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Randal Shayne

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Everything posted by Randal Shayne

  1. And the victor of the inaugural Alpha Isles Bingo Game is...
  2. ((Another depthful bit of great storytelling from Mr. @Zenno!)) ((A Maze of Twisty Little All-Alike Passages, Underground on Emisa III)) Senna and Sullustis had rallied the people and got everyone to move. It was no small feat. Some of those caves had been lived in for many hundreds of revolutions. But Senna had claimed the mantle of Clan Leader and there were none who were willing to challenge her for it. The worst had come when they were fitting the children for knives. All of them had been taught how to run their tails across the sensitive bits of an opponent with a wooden training spar while grappling. But this was the first time they had to don all the real kit with the knowledge that the Rodonthi Zealots or Arosathi Isolationists could be around every corner. If attacked, they would be shown no mercy, down to the last of them. And they would offer none in return. Such was life. A small group of the elders had not prepared themselves and were quite agitated when seeing the young fitted out for combat, only holding 12 or 15 revolutions each. Senna would have none of it. This was the end of their Clan and likely this world. Who could be spared at such a time? While the Rodonthi were always roaming and bred aggression into each new convert or natural-born youth, the Arosathi were even worse. They guarded their territory with a vicious fervor. They did not venture beyond their borders, but they would never denote where those borders were, leaving it as deadly guessing game. Sullustis had done his best and arrayed the Clan in a mobile caravan with warriors spaced at appropriate points. Everything was cleared from their homes, including the old radio set. They were making good time. But only Senna and Sullustis were able to judge that, since only they knew the destination. Each curve in the tunnel, each new cave brought uncertainty. They were far beyond their local maps now. One of the girls, a golden-sheen to her skin, was walking by Senna as they trudged up an incline. The little one didn’t speak and Senna’s tail coiled about the girl’s shoulder, a sign of affection. Senna: What’s your name, little one? Sahnda: Sahnda. She didn’t even look up or smile and it made a pit in Senna’s second stomach. Senna: Who looks after you, Sahnda of the Kurmishoi? Senna knew better than to ask where her parents were. So many had died or been taken. But there were always Clan members who would take in the orphans. But this little one had her tail down and to the left and she showed no interest in talking. Sahnda: No one. She was matter of fact, as if discussing the weather. No sadness, no longing… and the weight of all of it sat on Senna’s shoulders. Senna: Then you may walk by me, Sahnda. Sahnda: ::Still looking ahead, trudging along:: Yes, Clan Leader. Senna managed what smile she could and they continued on their way into the unknown, together. NT/TBC MSNPC Senna Kor Clan Leader of the Kurmishoi As simmed by LT Zenno Acting Security Chief USS Arrow A240006Z13
  3. Don't eat the orange beams! Don't you know they're bad for you?!
  4. Indeed not- if she does she might become a bit... ... ...ohrnary.
  5. Captain Randal Shayne checking in! Here we see Captain Shayne, having finally realized why the Klingons consider him an equal.
  6. ((When the dialogue is so good that description can take a back seat. Outrageously great, you two.)) ((Promenade, Raft One)) Hobart: Nope, my first time here, too. Mostly. ::grim smile:: But I grew up in digs like this. The arse-end of the Quadrant, nearly forgotten by the Federation. ::pause, pointing up:: Hear that? We had the same squeaky ventilation system. Recycler’s got a couple months left in it, tops. Zenno: We should go, if you are done mechanically agitating the map console. I detect alleged food smells from down that way. ::points:: The engineer shrugged, and chuckled as they walked. His black eyes searched for crowds. The downside of his strategy to eating safe was a reliance on the lunchtime rush, which invariably meant navigating a lunchtime rush. When things were quiet, there was less to go on. Was a diner empty because the food was lousy, or because it was the middle of a shift? Hobart: So where are you from, Ensign? Zenno/Any: Starbase 307. Born and raised in space. How about you? Hobart: Relva VIII. Zenno: I have never been. What is it like? Hobart: Same as here, just different. Fewer food options, but same squeaky ventilation, somewhere behind one of these panels, I bet there’s a waste reprocessor covered in so much gunk you can use it as a weight-loss aid. One look, and you won’t eat for a month! As they rounded a corner on that pleasant note, Nolen sharply inhaled at the sight of what certainly appeared to be the station’s main food court. A few formal restaurants, a handful of pushcarts, and one or two fast food joints to boot. Fewer food options, indeed. Zenno: An Andorian Fast Food Shack! I’d heard about these! ::Very excitedly:: The Blue Freeze shake is supposed to be ethereal! They have one on Deep Space 9 that I heard about. Do you want to try it? It looks like there is a line though. Or do you want to go further down? I think there is a Tholian-Vulcan fusion cuisine place too, “Molten Hot Veggies” or something. I’d try almost anything. Nolen felt the Bolian’s mind touch on something unpleasant, briefly, there at the end, and he suspected that was a big “almost.” Hobart: No, no, Line is safe. Line is good. Trust the Line. The Line will lead the way. Zenno: ::Very excited:: Blue Freeze Shake and Iced Antennae Poppers! I'm getting that. Or maybe the Extremely Frozen Fajitas. ::thinking:: Zenno didn't think any of the food would have been an issue for him. Andorian food had always been quite palatable. But that was the authentic stuff. This was probably as legitimate as the "Gagh Hut" he had tried on Luna during a training cruise. But the Lieutenant seemed preoccupied with something other that the allegedly tasty treats they were about to have. oO Did I cause offense somehow? Oo Hobart: ::rocking on his knees slightly:: Yep. Zenno: Is everything OK? Do you want to go elsewhere? The engineer's eyes narrowed on Zenno, as if he was evaluating him for something. oO I don't think he wants any Iced Antennae Poppers. Oo Hobart: ::lowered voice, conspiratorial tone:: You know, somewhere in the bowels of this station, there’s a room. Maybe disused quarters, maybe an auxiliary cargo bay. And the people here call it the “dump,” maybe. The “heap,” the “lot,” the “pile,” the “depot,” maybe. Whatever they call it, it’s full—floor to ceiling—of things too broken to use, too valuable to shove back into a replicator, and too expensive to fix. Zenno: That sounds like every station that's at the hind end of nowhere. Hobart: That’s why I’m here, Mister Zenno. See, I don’t do shore leave. ::weighing his head back and forth in nuanced reflection:: Usually. But a place like this? With its dusty corners and forgotten treasures? ::shakes his head:: Too good to pass up. Do you want to give your friend some flimsy station gift shop tchotchke, or a real piece of the Alpha Isles? Zenno: A real piece of the Alpha Isles might leave a waxy residue. Hobart: Response? Zenno: If you want to look through the trash, there's nothing wrong with it, of course. But if we violate any local ordinances it might cause a problem for the ship, but no one should care if you want to go through a discard pile. Bringing anything back to the ship will require a security scan however. oO Does he think I am a rule-breaker? Oo Hobart: Response? Andorian Andi: Next! Welcome to the Andorian Fast Food Shack! It’s Blue and it’s For You! What'll you have? Zenno: Iced Antennae Poppers meal deal with a Blue Freeze Shake! oO I hope he gets the Extremely Frozen Fajitas or the Imperial Guard Ice Cream. Those look good too. Oo Hobart: Response? Tags/TBC Ensign Zenno Security Officer USS Arrow A240006Z13
  7. All spicy pasta dishes are forever more to be known as hell noodles, courtesy of Tro'k.
  8. A great little sim that dragged me in almost immediately. Awesome job! ((Flashback - IKS Korax, years ago)) The Klingon bird of prey was a slick design, small and nimble but woefully under armed compared to other ships of the line. Against other bird of prey types, the fight was fairly even. This ship was a fairly recent design based on lessons learned from the Dominion war, better armed and armored, a tough little ship. Zabi: Shields are failing! The Korax and other members of its pack sailed into battle against other Klingon warships. Outnumbered, they maintained formation against the opposing fleet. At the helm, a much younger Banagher flew his grandfather's flagship into the fray. Zabi: We've lost the Pa'ag, commander! The Vor'ca...the N'chiv Commander: Push forward, boy! They will regret ever raising arms against House To'kra! Disrupters and torpedoes screamed from the bird of prey as its wingmates were picked off one after another. Their target was the largest ship in the opposing fleet. Uncertain of their future, the younger Banagher looked back at his dead grandfather. A surprise attack damaged the ship and the result was no one was prepared for the fight. The deceased Klingon elder laid on the floor in his own blood, their last conversation was discussing his acceptance into Starfleet Academy. Turning his head back, the young Klingon hybrid kept going. Suddenly an explosion erupted in front of him. Zabi: We're hit! A disrupter blast blew open the bridge, and there was a large scar across the viewscreen, only emergency forcefield saved the crew from being ejected into space. Banagher stared at the large hole, expecting the end and his short life began to flash before his eyes. The grim reaper won't come when you are ready for him, Banagher... A familiar voice spoke to him. As the light from a torpedo got brighter across his view, the dream ended. ((Present day - Banagher's quarters - USS Arrow)) Banagher woke up from his dream, remembering the past was never easy. Sitting up on his bed, he wiped the sweat from his brow, brushing his black hair, from his slightly less pronounced ridges. Despite being half Klingon, his features were a bit less pronounced. Genetics for cross-breeds can vary. His teeth for instance were less fang like typical Klingon as he washed himself. Putting on his fresh cleanly replicated uniform, he had replaced his comm badge with a new one. He grabbed his retractable knife and put it away. There was a coin he picked up with his family crest on it. Flicking it with his thumb, he grabs it as it falls and smacks it back onto the table. Walking over to the food replicator, Zabi: Coffee. Black. Walking out of his quarters, Banagher made his way to the mess for breakfast. TAGS anyone that want to bump into my guy Ensign Banagher Lao Zabi Helmsman USS Arrow A240004BL1
  9. I love how I'm still not sure if "homey" was meant or it's a type of "honey", because both straight up fit.
  10. Great stuff, Doctor @Seesh! ((USS Arrow, Deck 3, Sickbay, Surgical Bay 2)) “Doctor Seesh, that's not the S.O.P, even I know that.” Those words decided to ring through his mind now. Could that not wait? Seesh bristled in irritation as that sunk in. Not at Commander Serinus, but at himself. He was in Starfleet, there was a procedure to things, he knew that. He had a reason, Jacin and MacKenna's injuries were more pressing matters. It wasn't just him prioritizing the Arrow crew. However, he knew there was a procedure for a reason, he wasn't in his ship-hopping days anymore. He should have picked his words better. oO Not that anything has been standard about this mission from moment one. Oo He quickly, even somewhat violently shook his head, as if to rattle those thoughts out. Live and learn, and carry on, that's how he got this far. That and persistence. Heaps of persistence. His focus turned fully to Lieutenant Jacin as preparations were finished, osteotractors set to make sure Jacin's spine didn't move a micron. No risking any more damage. A full suite of tools and an error-free sensor cluster before him provided some reassurance as he pieced together what he was working with. That was an exposed spine and burns from what was meant to be a lethal phaser blast. Thankfully, it had barely managed not to be. Adjusting the holoscreen, he could see this was going to be a process. Singed nerves and cartilidge, parts down to the bone vaporized. While it looked bad, his probings gave him more and more hope, everything was still mostly functional. A combination of neuro-synaptic shock from the phaser and muscular detachment was what caused Jacin's immobility. Routine sterilization had taken care of any incidental debris, and the spinal cord itself was, as far as he could tell, untouched, so everything laid out in front of him was relatively simple. oO Did I just see that and think 'simple'? Simple by spinal surgery standards, maybe. Oo The noise and bustle of the rest of Sickbay, of Doctor Ohnari's nearby procedure in progress faded away. It was all still there, but pushed out of the way in his mind, the drones and beeps of his own readings at the forefront. 'Simple' or not, there was bone to restore, muscle and ligament to regrow and reattach, burns to treat, skin to heal. This initial surgery was going to be the backbone of Jacin's recovery. Figuratively and literally. With a careful mix of nanosurgeons to start the process of regrowing the bone outward into the desired shape and his own diligent supervision of the tissues between with a sonic separator and protoplaser, repairs shaped along nicely, until erratic beeps from Jacin's readings started, interrupted by one quick defibrillation cycle, bringing things back to normal. Seesh could feel his own heart racing, though he hadn't flinched at all. Working with the nervous system, complications were always right around the corner. After a pause to make sure his heart didn't affect his hands, he double-checked for burns and damaged tissue around the site, along with making triply certain everything was sterile. She would be bed-bound until the follow-up surgery and it would take a bit of rehabilitation, but the Lieutenant should be back to her old self soon. He couldn't help but reflect that if they were in another place or another time, maybe not even all that long ago, Jacin's prognosis might be much different, much more uncertain. After updating Jacin's charts, making certain she was being carefully monitored, and that he was on-call if anything at all happened, he retreated to his quarters for a mental breather. Talking to patients was always a difficult piece of medical work for him, and hours of surgical work wouldn't do him any favors there. He couldn't help but smile to himself once he was alone. Sure, he'd probably have to get a formatting refresher from Ohnari for a research paper, and he'd never have the same way with people R'Ariel did. Surgeries, though? Give him a few more minutes, and he could go for round two if he needed to. ((Timeskip, Sickbay Recovery Suites)) It had seemed all three doctors had some impeccable timing, though Seesh lagged slightly behind, but close enough that the doors didn't give off another hiss. He was surprisingly quiet sometimes, whether he meant to be or not. R'Ariel: How are we all doing? MacKenna: We're here, we've survived. You tell us the rest of the story. Jacin: Well, we’re in sickbay so… Taking a look at the Commander's foot for the first time in hours, it was already a massive improvement. He actually hadn't been sure if getting MacKenna's real limb back was doable, but he was glad that it was. Ohnari had done some impressive work. Ohnari: Looking good here, Commander. Although you'll have to stay with us a few days, I am decidedly confident you will have full range of motion available to you. MacKenna: Sounds like a vacation. The look on the Commander's face was, this time, visible to him. There was some sort of distaste or sarcasm to it. Understandable, who liked being confined to a biobed? Something was said between MacKenna and Zabi, but he didn't quite pick it up. R'Ariel: Lt Ayemet, I dare say you had us all very worried. What have I told you about ending up on the casualty list? Jacin :trying to sound casual: Sorry to have let you down sir. Ohnari: ::softly:: No one is let down, we're happy you returned, and are working on recovering. She gave a soft smile, but Seesh picked up a bit of worry behind it. So, he wasn't the only one, then. He'd been around his fellow doctor long enough, he started to pick up on her subtleties. R'Ariel: I think you and I are going to have a really good talk about what you sensed over there. He was curious about that, too, though he wasn't sure it was his place. That was much more in R'Ariel's wheelhouse. Jacin: Yes sir. It seems like I won’t be going anywhere. R'Ariel: Looks like you got this. Ensign Zabi, have you been looked at yet? Zabi: Well, I'm not bleeding anymore but I'll need a new shirt...and probably new pants. How's the commander here? They were going to be replicating a lot of new uniforms after this one, that was for sure. It seemed that Talia had only now noticed him, but then, he had been awfully quiet. There was still a bit of 'everything should be fine' he was trying to think how to voice without being too blunt about it. Ohnari: Commander is stable, once the osteo-generators finish, I'll be able to begin the dermal grafting. Seesh: Lieutenant Jacin is going to need a follow-up, but after that, I'm confident she'll be back to her old self soon enough. I apologize if being unable to move scared you, Lieutenant, but you'll be mobile next time you wake. Though, there was a slight bit of uncertainty to his voice he hoped didn't bleed through. She should be fine. Ohnari: ::lowering her voice:: I hadn't had a chance to check the chart yet, how extensive was the damage? Any impact to the spinal column? Seesh: ::quieter:: Spinal column, yes, spinal cord, no. Soon as the nanosurgeons finish filling the gaps, which will be quite soon, she'll need a follow-up for muscular reattachment, dermal regeneration, and possibly physical therapy afterward. ::pause:: You might say she's unlucky, but I say otherwise, if that phaser had hit a few millimeters lower... He trailed off, not needing to say much more than that. He didn't really want to say more than that, thinking about it turned his stomachs. There was a fair bit of work ahead of them yet, but it seemed the worst was behind them. They were, as the saying went, out of the woods. Perhaps more accurately, out of The Swamp. NT/END Ensign Seesh Medical Officer USS Arrow, NCC-69829 A240002S11
  11. ((OOC: A great sim from Emma that just socked a lot of us in the feels.)) She had taken the opportunity afforded to her to rest for the briefest of moments, downloading a series of schematics and information from her personal servers, that could provide useful. She noticed the small onyx like box that had been mysteriously handed to her when on a shore leave , and she had struggled to open ever since. Scans had shown little information, but from them, and the data on El-Auria she had downloaded whilst at Odyssey Station, she had come to the conclusion that it was El-Aurian in composition, but quite why it had been given to her, and what it contained, were still a mystery to her. She sighed as she changed her uniform and combed her hair, trying to mask the signs of both emotional and physical exhaustion that sought to overwhelm her. At one point her and Gorva had planned to open it using her burgeoning psionic abilities, but that was when she had been terrified that there was a deep uncontrollable part of her waiting to be unleashed. Thanks to R’Ariel she had discovered that this was not the case, but merely the results of psci-dolescence, adolescence but for those with psionic gifts, and hope had resurfaced. She had looked forward to having someone who not only knew, but understood to talk to, but as so often, life had taken R’Ariel elsewhere, at least for the moment. She let out another breath, her right hand falling flat against the smooth surface of the box. Click. Her eyes opened. Whir. She looked down at the box as a small seam opened along the top of it, the whirring rising in volume as its’ sides began to turn and expand outwards. She picked the box up, it’s’ volume seemingly two or three times what it had appeared to be when closed. The sides were now extended outwards to the left and the right, giving the impression of books stacked previously on top of each other. She peered inside, tentatively at first, half expecting some creature or beam of light to come spilling out. It smelt…old, dusty, like a house that had laid unattended and cared for over decades. Inside were.. She half laughed. There was a small wooden wind instrument. About five inches in length, with small holes running down its’ side, and an obvious mouthpiece at one end. She picked it up, and gingerly blew into it. It was like the wind blowing through the trees, ethereal, lonely, a melancholy that spoke to some great sadness lost to time. She put it down, feeling like she had intruded on something precious and deeply private. She took the next object out, a small beaten soft toy in the shape of what humans might call a rabbit. Parts of it were faded, and it’s’ left ear fell loosely to one side, but it was soft, warm, and as Ayemet gel it carefully in her hands she felt comforted, like it brought back almost memory. She smiled stroking the small plush as she placed it down on the desk. Next was a book. The language was something she instinctively recognised; El-Aurian. The symbols filled page after page, hand drawn illustrations interrupting the paragraphs every so often. It looked like some kind of notebook. History? Biographical? A diary? She wasn’t sure, but it was certainly something that needed, no insisted, on further careful study. The final item was a clear bag with several smaller pockets within it. In each pocket was a myriad different seeds and pulses, all carefully placed so as not to be contaminated by either the other seeds nor anything outside the bag. She looked at the colors and shapes. There must have been at least a dozen different seeds. Seeds of plants that once grew in El-Aurian soil. Tears formed in her eyes, her hands moving gently over the contents of the box, a smile on her lips . Home. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of her communicator calling for her return. She places each of the items back into the box, which closes once more, and turned to leave her quarters, taking a brief moment to look once more at it as the doors closed and she took the unusual step of locking it . She turned and ran straight into someone, colliding with them, and falling ti the floor. Any Response: Jacin: Yes. Totally my fault. I’m so sorry. Any Response: Jacin: No it:beat: it’s something for another time. Any Response: Jacin: nodding: On my way. With that she turned and hurried towards the turbolift. TAG/ TBC/END? Lieutenant Jg Jacin Ayemet Science Officer USS Arrow A239810JA2
  12. ((OOC: Just our favorite cat and chief medical officer being a delight.)) ((Sickbay, USS Arrow)) R'Ariel: It's funny how the telepathic thing works, you hear more, seemingly can sometimes do more, and yet sometimes understand less. ::she paused lost inescapably for a moment in an old dream before shaking herself back:: but fortunately whether it is cause or result, there often some chemicals left behind to find, and learn from. Ra: And that's what we're going to look for. Jacin: So am I… Am I a threat? Could this continue to grow? The Empath offering one of her best calming-empathic-smiles. R'Ariel: These scans should tell us something. How do you feel now? Jacin :trying to laugh: Nervous. Waiting for the bad news. R'Ariel: I'm looking for good news. Ra: The initial scans are complete. Doctor. R'Ariel offered a smile in exchange for the padd, as she looked over the results. Jacin: So doctor what’s the news? Am I about to destroy the ship? The counselor-turned-doctor, turned-counselor again for the immediate moment, interrupting herself from her review. R'Ariel: I hope this doesn't come off as any kind of conceit, but as high-level natural empath, ::she put extra emphasis on the next word:: Not ::her tail flicked:: not going to blow up the ship, I don't need a medical scan to get that much from you. She offered a smile and returned a quick glance to the results. Ra: What would you like to look at next? The little Caitian-Deltan looked to Ra and back to Jacin, stirring some contemplations. Jacin: You’re the experts. What’s the next step? R'Ariel: There are a lot of baselines in the database we can run these scan results against, and get some further medical perspectives on. Ra: Will you need assistance doctor? R'Ariel: I think we will be fine. She let the words weigh-in, emphasizing her belief in them being fine. Ra: Aye, sir. Can I get either of you anything specific in the meantime? R'Ariel: I'm good, and you? Jacin: Responses? The little counselor-doctor moved in closer. R'Ariel: You know what I think? Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: Psci-dolescence The Empath laughed at the sound of her own words, and the kind of reaction it would invoke. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: It's like Adolescence, except for those with a form of psionic gift. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: Well, as I told Ra, I'd like to run our scans across an even greater baseline, but I think we are looking at a pretty simple psionic development. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: If you were a threat, I think I could sense it, so let's get you in for regular scans so we can keep an eye on the developments, and you and I can spend some fun time in the counselor's suite, getting in some good 'control' practice. How does that sound? Jacin: Response R'Ariel: For the moment, I would say the first lesson is simply, practice keeping a reign on your emotions. ::she paused:: Which I don't see any problems with. OOC: Sorry for the delay team, but I wanted to get some things sorted out in direct ooc first, with that done, here's my part of the sim. TAG/TBC Lieutenant Commander R'Ariel Chief Medical Officer Counselor Doctor of Psychology USS Arrow J239706R1
  13. ((An excellent little bottlesim from Jamie!)) ((USS Arrow, Deck 3, Room 9 Ar’Gorvalei’s Quarters)) Ar’Gorvalei fastened his collar and settled his dark blue and white coat over his shoulders. Strange, that he now felt more accustomed to wearing his Starfleet uniform than the stately robes of an Efrosian warrior-priest. The thought troubled him, and so he set it aside for later consideration. The commlink chimed, and Ar’Gorvalei opened the channel. On the screen appeared an elderly, wizened Efrosian, his skin spotted with age. Balding in front, it was worn long in back, and like most warrior-priests, his face was bare. Ar’Gorvalei bowed his head and pressed his palms together, pressing the tops of his fingertips to his lips in a gesture of supplication to one’s elder. Although the gesture was for himself alone, as Reverend Elder Ky-Thyros was completely blind. Ar’Gorvalei: ::Speaking in Efrosian:: I stand before you, Reverend Elder, between Fathomless Earth and Endless Sky. Ky-Thyros: ::Also speaking in Efrosian:: I stand before you as well, Novitiate Seeker, I suspect more literally between Fathomless Earth and Endless Sky than you do. ::Chuckles:: Are you still in the depths of deep space, somewhere in the Alpha Isles? Ar’Gorvalei: ::Smiles:: Yes, we’ve recently docked at the Raft-One outpost for repairs and shore leave. Which is good, after our recent mission … ::Pauses:: I was hoping you might have some information, about my … condition. By “condition,” they both knew Ar’Gorvalei was referring to his lack of directional sense, a finely-tuned ability of all Efrosians. The Arrow’s sojourn beyond the galaxy earlier in the year had somehow impaired his ability to form mental maps of his surroundings, something Ar’Gorvalei found more than a little frustrating. Oh, he could rely on technological assistance, but to have to rely on a PADD to do something he had taken as second nature all of his life was difficult. The elder shook his head, wispy white hair swaying back and forth. Ky-Thyros: I have shared your neurological scans with some of our most highly regarded specialists in the field, but they have not seen anything comparable. There is no evidence of physiological brain damage to account for it. There is nothing in our records, even in the Great Library of Healing, that is in any way close to this. What has happened to you appears to be … unique. Ar’Gorvalei closed his eyes. Ar’Gorvalei: I feared as much. Ky-Thyros: Perhaps, my son, if I might make a suggestion, perhaps your Time of Seeking should come to a close. Ar’Gorvalei looked up, eyes widened in surprise. Ar’Gorvalei: What … no … so soon? I’ve only been here for a little over a year. I’m not ready. Ky-Thyros: The Time of Seeking is not meant to be indefinite. And has it not already cost you enough? Perhaps in time our healers can find what is ailing you, and treat it. Or perhaps, you need time to truly live between Fathomless Earth and Endless Sky to set things right. Ar’Gorvalei: But my Seeking is not complete. The answers I’ve Sought, I still haven’t found them. Ky-Thyros: Perhaps those answers were never out among the stars to begin with. I think … and this is only my opinion, mind you, there is religious debate on this matter, as you well know, but I think that the gods of Efros, their truth, can only be found on Efros. Not out there. ::waves hand:: among the stars. That is the domain of other Powers, not ours. ::Leans forward:: Ar’Gorvalei, come home to us. Take your rightful place among us. Your people need you. Ar’Gorvalei: I … I will think on your words, Revered Elder. Ky-Thuros: Please do, and safe travels on all of your journeys, Novitiate Seeker Ar’Gorvalei. May the White Goddess watch over you no matter how far from home you travel. Ar’Gorvalei: Thank you, Revered Elder. oO Grandfather.Oo Ar’Gorvalei cut the connection, staring at the blank screen for several seconds afterward. NT, End Lieutenant j.g. Ar’Gorvalei Medical Officer U.S.S. Arrow A239809A11
  14. ((Two great writers, one great scene- what else could we want? Great job to Arrow powerhouses Maz Rodan and Jacin Ayemet!)) ((Pankot III - Capital Ruins)) Messoq: You were foolish to come here. In time I will acquire it. Morrack Are you so sure of that? So certain that allying yourself with the mewling Federation will ensure your ::Beat as he snarls at Messoq:: success? You play a dangerous game, Messoq. Messoq: No more so than you involving the Breen! Again you disregard the rules of ascension just like the rules of combat! He stepped forward menacingly. Morrack: Oh by all means step forward brave Captain Messoq. Step forward and receive your reward for your brazen actions. Messoq: You are a weak fool, and it will give me immense pleasure severing your head from your shoulders... Morrack let out a loud guttural laugh. Messoq: Brother. Morrack: Brother? I have no ‘Brother”, for my Brother would not put his own selfish ambition before duty to his tribe, his people, his planet. Morrack stepped forward, his hands tight fists, frustration and anger dwelling inside him. Morrack: And how dare you chide me for involving the Breen. I have my army and you have yours. At least I am more honest with my choices rather than your lies and pretence at being civilised, lying to his allies pleading with them to help him. If this is what the Chalnoth truly wanted you would have no need to go to anyone. You want nothing more but power, for our people to be held firmly under the heel of your boot! Messoq: Do not test me. I will find the Claw, and I will rule our people. The chaos has to end. Morrack You speak of chaos, and yet you waste your life destroying all that the Chalnoth stand for, have stood for for eons. SO desperate to rule, to have others bow to you in supplication, blind to the true will. Morrack bowed sarcastically and withdrew a small blade, letting the sun glint on the steel. He threw it at Messoq's feet, and the taller Chalnoth warrior didn't flinch as it stuck into the dusty ground. Messoq: A challenge... ::It was a simple statement rather than a question.:: That is all our people are, now. One challenge after another, one death after another followed by ritual challenges for revenge. It is wiping us out! It needs to stop. Can't you see that? He never expected his brother to listen to him, for he never did. Morrack. Your choice Messoq. I give you one last chance. Pick up the blade and return it to me and we can stop this madness. Or leave it there and I promise you, you will die before you can ever use the Claw, if not by my hand then by the hand of all those that oppose you. Messoq: This fight will not end here or now. Your threats are empty, and soon enough the Federation I will have the Claw. And you will be destroyed. Morrack: No it will not :pause: But it is not threat Messoq. It is not even a promise. It is an inevitability. As Shute as the sun would rise on the hunt, there will never be any victory or triumph for you. He picked up the knife ignored by Messoq, turning it over in his hand as it brought memories flooding back to him. He felt; sad. Sad that it had come to this. Sad that regardless of what happened to him, Messoq would die. Morrack: Do remember Father giving us our hunting daggers? How thrilled we were on the morning of our first hunt? Messoq: Response. Morrack shook his head slowly. Morrack: Those we’re simpler times, before you were blinded by wanton ambition. It brings me no pleasure in your destruction. But it shall be done for the good of all Chalnoth. Messoq: All in good time, brother. But first... ::He narrowed his eyes.:: I must deal with the Breen! Morrack smiled slyly. He had his own plans for the Breen. Much like the Federation they were merely a tool to be used and then discarded when of no further value. Morrack: You needn’t worry about them Messoq. Unlike the Federation they neither have the guile nor the skills necessary to be anything other than a blunt weapon. Messoq: Response He stepped forward and put his right hand on Messoq’s shoulder, sighing before he spoke. Morrack: This is the beginning of the end Messoq, but not of the Chalnoth. They shall be free this I swear to you. He stepped back. And tapped his wrist surreptitiously so that Messoq would not notice. Messoq: Response TAG/TBC MSNPC Captain Morrack Commanding Officer ICV SDragoon As simmed by: Lieutenant Jg Jacin Ayemet Science Officer USS Arrow A239810JA2
  15. ((Interior. U.S.S. Arrow, Deck 2. Transporter Room 1.)) Collins: Is it weird that I'm...a little excited? Tallera: Yes. Tallera, minding the finer workings of a miniature arsenal she was placing into her pack, had assumed the Commander was talking about the violence they might have to employ. She'd spent far too much time with Klingons. When she looked up and took in the smattering of gear Collins sported, she revised the assessment. Tallera: ...No? For the Vulcan side of her, priming gear was almost a form of meditation, so the interruption had been slightly jarring. The satisfying clicking-into-place of equipment, the tightening of straps, the bundling of spare environmental gear, the organization of sensors, tools, demolition charges... Everything in its place. That included everything from a lightweight Marine armor cinched around her torso and thighs, to the bandana hanging around her neck, to her hair tied back and firmly clipped into place. She took stock of their rag-tag team once more, from the multiple robes in the room to the franken-tricorder protruding from Collins' hip. That's right - this was an archeological mission, just with hungry, armed Chalnoth likely to beam down after them. She revised her statement once again. Tallera: Perhaps it is weird. :: A coy smile. :: Which I suppose would be perfectly normal for you, Commander. Weird people were more interesting, anyway. R'Ariel: RESPONSE MacKenna: Everyone have what they need? Collins: Aye, sir. I've also sent detailed scans of Plateau 3 to each of yer tricorders. Now they aren't perfect maps, but they should give us at least a decent sense of direction once we make planetfall. Tallera drew her pack close to her body and stepped onto the pad. Tallera: That will help, but we'll still want time to orient. Rescue will be slow if you get separated. R'Ariel: RESPONSE Tallera nodded, acknowledging the security detail as it arrived. MacKenna: As you noted from the primer, where we're headed is quite sandy, hot, and dry. Everyone have water and hydration tablets? Just like Vulcan. Tallera had spent a week there once, and found it distinctly not to her taste - just not because of the environment. If anything, she'd have something of a home field advantage with the climate they were expecting down there. Collins: I have some... Tallera: I've got extras, and food as well. She wouldn't likely need it, her body naturally capable of going without water for longer periods of time than her human companions. Still, there was no telling how long they'd be planet-side. R'Ariel: RESPONSE MacKenna: If we're ready... oO Ready... Oo There was a command, and the light took them. (( Pankot - Plateau 3 )) Tallera almost got a mouthful of sand before she could cover her nose and mouth with the fabric around her neck. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the wind and sun, but, when they did, she was already scanning the horizon. Her training had beat into her that the seconds after beam-down were some of the most dangerous. It seemed there were no angry Chalnoth, no relics, no traps... just sand. Even up on their slight perch, the sand-polished terrain around them was about as featureless as one could imagine, only sporadic patches of tough grass mixed into splotches of flat, hard pan. The dunes around them undulated into the distance, cutting the view distance almost as much as the thick orange sand swirling and spinning through the skies. No cover and bad visibility set her on edge. Any number of bad things could hide out here in the sand. When Collins sledded down the dune, she made a hand signal to the nearest marine to follow him down, lest he got separated. Marine 1: Anything, Commander? Quentin shrugged slightly. Collins: I have a heading, but not much else. Tallera: Does that heading take us to cover? This wind and sand will make for hard going. MacKenna/R'Ariel: RESPONSE Tallera almost missed the slight sound of sand falling on sand in the wind. Her head whipped to the source of the high frequency only to find a hairy, bulbous, black thing skittering up the leg of one of their guards. Security 1: I think I've got somethin-WAARRGH! She shifted her weight, and was rapidly surfing the few meters of sand down the dune all while the man was wrestingling with the arachnoid creature that was clearly very strong for its size. Before she made it to the scene, he'd freed a hand and punched the creature off of him. Not that strong, evidently. Collins: Sand Spiders! Why did it have to be Sand Spiders!? Tallera promptly ignored the Commander, and instead ran awkwardly through the soft sand to the sprawling spider, only just reaching it before the creature righted itself. She grabbed a firm hold of one of the legs, and grappled with the struggling being. Finally she felt its face (if the far-too-numerous mandibles and bubble-like eyes could be called that), there was a brief surprise when she felt a familiar neuro-chemical connection and... The spider relaxed, and so did Tallera. A second's silence, and she gently set the weirdly fuzzy thing down on the sand. It sat its bulbous form there, in a manner, looking confused as to what just happened. Tallera: You can relax, Commanders. I have explained to the spider that we do not intend to eat it. :: Beat. :: Or at least I think I have. She'd performed minor mind-melds with other non-sentient creatures before, and even with creatures who had highly developed central nervous systems it was something of a crapshoot. With a spider? It was more simple chemical communication: like showing a picture to a child and seeing if they threw a tantrum or not to determine what their favorite food was. The relatively docile nature was good enough for her. Collins/R'Ariel/MacKenna: Response Tallera: Does it not strike you odd that a creature we can obviously overpower would attack? We are not its food. I could only read a faint smell and a distorted image, but definitely a prey response. I believe the Chalnoth are somewhere nearby, and they actually ate some of these... spiders. It attacked, expecting us to do the same. Collins/R'Ariel/MacKenna: Response Tallera: The meld was quite tenuous and unintentional, I'm frankly surprised it worked at all... She had a sense this was going somewhere. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not. Any Team 3: Response Tallera: You want me to try what? She'd heard it alright, she just hadn't fully processed the request. The worst part? It wasn't the most insane thing she'd ever heard of. Any Team 3: Response Tallera: I suppose it would know where good places to hide and hunt are. :: She sighed heavily :: Very well, I will attempt to "ask" the spider if it knows of any large subterranean features. She knelt down, the spider waggling two front legs curiously at her. Tallera looked at it dubiously. She was surprised it hadn't run away already. Perhaps her ability to communicate in this way wasn't as accurate as she thought it was. She took a deep breath, trying to center her being as much as possible. It wouldn't do to have noise in the connection with this creature that wouldn't understand. She reached out again, this time with no fight. She conjured in her mind a series of images of caves, caverns, ruins - anything large and underground - then paired it with the smells of damp and stone and all the things a spider might actually understand. She terminated the strange connection with a feeling of questioning, as much as she could imagine a question might feel like. It was probably closer to asking for food than anything, but who knew? The mere fact she could communicate, in any form, was something. In reply, she felt hungry. Any Team 3: Response Tallera's hand retreated from the creature wordlessly, and she swung her pack around. She reached in and pulled out a small morsel of food. It dropped to the ground, and the spider swallowed it whole, then immediately started to scurry off. Tallera: Fascinating... :: Her voice was thousands of lightyears away. :: Any Team 3: Response She came back to the ground after the utterly bizarre experience. Tallera: I have either been swindled out of a small bit of food, or brokered a trade for directions. I think we're supposed to follow. Any Team 3: Response Tag/TBC... First Lieutenant Tallera Starfleet Engineering Corps Marine Detachment USS Arrow - NCC-69829 A239710MA0
  16. ((Space)) There was a perpetual chill that started quietly, but grew ever more vociferous as the hours stretched on. Tick, tock, the time marched to a steady beat as the air thinned and eventually faded from all existence, leaving nothing but a frigid void in its wake. Ice plated anything that had been capable of condensation, liquids that froze as temperatures far below that of typical 'zero' were becoming slush, and the groaning of tritanium and duranium, mixed with a dose of cracking from surfaces and materials that were never meant to be this cold made for a mournful but silent song sang by the good ship Arrow. Of all the sounds and tones and clangs and noises that resonated through the empty ship in the form of mere vibrations, through which there was no medium to carry, the most deafening was the absolute silence. There was nothing quite like the death of a ship, but to die in a blaze of glory and a magnificent explosion of light that burst outwards in a million different directions, igniting the very pitch of the caliginosity of the universe, was to taste of glory. To drift, potentially with no end until running aground on planet or other galactic body was something else entirely, devoid of the honor a ship such as the Arrow should have enjoyed. And yet, that seemed to be her fate. Again. A tiny glint of light reflected off of the cold, dark, metallic hull as she drifted in orbit of the strange Midnight planet, indifferent to who might have seen it, or who might not have. The star in the distance glinting off one of the newly repaired sections of her dorsal plane. No lights shone as they should have, the red and blue hues of the nacelles had long gone silent and black, joining the oblivion of space against which the only difference was the tiny points of light that indicated that maybe, somewhere out there, life continued on. And perhaps life could once more continue on there, should a way be found to reignite her heart. Trailing behind, like a tiny comet's tail, ice crystals drifted away from the star as the ship reached the terminator and crossed over into the daylight side of the planet. If anyone had been below, they might have seen it as a tiny smudge in the sky, a miniature comet that graced the transition from night to day every 129 minutes or so. Free-falling around the planet without power, the ship was nothing more than a satellite now, but one with so much promise yet left in its cold outer hull, and so many memories yet left within. Comics drifted upwards in one science officer's quarters, sending a strange display of images and words in large thought and action bubbles around the room, a red dress drifted through another room, along with a healthy (or not so healthy) dose of dog fur. Thread spools tumbled silently through yet another room, ever so slowly revolving in a way that almost mimicked the planet below. A velveteen box floated upwards within a case, inside which two rings came in contact with each other and glowed softly, promising a future to the room and, perhaps, the inhabitants who once lived there. Elsewhere, a ball made its way through the quarters of one security officer, intermingling with a dish that still had remnants of water in it that had long turned to ice, belonging to a certain spiked pig and beloved pet. Numerous other personal effects found their way out of their designated places around the ship and drifted, left behind by those who had once loved them, traded for the chance to live. Now, as the ship continued its trek onwards into yet another night cycle of its orbit, the ice-tail died away and plunged the tiny metal object into complete invisibility against the inky backdrop of the Cimmerian shade. And so it would continue, until time would affect her, or somehow, life would return. TBC The Arrow As simmed by: -- Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Arrow R238605KN0
  17. @Artinus Serinus, this is simply adorable. I've never wanted to cuddle a spiky mini-pig so badly in all my life. ((Serinus Quarters, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) It had been 6 or was it 7, sleeps since the noises, the horrendous squalling of which, made her conclude that they were residing in a living being, perhaps one much like herself. A seemingly infinite Targ. TlhIroghnI' lie groggily in her sleep box in all it's fuzzy, warm and comfy, red boxed striped glory. It was early morning, and her two leg was out to the place that made him smelly and wet. But she knew that he'd be back soon to clean up in the magic box, and take her for her walkie in her chest straps, or as he called it a har'nis. He wasn't like the two legs she knew before, the ones who lived with her mom, for starters, he didn't have the head bumps. Or talk nearly as loudly. There were voices just outside the opening wall that her two leg used to come and go with. Neither of them was her two leg, or any other she knew, or had met. She gave out a warning snort and squeal, lest they dare think to enter the home of her and her two leg. TlhIroghnI': Orrnk, sqeeeee! They continued walking and soon their voices were quite distant. She was awfully proud of herself for diverting the potential encroachment of her territory. They hadn't ran, like everyone had when the giant Targ they lived in had been so distressed. But maybe some day, she could inspire such dread! She never found out what made their home so angry. Was there another giant Targ trying to come on it's territory? Was their living there causing it pain? She hoped not, but it didn't seem to bother it usually. Maybe one of the two legs did something to hurt it, on accident. Not her two leg, he was very careful as well as affectionate. She had no doubt that he was as caring towards their host as he was with her. ((Timeskip: Halfway to the next sleep.)) Her two leg was gone to the place that took up most of his time, and she heard two other unfamiliar two legs talking. With all of her might, she sounded out her warning again. TlhIroghnI': Orrnk, sqeeeee! The voices continued just outside of the opening wall, seemingly unperturbed by her admonishment. She didn't understand them, but the familiar word "Targ" caught her ear. Were the talking about her? Or the big one? Ops Crewman 1: Nonsense Geral, I heard she's tiny. Barely weaned from the stories. Crewman Geral: Doesn't matter, she'll still try to defend her home, like any Targ would. Then it happened. The two legs entered her domain carrying things in their hands. She gave another warning, with increased urgency. Stay out, two legs. My two leg and I claim this place! TlhIroghnI': Orrnk, sqeeeee! Ornnk, ornnk, squeeeeeee! These intruders, these interlopers, began to move her two legs' possessions. What nerve! They were obviously hostile and she charged the nearest one for such a blatant escalation. They finished whatever nefarious task they had begun with little regard to her, as she made warning pass, after warning pass. They spoke again, in their two leg language, different than the one she had been raised around, the one her own two leg spoke usually, though she knew he spoke the other as well, as he had done so with the younger two leg that gave her to him. Crewman Geral: We should try to contain her, lest she spike one of us. Ops Crewman 1: Yeah, I guess so. The ruffians began to chase her, and she evaded them effortlessly, for several minutes, wearing them down with feints, and quick reflexes. But then, they had cornered her. She had no hope of winning, and escape seemed as impossible as a successful defense. There was only one option left. She ran and leapt into the deep disk that held the dirt, and cowardly burrowed to hide, shaming herself as she waited for the intruders to leave. Time seemed to creep along, immeasurably slowly, as they did who knows what to her living space. When they had finally left, she cautiously began to emerge. She found to her horror that so many things seemed to be moved. Most notably, they had moved her two legs' flat sleeping box, and replaced with a skinnier version, with a second sleeping box held above the first, suspended by some metal poles. How would she ever live with her disgrace. She only hoped that her two leg could forgive her. NT/End TlhIroghnI', pet Targ of Artinus Serinus. As simmed by: Lieutenant Artinus Serinus Chief Security Officer USS Arrow, NCC-69829 Publicity Team/Social Media Team C239607AS0
  18. ((Main thoroughfare, Atlas Base)) ((Timestamp: After the awards ceremony.)) It was inadvisable to be walking alone in uniform, especially a dress uniform, but if anyone could defend themselves,especially while not under arms, it was Lieutenant Artinus Serinus. The tall, dark, and handsome Magna Roman had been wrestling since age five, was proficient in several other martial arts, and was among the top 10 decorated athletes in Academy history. He hadn't really got to tour the base in any unofficial capacity, and had an overwhelming desire to get the lay of the land. In the distance, on the right, was a Klingon child of about 10, probably a girl from their clothing, standing behind a box. As he got closer, he saw writing on the box in Klingon, that said "Free to good home" He could now hear the cacophony of tiny grunting coming from the box. oO Baby Targs?Oo He approached the child, a girl he was now certain of it. Artinus: Greetings young warrioress, are you giving away targ babies? Klingon girl: Yes, Father says that we can't afford to feed them now that they are weaned. Can't afford them? Why wasn't he making her sell them? Perhaps he shouldn't look a gift Targ in the mouth. But he felt sorry for the kid and het family nonetheless. He made a mental note to track down the family and bring some replicated meals. He looked down in the box spying three spiky piglets, each with course black and white fur. He leaned down and very gingerly picked one, the runt, up. He gave it a quick look over to access it's health, then checked it's sex. It was a female, which would be ideal. Targs were possibly aggressive enough, without the extra testosterone. Serinus: What breed are these? Klingon girl: Miniature swordbacks. Serinus: I don't know that breed, I assume they are a pet breed? After all, why would a hungry family give up a potential meal or three? Klingon girl: That is correct. Serinus: This girl ::holding up the targlet:: does she have a name? Klingon girl: Father said that we shouldn't name the runt. They die a lot in that breed. The horrors of selective breeding. Still, this tiny targlet had survived. Thankfully, he had seen the memo on preapproval for all reasonable pets. He'd bring her aboard tonight, and file the paperwork when he got to his personal P.A.D.D. Serinus: ::giving a small smile downwards:: I'll take her. Thank you! Klingon girl: Could I say goodbye first? Serinus: Sure! He handed her carefully to the child, who scratched the targlet's head, and told her to be brave, and good, and then handed her back over. Serinus: She'll have a good home, I promise. The girl smiled this time. Klingon girl: Thank you, sir. He cradled his new pet in his left arm, and waved to the girl. Serinus: Q'apla! Klingon girl: Q'apla! NT/End Lieutenant Artinus Serinus Chief Security Officer USS Arrow, NCC-69829 Publicity Team/Social Media Team C239607AS0
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