|
Post by Former Fiend on May 15, 2018 6:50:25 GMT -5
The wind was favorable. The gods were smiling on him. He knew this. He had always known this. His mouth curled into a twisted smile, tugging the scarred skin of his disfigured face. Laughter began to bellow forth from his lips; a proud laugh, celebrant and joyful at the validation of his belief. Laughter that could be heard even over the sound of screams and wails and the roaring fire that surrounded him.
Delusion was a funny thing.
Lord Maketh, as he had named himself all those years ago – no one was going to tremble before Lord Addy, after all – stood among the flames of a small village of innocent farmers and horse breeders. If the village had had a name, he hadn't known it before putting it to the sword and the torch, and it would be forgotten by the world when the last slave he had taken from it died. These people had nothing of value for him and had done nothing to offend him but live well and live happily, and so had been subject to another in a long line of massacres perpetrated by Maketh and his army of savages.
Maketh was nothing more than a brute and a psychopath. He had been born in a village much like this one, his face disfigured in some accidental fire, though he hadn't been handsome before that. He was big and strong and dumb and mean, fortunate enough to know how to swing a sword thanks to his father, a lowly hedge knight.
Maybe there had been one taunt too many, or maybe his father had scolded him too harshly, or maybe the girl he lusted after had rejected him publicly and humiliated him. Perhaps it had been nothing at all, a slight entirely imagined. Whatever it was, one night something snapped in Addy the hedge knight's son's head, and he murdered his entire family as they slept, and then went to the next house to do the same, and the one after that, until the sun rose and everyone who knew Addy had ever existed was dead, and so he was replaced by Lord Maketh, which sounded to that dumb brute as a scary and intimidating name.
In the years since, Maketh became a bandit, then a bandit lord, and then a warlord. Gathering to him the mean and the dumb. Those who wanted to hurt people and wanted someone to give them a reason to do it, or an excuse to do it. Those who were too weak and cowardly to resist the orders of someone who told them to hurt people. Those who wanted to believe in something.
And Maketh believed; he believed that the world existed for him to do with as he willed. He believed that he was chosen by the gods to torment this world for his own pleasure. He believed this delusion with such fervor that it drew others to him and convinced them that he was someone worth following. And he happened to be big enough and strong enough and good enough with a sword to kill anyone who disagreed.
He lived that delusion, as well. Once he had pressed armor smiths into his service he forced the to craft hi a suit of black spiked plate, so that he may look the part he imagined for himself. Like one of the evil knights in his father's stories. The ones that he had always favored over the so called 'heroes'. He collected priests and druids devoted to dark and wicked gods, who would tell him of his grand destiny and praise him as an instrument of their dark masters.
That he was nothing but a petty butcher waging a pointless war against all the world with no long term goal or strategy was entirely lost on Maketh, so caught up in his delusion of grandeur as he was. A delusion that was only strengthened as he looked up into the sky and beheld a red star falling from the heavens, hurtling towards the earth. A sign. An omen. He was sure of it.
His priests chanted and prayed and sacrificed captured slaves upon crude alters. They communed with their dark gods who spoke through them to Maketh. They told him how this star was a sign of their favor; how it was a source of great power, and once it fell to the earth, whoever claimed it first would have the means to dominate the world.
Maketh knew all of this. His delusion assured him of it. After all, if the wind had been blowing east instead of west, he never would have seen the star. The smoke and ash from the fires he had set in this nameless village would have blocked it from his sight. But the wind was blowing west and the skies to the east were clear. This village and these people were a sacrifice. And this star and it's power were his reward.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck” Zus muttered to himself as he rushed down the corridor towards his battlestation. The ship shook with enough force that he was slammed into the bulkhead shoulder first. Or the bulkhead was slammed into him. It was all relative.
The Dreamer was under attack.
The transport ship had been in The Drift, en route from the Pact Worlds System to Preluria, a world in a Near-Space system. The jump was expected to take them just over two and a half days to complete.
A day and a half into the journey, klaxon lights started flashing red and sirens started sounding as the sensors detected weapons locking onto their position.
The Drift was a vast plane full of mostly empty space, airless, marked by pink & purple light patterns and matterless clouds of mysterious energy, constantly twisting, expanding, and shrinking on a spatial level in random, often unpredictable ways. Every time a Drift engine was activated, a chunk of a random plane – be it the shadow plane or the pits of Hell or the plane of water – was pulled into the Drift, varying in size from a stone to a dwarf planet, that was true. But the Drift itself was so vast that a quick trip could be made without encountering one, or at least one large enough to notice, and even the most massive of them tended to be uninhabited.
Encountering another starship at random while traversing the drift was almost impossible away from Alluvion, the Drift's capitol city. Even if the two ships had left from the same place and were heading to the same destination, the alien geometries of the drift meant they would reach that place by different paths, unless their Drift Engines were linked together.
And yet the Dreamer had encountered not one but three ships. Each was of the same model & design, but that design was completely alien & unfamiliar to the data bases available onboard the Dreamer, and none among it's crew had ever seen their like. Even still, it was apparent that all three ships were well armed and highly advanced, as they were quickly overtaking the Dreamer's position.
Running wasn't an option. The hostile ships were faster and more maneuverable; they'd never reach their destination. They only had one escape, and so Captain Nalse gave a desparate order; kill thrusters and exit the Drift.
There were a handful of beacons near by, but they were faint. They wouldn't be exiting into a well populated, well mapped Near-space system. They'd be exiting the Drift into the Vast. There could be anything on the other side of the planar veil; the Swarm, the Dominion of the Black, some other hostile alien empire unknown to the Pact Worlds. Or there could be nothing; dead, lifeless rocks and no civilization to be found.
But it would get them out of this situation.
Trick was, thrusters had to be deactivated for a full minute before a Drift jump could be made. That was a full minute of being sitting ducks with three hunters gathered around them.
So Zusin Cren made his way to one of the gunner positions. Others were making their way towards theirs. Their job was to hold the attacking ships off long enough to make the jump. And for the next sixty seconds, they unleashed all the hell they had.
Sometimes though, you can put up too much of a fight. In the closing seconds of the battle, they managed to critically damage one of the enemy ships, only for it to make a suicide run at them, intending on taking them out with it's self destruct.
The Dreamer jumped out of the drift just as the explosion caught it, and as it emerged into the material plane in orbit around an uncharted planet, all systems began to fail. Captain Nalse's voice sounded over the comms, alerting the crew; “We are entering the atmosphere of an unknown planet; all hands, brace for impact. All hands, brace for emergency landing!”
The Dreamer, a simple transport ship with a small, mercenary crew, on a routine delivery job, blazed through the sky of an as yet undiscovered world, looking to it's ignorant, pre-spaceflight natives on the ground as a red star falling from the heavens.
Zusin Cren, hired muscle on that crew and chief gunner, regained consciousness some time after impact, and reached to activate his comm. “Who's not dead? Sound off.”
|
|
|
Post by Rex Apium on May 16, 2018 1:03:50 GMT -5
Cypheid didn't like leaving the cockpit when they were in The Drift. While it wasn't feasible for her to remain there for the two days it would take to finish their trip through The Drift, she was still a mess of nerves when not in the pilot's seat.
Whether it was lucky or not that Cypheid wasn't at the cockpit at the exact time the three enemy ships came into view she wasn't sure. All she knew the several minutes before then was she needed coffee and that coffee needed to be with her while she piloted. So she set it to autopilot, left the pit and went to get her caffeinated salvation. What she did know is that she immediately cursed under her breath in her native tongue the moment she returned to the bridge and saw the ships. The only good thing was she'd left the mug behind.
The cockpit was set below the rest of the bridge. Not much further down, perhaps only five or six rungs, but enough that anyone above would have to look down to see her. Cyph was an expert at vaulting most of the ladder, sliding down on the handholds instead of using the steps themselves and even better at leaping into the pilot's seat. Immediately her hands flew over the controls.
She didn't recognize the ships. The database didn't know them. The smart thing was to immediately assume the worst. In fact, she was already working on positioning the Dreamer to avoid the three ships when the warning lights began flashing. Some quick calculations in her head and she knew there'd be no way she could save the ship. The Dreamer was too large and they were outnumbered. Even with her skills, luck was not in their favor.
The daimalkan ran through scenarios in her head as she tried to think of a way to escape the situation. She'd come to the same conclusion as the captain and as much as she hated the idea of dropping out of the Drift, it was a far better solution than any other she'd come up with. With resignation she killed the engines.
Lights flashed angrily from her console. Complaints and warnings, but there was nothing she could do from here. Helplessly she watched as the gunners engaged the three ships. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched a critically damaged ship make a run for them. Her eyes flicked from her console to the ship, watching the timer before the jump could be made. Watching the enemy ship as it moved closer and closer.
Cypheid hadn't realized she'd held her breath until she released it when they jumped out of the Drift. The breath came out in a sigh of relief as she saw the planet they orbited. It looked habitable and as she checked the screens positioned around the cockpit she noticed that there was nothing else around them she needed to worry about.
Not that their problem would be around them.
The lights still flashed angrily at her, followed by more warning sounds as the Dreamer's systems failed, lights going out one by one.
“FUCK,” she shouted at no one in particular before grabbing hold of the controls again. She may not have had power, but she could at least try to get the ship down as softly and safely as possible. There was enough of the engine she could manually move, albeit it wasn't easy, and she sure as fuck was going to do what she could.
The captain alerted the rest of the crew to what was going on, as Cyph was already acutely aware of what was happening. She strapped herself into the seat, better safe than sorry, and used every ounce of her strength and skill to lessen the angle at which they entered the atmosphere. If she could time it just right they could come out of this with minimal injuries and minimal damage to the Dreamer.
Cypheid was incredibly good at what she did, but there was only so much you could do when you didn't have the power. They hit hard. Hard enough that Cyph was rocked forward in her seat and backward with enough force that her world went black.
She wasn't out for long, and when she blinked her eyes open she could feel the throbbing at the back of her head. She reached up to feel the lump that was back there and unbuckled herself from the seat. Her console was still black and no amount of tapping on the instruments would bring it back. With a heavy sigh she pushed herself out of the seat. Everything was sore and her neck hurt something fierce, but no major injuries. A quick look around the lower part of the bridge told her there wasn't any major damage to that area either.
With a groan she rubbed the back of her neck, “I'm going to be sore in the morning...”
Cyph was about to start climbing up to the upper portion of the bridge and check on the captain when her comm chirped. Zus checking in. Of course he would think to do that and she wouldn't.
“I'm still alive. Come and see me if you have any major injuries that can't wait,” she replied, reflexively rubbing the lump on her head again.
She moved up the ladder once she responded, finding the captain safely tucked away on the upper portion of the bridge. She helped remove it from its bindings and looked carefully around the bridge for signs of damage. It was hard to tell on the lower section where the cockpit was, but from up here Cypheid could get a better look at where they landed.
The sight didn't make her happy.
It looked like it was a town. Or was once a town before they'd crashed into it. She hadn't been able to steer the ship properly without power and that left anything in the way of their descent a casualty. Which, in this particular instance, was an entire medieval town. She rubbed her forehead as she stared out the front window.
“Fuck.”
|
|
12
New Member
Posts: 3
|
Post by 12 on May 16, 2018 2:00:47 GMT -5
In the Drift, long-range communication could be difficult. Amorphous geometries could warp most standard modes of information relay, leaving almost all forms of broadcast dark for travellers. Best bring some movies or books if you're on a long trip through it. And it had been a long trip for AbadarCorp delivery driver Gavrael Pliskin. It had been just him and a load of construction equipment for Vose 303's Jedarat project. Thus, it came as a surprise to him when his sensors actually picked up another beacon transponder's signal. He set down his mug of coffee and curiously turned on the monitor, tuning to the frequency. On the screen, a wheel of neon colors spun slowly as a backdrop for what he could only assume was a title screen for the broadcast, reading "Kosmic Karaoke with Skittles and Frends!" in blinking white bubble letters. He couldn't help but wonder if the misspellings were intentional or not. This was undoubtedly the creation of some venturous child or...impaired adult, after all. It remained there for a few more seconds, that neon wheel turning in silence, before cutting to a bed with a high pile of stuffed animals on it and a skittermander standing on the sheets. An electric pink skittermander. Wearing nothing but a paper pirate hat that had been colored black with crayon and emblazoned with a skull-and-crossbones sticker on the front. The truly horrifying part of it all was what she held in her hands: a microphone and a skitter-sized elecric guitar. "Well, hellllllllo friends!" the skittermander started with a cheerful shout, jumping a bit to strike a dramatic pose and bouncing slightly on the bed's springs when she landed. "And welcome to Kosmic Karaoke! We're starting off tonight's show with a request froooommmm..." The skittermander leaned toward the camera, squinting, apparently reading something. "Bobert teh pirate three-fifty. Teh? Is that a- what is that? Anyway, on with the shoooow!" One of the skittermander's free hands reached behind the camera to apparently press a switch. Four clicks from a digital metronome and the skittermander started strumming out a simple song on the guitar with an upbeat melody. Soon after, a simple drum beat and an accordion joined in, apparently from same digital source as the metronome. Her fuzzy body began to sway and bounce a bit in time with the beat, a wide, happy smile on her face. It was all rather adorable and Gavrael considered recording it or trying to find its source to order some episodes for his children. Until she started singing. Her vocal delivery was just as cheerful as her demeanor, "Fuck you, you're a fucking wanker - we're gonna punch you right in the balls. Fuck you with a fucking anchor. You're all cunts so fuck you all." Adding insult to injury, the song's lyrics appeared on the screen with a leading ball bouncing along on each syllable to highlight the vocal melody.
She was NAILING it today. Skittles was always great at this, of course, and she was only on the fourteenth song, but she was NAILING it. Then something nailed her. Right in the head. Really hard. So hard that she lost consciousness. The first thing she realized when she woke up was that the floor was not at the correct angle anymore. Either the ship's artificial gravity was in need of some recalibration or they had made landfall and someone had done a terrible parking job. This gravity didn't feel artificial. Cyphy must have been taking a nap or something because only Nalse could manage messing up parking the ship this badly. Well, she'd had enough of a nap now, time to get up. Waitaminute. She hadn't been napping-! That's right, she was in the middle of a broadcast! And her head really hurt. Her eyes opened to find the room in disarray. She held her throbbing head with two of her hands and gathered her (now scratched up) guitar in another pair and waddled out of the room. That's when she heard Zus's call, barely audible over the karaoke music still playing in the room she had just left. "Executive Chief Mechanic Skittles Digga reporting in!" she answered. "It's really messy in here, sir. Did I miss a party? Usually Cyphy lets me help decorate for the parties."
|
|
Panzer
New Member
Resident Bard
Posts: 29
|
Post by Panzer on May 16, 2018 15:43:53 GMT -5
The day was starting out just like any other day above The Dreamer for Hel Cusolea Jin Nuro Syer of Clan Sastu. A brief workout in the small makeshift gym in the cargo bay, a hearty protein filled nutrition shake and he had just settled in to listen to Skittles wonderful broadcast....that was when shit went south. Alarms and sirens caused him to pause, throw his microcord body suit on, summon his shimmering mote of solar energy and head to his battle station. The gray skinned four armed alien gracefully deposited himself in his gunners seat, listening to his counterpart manning the other gun already at work. In a deep baritone he spoke "Well good thing Zus appears to be on top of things."
This was still Hel's first month with the crew so he was still getting used to things but apparently he was a better gunner then the last guy who had this seat. Hired muscle was what they called him and in truth he kinda was at this point, hired muscle on a pilgrimage to achieve a advanced state of understanding. The Kashatha was a solarian, a warrior who understood the balance of the universe and its mysteries. While most chose to walk either the path of light, others chose to walk the path of entropy, Hel and the monks that raised him were unique though, one of the few who believed that The Cycle was a constant balancing act. Right now reminiscing on the early days of his holy journey would have to wait and so would balancing himself, right now the crew needed some firepower.
Enemy ships appeared on his readout, not just one but three, odds were majorly stacked against them but Hel never let the house win that easily. Usually he would use his fists or one of his powers to tip the odds, but these ships were a little out of range for either of those options. The shipped rocked as the brawler took aim with one of the ships guns and went to work, today was going to be a long day and he had a gut feeling that the flop on the river was gonna make things worse. The gambler inside of him was screaming at him, that was how he landed here, he needed money to pay off some debts and now he was wishing he just jumped back into the ring to clear his debt.
One of the ships appeared to be making a kamikaze run at them, the thing looked like it was in bad shape, probably Zus's handiwork rather then his own. The solarian was right about things getting worse as the ship exited The Drift but not in time to escape the explosion of the other vessel. Lights and sirens blasted as the cargo ship entered the atmosphere of some planet, this was gonna be a hell of a bumpy landing, even with Cypheid's expert piloting. It was hard to concentrate with all the noise around him but if he was gonna survive this he had to pull this off. The four armed alien released the gun and use all of his arms to brace himself, while mentally attuning himself to the gravitons between his chair and the floor creating a gravitational anchor to avoid being flung around.
When Hel opened his eyes they had stopped moving and a sharp pain radiated from one of his arms most likely sprained or broken from the crash. He released the gravitational anchor he had created and slumped into his chair, the solar mote that usually hovered around him dimmed a little with the release. A number of familiar voices came over the coms each reporting there safety, good so far most of the crew he liked had survived, hopefully the same held for the few others. The hatch to the the corridor outside the gunner station was stuck fast, Hel sighed and willed his solar mote to envelop his fist as he punched the hatch clean off its hinges. As he stepped through the opening he clicked his com "Hel here, might have a sprained or broken arm but besides that I'm fine. Oh and Skittles...gunner bay two is gonna need a new door."
|
|
|
Post by Doozerpindan on May 17, 2018 4:40:33 GMT -5
Quicksilver hovered silently in the centre of his room, his legs crossed, his hands resting between them, fingers interlocked. His chamber was perfectly ordered and organised, everything had its place and was in its place. He had spent a great deal of time turning the admittedly tiny room into a science lab with a small astrometrics port. He was currently observing the drift as they travelled through it, while also running multiple other simulations for future experiments.
The ships, when they appeared, drew his attention immediately. He needed not reach out to the others to warn them, however, as they were already reacting to their presence. That they should all share the same design and schematics and weapons layout intrigued him, but not enough to stop him noticing as soon as they became hostile.
He was already inside of his hub at this moment. A protective shell that connected him more directly to the ship and its systems and prevented any falling debris from injuring him as he focused his abilities elsewhere.
He activated the neural connecters inside the pod, and poured his will into the ships systems, feeling the familiar sensation as his mind became one with certain parts of the ship. the sensors, scanners, communications... A small part of the ship essentially became an extension of his self. He then used the ship to reach across the expanse between his ship and those attacking. He connected with one, and immediately set to work. It took many precious seconds, but he was successful, and the enemy ships shields failed, allowing a direct hit from the gunners to become a crippling one.
He felt a pang of loss as he realised he could not delve deeper into the ships systems to learn about them and those that flew them, as the as the critically damaged ship began a suicide run toward the Dreamer. It was a simple enough ask to find the computers self-repair systems and deactivate them. The result was that the ship exploded before it could fully impact the Dreamer, allowing the weaker ship to flee its attackers and return to the void once more.
It took a fraction of a second to see things were not over, as the ship had entered the void too close to a planet and was now hurtling towards the atmosphere. He could do nothing as the ship began its uncontrolled entry and descent towards the unknown world’s surface.
He saw the town, but there was little he could do. There was life there, he was certain, but he couldn’t warn the pilot or the captain. The ship was too close to the surface to pull up. He felt a pang of sorrow and the death and destruction that was to follow.
The impact was hard, powerful enough to daze him even inside his protective shell, which caused him to black out for several moments. When he came to, he was pleased to see the support struts inside the pod had held, preventing any serious harm coming to him. He felt weary and slower than normal, it would take a little while to regain himself.
When he felt fully like himself again, he emerged from the pod. The small room was a mess, and several delicate pieces of equipment had been broken. He felt annoyance, but it too was lost to the void of thought.
When he heard the Zusin the crew to report in, he responded by reaching out with his mind. A small tendril of power weaving through the ship and toughing the gunner’s neural matter.
“This one remains.” Was his response, as he exited the science bay, trying to ignore the chaos within.
|
|
|
Post by isthismemes on May 18, 2018 0:41:45 GMT -5
Skittle's broadcast time? Already? I guess I can drop sewing this badass patch on my shirt. Skittles gets way too happy when I quote her songs to her.
Archibald Davius Benningfield, or Dave because fuck saying all of that, was busy at work. He had taken up making "modifications" to his clothing to become more intimidating. Having the archaic sewing machine for only two days, and no training prior he was doing about as well as expected. However, he could use the break. He could feel a bit of sweat on his brow anyway and he deserved to lay down and enjoy some fruit juice with skittle's show. The Dreamer was in the drift, and they still had a little while to go.
Suddenly, Dave's glass of juice spilled a bit on him. No big deal, happens all the time. But it fell over when he set it on his desk to clean his shirt. Something was different. He peered out his window and noticed one of the ships assaulting his crew.
They're gonna need me. GO TIME! Dave finished wiping the bit of juice off his shirt, and sprinted toward the door out of his quarters. A minor rumble rippled through the ship and knocked him off his feet. Dave's head hit his quarters' floor hard and it all went black.
Dave woke up to his comm buzzing in his ear. He wasn't moving anymore, in fact he couldn't move. He had been pinned under his personal collection of movies. I knew I should've gotten digital, but the physical disks are just so much cooler. He had managed to pry his left arm free, and got it above his head. Alright, just gotta use all that strength training and pull myself out from under this. Dave grabbed hold of one of the legs to his desk and yanked. No good. Hel's voice buzzed through his ear, and he figured he'd ought to answer. Fucking comm was in his right ear and he couldn't reach over his own head to tap the transmitter.
After a brief moment of struggling Dave felt something give. He thought for a brief second he was free, but all he managed to do was tip his desk over on top of the shelf so now his head was under the desk. He'd tried arms, so now it was time to try legs. Flailing about he connected with something. So the natural reaction is to keep kicking the shit out of it until something happened. That something was his bed, which he'd gotten a custom frame for because wood frame beds are fancy. The crash had weakened one of the poles supporting the canopy of his bed. He was kicking the splintered section and eventually kicked it loose.
The now spear-like wooden pole came crashing through the back of his movie shelf and right next to his right arm. This now meant Dave's right arm was free, and he could let everyone know he was safe. They must be so worried. Dave tapped his transmitter and sounded off trying his best to not sound like he was out of breath or trapped in the slightest. "I'm good. I'll be out of my quarters in a minute."
Dave had both of his arms free, and began sliding himself through the hole in his desk. Lucky enough for him his chair had rolled away during the crash and he could slip out of this entertainment prison. There must be a metaphor. Trapped by the things I love because they are old-fashioned. Something about not embracing the future I guess.
|
|
|
Post by watchoutsamusishere on May 19, 2018 7:46:08 GMT -5
The sun rose, as so often it did, over the best town in all the world. He knew it would be a good day, for always it was. The sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, and his lithe form leapt from his luxurious bed with the energy of youth and the vitality of lifelong success and victory. He never failed in any task. The idea didn't even register on the periphery of his consciousness.
He, was Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys, the man who could be king, were it his wont. But he was happy with his fief, the blossoming city of Famborough. His people loved him, and he loved them. He ruled justly, was hard but fair, and under his leadership the city prospered like never before.
He strode through his castle, naked, muscles and sinew rippling like a moving statue of Adonis. He was excited; nearby, his archnemesis Maketh the Despoiler was on the move. Soon, Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys would have him within his grasp, and finally force the confrontation months of circling and dancing was drawing them towards. Maketh was a worthy adversary, and part of him would miss the sport. But Maketh would fall, as all had fallen before him, beneath the martial prowess of Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys, or the ironshod hooves of his stallion Darlantan.
“Squire!” he called, padding like a leopard towards his arming chamber, “My armour!”
“My lord!” came the response, as he stepped into the room, “I am already here.”
Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys nodded, expecting this already. The boy would have been flogged elsewise.
The young man was unfazed by the nakedness, as would any other servant in his castle have been. Especially the women; they liked, it, of course they did, especially given the size of his . . . arms. Women only served two purposes in the life of Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys, and they were closely linked. The first was his admiration their beauty and the second was the pleasure only a woman should bestow upon a man. Truly, they served no other purpose in the world: a man was superior in all other respects.
Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys took his role as protector seriously. He did not eat meat. His diet consisted of fruit and nuts and plenty of wine. Once he had been called upon to execute a quartet of vile homosexuals after eating several kilograms of roast cow. It had not gone well, and since that day he had taken a vow of abstinence.
His squire helped him to dress: braies and a simple jerkin, a gambeson, and then a leather brigandine with pteruges over the shoulders and thighs. He donned studded leather bracers, and padded leather boots. He was pondering exactly which weapons he would use to defeat Maketh when the dragon attacked.
There is no adequate metaphor for the assault on his senses when the dragon struck. First came the light, which leeched through the walls of the castle, the windows, and every airy crack or crevice in the stone. Then came the sound, a horrible crashing, like the clash of two charging armies, but far worse in both scope and volume. There were no screams, or wails, as the city died. Only that hidious, frightening roar, and the violent, spasms of the earth.
It wasn't until Lord Prentis Hancock Humpreys had sprinted to the battlements that he felt the heat of its fell breath. The dragon appeared to be recumbent in the ashes and rubble of his city, basking in the flames and debris that surrounded it for kilometres. It shined dully, its scales reflecting the sun's light. All was smoke and fire. Maketh was forgotten. Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys was overcome by a fit of rage so fierce he saw nothing but the glinting scales of the dragon; he burnt with a fire as hot as the one smouldering in the ruins of his city. But he became aware of a prickling, stinging sensation he had never experienced. Shame. Defeat. He had not been given time to defend his people, but that did not absolve the guilt of failure. There would be survivours, but Famborough was gone. Taken in an instant. The dragon must die.
It took hours to reach the dragon; Darlantan, his beautiful and courageous stallion was dead. Without disgrace, he had shed tears for his fallen mount. In addition, the castle was half demolished at best and his army was gone. Alone, he picked his way through the gouged cobblestone streets and broken, collapsed buildings. By the time he reached the dragon, the despair had almost defeated him. It was crippling. The only survivours he had found were empty, stunned faces in a sea of corpses; they may as well have been dead themselves.
And so Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys drew his great bastard sword, and fell upon the dragon with all of his terrible skill and strength. The beast ignored him. Its scales suffered nothing, and after minutes of savage, heaving strikes, his sword was notched and broken. He screamed at the dragon with Sorrow and defiance, and beat upon its hide with his fists and feet. But then he, too, came away notched and broken. He sank to his knees in bewildered silence. And there was no sound, but the crackling of flames.
|
|
|
Post by purestmorganic on May 20, 2018 19:26:51 GMT -5
Poliare had been in her quarters the entire time, sitting and typing away, eating chicken bucket after chicken bucket. When she heard the captian announce that they were landing on an unknown planet she had braced for impact, readying her computer to collect data of the new planet. She had stayed in her room, setting everything up for impact, hopeing, praying, that the internet and technology stays stable for the impact. She waited, and heard the ships sirens wailing and going off, but she stayed. She knew that she may be injured but she would be okay, so she just kept typing.
When she heard a huge crash she got knocked out for a bit. She had woke up and found that she was okay but the technology was failing. Anyone left in the ship could most likely hear her curse words loudly echoing through the halls. She couldn't figure out where they were and she didn't have the materials or strength to fix it. There was no stable connection and the computer screen kept glitching out. Poliare had turned around a noticed that her room was fine, although in a helter-skelter manner, which was normal for her to have a very disorganized room.
Poliare had walked out of her room and into the ship hallway looking for everyone, she knew that Quicksilver was most likely in his quarter, it was always easy for her to figure someones personality and schedule. The only one she couldn't get a grip on was Skittles. Skittles moved around so much that it was difficult to ever figure out her schedule. She had never even figured out where Skittles slept. All she knew was that Skittles was very hyper and invasive, she also knew that Skittles liked soda.
Poliare had searched every hallway for any crew members, she hadn't thought to disturb Cypheid or Quicksilver. Quicklsilver normally ignored her when she had to tell him things and Cypheid always seemed annoyed with Skittles following her everywhere. Most of the crew didn't talk much, only when it was time to eat or emergencies. Poliare never really talked to any of the other crew members, she had just walked through the halls and wondered how everyone else was doing. She planned on telling everyone once she found them that most of the technology and internet was down, she she had no clue where they were.
|
|
|
Post by Former Fiend on May 23, 2018 0:47:01 GMT -5
Consciousness was a strange thing for barathu. Floating jellyfish-blimps didn't have quite the same anatomy as humanoid creatures, even the more bizarre ones like Quicksilver. Especially given that their consciousnesses could merge into gestalt communal entities, there was a compact and modular nature to their awareness that other creatures didn't share, even those who belonged to hive minds.
All the same, sufficient impact could knock one right the fuck out.
And as Captain Nalse discovered, a starship impacting a planet at terminal velocity produced more than sufficient impact.
Insofar as a jellyfish-blimp was capable of groaning, Captain Nalse let out a groan as it regained consciousness. An advantage of the barathu's malleable forms was the ability to rewrite their anatomy in limited ways. Using this trick to reinforce it's dermal layer into a rigid armor is what had allowed Nalse to avoid being splattered against the wall.
Once Cyph helped Nalse out of it's restraints, it used that trick again to form a pair of strong, grasping appendages allowed Nalse to reach up to the ceiling of the bridge, gripping one of the pipes above them and pulling itself up into the air, holding itself aloft long enough for it's gasbags to re-inflate and for it to begin floating once more.
“Thank you, Cyph.” Nalse said with as much of a grateful nod as a blimp was capable of before activating it's comm. “Captain Nalse reporting in. Skittles, Quicksilver, Poliare, get my ship running again. I want the power core active ASAP. We need sensors online as soon as possible to get an idea of our bearings. Once that's done, I want thrusters and drift engines online.”
As Zus listened to to Nalse list off orders to the techs, he climbed out of his battlestation, dropping down into the hallway below. Immediately pain shot up his leg as it nearly gave out beneath him and the entire ship started spinning. His hand went to clutch his throbbing head, where he felt a wet stickiness. Pulling his hand away, his green skin was smeared red.
“Cren.” Nalse's voice sounded over the come. “Cren, report in.”
“I'm here. Little banged up. Shoulder's probably dislocated, knee's jacked up, nasty cut somewhere on my head that I'm losing a good bit of blood out of. Not sure if the dizziness is from bloodloss or a concussion. Probably both. Fuck.” The half-orc caught himself on the wall with his good arm as he nearly collapsed, blood drops splattering on the floor below him.
“Cren, report to the bridge for medical attention. If you're feeling up to it, check on -” Zusin let out a hacking cough as he vomited up onto the floor; nausea, definitely a concussion - “on your way, she hasn't reported in.”
“Right. I'll pop my head in her quarters on my way to the bridge. Be there in five.” Zus said before signing off. The half-orc limped his way up the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. He passed Polaire on the way, giving her a nod that gave him more of a headache before continuing on.
Once he reached the operative's quarters, he found the door partly open. Without power he had to force it halfway before he could see inside. Fortunately the lack of lights weren't an impediment to him; half-orcs could see just fine in the dark. Fine enough to see the smear on the wall that used to be their forward scout. “Captain, this is Zus. Gonna be reporting to the bridge alone. Skittles' is gonna need a new assistant.”
A minute later he was on the bridge being tended to by Cyph. Half an hour later he powercore was back on line and power was restored to partial systems. A sensor report showed no infosphere around the planet; no transmissions, electronic, radio, or quantum. No energy signatures suggesting any industry or manufacturing capabilities. Plenty of life signs suggesting a thriving civilization, just one that hadn't advanced beyond the iron age.
Of course, evidence of that remained in ruins all around their crash.
Hours later and repairs were still coming along. Skittles was directing traffic there with all other crew following her direction, offering whatever assistance they can. Zusin was patching up some shredded wiring when his comlink chirped.
“Cren.” Nalse's voice sounded over the comm. “We've got movement outside. Gear up and go check it out.”
“On it, Cap.” Cren responded before making his way to his gear locker. Took him a few minutes to get suited up; sensors reported the planet's atmosphere was breathable, but the ashes from the crash wouldn't be good for the lungs, so he double-checked that his face mask & environmental seals were in place. One sword strapped to his back, another at his hip, and a blaster on the other hip, he made his way to the airlock to disembark.
The view from the bridge had been obscured, and he hadn't really taken the time to look. There had been work to be done, after all. Work to throw himself into. But outside, with nothing but the lenses of his face mask between him and the carnage, he could see the carnage full force. There were no bodies; just ash and smoke and flame that obscured everything passed fifty meters. A few signs of buildings still remained, piles of stone. But they were few and far between, separated by empty space and fire where thatch hovels had once stood.
Behind his mask, Zusin scowled. Wasn't the first scene of mass destruction he'd seen. But it was never something you got used to. Least not if you had a soul, and Zus liked to imagine he still had one of those.
Walking around the ship towards the lifesign, Zus found a truly pathetic sight. A broken man in armor, on his knees in silence. “Cap, got a native here.” Zus called over the comm. “Human by the looks of it, hard to tell with the ash. Should I approach?”
“Try to get it to clear out. We don't want to harm anyone else when we take off.” Nalse said back.
So Zusin Cren approached Prentis Hancock Humphreys, hands out to his sides, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Didn't matter, really. Inside that suit of space-armor he must have looked like a demon straight from the pits of the abyss. The man looked up to see him, and his face twisted in rage and fear, and he picked himself up to launch himself at Zus.
If Cyph hadn't patched him up, Cren would have been in trouble. But she was almost half as good a healer as she was a pilot. Zus pivoted on the heel of the leg that had been banged up in the crash and moved to smoothly side step the smaller man, pushing him forward to send him tripping. Prentis' feet were injured and his footing unsteady because of it, and he went sputtering into the ash.
“I don't want to hurt you.” Zus said, having no idea whether or not the knight could understand him. “So stay down.”
If Prentis could understand him, he didn't listen, and lunged again. This time Zus didn't side step. This time, Zus cut off the lunge with a kick to Prentis' head. This time, when Prentis landed face down in the ash, he was unconscious.
Zusin Cren let out an annoyed sigh. He hadn't wanted to do that. But he wasn't in the mood to keep playing bullfighter all day. He knelt down beside the unconscious body, checking to make sure he hadn't kicked him too hard, when a sound carried on the wind. The beating of drums. Screaming, roaring. The stomping of hooves. Battle cries and a war march.
“Cren, we've got a problem.” Nalse sounded over the comm into Zus' ear. “Short range sensors were glitching. Just got them fixed and it turns out we were missing something big.”
“No shit?” Zus asked, looking off in the direction he heard the drums coming from.
“We've got nearly a thousand humanoids approaching our position. Judging by the amount of metal they're wearing we're pretty sure it's a warband.”
“What's the plan, captain?” The half-orc asked, standing to his feet and taking a few steps away from the ship.
“Weapon systems are still offline & I don't want to risk fighting those numbers; even with the weapons & magic – fine, Cyph, magic and psychic powers we have – we may kill nine out of ten of them only for the rest to swarm over us anyway. And we cannot allow this ship to fall into the hands of a primitive culture.”
“So I repeat, what's the plan?”
“Thrusters are just about back online and we should have drift capability within the hour. We're blasting off as soon as we can, so get back on the ship.”
“Copy that. On my way back in.” Cren said. He started back towards the airlock, looking down at the unconscious knight. His eyes shifted from the kinght, to the ship, to the smoke – through which he could see the embers of knew fires. Torches carried by this attacking army.
He let out a deep sigh and knelt down again, hefting the unconscious Prentis onto his shoulder.
---------------------------------------------------
The gods give, and the gods take away.
Lord Maketh knew this as well as any man who lived, as normally he was their instrument when they decided they were going to take from someone. But today, they both gave to him, and they took from him.
They had given him this fallen star, and the promise of unparalleled power. But they had delivered it right on top of the town of Flamborough, the fief of his hated enemy, Lord Prentis Hancock Humphreys. Maketh had been hoping to use the power he would gain from this star to raze the town himself; it had been just slightly too well defended for him to attack as of yet, but with the power of the star he would have burnt every building, killed every man, chained every child, and ravaged every woman, and he would have made that preening shit Humphreys watch the whole time.
He roared and he raged and he wrothed at the destruction of Flamborough. That such a sweet victory was taken from him. He took his sword and his axe to slave women and loyal soldier alike; a child throwing a tantrum because the gods had broken a toy that he had wanted to break with his own two hands. Eventually he was calmed, not just by the promise of power yet to be claimed, but by the knowledge that Prentis' keep still stood, at least partly. There was a chance that Prentis himself may yet live, and that Maketh would be able to rub it in his smug, noble face that his fief as burned by his prize. That the gods rewarded Maketh and punished Prentis with the same act.
That simple thought was enough to calm Maketh's rage and get him to renew his charge towards the ruins of the city. The promise of petty, spiteful, sadistic 'revenge' against a man he had never met or even laid eyes on personally. That he may twist the knife for no other reason than that he could.
Maketh was many things. A bully, a brute, a simpleton, a sadist. But he wasn't a coward. Well, no, he was a coward, but fear of being thought a coward was sometimes a suitable substitute for bravery. That was why he rode at the vanguard of his army. Not because he was brave, but he was afraid that his men would think him weak if he didn't. But regardless, as his horse pierced the smoke and ash that was once Flamborough & it's people, his eyes were the first to fall upon it.
The dragon. The star that had fallen from the heavens was a great dragon, slumbering up on the ruin of it's carnage and conquest.
Maketh's lips curled, twisting his distorted face and exposing his crooked, broken teeth. He wondered if this dragon would bestow it's power upon him willingly, or if he would ride upon it into battle, or if he would gain it's power by devouring it's heart. He wasn't sure which option he liked better. But he knew one thing for sure, no matter how he gained his power, that from this day forward, all the world would tremble before Lord Maketh the Dragon King.
But then his twisted, scarred, pock-marked face was bathed in light, and his smile fell away. He began blubbering and blabbering to himself about how it wasn't fair. About how it was a dirty trick. About how it didn't make sense.
But it did make sense; dragons breathed fire. That's what they did.
-------------------------------------------------
The Dreamer's engine's came online. They weren't yet at one hundred percent, but they could get the damaged ship off the planet it had found itself on. The thrusters fired, incinerating a delusional bandit lord and a few dozen murderous savages with him as the ship lifted off into the atmosphere and then into space.
Cren had strapped himself and his new, still unconscious friend down in the cargo bay before the ship took off. As it did, he noticed part of their cargo, a small box that must have come loose from it's straps & knocked open in the crash, slide across the floor before smacking against the cargo bay doors as the ship shook and rumbled through the atmosphere.
Then it all stopped, and everything was calm as the stillness of the vacuum surrounded the hull.
Zus unbuckled his straps & stood up, stretching his arms as he walked over towards the box, intent on investigating. But he was cut off by the sound of Captain Nalse's voice as it floated into the cargo bay.
“Mr. Cren,” Nalse asked, both speaking to the half-orc and over the comlink so that the rest of the crew could hear. “Could you explain to me why there is an unconscious primitive onboard my ship?”
|
|
|
Post by pixelwitch on May 23, 2018 13:56:59 GMT -5
Note: linked speech goes to google translate where you can click listen because that's what Candy's voice sounds like ------------------------------------- "Do you, Glorg, take Rodrigo to be your lawfully wedded husband?" "I-" Suddenly, a strapping young SRO burst through the small chapel doors. "This unit objects!"The pews erupted with surprised gasping. Glorg, the Selamid "bride", was perhaps the most gasped of them all. It morphed its body out of Rodrigo's grey arms. "Dramatron! It's you! But I thought you were destroyed in a tragic warp drive accident!" "Indeed it must have appeared that way. However, this unit assures you that it was no accident. It was a warp drive intentional! This unit will now explain to you the intricacies through which this unit is now able to arrive here today and declare the upper boundaries of this unit's love for the one known as Glorg. You see-"The ship jerked suddenly. Already being in a storage container with a costume rack and a little trivid screen on a box of wigs, Candy was beginning to think that this was not the luxury trip she'd been promised. "In the event of unexpected turbulence, insert the metal end into the buckle and pull the strap to tighten." Candy felt around at the little shoe crate she'd been using as a seat. "I do not have a seatbelt." Candy doesn't remember what happened after that besides the loud crashing noises. It's fortunate that she came with so many clothes, a great big cushion to keep her from becoming too damaged. She woke up later, her box being flung across the room. She heard a crescendo of whirring servos and beeps from some vestigial speaker somewhere in her body. "Well. That is new. How exciting."
Candy untangled herself from a series of boas and hoisted herself to her feet. Brushing feathers off of herself, the real tragedy of her situation began to unfold. The trivid screen was smashed to pieces. Her stories! What about Dramatron?! Could it be true that his accidental death was actually a plot by the conniving Rodrigo to steal Glorg away from him?! Now she may never know! That was the last straw. Candy was going to have a word with whoever was in charge of this barge.
One of the doors of the container had apparently come open. As she approached, a breezy voice became audible over the intercom: "... why there is an unconscious primitive onboard my ship?” Nu-uh, honey. Candy angrily climbed her way out of the box and looked for the nearest person. "Primitive? Sweetie, I will have you know that this unit is limited edition. Also, until just a moment ago, mint-in-box condition. Second, I am not unconscious anymore. What kind of operation is this? Look at what you did." She held up part of her broken TV. "I was watching my stories. Now I may never know what happened on 'All My Stars'. Have you ever watched that show? Why are you carrying an unconscious man?"
|
|
|
Post by watchoutsamusishere on May 24, 2018 13:50:52 GMT -5
Reality frayed a little as the demon emerged from inside the dragon. Prentis Hancock Humphreys did not stop to ask why; that's not how you survived the world and all the horrible crap it liked to sling. You fought tooth and nail against things you didn't understand, like all reasonable, God-fearing and superstitious people. This was a test, or a challenge, or a punishment for not having defeated Maketh soon enough. All he could do was all he had ever done: fight, and leave the reasoning of the situation until later, with his hands protectively clutching a bottle of uisge-beatha na h-Alba. Or Whisky, if you're a churl.
His attempt at attacking did not go well. He could not recall the specifics, but in his mind it seemed a proper drubbing. Which makes sense, since demon. Had he thought it through beforehand he may have hesitated, or he may not. He might have engaged in conversation, as demons loved to talk, and to tempt righteous men down the path of evil. But Prentis Hancock Humphreys was operating at an animal level. His consciousness retreated inwards to process the circumstances of fate, and it was only instinct that remained.
Then came the dream. Or possibly a vision. Maybe he just wasn't as unconscious as he wished to be. He saw things. Heard things. Felt things. He dreamt he was brought inside the dragon. And how even such a thing were possible he did not know. He heard the clanging of scales, the hiss of draconic breath. He was aware, in a distant, third-person perspective, of the ache in his hands and body.
The demon brought him to three others demons, each as dissimilar to one another as they were to him. One, was a giant, fleshy sac of a thing. It pulsed queerly glistening with a wet, greasy finish, like the sweating flanks of a horse. Another was a almost a man, but far larger and with an exaggerated musculature, but with the tusks of a boar and other features alien to mankind. Another was . . . he couldn't put his finger on it, but this demon seemed otherworldly completely, like the first demon, covered in skin that was not flesh. It caught the light as a sword or shield. He had the distinct impression of metal. Was it armour?
The three demons appeared to be in conversation with one another, and as they drew near, they stopped to look at him. Now, were he not dreaming, he would have felt fear. Panic. But this was only a bizarre dream born of his mind trying to deal with single-combat against his hellish foe. He was unafraid, though feeling chagrin at his loss, and the throbbing pain in his fingers, hands, feet, shoulders and biceps. And the side of his head.
Later, another demon appeared. Or not a demon. She (he assumed) was a woman in mourning, her skin daubed in ashes. Was she his subconscious' projection of his grief over the death of his city? Quite possible. It would be very dramatic. He assumed, therefore, each of these demons was a part of his psyche, although he didn't know why he was projecting a giant, floating membrane that looked like a scrotum. Dreams, though, right?
But his mind locked onto the last demon, for she, at least, appeared to share his likeness, and he found her less disturbing to his senses.
|
|
|
Post by Rex Apium on May 24, 2018 23:03:57 GMT -5
Cypheid didn't have much time to think about all the people they vaporized before those that needed immediate healing came to her. She possessed a combination of mystical healing and medicinal knowledge that generally meant that she could take care of most problems. This was the first time she'd had anything this big to handle and more than once she considered what it would be like to have an actual medical bay. Not that she really wanted one. She was content with the cockpit on the ship and honestly, she was way better at being a pilot than being a healer.
So instead those with the most grievous of injuries had to come to the bridge. She couldn't do much for the one that was lost. She didn't have a way to pull a soul back to its body, but at the very least she could get everyone else moving. Minor injuries were met with a bandage and a reminder that the pain killers were in the mess hall. The more serious injuries she used her abilities to take care of. Bones fused back together, muscles and tendons knit and strengthened, massive cuts clotted. She opted for power over more traditional means, partially due to time and partially due to any of her more serious medical equipment not being in the immediate area. Once bandaged up and functional, Cyph sent them on their way. She didn't completely take care of every issue they had, that could be saved for later and she needed to conserve her energy just in case shit took a turn for the worse.
With everyone taken care of, Cypheid returned to the cockpit. She wasn't as good at fixing machines as she was at fixing people, so she'd just have to wait until the engineers and techies got things up and working. It was a slow process, and seemed even longer to Cyph. She hated sitting around waiting, not being able to do anything. Therefore, the moment power started to come back and she had sensors, she was all over them, fidgeting with knobs and buttons to see what was and wasn't working.
Coincidentally, that meant that when the short range sensors came back she was quick to report to the Captain what they were picking up. Perhaps it was a good thing she kept enough energy on reserve. There wasn't a way they'd be able to handle this many humanoids without casualty, but it was wise for one to prepare for the worse. The Captain seemed to agree with her thoughts as well, and despite having to remind him that some of the people on his crew used psychic abilities and not magic, she was content with his orders.
Whatever helplessness she was feeling before was quickly dissipating as more of the ship came back online. She readjusted the way she sat, sliding back into her seat and buckling herself in. She trusted Skittles and the two technomancers to get the ship repaired enough, but they were planning to move quick and leaving the atmosphere could be a hassle with them not at full capability.
The moment the engines were back on, Cyph powered them up and got the Dreamer the hell off that planet as quickly as she could. It was a bit rocky, as she'd figured, but they made it to the planet's orbit just fine. She'd leave the ship there while the rest of the repairs were finished. They were in uncharted territory and this planet's orbit was relatively safe. It was honestly the best place to leave her.
Cypheid unbuckled herself and heaved a heavy sigh, leaning back in the pilot's seat and closing her eyes. She needed just a moment away from the stress and a moment was all she was about to get when she heard Nalse ask his question. Her eyes shot open and she stared up at the stars through the glass above her.
“I'm sorry, did you say what I think you just said?” she half shouted from the lower part of the bridge.
She wasn't sure if Captain Nalse even heard what she said, as he didn't respond. Cypheid let out a loud and irritable sigh before taking the time to look over what screens were active and what weren't. She reset all the switches, dials and buttons she'd fiddled with earlier and made sure the ship wasn't going anywhere before she climbed out of the cockpit and up the ladder to the upper portion of the bridge. Captain wasn't there. She shouldn't be surprised... he probably went to see for himself. Which meant she should go see for herself. Especially if said primitive was injured.
With that she made her way down to the cargo bay. What she saw when she got there, however, she wasn't entirely prepared for. There wasn't just one new person aboard the ship. There were two. She stopped abruptly and stared at the four people in front of her before shaking her head and approaching.
“Uh... thought you said the primitive was the only one... who's she?” Cypheid asked, motioning to Candy.
A sound, or slight movement caught her attention and she looked over to Prentis, whatever her next comment was getting caught in her throat. She was prepared for his condition to not be the best, but she wasn't prepared for him to be so... dashing. That thought was immediately replaced by a sour note as she furrowed her eyebrows and let out an irritated sigh.
“How bad did you kick his ass, Zus? Should I be prepared for internal injuries?” she said with a smirk aimed at the halforc before moving over to Prentis. She stayed just out of arm's reach of the man before bending down to get eye level with him.
“Hello there...” she started slowly, “Let's see if you can understand me... if not I got a little trick for that. My name's Cypheid, mind if I take a look at any injuries you might have?”
She moved slowly, noting the status of his hands immediately. She would need to get closer to properly inspect his injuries, but with that came risk. He wasn't tied down, well... he was seatbelted down, but that still left his hands and feet unbound. Every movement had to be careful and calculated... and perhaps taking a more mystical approach to this would be quicker. He might start at it, but all it took was a single touch for the healing power to take effect, far less time than binding the wounds on his hands.
The daimalkan woman kept a warm expression on her face as she moved. If she was being completely serious with herself, she was also trying her best to not be distracted by the man. The situation made it easier. Slowly she reached out a hand towards one of his and when she was close enough, she tapped his battered hand with her own. When she used this power, her hands glowed with a soft white light, like those of the stars and as quickly as she tapped his one hand, she tapped the other with her other hand. The healing process was quick and spread through the body as a cool ebb. It would move through his hands and up through his arms, working its power as it did so.
Cypheid intentionally didn't pour much of her energy into the healing. She wanted to gauge his reaction before she gave him to full capability to move again. She wouldn't needlessly put others in danger should it be a possibility. She moved out of arm's reach once she'd tapped his hands and stood fully to monitor how he reacted to the healing power.
The other part of her attention moved to the rest of the group, primarily the robot that stood with them.
|
|
Panzer
New Member
Resident Bard
Posts: 29
|
Post by Panzer on May 26, 2018 20:27:52 GMT -5
The injured kashasta made his way to the bridge, medical treatment was first on his list. Luckily the arm he was nursing was not his main hand, would have been a bad day had they been boarded at this point. He entered the bridge as Captain Nalse relayed orders to the more technical side of the crew, he wouldn't have been much help with the nitty gritty repairs but he could do the heavy lifting once he was patched up. Hel nodded to the captain as Cren reported his situation, the orc needed Cyph's attention more then he did, his arm could wait a few minutes more. Was a shame about the operative, but as the solarian looked up there was a far greater tragedy, an entire hold looked to have been demolished by The Dreamers sudden crash. Hel was not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination much to the elder's dismay but for once he offered a silent prayer unto Pharasma the Lady of Graves that the dead may find peace.
Zus had been patched up so Hel took his turn getting patched up, luckily it was just a strained muscle, a few days to a week and it would be good as new. With a sling on his wounded arm the kashasta went to work, all he was good for at this point would be any heavy lifting Skittles and the other members of the repair crew needed. When he wasn't lifting various over sized parts, he worked on clearing some of the larger debris out of various places, eventually finding himself in front of the operative's quarters. Using his 3 good arms he pried the doors open enough that he could climb enter the room. Death was never a pretty sight, even after years of seeing it on a battlefield, you never got used to it, at least this time it was quick and painless. It took a few moments sifting through various storage bins and cabinets before he found what he was looking for, a simple blanket to use as a burial shroud. Gore never phased him, at least when it was a enemy's, this time though it hit hard. While he had only been with the crew a short time he considered them all friends, even the usually secretive operative, sometimes the Cycle was just plain cruel.
It took the solarian several minutes to gather up the remains and wrap them in a makeshift shroud, once this was over he would see to a proper burial or that the remains were returned to next of kin, if the operative even had one. As he exited the now unoccupied room he overheard the exchange between the Captain and Zus, there was a survivor, small miracle as it was he would take it. The rest of the conversation was drowned out by the sounds of repairs, in addition to his own voice now raised in song. This was his ritual for honoring the dead that he had developed during his first years on the battlefield, a way of giving them one final praise before The Cycle reclaimed them. Kashasta were funny that way, inventing new rituals and traditions, out of all he could have done he chose to sing at the moments of life and death. He was always told when he sung in the common tongue the words were slightly mangled and pitchy, but when he sung in his native tongue that it was the most beautiful thing they had ever heard. This was one of those few times outside of the Order or his clan-hold he could sing in his native tongue. Hel sang while he walked the remains of his fallen friend to the cargo hold, there he could put her in one of the empty cryo-storage units until they were out there current situation.
The ship rocked as its engines came back to life, as he had in the gunners seat he once again reached out to the forces of gravity and anchored himself to floor. Within moments it was over, just still calmness, he assumed they had managed to reach space. The cargo bay doors were only a few feet ahead, an end to this journey for one of them. As he reached out he could hear Captain Nalse over the loudspeaker and com in his ear: “Mr. Cren, could you explain to me why there is an unconscious primitive on-board my ship?”
Hel paused before pushing the button to open the door and beheld quite the sight. There was indeed a unconscious primitive and what appeared to be a android of mismatched parts. The solarian continued into the cargo bay and opened one of the smaller cryo-storage chambers the crew wasn't using and depositing the corpse within. When he turned around Cyph had entered the room and was tending to the humans wounds, seeing a four armed gray skinned space monk probably wasn't the best thing for the man right now, Hel went to a crate that would support him and took a seat watching the unexpected events of the day unfold further.
|
|
12
New Member
Posts: 3
|
Post by 12 on May 28, 2018 16:55:11 GMT -5
There was a funny thing about computer security: even the most complex security systems were completely reconfigurable from the inside. If you knew the passwords, or had the right biometrics, you could alter any system from the inside out. Alternatively, if you left your computer system on and logged in past the security system, any bypassing skittermander could alter it from the inside out.
There was a funny thing about crisis, too: you tend to forget little things, like logging out of your incredibly complex computer system, or closing actual physical doors. When she walked past brainman's open door to his fancy science room and she noticed the monitor on and displaying a length of code, her steps slowed to a stop. Sure, she had been asked to fix the ship, but she was blissfully unaware of the carnage outside, and obviously whatever was going on could wait an extra thirty seconds or so while she sneaked in and...
Well, Skittles was pretty good with computers and code, too. In fact, she had more than a small part in designing the system his computer ran on. Basically, the next time brainman wanted to log into his fancy science computer, he would be met with a complete system lock that wouldn't clear until he used his actual voice to vocalize his new password: "Skittles is the smartest." She was kind enough to make sure that his new welcome screen (complete with a picture of her cutest smile) told him as much (well, 'the smrtest' - she was a terrible typist), at least.
That small diversion aside, Skittles merrily continued on her way to repairing all of the broken things. Efficient by herself, with the help of the others, she was able to make quick work of the repair process. Power core first. Most of the independent systems had their own minor power sources as backup for this exact scenario - but the bulk of the ship needed a lot more than those to get properly moving. After that, thrusters, to get off the planet. While she would have liked to at least see where they had landed, Skittles skipped out and focused on getting the ship back into the void as she was told. It was nice to have something useful to do, and secretly she enjoyed those brief moments of power when she got to use her super-official title of 'executive chief mechanic' to do executive chief things like direct work flow and look important.
Of course, Skittles wasn't on this ship because she was the cutest, or because people loved her show, or because they loved her pranks, she was here because she was a gods-damned prodigy. At ten years old, she had a mastery of this technology that some of the most studied humans never achieved in their entire lifetimes. The rig and exocortex implanted in her brain helped, too. Then again, she designed (and installed) those as well. And though she might have looked silly doing it, anyone that paid attention knew exactly why she was put in charge of tasks like this.
She TOTALLY was definitely NOT slacking off in the slightest and wandering around aimlessly drinking soda she...borrowed from Poliare's room with implied permission when she passed by the cargo bay. There was a moment she stood in the doorway, big black eyes slid sideways and soda can larger than her head and requiring four of her six arms to hold titled against her wide, fanged mouth, one leg hanging mid-step in the air. Naturally curious about the unfamiliar faces, she waddled her plump, pink body into the room.
"Ooooh, you're pretty," she spoke up to the robot from her low-altitude vantage. "You too!" she said to the human strapped down. "Hi! I'm executive chief mechanic Skittles Digga! You might know me from my show, Kosmic Karaoke!"
|
|
|
Post by isthismemes on May 28, 2018 23:04:38 GMT -5
Fuck me that took a while. Dave had a long time to think while trapped underneath his belongings. Mostly about rearranging the room, but he had been wanting to do that for a while anyways. With all the old antique furniture it's not like he had a lot of options, but to him it was all worth it. After cleaning his quarters he reached into one of his many containers he kept under his bed. These being bolted down on tracks left them largely unharmed by the crash. However, their contents being mostly drinks snacks and rarer cooking materials were now a shadow of their once perfect organization. I'll need to fix this later, for now I need to check on the rest of the crew. Grabbing the brightly labeled treats and a variety of sodas, juices and the like Dave left his room.
As soon as he closed his door behind him the ship hummed and they were off the ground. Dave made his way into the cargo bay where the crew seemed to be gathering. Head-count seemed right, but instead of a walking stereotype we had some guy in a chair. Cyph was tending his hand, and Nalse had just let out his one-liner about him being primitive. Well hot damn we crashed somewhere with humans.
Dave was about to clear his throat to address himself when what sounded like one of those handheld things you give to kids to teach them how to read and write started acting defensive. Spinning on his heel to see what the hell he missed, a robot-lady stood there complaining about missing her show. I feel that robot-lady.
Finally making his entrance as planned Dave passed out the goodies he was holding to whoever accepted them. Finally stopping at the "primitive" man Dave set a bottle of water and a pre-packaged brownie next to the man while saying "Have at those whenever you want bud."
Fortunately the robot-lady didn't seem to want typical food and something to drink, but she seemed upset anyway and Dave didn't want to anger her any further.
She had a bunch of questions, and only one of them Dave had an answer to. Of course I've watched All my Stars. Did I miss the season finale? How the hell long was I in my room?
Dave found and appropriate seat near the primitive man. Some connection to the only other human on the ship at this point made him want to be there. He did want answers to the questions robot-lady had, but he couldn't help feel the twinge in the back of his head thinking about how much of a disaster the common area had to be after the crash.
|
|