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Rune Jolara

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Rune Jolara last won the day on October 18 2019

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About Rune Jolara

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    What do you hear? ... Nothing but the rain.
  • Birthday November 18

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    Heart of the Black Hole
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    Living, Writing, Drawing/Painting, Web Development

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  1. ((The Queen’s Studio, The Imperial Palace - Irvaytho Proper, Losaria)) ((Time Index: Thirty minutes before the crew’s arrival in Royal Court)) ::Normally, Enora found the snowfall that floated through the air just beyond her balcony a delightful sight and a welcome distraction from the work of a head of state. Instead the vast cityscape accumulating a light coating of snow went unnoticed. Her eyes were fixed on the Editorial Page of The New Glacell Gazette. Specifically the full-page opinion piece titled “A Child on the Throne”. Nearly six months into her reign, and they still questioned whether or not she could rule. All that the press had wished to discuss was the fact that she still had three years of courses left at the Royal Academy or to speculate which senior official in her court was the real head of state. The successful new infrastructure initiative or the increased trade with the Kavolians didn’t seem to mean anything. An opinion piece published by a famed professor of political studies was just the newest insult to her rule.:: ::She angrily pitched the paper over the railing and watched it fall. The newspaper stopped once it reached the invisible security screen projected around the balcony and slowly disintegrated as energy flowed through the fragile paper. Enora took one last look around the historic heart of Irvaytho where her palace sat before turning around and returning to her studio where her assistant Ailre was waiting with a data pad and an ornate metal box.:: Ailre: ::Reading the frustrated expression she was wearing:: The article in the Gazette? ::Ailre had previously been a senior advisor to Enora’s mother before she became ill and died. For as long as she had been present for meetings of the Royal Court at her mother’s side, Ailre had always been there to give advice and make complex issues seem simple with his explanations of mundane topics like education funding reform or the electrical delivery system for Losaria. Sometimes the former admiral was a bit too good at reading her emotions.:: Glynndor: Yes, the article in the Gazette! Does it matter that I spent years observing court functions during my mother’s reign? Do they report about all of the extra courses I have taken in law and economics? No they do not. Ailre: Most monarchs have had much more time to prepare for their role. Your mother took the crown when she was almost thirty-four. Someone a third of that age and still in school ruling an interstellar commonwealth does not instill much confidence in the public. It is not fair, but it is the way things are. ::Enora sighed and looked at the data pad that Ailre had brought her.:: Glynndor: Did you bring me the intelligence report about the crew of this alien starship, the Columbia? Ailre: Yes ma’am. Glynndor: Thank you, Ailre. ::She scrolled through the report and looked over what the crew of the Illrith had said. The United Federation of Planets and their ship the Columbia sounded interesting. Nothing like the governments she was used to, but interesting. And the pictures that were sent along didn’t resemble at all the ships of the Royal Navy that she had toured as a child.:: Glynndor: This meeting will be interesting, to say the least. I want the Diplomatic Corps to put together a list of candidates for ambassador to this United Federation of Planets. Depending on how diplomatic first contact goes, we may wish to establish a permanent connection between this government and our own. Ailre: I will see to it at once. Glynndor: I assume that the Royal Court has already assembled in the throne room? Ailre: Yes. ::Nodding:: I see that you are already wearing most of the traditional apparel. ::If nothing else, the traditional robes of the Queen of the Losarian People were comfortable. They were a royal red and lined with fur to help keep warm in the cold climate of Losaria. Over the years there were various sashes, medals, and other adornments added to commemorate events in Losarian history. She had donned the elaborate ensemble that a meeting with delegates from a previously unknown species demanded. There was only one thing missing, and it was in the box that Ailre carried.:: Glynndor: The crown please. ::Ailre set the box down on the desk in front of her. Enora reached out and lifted the engraved metal lid of the box. Inside was the Imperial Crown, made for her great-grandmother by a team of artisans to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the Imperial Losarian Commonwealth’s establishment. It still looked pristine after all those years. She gently picked them up with her gloved hands and set the crown on her head.:: ::She turned to look in the mirror. The crown, while it looked beautiful in its special storage box, looked a bit too large for her, as had the robes before they were tailored for her. While her deep blue skin, golden eyes, and long black hair she bore a great resemblance to her mother. Yet Enora was yet to master the look of a monarch comfortable in the ceremonial attire that seem to come naturally to her mother and the kings and queens immortalized in portraits on both walls of the Grand Stairway that all visitors to the palace walked through on their way to the throne room. Enora couldn’t deny that she looked more like a child wearing a royal costume rather than a true head of state. It would take quite a while for her to become comfortable with the royal traditions.:: Glynndor: We will need to throw banquets and ceremonies more frequently if I am to get used to wearing this. ::Enora reached down and pushed the intercom button on her desk:: Lieutenant Cithro, I will be joining the Royal Court in the throne room shortly. Please ensure our guests are properly searched by security for weapons and escort them to a reception room to wait until we are ready for them. ::Enora sank into her chair behind her desk and let out a sigh. Ailre closed the lid of the box and looked at her closely.:: Ailre: I wouldn’t let the article get you in poor spirits. There were similar critics and detractors during the first year of your mother’s reign. Glynndor: You may go now, Ailre. Inform everyone that I will be down shortly. ::Ailre walked down the spiral staircase leading to the rest of the palace to organize the members of the Royal Court. Enora looked up at the two portraits that were hanging on the wall to her left. The first was her mother, Queen Falel Glynndor. She looked as confident in her portrait as she always did when dealing with running the Losarian government. If nothing else, most everyone could agree that Enora had one of the best possible teachers in the art of ruling.:: ::The other portrait was of her namesake, Ambassador Enora Abochiri. She wondered if the ambassador had felt this nervous every time she met a new species. Enora had already made one diplomatic mistake during a state dinner a few weeks earlier. One of the advisors from the Diplomatic Corps and an expert in xenocultural etiquette had spent two hours giving her advice for this initial first contact with representatives from the United Federation of Planets.:: Gynndor: oO I’ll live up to your examples… some day. Oo ::After looking at the portraits for another minute or two, Enora stood up and made her way down the staircase. It was time to make sure all of the preparations were in place for the meeting.:: Queen Enora Glynndor Her Imperial Majesty The Queen of the Losarian People, Empress of the Commonwealth, and Honorable Sovereign of Irvaytho Imperial Losarian Commonwealth ===as simmed by=== Lieutenant Commander Anath G'Renn Chief Medical Officer/Second Officer, USS Columbia A239402AG0
  2. ((Holodeck, USS Columbia)) ::The cold night air bit at the few areas of skin exposed to it as the pin[...]s of light continued their trek across the sky, oblivious to the scattered movements far below. Gusts drove whispers through the trees, sending darkened leaves into a frenzied dance as they rushed to escape the icy fingers of the darkness. Silent bootsteps fell between the equally feverish swirls of grass blades, giving the impression of dark waves moving swiftly across the land.:: ::In the distance, the singular call of a wolf rang out into the night, howling at a non-existent moon with a mournful feel that traveled for miles. The horizon, dotted by white-capped mountain peaks by day, became a darkened sea of green-turned-black in the dark of midnight, hazily fading land into sky.:: ::Despite the chill, droplets of sweat poured down the hooded face as small clouds of breath found manifestation in the night air. Steadily they came, in time with the footfalls that made no noise, allowing the emergence of a rhythm that could only be described as life. As a heartbeat, one foot hit the ground before the other, one breath hit the air before another, over and over again.:: ::Then, the grass came to an end.:: ::The whispers of the night’s wind remained behind him as he looked out into an even darker pool before him. Everything changed when twilight came for it. The robust greens of the world darkened into greys and blacks with little depth, while the black of Hell’s Half Acre became ever darker and ever more the stuff of nightmares. It was on its edge he now stood, as if standing on the edge of the pit of emptiness.:: ::Having stopped, the temperature finally caught up with him. Drenched from the long run, the wind cut deeper and sent more than a single chill through his bones. Nodding to no one but himself, he took a deep breath and launched forward into the lava fields knowing full well what he was getting into. And just as he had more times than he could count as a teen, Vincent began his trek across the sharp, glassy rocks that had long ago transcended time itself.:: ::The uneven ground presented a difficult path by day, rocky, sharp, and unforgiving in the heat of the midday sun. By night, when the lack of human-capable vision in the dark became his biggest weakness, the path grew downright treacherous. Sudden steps, sideways rocks, sharp outcroppings that seemingly didn’t belong, and a definitive lack of anything plainly horizontal made for a challenge well beyond that any obstacle course could. More than once he’d suffered cuts and bruises, sprains and broken bones, among the dark rocks.:: ::But that had never stopped him.:: ::Like so many nights before, the ex-Marine pushed himself. Faster, harder, further; the dark shades of the leaves, and the way the wind moved through them, were left in the distance like a memory while the basaltic rocks of the ancient lava flow encompassed him completely.:: ::Above, the even more ancient points of light dotted across the sky paid no attention at all to the man, nor the haunting past that chased him across the rocks far below.:: TBC CWO 1st Class Vincent ‘Jonesy’ Jones Diplomatic Security Specialist/SFMC Counter-Intelligence USS Columbia As simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Science Officer USS Columbia R238605KN0
  3. ((Diplomatic suite - Two hours after the briefing)) ::Mirra had gone directly to the diplomatic suite, which consisted of several conference rooms, that happily doubled as dining rooms, and a very large sitting area. The walls were painted in warm, neutral tones. A bit of a change from the stark clinical set ups she was used to. Along with her research into the art of diplomacy, she also found a handy guide to menu suggestions...although the way it was written, she greatly hoped it wasn't outdated. "When hosting a bevy Klingon warriors for dinner, one paramount suggestion is to skip the doilies and fine china, these dainty decorations just won't do for the proud race of ridge heads- oO Wait...By the Gods...this says actually says ridgeheads...who wrote this?! Oo ::Skipping ahead:: "Consider the delectably distinguished dishes of the Gagh variety- "First up, you have the Bithool gagh, which have feet. Pungent and sure to give a kick." oO....There is more than one kind of Gagh...? Gods protect me...Oo "Followed closely by Filden gagh, which is squirmy and savory. Next, Meshta gagh, a grand party pleaser as this variety jumps around, often engaging the entire table to catch the dinner.- oO By the Four...it...jumps?! No. Not that one. Ever. Oo "The more common Torgud gagh variety just offers a pleasant wiggle, less likely to escape, and finally Wistan gagh, which has been marinating and packed in targ blood. oO That's it. I'm going to vomit. And make Theo handle the dinner...Oo. "If Gagh isn't your fancy, consider the savory and delicious Heart of Targ. A simple dish consisting of a fresh Targ heart resting on a bed of wilted greens." oO I can't do this. Oo ::She was moments away from finding the closest lavatory and swearing to never eat anything ever again when the familiar voice of Lt. Commander Shayne came across asking for her presence on the bridge.:: Ezo: ::slightly green:: Oh Shayne I could kiss you right now... ::Mirra set down the PADD, gingerly and backing away slowly if somehow these Klingon dishes would pop out of the screen and chase after her. With a final shudder, she exited the Diplomacy suite with only a small amount of relieved haste.:: ((Bridge - Deck 1 - USS Blackwell)) ((Moments later)) ::Mirra stepped onto the bridge, feeling a little less nauseated, and seemingly just in time.:: Whittaker: Very well then, let's not keep them waiting much longer. ::he moved to the rear of the bridge and stopped just as the turbolift doors opened, admitting Lieutenant Commander Ezo.:: Ah, Mirra- turns out you're going to be needed in the transporter room with me. Commander Shayne: have Counsellor Jolara meet us there- and you have the bridge. ::Shaking off the menu induced horror, she steeled herself and gave a confident nod:: Ezo: Of course Sir. Shayne: Aye, sir- I have the bridge. Whittaker: ::to Shayne again.:: We're about forty minutes from P-409 Sigma if I'm not mistaken. Begin our long range scans. ::to Pandorn.:: Mr. Pandorn- you can assist him but be ready to act in case our friends out there- ::he motioned to the image of the gik'tal on the viewscreen.:: -decide to liven up the party. Shayne: Very good, sir. Pandorn: Will do, sir. ::He starts to tap his console.:: ::Whittaker than refocused.:: Whittaker: Ensign Mandak, find Commander Thoran and see if you can assist with the security arrangements. Mandak: Response ? ::A few moments later, in the corridor, away from the bridge Mirra latched onto Theo's arm and looked at him with horror:: Ezo: We have to have Dr. G'Renn give us something to suppress our gag reflexes or we're going to...::grimacing::...dishonor all over ourselves with this dinner... Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::fighting a gag at the memory:: I don't care if she thinks less of me. I won't make Theo, I absolutely won't. Otherwise, my first act as a diplomatic officer is going to offend a large group of Klingon officers before the main course. ::her eyes widened:: Is their entire diet based on one elaborate dare?!? Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::scowling:: This is not funny Theo Whittaker! ::Alright, so it was a little funny. A snicker escaped as she fought for composure:: Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::smirking:: Hey, you hired me. I'm just trying not to shame you in a public forum. ::the transporter room lay just ahead. The earlier jovial attitude muted as they approached the doors.:: Time to greet our guests. Whittaker/Jolara (if present) : Response? ---------------------------------------------- Lt. Commander Mirra Ezo, MD Diplomatic Officer USS Blackwell C239205ME0
  4. (( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters )) ((Time Index: Shortly after Theo's writes a letter to his mother as seen in 'Letters Home')) ::The Blackwell glided through space at warp, every second bringing it closer it destination: the planet Arndall. What awaited the crew there nobody could know for sure but had Theo been a betting man, he would surely wager nothing good. The Valcarians and the Caraadians' Cold War was in imminent danger of heating up and Starfleet wanted the Andaris Task Force to step in before anything could happen. Had Arndall been located anywhere else, Theo would likely now be deep into negociations- however, this was the Par'tha Expanse and it's "unique properties" meant that navigating was difficult at the best of times.:: ::As he sat watching the stars streak by, he felt his mind wandering. Once more, he found himself wanting to pinch himself. The Blackwell was his ship. What sort of Commanding Officer would he turn out to be? Fair and just? Authouritation? Would he be a father figure to the officers and enlisted personnel he commanded? He knew that his mother would insist that he was born to do this and that he would make a fine CO, but part of him believed that she was expected to say that. Typical mothering behaviour. For the first time in a good while, he turned his thoughts to his father... even now in death, he was likely watching his son with intense disapproval.:: ::Josiah Whittaker had never planned for his only child to enter Starfleet. No, he had been adamant even before Theo had been born that he was to follow him into a life of academia and research on Archer IV, their homeworld. Just as his father had done before. And his before him. And so it went on. Whittaker's were academics and had been for hundreds of years. They revelled in their eloquence and their outdated opinions on class and stature. Theo had never been interested in such a life, driven by an insatiable wanderlust. The galaxy fascinated him, technology had held him in a spell since he was a small child and no amount of lectures and studying enforced by his father could alter that.:: ::The day of their estrangement, when Theo had finally broken free of Josiah's oppressive shackles, was still crystal clear in Theo's memory. He could recall every last detail of that fateful moment. It was the last time he had seen his father.:: (( Archer IV - Whittaker Manor - 12 years previously )) J. Whittaker: You step out of that door and you will never be welcomed here again. ::The crisp morning air held a chill, but not one comparable to the one that had descended up on the entrance hall of their home. Josiah bore down on Theo from the grand stair case with a cold fury in his eyes. Five years of acrimonious words and threats had now come down to this. No longer could Theo deny what he wanted to do. Academia be damned.:: ::The sixteen year old looked up at his father, who had now reached the bottom step of the staircase, looking at him with a deadly honesty. There was no doubt that Josiah Whittaker meant what he had said. Anybody else would have paused for thought, but Theo wasn't anybody. They had similar discussions over their difficult, acrimonious history. And now Theo was weary. He had had enough.:: T. Whittaker: ::he made no effort to hide the weariness from his voice. He wanted his father to know that he had, finally, had enough.:: Goodbye father. ::He turned and reached for the door handle, pulling the massive oak door open with a sharp pull.:: J. Whittaker: Theo! :: Theo hesitated for a moment, thinking that he could detect a rising panic within his father's words. His mind told him not to turn but his heart told him otherwise- and so Theo, always one to lead with his emotions, stopped and looked at his father. Cold fury had been replaced by a look of abject desperation. In that moment, Theo knew that his father understood how perilously close he was coming to losing his only child. It was, in a way, morbidly fascinating to behold. He had never seen this side of his father, who had spent his life being as uptight and reserved as he could. At times, Josiah could put a Vulcan to shame with his laser-precision focus and drive.:: ::And then the moment passed- and the desperation was gone, replaced once more with anger. There was a solemn nod from his father, who looked upon his son with contempt.:: J. Whittaker: Then so be it. I no longer have a son. ::If the words had been design to wound Theo, they failed to do so. So tired of their arguments and the tension between the two of them, the sixteen year old simply shook his head and sighed and walked out in to the crisp morning air. He walked down the gravelled path where the Starfleet Type-8 shuttle waited beyond the pretentious and elaborate gates. His father wanted him to be an academic, like generations had been before him. But Theo, never one to stand on history, had to chart his own path. Even if that cost him a relationship with his father. Starfleet Academy- and the future awaited :: (( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters - Stardate 239412.07)) ::Twelve years had passed since that awful morning and it's after effects still lingered with Theo. Had he been right to chart his own course? Of course- he had no doubt about that. But could he have made more of an effort to reconcile with his father in his last years? The answer was simple: Yes.:: ::Theo had not seen or spoken to his father since that day, even when Josiah had been stricken with the terminal and incurable Meenok's Disease. He had been to the funeral, of course, but his father had chosen not to have an open casket. Neither of them, in his final months- much to the pain of his mother- had been willing to let the barriers down and make amends. It was childish on both of their parts, Theo could see that now.:: ::The guilt of their estrangement had haunted Theo and he believed that it always would. There was no easy answer, no solution. He simply had to live with what he had done... and hope that he had become a better person in the intervening years....:: -- Commander Theo Whittaker Commanding Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 Andaris Task Force C239203TW0
  5. ((Ferentis' Quarters)) ::The Pahkwa-thanh slumbered.:: ::His enormous face rested on the reinforced floor of his quarters, a bit of drool escaping the clutches of his massively powerful jaws. Flesh on his midriff heaved in a deliberate, unrushed rhythm; his breathing, at least for the time being, could be as lackadaisical an affair as he liked. Tiny arms gave the occasional gentle flick at invisible phantoms, seen only in the imagination of one drowsy dinosaur.:: ::Ferentis was wiped.:: ::All that work keeping the holodeck operational had certainly drained his faculties, both mental and physical. Running from one irritation to another, while maintaining the decorum pounded into him by both the demands of cultural upbringing and the procedural rigidity of Starfleet had left him utterly drained. But, naturally, the final nail in the coffin was the realization that the thought keeping him going was not what he expected, and was thoroughly underwhelming in its own right. That infernal letter.:: ::So disappointed was he that he’d simply given up for the day. Grunting with the effort, he’d managed to find a suitably warm spot underneath the heating lamp, and in moments, had succumbed to the inky pool of unconsciousness.:: ::Across, the room however, things were not nearly as stagnant.:: ::Ferentis’ efforts, while unsuccessful in revealing the contents of the letter, had triggered something, though, naturally, he had no way of knowing it. His focus had been so undivided, so intent, that when the icon in the corner had finally stopped its infernal flashing, he hadn’t noticed. Scouring the field of dots, he’d likewise utterly failed to take heed when the icon resumed its blinking pattern- this time, in a crimson hue in lieu of the pleasing forest green that had pestered him beforehand. Were Ferentis watching, he would have been extremely puzzled as to why that particular icon was activated- generally, it was reserved for instances in which a message was being transmitted- something Ferentis hadn’t done, nor had had reason to do, in ages. Nevertheless, from his console, and completely without his knowledge, a signal had been released. With precision, it wormed its way into the chat logs, marking itself as personal, waiting for its expulsion into the fluidic fabric of subspace via the Blackwell’s communication array. To any scan or observant eye on the bridge, it would have appeared like any other private communique between a crewmember and family back home. Indeed, it was far more than that. Were this signal, this program, tasked with spying on the chat logs going in and out of the Blackwell, it could have. It possessed the capability to do so, and now that it had infiltrated the machinery, the ease with which the information could be extracted might be considered laughable. However, this electronic worm had no such intentions; for all intents and purposes, it was quite benign. It glanced around at the miasma of impulses and codes, and patiently waited its turn to leave, causing no trouble at all. A fortunate fact for the crew of the Blackwell- the hospital ship had seen more than its share of robot infiltration and attacks via malignant code.:: ::The array gathered the information to transmit, and expelled it. The program found itself dashing through subspace, bounding along the fourth plane, circumventing gullies and sandbars in the pseudo-energy landscape. However, its destination was not the same as the rest of the letters and status updates and other starship minutiae. It diverged after several light years, aiming itself toward its own pre-programmed location. Hours past like the stars as the signal zipped through space.:: ::As Ferentis snored soundly, the signal finally reached its destination. With unceremonious haste, the tiny satellite communication receiver it had smacked into absorbed it. It didn’t take long for the worm to rummage its way into the satellite’s systems, much as it had on the Blackwell. If it could think or speak, its thoughts and words would have been most innocent. “Pardon me- let me just slide into your outgoing traffic. Not here to cause trouble- sorry about the inconvenience. No need to notice me, just let me through. Thanks.”:: ::Soon, it had again moseyed on through the slog of incoming and outgoing messages, and had begun the next leg of its epic voyage…:: PNPC Ensign Ferentis Engineer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 =======as simmed by======= Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne Helmsman/Ops Officer/Second Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 G239202RS0
  6. ((USS Blackwell, Corridors)) ::The stars rushing by seemed so close, as if she could just reach her hand beyond the transparent aluminum and grab one. It was a testiment to just how humanity had interjected itself into what was once untouchable. Space, the stars, heck, even Earth’s own moon was once out of reach. And then one day, someone dared to change that.:: ::In a single decade, and with a single step, humanity had set foot on another world. Sure, it was ‘just the moon’, but for the people of that time period, it had been impossible up until it suddenly wasn’t.:: ::Not long after, it became apparent that man could reach further. A permanent space station was put into orbit around the planet, and then robots stretched out to Mars. Someone even put what they had known as a car in orbit of the red planet. Why? Because they could, and at that point in Earth’s history, that was a huge statement. Why do anything?:: ::Because you can.:: ::Technology sped up fairly quickly after that, and before too long, humanity had found the key to interstellar travel. Warp capabilities changed the entire fabric of time and suddenly all that had been impossible simply wasn’t anymore. Humanity was no longer alone in the universe and there was more than just solid proof. The beings from those other worlds, previously held only in the dreams of those who did things just because they could, were standing right there.:: ::And so, time marched on, technology advanced, and eventually it all led to this moment. This moment was one eventuality of time and experience, particles coalesced into a being that had taken the form of a misunderstood and lost ambassador with thigh-length raven-black hair, crystalline blue eyes, and an almost porcelain appearance, who found herself simply staring into space.:: ::Literally.:: ::Now aboard the Blackwell, Kali continued to make the role her own. Technically out, but not out, of Starfleet’s command structure, as ‘Ambassador’ she enjoyed freedoms that she exercised if only to maintain some form of control of her world. She wasn’t out there blazing trails anymore, or commanding starships in unimaginable situations. No longer did she fly anything other than a desk, so when she could ‘break’ all the rules of Starfleet, she did.:: ::Hair down? As an Ambassador, certainly, even if it did get in her way. Ambassadorial looks? Pffft. What even was that? The robes and garb of others were reserved for the rare instances where business must be conducted. Any other time she was perfectly content either in uniform, or as she was now, in black marine cargos and an old, well worn Marines t-shirt.:: ::Did it make up for how much her life had changed? Perhaps not, but then again, her life existed mostly in the lost and faded instincts and few memories she had. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was regaining more than what her logs had told her about her life before the Scar, but she still felt somewhat disconnected. :: ::But no one would know it. Not even those closest to her, and here, they were far, far away.:: ::The voices of others in the corridor brought her back to the moment, and before her eyes she could once again see just how close the stars were.:: TBC Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Ambassador at Large Andaris Task Force As simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Cayden Adyr Chief Intelligence Officer Andaris Task Force R238605KN0
  7. Hey you! Guess who's back?

    1. Rune Jolara

      Rune Jolara

      Awesome!!!! Glad to have you back :)

  8. Are you meaning for your sig? Go to your signature settings. See both banners under the text box as available attached images to add? If you hover over the image you want to delete you should see the delete/trash can button on the right side of it.
  9. Looking good there, commander! ;)

    1. Rune Jolara

      Rune Jolara

      Looking pretty good yourself, Captain. ;) 

  10. Hey, just wanted to say, I love your new wiki picture of Rune! It looks great!

    1. Rune Jolara

      Rune Jolara

      Thanks! I thought it was time for a change. :)

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