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Employment File: Dr. med. Ashtshis Lachqat Physical Identifiers: Age: 25 | Gender: Male Species: Vulpkanin | Blood Type: O+ Other Identifiers: - One Prosthetic - Leg, Left, Starts above the knee, Unmarked, Superficially resembles a Ward-Takaheshi Model. Nanotrasen patented wiring and machinery. Personnel Photo: A pair of strained eyelids almost conceal tired eyes and the faint smile he's managed to sneak into the ID photo is basically hidden by the dark colour of his muzzle. The parts of his irises that decide to show themself shine in a bright yellow. A black mane creeps out of the almost reddish, brown fur from his neck and travels over his head, where it is swept to the right. You guess his height to be just under 1,80 Meters, tall for a Vulpkanin, but not exactly imposing for a human. General Occupational Role(s): - Medical Doctor Lachqat is specialized in orthopedic, vascular, thorax, visceral and general trauma surgery and care. He knows his Triage. He's less confident around neo-surgical procedures like laser shot wounds or implants as well as anything around neurosurgery and cardiac surgery. - Security Officer Lachqat is violently untrained as a Security Officer. He's ran basic courses and passed our tests, but it's noticeable that he has no background in this field. Wading through snow all day has prepared him physically, but he's refused to understand topics like stable platform shooting or safe stunbaton techniques. Biography: Ashtshis Lachqat was born in 2540 as an only child to a pair of loving parents, [ASSET SECURITY. DATA ERASED.] and [ASSET SECURITY. DATA ERASED.] on northern Dalstadt. Grown up in a fairly large Habitat city the frozen wastes of the tundra planet always seemed to pull him in. After being the only one out of his living family members to graduate, he's studied medicine, turning his fascination of the cold wasteland into a living. Working in a hospital, Ashtshis was part of an emergency unit, always ready to venture out of the dome into the frigid fields of Dalstadt to recover accident victims. Being the youngest in his unit, lacking the experience that his colleagues had, he's managed to play his part through resourcefulness and quick thinking. A notable few weeks long contract led his team far from home into a surgical hospital under a dome-in-construction, intending to assist the local military in dealing with [LEGAL ADVISORY. DATA REMOVED.]. Lachqat was injured in an accident on-site. He was stabilized in the local OR and transferred back home with the other wounded. After a particularly nasty run in with [DATA INCONCLUSIVE. REFER TO INVESTIGATIVE REPORT. DATA REDACTED.] he's decided to leave his home for work on an offworld NT research station, most likely in an effort to preserve his' and his families' safety. ADDENDUM: No way in fucking hell we're keeping the names of the parents here. The fuck were you thinking? We're the only ones who are going to use that, understand me? Also get the fucking thing about the you-know-what out there. I am not getting into legal trouble over this and I sure as hell do not want to answer questions about why we know that. - J. Medical Evaluation: RE: RE: RE: Physical Evaluation: Lachquat, Ashtshis Dear Dr. [CLEARANCE ERROR. SWIPE ID TO AUTHENTICATE. DATA REDACTED.] No, it was not a mistake. I really wrote into the paperwork you asked from me that he lost the leg in a "freak bathroom accident" with "him as the only survivor". It's what he told me at first too, but truth is that he just pulls a new story out of his ass everytime you ask him. He thinks he's funny. Yeah. I know. But to keep the lawyers from stomping on my tail I have to fill out what he says happened. I could have also chosen "Medschool cost me an arm and a leg, but I got a 50% discount.", but that one might actually get him in trouble. You probably know by now how the Vulpkanin Bureaucracy is. While we're at that, you should copy this info into his medical records, before someone actually believes one of his stories. Anyways, as per my last fax, Dr. Lachquat is physically and mentally completely healthy. Except for his peculiar sense of humor, which is - unfortunately - uncurable. One last thing: if he does slip up and reveal how he actually lost it, do tell me. I've got a bet running on it. With friendly greetings, Dr. [ASSET SECURITY. DATA REDACTED.] Psychological Evaluation: Ash is an actor. I've heard him talk about working in a theater, in another life. I do, however, think he already does that in this one, everyday. His zany, remote behaviour is nothing but self-defense. He's not been letting anyone get close nowadays. He's scared of painting targets on people's backs, after what's happened to him. I don't blame him, that's what they use against you, where they strike first. The ones you love. For your weird little Changeling Impersonation Prevention thing you've been downright pestering me about, here: - Ash speaks in a baritone voice, it's kinda scratchy, he's said he smokes when he's stressed or when he's drunk. - His laugh sounds like a dying space hyena being hit with a spacepod. Real shame you don't hear it a lot nowadays. - He's very cleanly. He literally has a favourite hand-disinfectant and always smells like that stuff. - Ash just loves having the last word in a conversation, even if it's just an affirming "Right." - Favourite colour is blue, he also likes white and green. - Ash is openly bi. - Favourite dish is goliath steak, he likes it with fries and a pepper sauce on it. I'm not saying anything more than I have to, you know my opinion on what I'm supposed to disclose about my patients and how much I'm going to, with clenched teeth and a frown, I have to emphasize. With friendly greetings, [ASSET SECURITY. DATA REDACTED.] PRIORITY - Background Check: ADDENDUM: Due to the Priority Status of this check and it's clearance factor we haven't been able to nicely and tidely summarize why this guy is a fucking criminal or not. Ain't my fucking job if I can't access the file, have fun sifting through the transcript, man. - M. The evening sun struggles to grasp the interior of an empty office somewhere in an undisclosable location. Desks and comfortable, but worn out chairs are neatly arranged in the warm, but waning ray of light that shines trough the milky glass on the door. Some poor soul failed to lighten up the mood of the room with a few plants and sparsely distributed paintings, showing various splotches of colour with no apparent subject in particular. Suddenly something exites the motes of dust dancing in the air. The room brightens as the door swings open. A rather tall Unathi man, his youth already spent and wearing a brown mantle bows under the doorframe. He holds the door open for a younger figure, a human, who is unbuttoning his light blue jacket as he enters the room. A sign on the outside of the door advertises these two creatures as Private Eyes, ready and even eager to put their noses where they really shouldn't be. "Sssyndicate.", the Unathi states. "No way.", the Human scoffs. Sensing that his partner wants him to continue, he does: "Not even a little spot of dirt on his labcoat and you just straight up suspect him of being a murderer-for-hire? He doesn't even need the cash, we've checked the loan, it's clean." The older Detective has already made his way into the office, when he shoots back: "Again. Sssyndicate.", he clarifies, "Hisss prossthetic. All the imprinted identifiersss on it are filed off, but I managed to crosssscheck it with our databassse. It'sss a model from the Vazzendim WeCare Medtech Company. They're known for their painkillersss, prossstheticss and for masssss producing heavy-duty fever medsss. Obvioussly got the ssstandard ultimatum from Nanotrasssen to be bought up or be completely sstomped into ruin by economic warfare after they've ssstarted to gain ssome relevance. They've declined and almosst went bankrupt, but then sssomehow and sssuddenly got out of the red numberssss. Authoritiess ssussspect they're part of the Sssyndicate Conglomerate now." His partner has caught up to him and they have walked to the end of the office, reaching the very last desk. It has a parcel sitting ontop of it. Not noticing the box, the human reminds the Detective: "Still, most people who have budget prosthetics from Syndie puppets aren't assassins. Most people aren't assassins in general, I'd like to remind you." The man in the mantle sits down at what seems to be his desk. He points out: "True, but you haven't heard the juicy part yet. On Dalsssstadt people get their Doctor'sss degree in groupsss of up to 50 Vulpkanin, working together to produce a thessisss to further the knowledge in their field. It'sss ssomekind of tradition to honour the Assssembly or ssomething. Now our Doctor worked together with sseven other now-doctoresss on a fairly sssuccessful effort to make Mitochlide compatible with the Vulpkanin body. However -" "Let me guess..." "- They've all turned up dead. Eksscept for one." "Our man?" "Our man." Both turn to the parcel standing next to a picture frame, containing a smiling Unathi woman. "And this is why you brought me here during this ungodly hour, isn't it?", the man asks. "Correct. Thisss iss what I managed to dig up: Almossst a year ago a Nanotrasssen crew captured the ssstrikeship of a team of Operativess tasssked with nuking their sssstation. Coordsss on it led sstraight to a WeCare blacksssite that hass gone under the radar. Sssso they've ssent their boyss there as thanksss for their visssit." "That ain't legal" "Well find me the planetary government with the ballssss to tell NT that. Anywayss, on-ssite they found an entire library of holovidsss featuring nothing but good old torture." The human misses a beat, then quietly asks: "...What the fuck?" The detective continues: "Maybe they usssed the sstuff for intimidation. Probably ssssold it though. Capitalisssm, you ssssee?" Visibly struggling to keep his nerve, his colleague says: "And you, uh, checked the vids from the relevant dates?" "The relevant sssspeciess too. Freaksss ssorted 'em depending on who got it. Thinking about it, they definitely ssold thessse. Checking 6 monthsss ago, I've come up with three. One'ss ssssix hourss long, one'ss about a day long. But the lassst one sstands out, barely a minute in length." "Wait the day one doesn't stand out?" The detective answers his friends question with a pained look to the side. He continues: "Thing issss, the entire... operation in which they recovered all thessse videoss wasssn't really done with velvet glovesss. The original disscsss were completely trasshed. However, Data wass ssstill eksstractable, if damaged. I've fed it into our businesss AI, which generated and sssspit out thiss versssion. It'ss without sssound, but lip read where posssible. Alssso only 4k." "Hell, Makes you feel like a caveman." "Right? Anywaysss, there could be sssome ssseriously fucked sssshit on thiss, ssso if it'ss too much for you, tell me. Really." The human nods. The Unathi claws at the packaging material for a worryingly short amount of time before it reveals a holodisc. He slides it into his terminal. Light from a neon lamp reaches all of the corners of a small room. Its uncomfortable buzzing can almost be heard through the soundless recording. Clean white tiles stretch from one end of the room to the other. A few metal lockers and drawers populate the scene, all facing a chair in the middle of it. A fairly large sack lies infront of it. A vox limps into view. His feathers shimmer sickly green. He is old. Checks his wristwatch implant and turns his back to the camera. He grabs a shotgun, just from out of view, pulls back the slide and loads a shell into the ejection port. Suddenly a shift in the reflection of the tiles. A door opens. Enter a Vulpkanin, reddish-brown fur, black mane, struggling to break the grasp of another man, clad in dark grey security armor and arms of bronze. The Vox returns the slide to the muzzle. The Vulpkanin is forced into the chair, he snaps his fangs at the security man, who doesn't even flinch. The Vox flips the gun and loads another shell into the weapon. His back still turned to the camera. Suddenly their captive's head whips around to meet the Vox's face, who most likely said something to the Vulpkanin, as he responds between clenched teeth. Yellow text appears in the bottom of the recording: "LIP-READ - How about you and your monkey get dragged back to the circus instead, you fucking rot-lung." The shotgun is ripped up to meet the lower half of his left femur. The room and all occupants are sprayed with blood. The sack infront of the chair pops open and sand spurts out of it. The vox cycles to the second shell, waits a beat and discharges another shot at the Vulpkanin. The leg is engulfed in muzzle flash again. It comes loose. The Vulpkanin doesn't get the time to continue screaming as his circulation centralizes. The stream of blood slows down a bit and he goes limp, struggling to lose consciousness. After being feverishly gesticulated at by the Vox, the officer proceeds to pull the chair, together with occupant, out of the room. Once alone, the Vox throws his gun into a corner and vanishes behind the camera. The recording ends. The detectives ponder for a moment, before the silence is broken. "Why'd the bird react like that?" "Lost his patience. You keep the organssss of those birdsss out of your mouth if you want to ssstay healthy. And I mean that in every sssensse of the sssaying. The human audibly exhales, "So that's it. Another Syndicate Agent trying to board an NT vessel, right?" "The ssshoe fitss, but we've got too many quessstionss unansswered. Like, why even kidnap and try to intimidate him? He had no debt with WeCare, loansss for medssschool are ssstill running from the Dalssstadt authorities. Why were the other Doctoress who worked on the thesssiss killed, but not him? And, mossst puzzling - Why work for fucking Nanotrasssen with qualificationss like that, if not asss a double agent? We're missssing ssomething." The human digs his face into his hands. You can almost see the gears turning between his ears. Suddenly he perks up, his mouth breaks open, ready to release his thoughts. He furrows his brow and slowly raises his hand to point at the terminal: "...The old formula for Mito, what were the side effects for the Vulps?" His partner raises an eyebrow, but wordlessly starts tapping on his terminal. He states: "Here, rare cases of massss cell death, organ failure, incendinary mitochondria, but more commonly migraine and - huh... inflammation and ssserious fever." The human's eyes light up, he grins. "Bingo.", he sorts his thoughts for a few moments, then continues, "Now follow me on this. You are William WeCare, CEO of WeCare Medtech. Buisness is great since Mito came to the Vulpkanin markets. People need to gulp down your meds en-fucking-masse, since you are the market leader in high grade antipyretics. Like, buisness is going so well you believe that you can take it on with fucking Nanotrasen. So, you strike the deal and anger the fucking corporate god and at the same time these fucking annoying little Doctores dare to make Mitochlide not set people on fire from the inside anymore. So next to no more need for anything you sell. You even have to go as low as dealing with the Syndies to survive now. So tell me, what would be juicier than to get your paws on the patent for this new Mito-formula? Now, before the Doctores who hold the rights to it do something incredibly stupid, like make it accessible to the public, so people don't have to pay ridiculous sums to not get turned to ash for their liver cirrhosis, you just disappear all but one. This last guy you then 'motivate' to finally admit that the research their team and them used was stolen from one of your assets. And that's the entire trick to get you back to monopoly status." His colleague leans back in his chair, sharing a toothy grin with the human, who points out: "That leaves one last thing though, why work with Nanotrasen? They get harrassed by Syndies all the time. And he knows very well what they'll do to him if they get their hands on his neck." The other detective's grin doesn't waver: "No no, it makesss perfect sssensse, jussst rethink. Which place in thisss universsse isss the mossst prepared to deal with Syndicate Agentsss? As paradoksss asss it isss, Nanotrasssen can protect you. On Dalssstadt you just get pulled into an alley and that'sss it." "Alright, that's it, case closed; No ticket to the Cyberiad, huh?" "Again, rethink. He'sss eksssactly the perssson NT isss looking for. Guy hasss dirt on his CV and isss hunted by the Ssssyndiess? You can ussse that. He knowsss to much? No need to make him vanisssh, jussst tell him that you're gonna dump him back on Dalsssstadt, preferrably sssomeplace where the sssyndiess and the copsss wissssh eachother goodnight. Nothing keepsss people in line than the threat of indirect ekssssecution." "That's... huh." The lizard continues: "Yeah. anywaysss, pack up. We're going to the fanciesst ressstaurant in town and eating asss much asss we can." He produces a tape recorder from his mantle. Its' spool is diligently spinning. "I thought you've been working for NT for a bit? This isn't a special case or anything, right?" "You are right, thisss wassn't even that fucked up of a cassse, nor a hard one, however-", the Unathi picks up the disc featuring the record-speed amputation and wobbles it a bit infront of him, "-thisss little thing just won me a fat bet." "You take bets on your cases?" "You don't? Anywaysss grab your ssstuff, we're leaving. Ah, yessss, one lassst thing." "Hm? What is it?" "Good work, Detective Thompssson.", He clicks the tape recorder off, it's soft, mechanical humming dying down. ADDENDUM: Didn't even get to read half of the fucking stuff about em. Ain't my job to ask questions. Says here they actually approved him, though. Godspeed, Doctor. - M.

My post concerns the stage at which cult has halos, but is not summoning, the time between when they get halos and when they summon, vary drasticly, but many rounds with halos end with a war of some kind. The rules do not allow a "war" between crew and halo cult, especially not lethally, unless the cult is summoning. The rules state this specifically in rule 8, with a very clear exception "This doesn't count against blobs, slaughter demons, nuke ops, wizards, terror spiders, xenos, swarmers, and cultists summoning their god. It's expected the whole crew fights these!", summoning cults. This remains from old cult, without halos. The halo message itself says nothing making it clear that crew are free to fight the cult by any means, or that they are free to seek it and fight it. Rules suggest otherwise. As such, I would ask for an update on the rules, a clarification on what the rules really are on halo cult, or a change to enforcement of it. The games I have seen with such a "war" pretty much all means are used, with cult being killed while they may be miles from summoning. If this is in fact in spite of laws, it happens in too big numbers to properly enforce, or is not enforced at the moment (From how it seems to happen often). I am on the side that I would not fight such a cult unless i am certain I am allowed, but I have seen many willingly fight it with lethal means, even as they are not summoning (Assistants, command even engis). All I ask is that what the rules actually mean in this stage of cult be clarified, or it be made clear in some other way.

I THOUGHT, I posted this here, but seeing as how I haven't...

Name: Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detetive Age: 52 Gender: Male Race: Human General Occupational Role(s): Looking for new jobs, Tourist (Special title Gentleman Detective or The Gentleman Detective). Appearance: A man in his late forties, yet there is something ageless about him. A curious glint in his eyes reveal his massive intellect and his well trimmed moustache reveals his great sense of style. He speaks with a posh accent and is clearly of the upper class. Rarely seen without his walking cane, monacle and smoking pipe. Biography: Parts of chapters taken from " My life as a Gentleman Detective" by Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective. Chapter 1, The birth of a Detective by Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective On a dark December day, from the house of a noble family in the glorious Empire of Space Britain, the cry of a baby could be heard. Such a beautiful and rich voice had seldom been heard in all of the Empire. The proud mother and father held the child aloft and beamed of pride. "He shall be named Brent Savoir, and he shall become a Gentleman Detective, just like his father." said Burt Savoir - Gentleman Detective. Chapter 45, The first case of the Gentleman Detective. And thusly I had exposed my neighbour's dog as the actual thief of the prize ham hock my mother had made and not the poor homeless man at the end of the street. I had learned a big lesson. A gentleman is only as good as hist word! Chapter 163, Protecting my marbles from the Schoolyard Bully As I dodged the first blow of the schoolyard bully, I had estimated his reach well. His fist missed me with the breadth of a hair. My counter punch to the side of his jaw sent him sprawling on the gravelly schoolyard. Since that day no one tried to steal my marbles again. A year later, I was the marble champion. Chapter 554, The Vox Assasination plot thwarted by Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective Our eyes met and our souls connected as the vox was screaming in pain from the bullet shot by the duke's assassin. I knew then that me and Lady Woolworth, although so completely different because her family supported the prince instead of the queen, would always be connected. However, I did not know that destiny and circumstance would always push us apart. Our moments together would always be fleeting but oh so sweet. Chapter 2036, The cowardly escape and hidingplace of Roger Foulmoore "My hiding place shall be a space station so infested with crime and incompetence that you will see my subtle hand behind everything even though I won't be responsible. These people will break you and turn you from a Gentleman, into a ruffian like me. Good luck Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective". The note was unmistakably written by Roger Foulmoore. Besides the almost illegible handwriting, the sign of an uncultured boob, there was also the stench of his pomade and the grease he used to shine his hair soaking the parchment. I knew of the station he spoke of. The Cyberriad. I shall go there. I shall find him. I shall bring him to justice. My Qualifications, By Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective The etiquette and poise of a True Gentleman of Space Britain. Master of deduction. Encyclopedic knowledge of criminals, crime and it's execution. All encompassing memory where no fact escapes. Keen senses that misses no clue. Master boxer, fencer and lover. Famous writer of adventure and mystery novels featuring Brent Savoir - Gentleman Detective. Notes on Mr. Savoir. Helen Partridge, Nanotrasen Security. I can't make up my mind if this is the smartest man in the galaxy or a completely lunatic. Since I was a kid I've been reading the books about his escapades and having a chance to meet the man before he is allowed aboard a Nanotrasen vessel was a chance I couldn't refuse. He is clearly a man of mystery and has somehow managed to build his own legend. When he introduces himself, it's as if he's expecting you to know who he is. He also really likes the sound of his own name, since he keeps repeating it every chance he gets. All his books seemed based on truth with a little extra spice of storytelling but after meeting him I'm not certain what I believe. Maybe it's all true, maybe it's not. Speaking to him only makes you even more confused. He is a true man of mystery with a lot of stories to share. Nobody could fault his manners. Polite, punctual and with a certain British charm, he is quite the treat to talk to. I do approve of his stay at the Cyberriad. Even if he doesn't find this "arch-criminal" that he's searching for, I'm sure he will be entertaining to the crew and the other tourists.

Been too lazy to upload to forums, but I recently got super into drawing in super scratchy negatives for some reason Idunn Raan, combat medic and occasional badass Chiki and Idunn ending up the sole survivors of the station after a retirement scheme gone wrong Everyone's favorite potato and Kikeri after a depressing shift where the vox onstation turned into the avengers, lol Also, drunk Idunn doodle I forgot to post here sorry about the long post

- Be captain - Was given a dice - Blueshield said do not roll it -proceed to roll it - Nat 20 (nice) - Blueshield Ran - Confused.png - Everyone screaming - Toxin bom lvl 20 active - Dead Captain.

This was a long time ago. > be magistrate >not in bridge >nukies announced >another person makes a bomb with *clap as trigger to set it off >I come back to bridge >guy tells me "we made a bomb to kill the nukies when they come to the bridge" >I clap enthusiastically in response ...... >bomb goes off >bridge blown up >people dead >people going capslock in LOOC >me dying of laughter >apologised to admins >become admin long itme later >talk to admins about that some time random because suddenly remembering the event >some remember the event, tell me they cried with laughter

No context for these

day 29 theme: ghosting fun fact, at any given time chikitita is surrounded by at least 20 different ghosts of malpractice victims begging for help beyond the grave

Where do i even begin.....