“This is Private Deacon Jones. Patrol outpost 35-EA1, all clear.”“Private Jarnison Yollard?”And it went on and on, out there in the star-studded inky blackness of space. Days of watching a huge, unimaginably massive chasm of space. An empty void of space that eats away at your self-awareness and lust for life every day for space months, upon space years, upon a 5-year tour of space service during which you have to peer deeply into and sincerely examine the space for an enemy that, by all accounts is attacking from the opposite end. Of space.You were catching space madness.You were piloting a M-1345 perimeter engineer/interceptor craft, or “Six-Seven-Eights” as your fellow pilots called them, without good reason. It was a spherical craft, about 100 meters in diameter. The sphere itself was packed with engines and weapons, all pointed outwards from around the sealed internal cockpit where the pilot sat with little to no room for anything other than himself, the consoles, and the maintenance tools for EV activities to repair your ship or some outdated static defenses in local space. Ugh.The suit you wore took care of your every bodily and hygienic function, except for the sexual. It washed every part of you except for your face, which you were expected to wash with a Navy-supplied rag and a spritzing of water from your suits mouth dispenser. You had acne out the ass but the only time you ever saw it was in the reflection of all these monitors. All the fucking monitors showing the same shit day after day unless a wave of radiation from some far distant supernova that went off 60 trillion years ago was passing through. Then you had to manually readjust all the instruments.There was a small filtration system built by nanobots that sucked the neurotransmitter build-up that causes mental exhaustion right out of your brain but every 48 hours or so you'd have to sleep for an hour just to prevent your nervous system from fucking up and writing over some precious memory from life back in the World. They ran our lower-class brains right up to the redline but nobody ever cracked, because if anyone ever did, the first man to shoot him down would get a promotion and a ticket out of this job.The sexual fantasies you constructed were grotesque.You were certain you would be the one who finally did go mad and give somebody else that promotion.You wanted to die. But the animal needs kept you going. One day you were going to get out of this goddamn suit, take a bath, sleep in a comfortable place, and feel a woman under you again. Goddamn it, you were going to make it out of there if it lobotomized you!That was life in the Federal Republican Navy. Your rank was Pvt. McBride, soon to be Sgt. McBride.[1/2]
[2/2]That was the day that a six legion strong armada of Calvonian ships attacked you and your eight surrounding sectors in what would become known as the Battle of Delphi system.It began with a debris wall. Three Solomon-class destroyers decloaked and released half an asteroid belt's worth of high velocity space rock towards our perimeter net at medium engagement range, about a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers out. The quantity, density, and speed of the barrage made piloting through it an impossibility. 678s near the center of the projected path of the debris wall were doomed. You were about ten thousand klicks from its projected outer perimeter at your current location.As if in a dream you:>roll a d100 for success, most popular course of action is chosen and the highest roll is taken from the posts of those who voted for the winning option, DCs vary by action choice.>let adrenaline kick in and found the fastest vector out of there>immediately got in touch with the rest of your local squad and made sure nobody panicked>got a hold of Jones and Yollard and attempted to coordinate a red cone maneuver
Rolled 42 (1d100)>>1328307>immediately got in touch with the rest of your local squad and made sure nobody panickedMarshaling a counterattack can come after we're sure everyone's got their heads screwed on tight enough for it to work.Hope OP knows that this rolling system skews votes toward whatever option gets the highest roll.
Rolled 85 (1d100)>>1328307>got a hold of Jones and Yollard and attempted to coordinate a red cone maneuverJOLLY CO-OPERATION
Rolled 48 (1d100)>>1328307>got a hold of Jones and Yollard and attempted to coordinate a red cone maneuver
>>1328312Good we are all shit at making tactical/strategic decisions in "best of" dice quests anyways.> Not having 1d10 first three rolls vs. A DC> Not having Worst Failure, Regular Failure, Regular Success, Best Sucess results> Not having Crites on 1 or 10 count for double results/bonuses> Not having 3 ones or tens being "Fine you punch the moon" or "Congratulations you got the Exiled woman pregnant".Say what you will about BQ but superior dice rolling.
>>1328312>>1328314>>1328316>Red Cone ManueverLinking your craft with Jones and Yollards, you created a superstructure that looked sort of like a heavily armed alien ballsack. Connected together, you began rotating your crafts while simultaneously engaging reverse thrusters and firing your kinetic beams in an interlocked zone of fire that resembles – you guessed it – a big red cone.Linking your ships provided the three of you with great firepower and speed and you were able to get clear without much difficulty but most were not so lucky. Many of your comrades were less quick on the draw and crumpled beneath the onslaught. Those off you who did escape were surprised to see the survivors of the 36th sector squadrons arrive on your starboard side. A frantic exchange of transmissions confirmed that they too were been forced here by a debris wall. Only a handful of officers were left, so field promotions were awarded electronically. Your console flashed on.>Congratulations RIPPER MCBRIDE>You have achieved the rank of:>SERGEANT>You have IMMEDIATE COMMAND AUTHORITY OVER THE FOLLOWING:>M-1345 UNITS:> 35-EA1 (destroyed)> 35-EA2> 35-EB1 > 35-EB2 (destroyed)> 35-EC1> 35-EC2>Your RECORD has been ADJUSTED to REFLECT your STATUSYour status. In this moment you:>are filled with inexplicable, mad confidence>push down your fear and prepare to make cold calculations for the survival of you and your subordinates>mostly ignore the change in rank, get ready to sacrifice whomever you need to survive>immediately call for a retreat, even though it will likely mean a court martial
>>1328317The bandwagoning from 'highest roll of most voted option' can easily be avoided by having players roll after the choice has been locked in, though that delays update times a little.Or, yeah, OP could just choose a better roll system.
>>1328325>push down your fear and prepare to make cold calculations for the survival of you and your subordinates
Rolled 77 (1d100)>>1328325>mostly ignore the change in rank, get ready to sacrifice whomever you need to survive
>>1328317how about you tip your fedora towards an option so we can see where op will take this quest before you start bitching?
>>1328325>>push down your fear and prepare to make cold calculations for the survival of you and your subordinates
>>1328325>are filled with inexplicable, mad confidence
>>1328326>>1328317Exterminator Quest ran with a 3d6 system forever. But in the end it was just a bitch to get people to use it. >>1328328>>1328334>>1328344>>1328350>push down fearSwallowing your fear, you began to feel that time was slowing. Things happened to you in compartmentalized chunks, a series of decisions that your mind seemed to resolve by committee. After all this was over you'd attribute your success mostly to dumb luck.You were soon confronted with the harsh reality of a swarm of B-Fighters closing on your position. Apparently the opening salvo was just a way to group together the Federal Republic forces for easier annihilation by space superiority craft.The Calvonian B-Fighter was a super manueverable splinter craft about 10 meters long and piloted by a brain in a jar fused with a hyper-reactive AI. It had no armor to speak of but was armed with a laser lance that would slice the armor of a 678 at 8000 klicks. Several hundred of these began firing into you and the rest of the survivors at about that distance. Your console updated your list of men:> 35-EC2 (destroyed)Aside from Yollard and Jones you now had command over only one other craft and the enemy was advancing.>Close and attempt to fire on the enemy with your Red Cone manuever>split up your trio and attempt to get around the enemy's flanks>Call a retreat>Send your last remaining man ahead of you to draw enemy fire
Rolled 56 (1d100)>>1328361>Send your last remaining man ahead of you to draw enemy fire
>>1328361>Call a retreatWe're fucked boys
Rolled 19 (1d100)>>1328361>split up your trio and attempt to get around the enemy's flanks
Rolled 64 (1d100)>>1328373forgot muh roll
Rolled 43 (1d100)>>1328361>>split up your trio and attempt to get around the enemy's flanks
Rolled 46 (1d100)>>1328361>split up your trio and attempt to get around the enemy's flanksSure hope reinforcements are coming some time soon.
>>1328364>>1328373>>1328374>>1328375>>1328379>>1328390>split your trio>43Breaking away from Yollard and Jones with only a brief verbal exclamation (fuck!) you quickly found that the situation was rapidly deteriorating. The crystalline blue of B-Fighter laser lances cut easily through the outer shells of 678s all around you, like pins popping balloons.You gave the order to flank the enemy but Yollard was quickly caught by a burst of fire and his craft was cut in twain. You radioed to see if he had survived (it was difficult to kill a 678 pilot outright) but closer examination revealed that the beam had neatly bisected the core of his ship and himself, now little more than the red bleeding peach pit of a multi-billion dollar weapon. Jones stayed close to your side and together you used your tractor beams to seize the two halves of Yollard's ship and use them as shields to cover your move around the flank.Finally in position, you reactivated your weapons. The 678 was capable of remarkable offensive output and speed when pushed to its maximum and, unlike the forward facing B-Fighters, it was entirely impossible to flank. You used these traits to your advantage as you charged into the enemy at high speed, annihilating B-Fighters with high powered kinetic beams with computer assistance. They dissipated like gnats in the face of your onslaught and for a few precious seconds you felt in control of the situation.Then the Abraham-Cruisers arrived, fifteen thousand meter long craft that pulled into the fray at screaming speeds, wiping out any 678s who were unable to get clear in time. Launching swarms of nano-missiles, they quickly wiped out Jones. Although you already had plenty of your kills to your name at this point in the battle you were outnumbered and outgunned. You needed to decide:>roll 1d100>launch an assault on the nearest cruiser>fire into the nano-missile swarms>flee at the highest possible speed>fire into the swarms *and* flee>attempt to rally what few survivors remain
Rolled 84 (1d100)>>1328411>attempt to rally what few survivors remainAt the very least, fleeing together gives us all more chance of survival than fleeing separately.
Rolled 57 (1d100)>>1328411>fire into the swarms *and* flee
Rolled 29 (1d100)>>1328411>>attempt to rally what few survivors remain
>>1328420>>1328414>>1328417>attempt to rally the survivors>84You boosted power to your transmitter and sent out the command signal to assume authority over all lesser-ranked ships without nearby officers. Not surprisingly, there were loads - most of the officers had simply fled upon receiving their field promotions. You placed a rally beacon at a nearby moon, trying to pick one close-by that wasn't saturated with enemy presence and got you at least some of the way towards APE-3, the nearest planetary stronghold.With your numbers swollen to about 20 craft, you now coordinated fire against the still pursuing nano-missiles, using your energy weapons to cleanse a thousand square meters of space. You lose not a single man in the process and now have a strong defensive position against B-Fighters.>roll 1d100>hunker down and wait for reinforcements>continue the retreat towards APE-3>go on the attack, they'll never expect it.
Rolled 79 (1d100)>>1328439>>continue the retreat towards APE-3
Rolled 21 (1d100)>>1328439>go on the attack, they'll never expect it.
Rolled 48 (1d100)>>1328439>continue the retreat towards APE-3Pressing against a superior enemy force would be suicide, and I'd wager our crafts aren't made to last indefinite amounts of time without resupply.
>>1328444>>1328448>>1328449>continue the retreat towards APE-3>79Coordinating your men into positions that will protect you at all costs, you begin the long trek across empty space that will bring you to APE-3 , an out of the way back world that the Federal Republic uses as a refueling depot.Enemy forces initially pursue with vigor and take heavy casualties while assaulting your rear-guard. You lose five more men, which you consider acceptable. Then they subside and leave you, apparently to rejoin the larger breakthrough force.As soon as you're in transmission range, you radio APE-3 to let them know about everything that's happened. They quickly radio back that they're aware of the situation but pull rank on you to enlist your aid in clearing advancing debris before too much of it hits their atmosphere. Apparently their built in defenses are inadequate to the task.So you spend the next thirty minutes dodging and melting high-speed space rock for people you don't know and barely care about. Later you'll be given a medal for all this and then, to your surprise, demoted. Apparently sergeant was just a brevet rank.This molds you as a person.Pick a trait:>hates the Federal Republican Government>hates space and space travel>hates APE-3>hates Calvonians>all of the above
>>1328471>hates Calvonians>hates Federal Republican Navy High Command>prioritizes peers and subordinates over othersFight for those fighting beside you, and fuck anyone who tells you otherwise.
>>1328471>hates APE-3>hates the Federal Republican Government
>>1328471>>hates the Federal Republican Government
>>1328498>>1328499>>1328518Experiencing the first stage of the Battle of Delphi builds a deep resentment inside you for the Federal Republican Government and its soft civilian politicians who send kids like you out here as meatshields for the Republic. When all this is over you'll be none too fond of APE-3, the Calvonians, or FRN High Command either but that's a story for the next episode in your saga, Space Hero.For now just relish the memory of that first real sleep on Terra Firma after 3 years in the perimeter patrol. You earned it.>Thread EndShort but sweet, I'll resume this Quest hopefully at the same time next week.Check for updates on my twitter at @qmsimmons and I'll take any questions or speculations you have here in this thread over the next few hours.
A good read OP, some nice space fighter action. pity you are not in my timezone. Not too happy with the trait we picked at the end though, seems a bit self centered.