Setting
A dangerous place, occupied by few. The harsh heat discourages spending too much time here, as do the sounds at night. This is where most of the Colonial Union and Mobile Infantry exercises take place.
Eastern Wasteland
A dangerous place, occupied by few. The harsh heat discourages spending too much time here, as do the sounds at night.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
Eastern Wasteland is a part of 
Klendath.
5 Characters Here
Leon Elliot [2] Desert-travelling Oberon, part of the Mobile Infantry.
Vadin Yivanāri [2] K???Lath revolutionary. Leader of the Church of the Red Sun.
Emerson [1] 15-year-old girl who loves art and music
Notti Osama [0] A 17 year old boy who leads āEdens gateā Faction
Vadin Yivanāril [0] KāLath revolutionary. Leader of the Church of the Red Sun.
Start Character Here »
Klendath.
This place was not intended for the weak. It is a barren, desolate planet, devoid of almost all life besides that which has come here.
The planet is almost entirely covered in rock and sand. Most attempts to farm have been met with little to no results. The attempts at terraforming this place will likely take at least a century.
And yet here, the Colonial Marines are in their element.
A military exercise had started. Simple munitions training. Several units of the CDF and the Colonial Union had been placed approximately a quarter of a mile apart at the radius of half a mile away from a capture point, a simple flag. These excersises were not meant to be fun. Each unit was armed with a TMP-35, a duplicate of the MP-35 in weight and shape, the only difference being that it fired ammunition that sent a heavy shock through the opponent. This wasn't the only weapon they were armed with. Artillery was set around the capture point, and set to fire nonlethal explosives, designed to cover the target of it in a sort of paint. The rules were simple. The team to either eliminate all other teams or to hold the capture point for an hour would be declared the victor of the exercise.
The units designated CU-485 through CU-510 were to participate in the exercise. This meant a total of about 150 marines were in the exercise.
About twenty minutes in, about fifteen marines were downed and removed from the exercise.
Another twenty minutes in, a total of 45 marines were downed and removed from the exercise.
At the forty minute mark CU-503 captured the point. They lost it in twelve minutes and were removed from the exercise.
About an hour in, CU-490 captured the point and held it for twenty-three minutes before retreating after a loss of two of their marines.
At the hour and 52 minute mark only 13 units were left and the point was being held by unit CU-487 and was held for a total of thirty-six minutes before all of the unit was downed and removed from the game.
At the 2 hours and 50 minute mark 6 units are left and are engaging in firefights around the mock 'town' surrounding the capture point.
The exercise will continue for another hour.
This place was not intended for the weak. It is a barren, desolate planet, devoid of almost all life besides that which has come here.
The planet is almost entirely covered in rock and sand. Most attempts to farm have been met with little to no results. The attempts at terraforming this place will likely take at least a century.
And yet here, the Colonial Marines are in their element.
A military exercise had started. Simple munitions training. Several units of the CDF and the Colonial Union had been placed approximately a quarter of a mile apart at the radius of half a mile away from a capture point, a simple flag. These excersises were not meant to be fun. Each unit was armed with a TMP-35, a duplicate of the MP-35 in weight and shape, the only difference being that it fired ammunition that sent a heavy shock through the opponent. This wasn't the only weapon they were armed with. Artillery was set around the capture point, and set to fire nonlethal explosives, designed to cover the target of it in a sort of paint. The rules were simple. The team to either eliminate all other teams or to hold the capture point for an hour would be declared the victor of the exercise.
The units designated CU-485 through CU-510 were to participate in the exercise. This meant a total of about 150 marines were in the exercise.
About twenty minutes in, about fifteen marines were downed and removed from the exercise.
Another twenty minutes in, a total of 45 marines were downed and removed from the exercise.
At the forty minute mark CU-503 captured the point. They lost it in twelve minutes and were removed from the exercise.
About an hour in, CU-490 captured the point and held it for twenty-three minutes before retreating after a loss of two of their marines.
At the hour and 52 minute mark only 13 units were left and the point was being held by unit CU-487 and was held for a total of thirty-six minutes before all of the unit was downed and removed from the game.
At the 2 hours and 50 minute mark 6 units are left and are engaging in firefights around the mock 'town' surrounding the capture point.
The exercise will continue for another hour.
The vast deserts of Klendath.
Wastelands, virtually devoid of life.
It was very hard to traverse these deserts by earth, as settlements were so spread apart that it would take much planning and resources, as well as a lot of time to cross.
Very few were capable of it. Many would rather take a helicopter or similar airborne vehicle, as that cut down on the amount of time it took to get from one place to the other.
Here, far east of Whiskey Colony, a group of twelve, a nomadic sort of group, were gathered around a fire as the sun sets. At night, temperatures could get very low. This group of Oberon carried with them on their treaded bikes various supplies, the most necessary of which being water and food. They also carried some firearms, many of them outdated in comparison to the MP series of nanite firearms, but which could still serve their purpose as defensive weaponry. These were a group of Mobile Infantry militiamen, a force of a past age, now converted to basic law enforcement and reserve forces. They are on their way to a bunker in Echo Colony, where they can prepare for the aftershocks of what they think is coming after the news of the Expeditionary Crew.
They give their thanks to the desert as the sun goes down, and then the only thing left is the fire and the stillness of the desert night.
Wastelands, virtually devoid of life.
It was very hard to traverse these deserts by earth, as settlements were so spread apart that it would take much planning and resources, as well as a lot of time to cross.
Very few were capable of it. Many would rather take a helicopter or similar airborne vehicle, as that cut down on the amount of time it took to get from one place to the other.
Here, far east of Whiskey Colony, a group of twelve, a nomadic sort of group, were gathered around a fire as the sun sets. At night, temperatures could get very low. This group of Oberon carried with them on their treaded bikes various supplies, the most necessary of which being water and food. They also carried some firearms, many of them outdated in comparison to the MP series of nanite firearms, but which could still serve their purpose as defensive weaponry. These were a group of Mobile Infantry militiamen, a force of a past age, now converted to basic law enforcement and reserve forces. They are on their way to a bunker in Echo Colony, where they can prepare for the aftershocks of what they think is coming after the news of the Expeditionary Crew.
They give their thanks to the desert as the sun goes down, and then the only thing left is the fire and the stillness of the desert night.
The metal bar makes a dull thud as it collides with the back of the bound man.
He groans, falling forward onto his face before being roughly dragged back to the kneeling position.
āVināDet,ā the man holding the bar spits at the man being beaten. Wormshit.
The six men surrounding the kneeling detainee are all dressed similarly. Short, buzz-cut hair, of varying hues from brown to blonde. Tanned, darkened skin, in deep contrast to the pale of the prisoner. They wear hexagonal goggles strapped to their faces, as well as masks with tubes coming down to their belts, where a filter-looking device hangs, to the astute observer clearly a moisture recollection system. They all wear similar rough-cut robes and pants, one of which has a dyed pattern on his back that looks similar to the mouth of a Sand Worm.
The man with the dyed pattern on his back leans down and unbuckles his mask, letting it hang loosely off of his face. He licks his lips for moisture before speaking, clearly stating the words in Oberan, the language of space-dwellers and the higher class.
āTell us where he is or your blood will feed the sands, LāChek.ā
Dirty unbeliever.
The man on the ground, in a sand-encrusted grey and white uniform detailing him as part of the Colonial Intelligence, coughs before speaking. āH- Who?ā
The man in lead grimaces angrily before speaking again, crouching down to the kneeling man.
āThe esteemed LāChek president, dog. Where will he be holding his next speech? To rouse the KāLath people, to keep them eating his bread and circus of this war.ā
āI- I- I donāt-ā
The man is hit in the back with the metal bar again, and an audible crack is heard, one of his ribs splintering. He falls to the ground, trying to hold in his scream, knowing they would just beat him again.
āBut you do. You are a part of his crowd management detail. Tell us, and you may live.ā The leading interrogator licks his lips again.
āHeāll be in Echo. Nex- Next tenday. Heāll be in the town hall. I donāt know what time.ā
āWho will be guarding him?ā
āL-local Mobile Infantry. I-I think.ā
The man in the cloak grimaces, seemingly in joy. He stands up and turns to the other four men and speaks in KāLath, the language their prisoner presumedly doesnāt understand.
āKill him and smash his BrainPal. He may not have signal here but we cannot take that risk. You know what to do after that.ā
The man turns away as the other men step out of sight of the prisoner, and buckles his mask back on to his face.
Let the new sun rise, he mutters, entirely unheard by anyone, as the four others draw their YiāLirras, machete-like weapons with an L shape, and the one with the bar begins beating the prisoner repeatedly over the head, his screams muffled by the sand, blood soaking deep into itās granules.
A new age soon rises.
He groans, falling forward onto his face before being roughly dragged back to the kneeling position.
āVināDet,ā the man holding the bar spits at the man being beaten. Wormshit.
The six men surrounding the kneeling detainee are all dressed similarly. Short, buzz-cut hair, of varying hues from brown to blonde. Tanned, darkened skin, in deep contrast to the pale of the prisoner. They wear hexagonal goggles strapped to their faces, as well as masks with tubes coming down to their belts, where a filter-looking device hangs, to the astute observer clearly a moisture recollection system. They all wear similar rough-cut robes and pants, one of which has a dyed pattern on his back that looks similar to the mouth of a Sand Worm.
The man with the dyed pattern on his back leans down and unbuckles his mask, letting it hang loosely off of his face. He licks his lips for moisture before speaking, clearly stating the words in Oberan, the language of space-dwellers and the higher class.
āTell us where he is or your blood will feed the sands, LāChek.ā
Dirty unbeliever.
The man on the ground, in a sand-encrusted grey and white uniform detailing him as part of the Colonial Intelligence, coughs before speaking. āH- Who?ā
The man in lead grimaces angrily before speaking again, crouching down to the kneeling man.
āThe esteemed LāChek president, dog. Where will he be holding his next speech? To rouse the KāLath people, to keep them eating his bread and circus of this war.ā
āI- I- I donāt-ā
The man is hit in the back with the metal bar again, and an audible crack is heard, one of his ribs splintering. He falls to the ground, trying to hold in his scream, knowing they would just beat him again.
āBut you do. You are a part of his crowd management detail. Tell us, and you may live.ā The leading interrogator licks his lips again.
āHeāll be in Echo. Nex- Next tenday. Heāll be in the town hall. I donāt know what time.ā
āWho will be guarding him?ā
āL-local Mobile Infantry. I-I think.ā
The man in the cloak grimaces, seemingly in joy. He stands up and turns to the other four men and speaks in KāLath, the language their prisoner presumedly doesnāt understand.
āKill him and smash his BrainPal. He may not have signal here but we cannot take that risk. You know what to do after that.ā
The man turns away as the other men step out of sight of the prisoner, and buckles his mask back on to his face.
Let the new sun rise, he mutters, entirely unheard by anyone, as the four others draw their YiāLirras, machete-like weapons with an L shape, and the one with the bar begins beating the prisoner repeatedly over the head, his screams muffled by the sand, blood soaking deep into itās granules.
A new age soon rises.
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