The Star Republic

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Siege
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The Star Republic

Post by Siege »

It's been a hundred and fifty-four years since the fateful assassination of King Lazare and his family, and ever since that day his once-prosperous Royal Republic has been stuck in a permanent cycle of bloody coups and revolutions. In the wake of the unclaimed assassination the National Convention, the assembly of elected representatives, assumed emergency executive as well as legislative power.

But the Convention was split between radicals, pentarchists, royalists, frimairists, decadists and a dozen other factions vying for supremacy. Alliances between these groups often shifted abruptly, factions that fell out of favor were violently executed, paranoia ran at an all time high and without the mediation of the King these ideological conflicts rapidly spiraled into brutal revolutions.

One faction would seize power and immediately attempt to execute its enemies, which would inevitably cause the other members of the Convention to fear for their life and in turn launch counter-coups. If succesful those coups would lead to new rounds of purges in a vicious cycle of carnage and bloodshed and horror. Soon the rule of the Convention turned into a time of chronic disquiet and atrocities. Civil revolts erupted agains this terror-driven reign, and fear of the mob forced the Convention to rely more and more on the armed forces to keep its hold on power.

To defend the gutted tatters of the Republic and brutally suppress internal uprisings the Convention raised fourteen armies of artificial, ideologically neutral soldiers: Mannequins. These armies were lead by statesmen-generals: the Directors. The Directors were carefully selected for their reliability... But not careful enough. Because five of them promptly turned around, marched their armies on the capital planet and, with the aid of a sizable chunk of the citizenry, seized the reins of power. They subsequently arrested, accused, convicted and executed dozens of Convention members and established the Directory; a council of five citizen-generals that presides over the disemboweled remains of the Convention.

The three-year reign of the Directory has been a time of relative quiet for the Republic. Officially the Convention is still the ultimate legislative authority in the Republic, but its halls are now guarded by troopers in the blood red dress of the Revolutionary Guard, and any Convention member that steps too far out of line may find himself dragged from the pews mid-session to be summarily executed.

That is not to say the rule of the Directory is uncontested - it is anything but. Not all the army marches in lockstep with the Directors; revolutionary turmoil still grips many Republic worlds; and several of the most radical members of the Old Convention remain in hiding, stirring up the populace against military rule. Revolutionary factions thought long-dead occasionally re-emerge, causing even more trouble. And the Directory has already had to resort to orbital bombardment of one major city to deter an uprising; it very much remains questionable how long fear will work as a viable strategy for holding on to power...

And in the midst of all the chaos are always the Sisters of the Banner, the Order of the Harvesters. This semi-religious order of red-headed and red-eyed techno-priestesses predates the revolutionary chaos; its efforts focus on retrieving - 'harvesting' - the identities of the dead to upload them as digital ghosts into the order's titanic thinking network. So many have been uploaded into this system that it’s come semi-alive, a composite awareness made up of the minds of the violently executed. The purposes of the Sisters are unknown to those outside the Order, and of late the Directory has come to suspect that the Harvesters may at least have had a hand in the death of the King and the ensuing bloodshed -- but if that is really true or just another manifestation of the Republic's rampant paranoia remains very much to be seen.

The only source of reason and humanity within the Republic, then, are paradoxically found in its military. The Mannequins are artificially produced soldiers with fabricated personalities, their memories mixed and matched from strands of thought drifting through the Harvesters' great machine. They were conceived as another tool in the Harvesters' plans for the Republic... But not even the Sisters could foresee that this tool could be abused by the ghosts of dead revolutionaries, who sometimes slip out of their digital prison to whisper into the ears of Mannequins...
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
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Shroom Man 777
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Re: The Star Republic

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

Oh my god. This is totally not like the old chill small meek but classy sane high-techno democratic enlightened Star Republic of old. I love it. Les Mis revolutions, political madness, executions, clone Unsullied replicant armies...

And techno-priestesses! :lol:

Have you ever perused some Jodo recently mang?
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Re: The Star Republic

Post by Magister Militum »

You have bioroids and a network of uploads with their own shady goals. I'm listening...
Democratic Socialist | Atheist | Transhumanist | Bright Green Environmentalist | Worldbuilder | IT Professional |


Germania your game is through, now you're gonna answer to... The Freestates! Fuck Yeah! Now lick my balls and suck on my cock! Freestates, Fuck Yeah! Coming in to save the motherfuckin' day! Rock and roll, fuck yeah! Television, fuck yeah! DVDs, fuck yeah! Militums, fuck yeah! - Shroomy
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Re: The Star Republic

Post by Invictus »

...This is going to end with the Sisters creating a Kwisatz Haderach Napoleon, isn't it.
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Siege
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Re: The Star Republic

Post by Siege »

It just might :D.

In the meantime though,

Medusic Nervocyte
The Medusic Nervocyte is an extremely peculiar creature found only on the Republic fringe morass-moon of Al-kaff Al-khadib, locked deep within the recessed nebulae off the Arcturian belt. For the longest time the moon itself was considered a particularly unpleasant place, but it was the discovery of the Nervocytes and their peculiar and horrifying applications that caused the National Convention to forbid all travel to and from it on pain of death, a blockade the Directory has since maintained.

In its natural habitat the Nervocyte lives in mangrove ponds. Initially mobile aquatic larvae after a while settle down on the bottom of undeep pools, where they grow into stationary polyps on the branches of submerged trees. The main tendril of these polyps then grows into a jellyfish-like tumescence that separates itself from the main creature. Telepathically controlled by the polyp, this jellyfish hunts for it with long tendrils that pierce and take over the central nervous system of its prey in order to command it back to the polyp to be devoured.

Republic xeno-biologists discovered that this strange lifecycle can be adapted for terrifying use: aside from the underwater trees of its native envronment the host polyp can attach itself to any other biological creature - including human beings. Its own nervous system will then symbiotically meld with that of its host, allowing a human or animal host to control its drone jellyfish like a fifth limb.

It gets more insidious however when these jellyfish latch onto human prey. Their invasive tendrils take command of the target's nervous system, turning the victim into a puppet to be telepathically command by whoever plays 'host' to the main creature. What's more, the lifecycle of the Nervocyte is such that when the polyp is killed, the jellyfish will over the course of a week or so undergo metamorphosis into a carbon copy of the polyp, displacing the victim's personality with a copy of that of the now-dead host's. The Nervocyte will then develop and spawn a new jellyfish to continue its horrifying lifecycle.

In the execution-heavy Republic, Medusic Nervocytes have been used by the morally bankrupt to escape personality death. If a high-ranking politician for example shares his brain stem and spinal cord with a Nervocyte host, and latches its parasitical 'drone' to an unsuspecting victim, he can still be executed and harvested -- but soon thereafter will find himself 'reborn' into the body of whatever poor sod they preyed upon. What happens to the drone's original personality is not fully clear, but certain is that as long as the Nervocyte stays attached the host will be firmly in control.

Needless to say this procedure is highly illegal and being found to host a Nervocyte (host or parasite) is grounds for immediate execution. Considering the state of politics in the Republic however, there are many who would consider just one more cause for execution an acceptable price to pay for the ability to cheat death...
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
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