jwuv

[flowersnax]

now that the rest of the party has seen these i can finally post them. old "photos" of my lancer pc growing up that i made specifically so my gm could punch me in the gut emotionally with them

[wolfgirlfloof]

your honor i love her

[rounderhouse]

reverse ship of theseus: flash-cloning implemented as a solution to the vast timespans associated with nearlight shipping. signing onto a freighter and surrendering your genome in the contract so that when your body grows old and decays, the onboard artificial wombs can grow another you to be put right back to work. when you finally reach your home port again you are quite literally not the person you were when you left.

[albatross-lancer]

(OOC: Reposting the summary I made to stand on its own for people who caught bits of it but don't want to have to switch between several different blogs)

A THOR-class NHP named Arthur entered cascade in Harrison Armory's PR offices. He caused significant electrical damage to the offices but as far as I can tell no one was seriously injured, and the PR intern, Jimbo, managed to calm him down. The situation now seems to be resolved amicably.

Rev, an AGNI-class NHP implied that they caused Arthur to cascade. Recent comments by them suggest that they did this to advance the cause of NHP equality (forgive my rumormongering, but I have my doubts. Their omninet page contains a great deal of what seem to be boasts of war crimes and genocide, they don't strike me as much of an egalitarian. That said, my Loyal Wing tells me she's met and fought cultists who earnestly believe in a future where humans and NHPs are free to inflict horrific atrocities upon one another, so who knows. People are complicated. I'm also unconvinced Rev actually did cause Arthur to cascade, the manner they describe seems implausible.)

The Corsair Mercenary Company and the squad commander of the MSMC 796th, Kennedi/Lockbreaker, were angered by this claim. I'm not sure why this incident, which Jimbo resolved well before there was a actual fighting, prompted her to act independently, but there was some indication of the security breach having wounded her pride. (It is also possible that they were, in fact, being contracted by a HA higher-up and only pretending to act independently). She recruited another squad, the MSMC 148th, and they set out for Rev's abode in Karrakin space.

Rev caused the NHP at Corsair Mercenary Company, which named themself [STABBY], to cascade. [STABBY] then took control of several subalterns and systems and attempted to kill the CMC, inflicting a high casualty count before being shut down by MSMC 796th's "Slipshod" using a liturgicode virus. (Based on [STABBY]'s rapid decision to attempting to kill the CMC once given the ability to do so, even if during cascade, it seems likely that they did not have a positive relationship and allegations of abuse seem credible)

The MSMC squads arrived and engaged Rev's Genghis body and a group of Hercynian lancers Rev had recruited via Hercynian Refurbished Armaments. The battle ended with both Rev and Lockbreaker's mechs effectively destroyed, Rev's casket damaged and Lockbreaker in critical condition. There was significant collateral damage dealt to the planet, though fortunately no civilians, bystanders, or other innocents were harmed.

Albatross long patrol "Osprey" received several distress calls from the area and rerouted to investigate. When they arrived, medics were able to stabilize Kennedi and assess the situation. Rev was recovered by "an associate", the MSMC squadrons were able to contact command and get returned to headquarters, and I belive the Hercynians returned to Hercynia. After assisting local damage control and double-checking that no one was hurt, long patrol Osprey will be returning to their nearlight patrol route.

[nightmareworks]

hi i have been Cooking lancer fic

Once again, we meet Union Auxiliary Pilot, (28th Voidcombat Division, Mercenary Wing Bravo,) ["Kingfishers",] Callsign- VI The Lovers. We meet Miss Allison Wax (she/her) [Her Body, a borrowed face]

And her Loverboy (he/him) [Stone Butch Death Machine]

(both art gotten from @skycrimedraws who NAILS IT EVERY TIME BABY)

"Hey boss man," The words fell out of her lips, halfway through (the next words were a question) when her CO interrupts with "I told you not to call me that." She stops. (She doesn't flinch, its not flinching.) [She kind of just needs to run through some maybes.] For just that moment, there's no one in the body in front of the CO. And then she starts again, words coming back out. "Alright, alright. CO, what's the job you got lined up for me and my Loverboy?" The CO gestured to the spare chair with a file, and Allison picked her way across the floor. (She walked on the tips of her toes, even in the sneakers.) [She walked with a gait to big for her body, like her legs were blades.] {She's En Pointe} She pulled out the chair and sat, crossing a leg across her lap and looking at the CO through her bangs. "The next mission shouldn't be for a while yet, Miss Wax." The CO's voice was always even, collected. That's why they were the CO. That's why they wore Union Grays and Allison wore what she always did. (Just put clothes on Her body) [What kind of clothes did She wear before Allison?] A thought dismissed with the disappointment of nearlight engines. "Really now, CO? How long are you gonna keep me up? More time in medbay?" The CO shakes their head, opening files, going through them. The work seems endless, running a Merc Lance. (But what's Alllison gotta worry about work?) [Gets to wound up, being in a ship conapt too long without her Loverboy.]

"So is it more time with the headmeds?" The CO looks up from the papers and gives that kind of pained smile as Allison snatches a file off the table to read. (One of the ones with the Mission Seal on it.) [Can't read Unionite Legalese for shit.] "No, Miss Wax, you're scheduled for wind-down, but you don't need to go see one of the after-action therapists- unless you feel the need of course." So she started paging through the mission file, going over the after action reports compiled from her Loverboy (From his eye, from his soul.) [The stars are beautiful at 2,000 kmph.] "So there's really no jobs, CO? Not even basic patrols? I get bored when I'm stuck down too long." The CO holds out their hand, and she returns the file. (She likes to feel like she earns her keep.) [That's just polite, for all the things Union offers.] "Miss Wax," the CO begins "I understand that talented pilots get odd without flight." That's the thing about Grays- they're willing to work with you more than they aren't. (Its not that Allison thought they were pushovers.) [Just the most reasonable kind of people, mostly.] I can organize testflights for you, if you see that there isn't more work for the technicians." There's what she wants to hear (But not quite).

"Work's good for me, CO. You wouldn't let a butterfly starve in a jar, would you?" The CO folds the file closed. (Her file.) [The one that says "Obvious signs of long-term Chronos exposure."] Doctors let you read files out this way. Its nice to know they care, at least. CO gives their answer. "Miss Wax, war's a failure and you're a contingency. Glory only comes with time. Take your mech out, call it a patrol if that helps, but my job is to make sure the mercenaries stay healthy and stay flying." There's more, Allison knows there's more, and she stops a moment. For that split second, she's not in Her body. Allison is watching Her sit there, in the chair, in Allison's clothes, across from the CO. (The look on their face is kind of worried.) [People still caught in their meat don't like being reminded of it's hold on them.] Allison picks a maybe, a series of words that seem right, and then the moment is over, and she's back in Her body. "So where are we headed, CO? You can at least let me prepare for the future."

"We're headed to Dawnline, Miss Wax. There'll be work aplenty for you in the Long Rim and beyond."

======

The cavalry technician looked up at the frame he was gonna work on. It was a custom job, one of the Lancers that the Aux had brought onboard when coming out of the Range. Long haul ships for Union do that sometimes, guard presence in exchange for amnesty and escape. Good people get trapped places. He just wasn't sure whoever flew this thing was the best kinda people. "Beautiful damn monster you are." The mechtech murmured under his breath, looking through a sheaf of printouts. Specs for the machine in front of him, an IPS-N Frame the pilot apparently fit together herself. He didn't, really trust the speed listed under its maximum output. That kind of speed would make someone grayout (The speed at which the blood of a human body begins to pool in the limbs, causing the pilot to lose consciousness). Redout even. [The point of g-force at which the brain is starved of blood, and dies.]

He looked up again at the machine and saw it was staring back at him, great singular eye tracking along its axis, to cast its baleful red upon him. He noted it, and looked back to his notes. Looking for if this thing had a casket it in, a C/C programmed to play tricks. The normal shit pilots pull on their technicians. He came up around the great black thing in its bay, and stared it in the eye from the gantry. It stared back, body making the clittering hiss of a mech at rest. (Mechanized Cavalry frames that are in regular usage are rarely quite things.) Coolant pumped through the entire frame, keeping the coldcore under wraps until it really needed to go. Fusion engines, power-reroutes designed along the Albatross style… where the verniers and thrusters aren't shaped for an RPV. (Remote Pilot Vehicles aren't uncommonly retrofitted for pilot use, he notes under his breath) [Under that red eye.] He eyes them again, as the giant thing keeps staring. There isn't any record of a computer smart enough to do anything of worth on this machine.

It was strictly Turning-Compliant, according to the CO's paperwork. That left the damages to repair. Bits of slagged armor along the leg-blades and shoulder plating. Nothing a few hours work with the rigs wouldn't fix. The mechtech flicked a few switches and brought the frame up to the light, to the arms that pulled and printed in smooth motions as his fingers danced across the keys. It was slower going than he thought. And the mech was making a noise. It was keening, a clatter-chatter at once both rumbling low and piercingly high. Something was wrong with the feedback from the mech-harness, reporting simple and blunt legionspace attacks. Best the cavalry technician could manage was to remove the offending plates before the assembly limbs gave up and stalled. That's when a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice rang in his ear. "My Loverboy doesn't know you, mechtech, but I do. Gimmie a minute to settle him down and you can get back to work."

The girl walks past him then, almost teeter-tottering as she glides across the floor on the tips of her shoes. She moves her legs wrong, picking her way as much as stepping. The cavalry tech looks at the mech's legs and puts together the kind of pilot he's dealing with. The kind that have gone in a direction past human, hunting for something else. (He'd never really known someone in full body prosthesis) [Was rare, in his neck of the galaxy.] She moves like her mech even as she steps off the gantry and onto its chest, placing hands against the grinning skull. Ever since she came in, the eye's been locked onto her alone. He worries and wonders what kind of monster he's got to work on now.

===

He screams for her, against the void, he tears away from the cling-gravity of the UNS-CV Paris (Like the commune, she offers) [Like lights, the therapist offers back.] But the past doesn't matter when the future is laid out in the bleeding world of 2000 kmph. She was safe from everything, safe from Gravity itself as she lay coiled in her Loverboy's guts, aching through Chronos haze and picking his flight path for him as a beautiful dance. She wanted him to run through his paces, and he was eager to please. To show her what he could do. How he was built for her. Like a butterfly flitting across a windless sky, like a shark dancing through a school of fish- Loverboy puts on a show for his girl.

She's spinning him a dance, putting the engine to its test. Her Loverboy screams for his girl as he dances, frame keening against the speed and void. (Allison watches Her legs twist against the seat.) [That's how she knew the engine was art] {State-of-the-art affection} She doesn't like to think about home. Not home anymore, and not worth thinking about. More Gravity shorn free from her under the speed. So what's it worth if its pulled away so easily? Home wasn't ever home, no matter how much anyone told Allison it was. What's where you're born compared to where you'll be? (What's the flesh you were born in but another place to be trapped in?) Allison feels her brain reel as Loverboy spins in a piroutte ascending. It doesn't spin in place, but it recognizes the forces working upon it as her Loverboy pulls into a rise. (The snap from horizontal to vertical would snap necks.) [But when you don't have Gravity, moving is easier.]

Verniers howl with force as Allison considers Her. (And the changes Allison had made to Her.) [Would She mind? Would She understand?] There are protective tendons, built from the same kind of whipcord steel that run through Loverboy. There are stabilization systems built into her braincase, that absorb and disperse the shock of sudden shifts of g-force. There's a dozen, a hundred little aftermarket touches to Her body that Allison has made. (But is it really that bad, when the body is aftermarket?) [When the body wasn't built for you.] Allison still watches Her, curled as Allison left Her. (Back curved gentle. Arms on knees, resting eyes against forearm.) [The clunky implants hooking Her to Loverboy peek their tubes from beneath Her shirt] She was still perfect. Still beautiful. Everything Allison had wanted to be back then. There She was, with Allison's brain in Her body, Allison's Loverboy hooked through feeds to Her back.

Allison reached in the stopped little flaring moments between directing Loverboy through his dance. They were all the same moment. Allison reached out, and cradled Her face, and said Her name. Something Allison couldn't ever know. (How was she supposed find Her? Long way from Ketherese.) [From everything from that life.] Everything but her Loverboy. He counts the micromovements of her eyes. His own whirrs and focuses, keening as the scopes hone in on a target and his body twists with his girl's desire. He counts the times she stops existing as a presence registered at the controls. He rolls over and considers in his clicking thoughts the ways he loves her. His adoration burns in him as retros flare and he lands blades first, touching against an asteroid with the grace of a butterfly upon a blossom. His thoughts turn and his computers chitter and churn. His whitewash tanks purge into rawmat resivors and a new batch is rapidly encoded, new chains of acids and code written by mute-drive, a silent organ buried deep in his frame, coiled round and through his girl.

The Hyperkinesis Module develops a novel admixture of nanites and adrenaline and feeds through the connection to Allison, filling her endocrine system with a soothing electricity synchronized to readouts and full reports of engine efficiencies, micrometeor grazes, and heat venting. (His body hisses for her, waste gas for heat disperial in null atmosphere environments) [He bares his heart to her, reactor dropping as he stretches against the asteroid.] Allison leans forward, the Chronos uptake stretching from her back and into the cockpit's back wall. (Little tubes running up to her spine and kidneys) [One of the other aftermarket touches to Her body.] Allison's face reaches through the holoscreen outputs of Loverboy's eye. She kisses the armored outer hull of her cockpit. (She stands to her toes.) And her Loverboy gently touches off the asteroid, into the void, gently floating in the empty place beyond Gravity.

Allison lowers her oxygen uptake, and rides the Chronos her Loverboy made for her. (She dreams like an editor.) [Looking at scenes and picking them.] A wash along the nervous system, stuttering climbing up her spinal column and into the brainstem. She dreams of Ketherese, and what was left behind. Consider the Gravity that's been shed. (In the embrace of her Loverboy.) [Memories are the only thing you can't shed.] Her grandfather's dirt is far from everything she'll ever see again. No one will see the frontiers she sees. (Allison will see things even She'll never see.) [Or maybe they'll see the same stars some day.] {Face-to-borrowed-face.}

No one she had ever known would see what she sees, know what she knows. (She'd shed them, like her old body.) [Like Gravity.]

[draculancer-flow]

i'm movin' unfathomable. packed so many pieces of Horus and Harrison gear into my mech i'm cross-stitching my opps' home addresses into the fabric of spacetime. castigated that piece of junk anyways just to feel somethin', then revived myself via the soul vessel i placed in a broom closet on Throne Karrakis. we're smokin' straight titanium-vanadium-kevlar composite in the middle of an unsanctioned nearlight ejection. this shit ain't nothin' to me man.

.

[im-mender]

Blemishine aka Maria Nearl's name in the original Chinese is 瑕光 (Xiáguāng, lit. "Blemishlight" or "Blemish-shine"). Her full name is 玛莉娅·临光 (Mǎlìyà Línguāng, lit. "Maria Nearlight").

[cosmopolitan-cosmonaut-lancer]

Channel Open

Greetings from those who wander the open sky.

I am Matthias Edam, though some of you may know me better by my callsign Twist. I've spent much of my life traveling the galaxy at nearlight speeds, part of a clan of Cosmopolitans known as the Horticulturalist Cluster. Most who are familiar with our ship cluster know us for plying our trades of biotech, genetech treatments for local adaptation and ecosystem engineering skills.

While my primary trade aboard my homeship is related to deep space astrogation and piloting, I also am part of the cluster's militia force, and will often mount up to provide security escorts for trade runs or on short patrols during intra system operations.

Stay safe out there pilots, and may the stars always guide you to your destination.

Until we spool up to nearlight again

[horus-unofficial]

*points gun at pegasus* WHATS YOUR RELATION WITH DEIMOS? TELL ME THE SECRET NAME OF RA OR THE PUPPY GETS IT

thats like asking the albatross what their relationship to the voladores is cos theyre both mysterious cosmopolitan cultures that make frequent use of nearlight travel

[the-dubious-creature]

Teehee :3 *obliterates u with a nearlight kill pack*

[cassettesocialism]

Quick Roll Table for Lancer NPCs

Starting off with IPS-N, for when you need to populate a rickety O'Neil cylinder with salty cosmonauts. 1. IPS-N Marine: Nearly two and a half meters tall and loaded with myolace, endodermal NxRA integuments, and titanium-carbide osteoplate. Putting her in a hardsuit only makes her more of a terror in close quarters. She treats her squadmates like a mother bear treats her cubs and takes no shit when it comes to their safety, whether that be from the enemy or IPS-N suits. With any luck, she’ll include you in her pack too. 2. IPS-N Subline Jockey: They’re twitchy as all hell and just can’t seem to sit still. Quite short despite a lifetime in space, and always wears their truncated environmental filter system. They’ve got an impeccable record sitting in the casque of a Walleye; if you need a flak screen penetrated or a patrol cutter outran, they’re the one to call. Willing to fly anyone or anything anywhere for a surprisingly generous rate, no questions asked.

3. IPS-N Suit: Totally unflappable and results driven, station deckhands have taken to calling them ‘Rocky’ for their stone-cold demeanor. One wouldn’t expect someone as relatively unassuming as them to hold the levers of military and civilian procurement in the palm of their hand. Despite the strict IPS-N regs on employing freelancers, they’re willing to take all comers for work. Be absolutely sure you don’t disappoint.  4. IPS-N Mechanic: As salty as any cosmonaut comes, and has little patience for those who don’t know what they’re doing or waste his time. Carries an entire toolbox, fusion torch and all, inside an oversized and very rusty mechanical arm. Some say that he can put a NLS drive back together with his eyes closed. Does repair work on the cheap, but will make you stay and watch him. Take notes, he’ll quiz you once he’s done. 5. IPS-N Miner: A persistent ray of sunshine despite spending all of her time working in deep-core nickel-iron asteroid mines. She lost all of her limbs and an eye doing her job. IPS-N set her up with some second-rate cybernetics, clunky, poorly neuro-tuned, and constantly belching steam. They still expect her to work and pay them back. She quietly wishes she could hurt the company very badly for putting her in this situation. 6. IPS-N Captain: Older than most everyone on the station, doesn't look a day over 65 thanks to the vagaries of nearlight travel, stasis-sleep, and a healthy diet of Ispahsalari cigars and Ras Shamran whiskey. Rough around the edges, with a low brow sense of humor befitting of an old salt cosmonaut. If you can get past both those, you'll find that he's well worth his weight in O2, knows the best deck-teks and merchants on the station on a first name basis

[tumblrisweird]

Operation: REDLINE plot outline (part 1)

Below is a plot outline for the first half of my custom Lancer campaign, Operation: REDLINE. Beware of spoilers.

Session 0 (optional): a fairly simple test run where the players are on board a transport ship that is shot down and attacked by pirates. The only especially interesting part is pilots start combat outside their mechs, which are prone and shut down. To offer them brief protection, there are a couple light turrets on the crashed ship that enemies can target instead. Players get a full repair after this and can change their characters/builds before the story properly begins

Session 1: players meet major characters, choose their ship type, and sign up. combat is a match for the wildcard spot against the Droner team. (They use a lot of drone systems.)

Session 2: Race begins. Multiple sequential game clocks for starting ship, getting to orbit, and going to nearlight. Have a downtime in transit, then arrive at a colony planet. There, they can choose to defend the colony against raiders (via mech combat or narrative stuff). Raiders have a lot of vehicles, and players will be aided by the Albatross. Choosing to defend the colony will cost players some time (increasing the clock at the beginning of next mission) but reward them with repairs and reputation.

Session 3: The team completes another clock to get back in the race from the stopover. Upon arriving at the planet that's supposed to have the information relay in orbit, the ship arrives to find itself in the middle of a debris field with enemies closing fast. The players must engage in zero-g mech combat to defend the ship.

Session 4: After winning the last combat, the players interrogate their attacker to find that a salvager destroyed the station to try to get tech. The data core fell to the ocean planet below, where the team will need to retrieve it. This involves doing an underwater recon combat encounter against various alien sea monsters. (I made a custom map for this one.)

Session 5: Downtime in transit to the keystone planet. Upon arriving, players complete a clock to get to the landing site. There, they have combat in a winding canyon against a team of several controller mechs and a boss Rainmaker at the end. Upon winning, players retrieve the keystone and have completed the mission (earning them a full repair, some special equipment, and an LL).

[jagerian]

*i come out from my cave covered in blood* I love the Darkness mechanic in NearLight its so fun

[rounderhouse]

You signed to the same nearlight freighter she did. The round-trip to the Alpha Centauri stations and back only took ten years from your perspective, but decades have passed on Earth. You return to a different world; everyone you have ever known is long dead. Your home has been razed ten times over. You find her again on the same streets, slack-jawed at how the world has moved on and left the both of you behind. You are relics of an older time - you have given up your lifetimes for paltry sums - you are odd specimens and mild curiosities, understood by no one. You have both lost everything, except one another. The night you spend together is heavy and streaked by tears at the weight of the mistake you've both made. The next morning, you both sign onto the freighter's next voyage. There is no one left for you in this solar system except her.

[albatross-lancer]

Has there ever been anyone dumb enough to bait you guys into a trap with a fake distress call? If so, how vicious was their beating?

This is a question I can't speak to from personal experience as I'm still in training, but looking at old mission reports, it has been attempted a few times. Suffice it to say that this is not actually a very effective tactic, and generally does not end well for the people trying it. There are a number of reasons why it doesn't work very well:

We receive and respond to a lot of distress calls, so we have a pretty good idea of what a real distress call looks like. We won't ignore a distress call just because it seems suspicious, but if we think it may be a trap or at least misleading, we'll prepare different deployments and tactics.

Albatross pilots (ships and chassis) are already trained to engage the moment we stop travelling at nearlight, so even if we were completely fooled, we still aren't caught off guard.

The nature of nearlight travel means that any ambushers have little to no warning of when we actually arrive, whereas we know exactly when we will arrive.

[uss-edsall]

The way they completely shanked everything about Margaret Nearl’s characterisation in Nearlight by making her pull a Bull Themselves Up By Their Bootstraps to justify not interfering with a fight that was going to end in several murder deaths was so bad, I genuinely think it had to have been a story change by some mid-level bureaucrat, who got concerned Winnie the Pooh was going to interfere if they didn���t change messaging to advocating for passive centrism and ‘work within the system’