attacking the Voznayali Fortress and the Trans-Universal Gate There comes a time when, holistically speaking, the universe just kind of...pulls together. When this happens we can see extraordinary examples of happenstance, extreme coincidental junctures, occur. No doubt the Naxid fleets had planned and prepared their merciless attacks on the Orbis system with meticulous precision and detail. The friction of battle, those unforeseen occurrences of war, can be mitigated by such things. However, sometimes, things just happened, things that couldn't be planned for, mitigated or even foreseen by the greatest oracles, soothsayers and others of that ilk. Certainly this was the case when the gigantic prow of the 188km long RSL Grand Karak, one of three super-capital flagships of the Katasian Ryksmarine, came crashing from the ether as it entered a new and strange universe. Such ships had a well-founded reputation for their incredible defensive properties, this well-worn maxim held true as the massive ship simply pierced or crushed its way through all those Naxid ships in its path, ending only after a 150km Naxid dreadnought was rent asunder as the Karak plunged through its core. This trend continued as just over a hundred more Katasian ships, each 35-165km in length, also entered the system. The variance in type and purpose of these ships was large, capital class battelships jockeyed for position with destroyers, battlecruisers, frigates, supply ships and the long range monitor guns that were ships unto themselves. Each surveyed the carnage before them, where had Dr. Haustrom's infernal device taken them? Bridge of the RSL Grand Karak The vulpinaen Captain Dusty-Face*, his fox like features brushed down and immaculate in defiance of his own name, had been ready to enjoy a glass of milk. It was, to all intents and purposes, a great glass of milk. It was fresh, chilled just right and it had come in a simple glass that nonetheless had a gold gilt ring around the rim, something he thought added a touch of class to a beverage. Yes, this was about as close to a perfect glass of milk as the universe would allow without violently rejecting it for violating several natural laws. Sure, his ship and others had been buffeted by the storms of whatever hellscape they had passed through to arrive here. Sure this had put them slightly off course from the rest of the Exodus Fleet, which was concerning to say the least when one is entering a totally new universe, and, yes, he had committed a grievous faux pas in the officers mess yesterday when he had forgotten that gazpacho soup is served cold... ..but... ...this was an amazing glass of milk. The kind that soothed the soul and cured all ills. Now it lay shattered, just like his hopes of a quiet day and a more peaceful new life in a vibrant and thriving new universe. Battle was upon him, whether he liked it or not, unnecessary asides about milk be damned! He steadied himself and joined the stunned silence of a pretty conclusively confused bridge staff. The screech of a windscreen wiper blade clearing viscera from the large view port overlooking the bow deck of the ship and the rows of its mighty 1600m gun arrays roused them all their stupor. "What in the Watcher did we just hit?" Dusty-Face asked of no one in particular "A swarm of insects it appears" volunteered a young katasian technician "which, if I might say sir, is pretty unusual for space" Damage reports and hails from other ships were now coming in as the Naxids began to recover from the shock and started plinking the various hulls of the Katasian ships with their lighter weapons. Captain Dusty-Face took up the mantle of doctrine and swiftly assuaged all panic by declaring himself Admiral-Nominate of the Combined Fleet, effective immediately. Doctrine had been followed, all knew their place within the fleet and all flexibly formed around the complex line of seniority that had been drilled into each and every officer. Now it was time to get to business, he grabbed the fleet-comm and had himself patched through. "This is Admiral-Nominate Dusty-Face of the Grand Karak. Battle order is as follows, leverage the gouges in their lines and clear a perimeter around the fleet, all heavy ships are to form a bulwark centered on the Karak and protect all other ships in the line, then we fight through the interdiction to the nearest point of withdrawal. Activate all defences, ready all battle stations, release all fighting boats and have stores distribute RFLX to fighting stations and pilots. Glory to Katasia" The affirmative battle cries in response came in showers through the neural comm network, filling his mind with information, both pertinent and not, about the coming battle. He popped a RFLX pill to steady himself and felt immediately more in control of proceedings. The combat drug, developed in the later stages of the Katasian Empire, made everything around the user slow down whilst it sent their mind racing, what followed was the ability to perform complex analysis at an astonishing rate with excellent competency. There were hazards to over use in the short term but reserve forces could take over posts when necessary, allowing the Katasians to retain some semblance of an edge over more technologically adept state's military machines. The rush came all at once as Dusty-Face was presented with the expected question contained within naval doctrine when facing circumstances such as these, all at once the entire fleet seemed to cry out "Targets Admiral-Nominate?" "Everything" he responded before the first wave of annihilation from the Katasian fleet poured forth upon the Naxids. *In accordance with vulpinaen ritual tradition, children are named after the first thing seen when they are born. Some get lucky whilst others, quite often, do not.

Full Nation Name: The Glorious Katasian Ryk Short Summary of National History/Lore: The Katasian Ryk was mighty once. It had spanned hundreds of worlds, gained through a mixture of conquest, colonization and cleverness, which all went to feed the great machine that was this giant empire of industry. It's fleets of gigantic ships, cities, factories and colonial outposts in the bare reaches of space unto themselves, had projected Katasian power across the known universe and beyond. It was thought that, by the time of The Great Ending, nearly a fifth of Katasian citizens never saw the gleaming neo-deco capital of Karak on the planet Laptev before they died, such was the expanse of territory and resources they controlled. However The Great Ending had changed all that, though slow to rouse the Ryk had eventually responded to the increasingly probable end of the universe as they knew it, sacrificing three entire Patrol Fleets and the hundreds of millions of souls aboard during their investigations. With little time left the Ryksmarshall, esteemed general Edwin Rukkel, had ordered all the fleets gathered for the first time and, using untested technology developed by the mad Dr Haustrom, they had exited their own universe into the terra incognita... The bridge of the RSL Temperate Retribution, was tense. A frigate of the Katasian Ryksmarine, it had arrived apart from the main Grand Exodus Fleet, and was now hopelessly lost in an unfamiliar universe. It was, however, on the verge of reestablishing contact with its mother fleet. The captain, a harried looking canidaen, twitched her large ears and tail in irritation. She looked across at the Nav Specialist, a jittery vulpinaen who nearly jumped out of his headset when she asked "So...where are we Nav, any sense you can make of the picture you're getting for this galaxy?" "Well..." he replied before downing the rest of his Conqueror Coffeeâ„¢ "...it's pretty weird captain" "how so?" "Th- this galaxy kind of looks like a stain" The captain's eyes narrowed, she strode over an wiped the dried coffee from his navscreen "ah, right, well...that's much better" the nav specialist ahem'd before continuing "it appears we've entered a class three, local scans showing a single object in this system and it looks like we'll be alongside momentarily" "We haven't seen anything coming u- oh..." The captain stopped as a tiny shape floated past the deck below the bridge. Much to everyone's surprise it appeared to be a lone roadside service station floating along on a lump of asphalt and concrete, as though plucked from the earth itself and thrown out into space. Upon closer inspection in the many viewscreens on the bridge it even came complete with a bored looking alien pump assistant wearing a large badge covered in incomprehensible writing. Everyone watching was fairly sure it looked bored, but they were having trouble no one was quite sure yet whether those were eyes or mouths...or both. A stand-off, of sorts, remained until an over-eager human first lieutenant volunteered to go down and ask for directions or something. He exited the bridge and jumped down onto the open deck below. The frigate's artificial atmo made the act no different from walking out into a summer garden, albeit one where the delight of resplendent flowering plants and several species of seasonal birds is replaced by the maddening void of space tearing at the fabric of one's very sanity in confronting the infinitesimal smallness of our existence...but it was best not to think like that. All those on the bridge watched with trepidation as he approached the creature and a conversation ensued that largely consisted of the waving of arms, tendrils and, potentially, the carpet cleaning attachment from a vacuum cleaner. The first lieutenant soon ended the conversation and returned to the bridge, frowning quizzically. "Well?" asked the captain with an air of impatience "Umm, well I think my translator implant is malfunctioning. He..sh-, it...began by addressing me as "your wholiness", don't ask how I know that starts with a "w", before then detailing six surprising things you might not know about ۩۩▽≠âŠâ–¤Î” â—•, whatever the hell that is and then-" he paused "then I'm pretty sure it called me a cuck..." "So...no directions then?" "Oh no, yeah, I got directions. There's a settled world relatively close to our current position" The ship's comm system intervened "Captain, we've reestablished a connection to the main fleet, the Grossadmiral aboard RSL Truth & Unity is hailing as we speak" "Excellent, patch me through" she replied before looking back to the first lieutenant "upload the coordinates and send them along to the fleet, we'll meet them there" The first lieutenant snapped a stiff salute as the captain turned to enter the secured comms room so she could talk privately with the Ryksmarshal, allowing time for a thought to float through her put upon mind as she strode through the doorway that had opened before her "Things are about to get really weird again..." Map Claims: Around the large inlet from the sea equidistant between the Second Brotherhood of Planets and Bartertown. Will update a map and add it to this post soon to make it clearer. Do you agree to abide by the Organic Ruleset?: Yep (Long post I know, but I couldn't resist a quick write up to set out the scene)