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About Orwell

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    Tanker Bug

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  1. Orwell

    This is Synthwave

  2. Orwell

    Har Nevo

    I placed the final rock over the small pile. No headstone. No markings, just a pile of rocks out on the dead plain. There was no name. Snow had started to fall. It smelled of sulfur, and was stained with ash. The ground was still too warm for it to stick. It turned into this soupy slush that covered everything, and clung to your clothes. I spent the night swaddled in blankets, caught in a never ending cold sweat. Neighbors came by to bring gifts of consolation, constituting of the little surplus that they had. I felt sick to my stomach. I wondered what I had done to deserve this. I heaved and sobbed until I passed out. I sat out on my knees, in the cold. Before the pile. I listened to the wind cross the dried lake bed, and the distant humming of ships passing overhead. Air traffic had picked up recently. People were starting to get more and more concerned about the inevitable. He came down and sat beside me, and pulled me close to him. "We can try again. It's not the end of the world." "I failed." "No, you didn't fail. It's happened to plenty of people. It doesn't make you any less of a woman, or a mother." My eyes welled up again. I couldn't clear the images from my mind. "...It happens. Sometimes, without a proper reason why." "...If I had done something differently, maybe..." "You'll drive yourself crazy, dwelling on it like that. These kinds of things happen, and plenty of women who have them go on to deliver healthy babies. God has a plan for us. This was part of it." "Aren't you upset?" "I am upset. But I'm not upset at you. You know that." "I just wanted..." "I know. It's alright." Our livestock are dwindling. Many are ill, and there's little to graze on this time of year. Scouts at Provo said they saw dropships buzzing around. People are getting nervous, and it's only being fueled by dwindling supplies. We may have to begin rationing to last through the Winter. Our numbers are burgeoning, and there are fears that we may not be able to support them all. The temple is being restored. It keeps us together. The cold is biting. I can't forget why we're here.
  3. Orwell

    Psychic Roll Bonuses and Rank

    PSYCHIC ROLL BONUSES AND RANK (FOR VETERANS OF THE PSYCHIC WARS) From now on, depending on your rank within the faction, you will receive a roll bonus for psychic activities. There will always be a risk of backfiring when using psychic abilities. These bonuses are intended to alleviate the severity of the drawbacks imposed on psychics as they ascend through the ranks and become more experienced. As one ascends from say, Third Specialist to Second Specialist, not only will they receive a slight roll bonus, they will gain an additional point with which they can spec into an additional skill, or further ascend an ability's tiers. KEEP IN MIND: These roll bonuses are to be applied ONLY when using your psychic abilities. In regular PvP situations, the psychic in question would defer to the roll bonus granted by their INFANTRY rank. This is not to be infringed upon. LT. - (+20 ROLL BONUS TSgt. - (+20 ROLL BONUS) MSpc. - (+15 ROLL BONUS) SSpc. - (+15 ROLL BONUS) Spc. - (+10 ROLL BONUS) 2Spc. - (+5 ROLL BONUS) 3Spc. - (NO ROLL BONUS)
  4. Orwell

    Terran Front

  5. Orwell

    Debates done quick: Traps

    you're all sick
  6. Orwell

    Har Nevo

    New arrivals today from Nauvoo. Some of their ships landed near our dwellings. More would be passing through in the coming days. The peculiarity of everything wasn't lost on them, I don't think. I learned later that there were some among us who felt the leader of their camp had buckled, and made a grave mistake by surrendering Nauvoo on faith. An argument broke out, and it escalated to blows near the southern well. They had to take him to the infirmary. "...Ultimately, not something that could've been rectified in the eyes of the more extreme among us. Nauvoo rivalled Chicago in its heyday. Couched on the Mississippi, they would've had a lot to work with." "It sounds like they were forced." "I agree, but..." "But what? Would you have rather they died there? You heard how it happened." "Of course not. I just know that this won't bear well for the future, that's all." "What are you afraid of?" "I'm afraid that the Federation doesn't hold up their end of the bargain. We're alone out here. There's not much stopping them from painting us into the rubble. I know I wouldn't have been able to have put my faith in a Mobile Infantry officer to keep his word, even if I were a veteran." Thunder clapped in the distance. A front was coming our way, laden with acid rain. We'll have to repaint everything again. "If our numbers keep growing, then I think we can stand a chance. Show them that we can hold our own against the Neons. It wouldn't be hard." "We'll see how it goes." We're driving down to Provo tomorrow. According to reports, it's not as leveled as Ogden. On the way back, we're splitting and stopping by Camp Williams, in the mountains. Much of the freshwater deposits have been tainted. They're deep in the earth. Every drink has to be saturated with iodine. Some of the animals are starting to get sick. I hope nothing comes of it.
  7. EVENTS IN QUESTION 6/10/98 - 112th Moritas, Alpha Company, were sent to the wreck of the UCF-BC-403 Charles De Gaulle, shot down over the Atacama Desert by the Ark during the Fall of Earth. Tasked with recovering the ship's life support systems, weapons systems, reactor, and black box, the MI made contact with the wreck to find that they had been beaten to the punch by a group of scavengers. They were: Comprised mostly of individuals of Terran origin, mostly Chileans who resided in the safe area around the ruins of Santiago, with a number originating from the colonies. Experienced, in some capacity, with the operation of weapons such as an M-55, and appeared to be in the middle of loading parts stripped from the wreck onto their own craft when Alpha Company interrupted them. Many fled the scene, but three of them were captured by Alpha Company. TAC recon failed to locate where the small personal craft had fled off, and had some experience with evading detection. The cargo of the remaining personal craft held many of the stripped weapons, life support systems, and black box. Several assets of weaponry from the Charles De Gaulle's armory were missing. Large amounts of ammunition corresponding to the Charles De Gaulle's helicals and MAC's were missing. The three individuals captured were identified as Miguel Alvaro (Santiago, Chile) Andre Chikatilo (Hesperus) [DECEASED] Liam Forge (Chicago, Illinois?) Liam Forge proved to be the least helpful to the investigation, and at multiple times presented an unchanging story that paints him as a small time criminal approached with the opportunity to gain a lucrative amount of money for what seemed like a small risk. Forge had the least to contribute, and was subsequently shuttled off to a penal facility to pay for his crimes once it was determined that he held no pertinent information to the investigation. Miguel Alvaro seemed to be of similar background to Liam Forge, seeking to pounce on a lucrative opportunity to make an exorbitant amount of money. Miguel states that he was approached by Andre Chikatilo in Santiago, and later at a bar known as 'Club Loco' on Hesperus, in New Memphis- Chikatilo's hometown. Chikatilo proposed the job to Alvaro, and he accepted, assembling a crew to take part in the stripping of the wreck of the Charles De Gaulle. As far as Alvaro knew, the primary benefactor for the operation remained unknown to him, and to the people he worked with, including Andre Chikatilo. Andre Chikatilo was the most valuable prisoner. He made direct contact with several representatives of the unknown benefactor, each at different locations, every meeting consisting of meeting a separate representative of the same benefactor. Chikatilo was the most experienced of the three in terms of crime, and expressed a degree of skepticism and curiosity towards the identity of the benefactor, and tried to ascertain the identity of said benefactor through their many representatives, most importantly an individual reffered to by the initials 'A.M.' Upon questioning, Chikatilo stated that neither 'A.M.' nor any of the other representatives were able to provide a clear answer as to who the benefactor was. Each of the representatives, most notably 'A.M.' were contacted by their own set of representatives, with the entire operation of stripping the Charles De Gaulle being obfuscated, and deliberately obscured. According to Chikatilo, every level of the operation was shrouded in mystery, with leaders of the stripping operation being directed entirely through fronts, which were in turn directed through fronts of their own. A note left at the scene contained instructions left to a man referred to as 'Santos Rivera' by Liam Forge. The note contained instructions on meeting another representative at a shopping center on Hesperus. Upon discovering the note, the location in question was staked out, and ultimately yielded nothing. It is suspected that either the remaining ships that fled with some of the missing assets from the Charles De Gaulle either contacted the unknown representative and rearranged the meeting place, or the deal fell through altogether. After further psychic probing, no further revelations were made. To ascertain the identity of who would've wanted the stripped assets of the Charles De Gaulle is ultimately speculation at this point. One thing is clear, whoever it was that wanted the bounty of the battle cruiser went to great lengths to obscure their identity by operating through a myriad of different fronts and identities.
  8. Orwell

    War! It's WAR! WAAR!

    Twatter @flaccidmorita you thought you really snapped on this one huh you kook #argonauts
  9. Orwell

    War! It's WAR! WAAR!

    Twatter @wetflango havent been this hyped for argonauts v raiders since 94 showdown at the bowl!!!! RAIDERS 4 LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  10. Orwell

    Deckers Semi-LOA/Light XA Duty


  11. Orwell

    Har Nevo

    They were a series of huts, re-purposed from the little wood that could be reclaimed. It took days to clear the rubble. It's a strange experience, to pick through what used to be someone's living room. Holding fragments and pieces of family histories in your hands. I was delegated to the lighter work, at their insistence. The road ahead seemed fret with troubles, but seeing the rows of houses we had raised ourselves put a bounce in my step. I thought of my future. I thought of our future. In a sea of debris and destruction, we'd made an isolated stand; the first steps towards the restoration of what once was. All I had to go on was scripture, and the knowledge of those who had seen it first-hand. He looks out over the salt flats, and despite everything, he smiles. I think he wanted this, deep down. A chance to be a part of history, like our ancestors did so long ago. It feels somewhat ethereal to walk the same ground as them. To think, what it would have been like to cross the Wasatch on covered wagon. To see this land for the first time. I keep myself busy with these thoughts when there's not work to be done. We've run into the same problems they did, according to him. The canals that lead to the lake are completely dry. Only stagnant puddles of tainted water remain, festering with flies and gnats. We've penetrated the water table with the help of some equipment, and have built a handful of wells that will supply us until the Spring. As temperatures rise, hopefully the snow melt from the mountains will seep down into the valley and provide us with a bit of excess. We found the old temple. It was of course, destroyed. He spent many hours there, alone in deep thought. We're still visited by them. We come across new ones pinned under the rubble, paralyzed and malformed. They've become less of an active threat, and more of a nuisance that must be dealt with before further expansion. His voice is drenched in vitriol when he speaks of them. With our numbers, we'll have our work cut out for us. Others are arriving here as well. They talk among each other, both glad and apprehensive at the lack of any Mobile Infantry. I ask him if it's only a matter of time. "They won't ignore us. It's inevitable that they will eventually come here." "And what then?" "We won't repeat the mistakes of the past, and allow more blood to be spilled. We must show them that we can sustain ourselves independently. They're tired. Fatigued from fighting." "Has that stopped them before?" "This is different..." He planted the sign into the soil. Nearby, we were putting in the supports for our greenhouse. On it were four words emblazoned over a painting of a beehive. S A L T L A K E C I T Y D E S E R E T
  12. Orwell

    Har Nevo

    The interior was totally still, as though it were suspended in time. Not even the particles of dust seemed to stir with our entrance, and poking around. All the seats fanned out around a decrepit stage. I sat down, and for a moment, imagined what it must've been like. I thought of the shows, the music, the laughter, the drama... To be able to forget, if just for a brief moment. The seat gave away, and my fall kicked up a plume of dust and sent an echo through the ruined chamber. I looked up at the sunlight spilling in through the gaps blown through the ceiling, tracing the perfectly angular beams of light illuminating the dirty floor up to the holes they poured in from. I found a dirty pamphlet. C A P I T O L T H E A T E R D E C E M B E R A T T R A C T I O N S The rest was burnt and ruined. I could hear the doors swing open, followed by his footsteps. "Look." "...How old is this?" "Very old. Back when they still used these." "It looks so... Green. There's snow in the mountains. This was really here?" "Yes. But, that was a long time ago. You've seen the ruins- it's since been built up. Hundred floor buildings, shopping megacenters..." "It must have been beautiful." He knitted his brow, before nodding slowly. "It still is. We just need time, and diligence." I looked around at the chamber pit. There was an old grand piano with a rack of a burnt collection of pages resting on the music rack. The elaborate designs in the carpet had long since been singed off by the immense heat. He sat down on the bench while I wandered towards the entrance.
  13. Orwell

    my baby shower

    im going to bring life into this godawful world
  14. Orwell

    OOC Questions + Clarifications

    If he uses GUT FEELING, and rolls well, yes.
  15. Orwell

    OOC Questions + Clarifications

    Under the tab 'Psychic Abilities' For now, yes. Except Marauders. No psychic marauders. edit: specialist ranks are significant only within the faction, meant to show a distinction in skill and reliability.