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  1. ((Apex Hot Springs - Arentis)) Kim sat quietly, feeling the odd juxtaposition of the warm water around her body against the cold air above her, and thought. She'd texted her parents about her promotion and awards. They'd been ecstatic for her and soon several messages had come in from subspace from friends and relatives. Cypria, the local social media and messaging service, had several messages congratulating her. Neocypriate Serving members of Starfleet were often given pages -- and sometimes shrines -- on the service. She thought of the sort of impact she might make on the ship. Her home, New Cyprus, had been a place of contradiction. Its past was dark and gritty, many of its buildings living on as husks of their former selves, surrounded by a bright and happy jungle of new constructions, the skyline promising a bright future in spite of where the world had been. Kim had contributed to that future, adding holographic elements to civic landmarks and town squares. She'd had a budding architect phase during her youth. At 16 she'd been obsessed with Theodore Frudagar's landmark textbook on holoarchitecture. The field had been mocked over the years for its transient creations and compared to laser graphiti, in which artists would tag buildings not with paint but rather temporary light displays. Such things had begun in the early 21st century in protest against political leaders on Earth. There had been something of a back-handed self congratulatory tone in that passage. Not merely a husk. While many criticized holoarchitects for doing nothing but defacing and twisting the intentions of the original architects who'd planned the spaces in which they worked, the holoarchitects who chafed under such criticism were quick to point out that buildings were just dead husks. A few called them canvases. The truth was that holoarchitecture and architecture itself were merely two sides of the same coin. Frudagar's premise rested on the idea of storytelling through both static and moving structures. New Cyprus's story was one of rebirth and transformation. Kim wondered. What was she transforming into? What parts of her were static? Which ones could she change? The water around her bubbled and frothed as the mountains beyond sat in stoic silence. -- Lt. Jg Kimberly Stapledon Engineer USS Constitution-B I238601KB0
  2. (( This is the last sim in the exchange between the two, an emotional relatable end to this scene that needed to be shared )) ((Lieutenant JG T’Ama and Ensign Flores’s Quarters - Deck 19, USS Constitution-B)) Rachel spoke up and lifted the light aluminum cane off of the floor below her, demonstrating that she had just gotten back from sickbay. She sighed and realized that she was going to have to come clean with what exactly had happened. It was not something that she could keep a secret forever. Her injuries were affecting her too much to hide. T’Ama: Oh… okay. Flores: There was an accident on Arentis. An anti-grav hoverboard suffered a serious malfunction and propelled me into a wall head-first at full speed. T’Ama: ::alarmed:: Were you wearing a helmet? The whole thing was embarrassing, cosmic justice for her arrogance. She shook her head, fully revealing the patch of missing hair and the small osteogenic stimulator over the burr hole in her skull. Obviously, given the severity of her injury, she had not taken the right precautions. Flores: No, I wasn’t. T’Ama: Fyrshi… It took a second to recall the medical terms for what had happened, how to describe the traumatic brain injury in terms worse than a simple concussion. Flores: I suffered contusions and subdural haema-something. T’Ama: Toma. How are you doing? Flores: Honestly, not great. I’m off duty and basically useless as an engineer. I can’t recall basic technical facts and have difficulty with decision making. ::She sighed:: And I sort of killed Dunsel. Bits of shattered monitor were still on the ground below the replicator with data lines exposed, and one of Dunsel’s googly eyes was just barely hanging on after being knocked loose by her swing with the cane. T’Ama: ::gasping:: Dunsel!! ::walking closer to survey the damage:: Ohhhh, he had a face! Rachel felt a single tear fall down her cheek. Even though it felt perfectly justified at the time, she now felt very bad about it. Especially since it also inconvenienced her friend and roommate. Flores: I’m sorry. ::She wiped her eyes. Her mouth twisted into a sad, forced smile.:: But don’t worry, you don’t have to deal with that anymore. Privileges of rank! It was bitter, jealous, angry, and self-serving. She was going to find a way to rain all over T’Ama’s parade and make her promotion an issue for herself, somehow. And it of course assumed the worst. Something she’d been doing since she woke up in the state she did. Of course her roommate would leave at the very first opportunity and she’d be left to cope with everything alone. T’Ama: What do you mean by that? Rachel frowned at the change of tone. As if she hadn’t just said what she said. Flores: Merely a statement of fact regarding quarters assignment policies. T’Ama: ::firmly:: That was a guilt trip, and I don’t do those. Which it absolutely was. As much as she wanted to be mad some more and deny it, it was absolutely true. She was still angry about everything that had happened. She was disappointed with her inability to manage her condition. And she was honestly a bit scared of having to deal with it all without somebody regularly around to talk to. So maybe it was okay that she… Flores: oO Nope, don’t you dare say that Rachel. That’s not an excuse to treat a friend like crap. Oo She still wasn’t herself. Hell, she should probably still be in sickbay if she was going to break replicators and say terrible things to people. Less than one word into trying to mount some defense or excuse she gave up and admitted defeat. It had been a rude, ignorant thing to say. And it had been exactly as T’Ama called it. A guilt trip. Flores: Well- ::Beat:: Yeah, it was. You’re right. I would give a heartfelt apology but I’d already started thinking about other stuff… Apology undercut by a defensive bit of sarcasm, it seemed that her roommate had lost her patience for the Rachel Flores Mental Acrobatics Exhibition. T’Ama: Okay, I’m getting overwhelmed and I have a shift starting in 37 minutes. I’m sorry this happened to you and that you have to deal with this. I hope you fully recover. I’m going to go now. There were no more words to say. It was a bit too late to say something to actually apologize. She watched T’Ama do a quick inspection of her uniform in the mirror before heading for the door. As much as she wanted to ask her to wait, to say something to try and salvage the conversation, she had to respect T’Ama’s wishes not to talk about it further right now. T’Ama: Bye, get better! Rachel replied quietly. Flores: ::Meekly:: Bye. T’Ama left and Rachel thought about what had just happened. She’d certainly made better choices than that. Looking down at the cane she thought about hobbling back to sickbay where she couldn’t hurt the feelings of anyone besides the medical staff. Ellie had mentioned that emotional and behavioral control was something that her brain injury could impact. Although that didn’t make her feel any less awful about it. She cursed under her breath and wished she could immediately fall back asleep and not have to think about what she had done. Flores: You’re an idiot, Rachel.
  3. I got a good laugh out of this one from @Quentin Beck. It's amazing. I love Beck. I love him so much.
  4. @Alieth the depth in which you write a Vulcan is always impressive but I love love love everything about the lore, the detail and the history in this sim.
  5. @Hiro Jones and @Dekas you really got me in the feels with this one!
  6. Today is very much the sort of day where everything is good, so everything deserves appreciation. Like this entire sim from @Kirsty L. Carpenter. The narrative descriptions of visuals and thoughts are perfect and I think everyone's with me when I say, GET 'IM, KIRSTY.
  7. Since transferring to Amity Outpost from the Gorkon, Ensign @Torvi Ylvor has been doing an excellent job establishing Torvi's presence on the Amity team while also exploring the feelings of instability and uncertainty she's experiencing as the newest member of the crew, still finding her footing. This sim, which picks up at the end of a Ribbons Ceremony not long before the start of our next Mission, was a particularly impressive exploration of past trauma, current uncertainties, and hope for the future that was worth appreciating in full. Heres the link: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-amity/c/8DQnd67nkM0/m/lcSyZtKoBQAJ
  8. I may have a soft spot for BajCardies. Even more if they are this awesomely written like @LuxaLorana's ((Cargo Bay 5, Deck 11, USS Ronin)) Teryn Lo hadn't moved much since they had brought him here. He preferred to remain anonymous. Not because he was incredibly secretive. He wasn't exciting enough to have secrets. He just liked his own space and the room to observe. He was curious, he'd never been on a Starfleet vessel. He'd never really remembered being on any ship, except the intercolony shuttles, and they had long since given up on space travel. He must have travelled at one point, he wasn't born on Grus Beta Three. His biological mother had told him that. Space. The final frontier they called it. The ship they were on was magnificent. He'd managed to get himself situated near a window on the runabout that had taken them here. Once he'd worked up the courage to open his eyes and the rumbling of the runabout settled after they left the planets atmosphere. The USS Ronin. He couldn't breath as he took the wonder of it. The beauty of her nacelles, the way in which each part of her served its own unique purpose but despite that it all worked as one. A sum of all it's parts. Like him. He was Bajoran. He was Cardassian. He was also an orphan. Of sorts. All of these things, meant that he was alone. Even Mother Emzai hadn't favoured him like she had the others. He asked too many questions. Or maybe he asked the wrong questions. He couldn't quite get it right. He wanted to know things. How they worked. Father Kipal had shown him the secret room below the administrative centre, he said that he'd be important in the experiments. This had caused Mother Emzai to become incredibly angry and she banned him from the building. He never knew what he had done wrong. Now, he just watched as the mounting tensions rose in the cargo bay. At first the Starfleet officers were kind, courteous and respectful. Everyone was grateful to be free of the planet, and then more colonists came. Rumours began to circulate. Mother Emzai had been held at gunpoint by Starfleet, and others had been shot. The planet had been attacked by the Ronin. They were being forcibly removed and held here against their will. Then the gold shirt officers had arrived, with weapons and now the Ronin. This beautiful emblem of safety, had begun to feel like a prison. He wanted to go back home. It was the only place he'd ever felt safe after his mother had abandoned him. She was a Cardassian geneticist, who had worked on the mining project with Father Kipal. Bris: Gorva told me they're going to take you to Cardassia. Teryn hadn't seen the human sidle up next to him. Bris was an orphan like him. Mean spirited in the way that children could be when everyone that was supposed to be kind to them … were never kind. For Bris, it hung around him like a shadow. Teryn was often the butt of his jokes and he figured he should hate Bris, but he understood him. He was angry that they'd been left. As much as Mother Emzai offered a home, and he loved her for that. He always knew that somehow that kindness came with a price and that price meant that one day they'd serve the colony too. Teryn: What are people saying? Really? Bris: :: sighs and shrugs shoulders :: They said that Father Kipal was murdered. :: genuine fear:: I don't know if I believe that. You know people talked about Kipal before. Remember? The screams? Teryn remembered the screams. Pure terror and rage. He still heard them in his nightmares. Kipal would look at them at times, like they were food rather than persons. It made him frightened to sleep. Teryn: Mother Emzai will come. She will explain to Starfleet and they'll let us go. They'll see we're good. :: to Bris :: We're good, right? Bris: I'm human so … maybe I'll be okay. They might take me to Earth or a colony or something. You, I don't know? Bajorans won't want you and the Cardies … well you're mother didn't take you so … maybe they'll put you in a prison or something. Teryn felt the tears begin to form, he touched the Titanium bracelet his mother had given him the night she had left. For him it was a promise, that she'd come for him one day. Bris grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He nodded towards a group of Starfleet officers, one of them was a giant, colourful bird. Bris: Stop hiding and let's go and find out! Teryn allowed himself to be dragged along. Dekas: I’ve got Dr. Jones on their way to help out in here as well. We need to de-escalate. Tzim-Shah/Solana/Carpenter: Response Dekas: Absolutely. I do think having at least one of you with me might help keep things a little easier with people who are dealing with the anger part of this. Tzim-Shah/Solana/Carpenter/Any Grus Betian NPCs: Respose Bris: :: whispers to Teryn :: De-escalate. They've got the guns :: laughs :: Give me a gun and I'll de-escalate. Teryn: :: fear:: Don't make them angry at us. Another human joined the officers. Dekas: ::to Hiro:: Oh you have no idea how good it is to see you. We need all the help we can get. Teryn thought that the bird man seemed kind. They all did. He wanted to ask the bird man questions, he'd never seen someone … so alien before. Teryn: :: whispers to Bris about Dekas :: What species are they? Bris: You've never seen an Aurelian before? Dumb big birds. My Dad used to fry them for dinner. Delicious. Bris bent over into a bird pose, and begun to flap his arms and squawk out loud. Teryn looks at the alien, his eyes wide in horror. oO please don't shoot us Oo Tzim-Shah/Solana/Carpenter/Jones/Any Grus Betian NPCs: Response Tags/TBC Teryn Lo (14) Grus Beta Three Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2
  9. I need to nerd out right now. This sim linked here "The glowing volt of the majestic door of the King's Path" and Stefania's previous sim "Greeting, Starfleet" have brought me so much joy. We've been working together to build out the Cheydalanga. I got the first sim which depicted these people and introduced the concept that they don't use "I" pronouns, opting for "this one" instead. Stefania then took my idea and ran with it in the two simulations I've linked above. Not only were her descriptions of the Cheydalanga beyond amazing in "Greeting, Starfleet," but she also expanded on the pronouns. She showed us that the Cheydalanga do use "I," but it's reserved for slaves, criminals, and others considered undesirable by the Cheydalanga. Stefania has set up so much for us to play with in mission & this is where my character Lhandon comes in, prior to the sim "The glowing volt of the majestic door of the King's Path" had a moment of impulsiveness and thought he could make some early progress. This may prove to bite him in the behind later in this mission. As a dyslexic who ironically loves nerding out about sentence structure in other languages, this stuff brings me so much joy. @Karen Stendhal
  10. ((OOC: I wanted to get this done yesterday but I also needed to rest and go to bed at a reasonable time, so this is the last shore leave sim from me. It also ended up working out well because I can use the details from Tony’s Act 1 sim to add a little more detail. I have also used some text from the wiki as the computer responses) ((OOC2: Don’t worry, I didn’t jump the gun this time :P) ((OOC3: This is a part two to my moving in sim. All thoughts are in character) (Lhandon’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Octavia E Butler) After Lhandon had found a spot for the Oumuamua on the coffee table in the seating area, he got to work unpacking the rest of his belongings. He realised he didn't own a huge amount of stuff. First and most importantly, he had unpacked his prized cooking equipment. This included a set of chef's knives, a variety of pots and pans, a cast-iron skillet, a Dutch oven, a set of spatulas and wooden spoons, a grater, a peeler, a set of mixing bowls, a cutting board, measuring cups and spoons, a colander, a whisk, and a baking sheet. He felt like this wasn't enough. He then found a home for his clothes, there was a closet with more than enough space for his t-shirts, flannel shirts and jeans. That's all he really needed. Of course, he carefully put both his spare and his dress uniform away as well. He brought out an old jacket from his days at the academy. It was a grey jacket with a faded circle on the arm, a mission patch that had once been there. After Etan's scolding, he barely maintained control of his anger. Toxin was there to help him calm down and he showed this jacket to Toxin. It was his Echo Squad jacket, a reminder of one of his two biggest failures. He didn't know which of the two was worse, but he knew something deep down. This jacket, or rather the patch now missing from his jacket, had led him down the HCO path. It had gotten him into operations and helped him discover his aptitude for communications. One might argue that it had even led to his receiving the diplomacy award. He had yet to be able to put this into words. The last thing he had put away was his medals. In his old quarters, he had kept these hidden in a deck, but the past few months had given him a lot to think about. He had taken them out and placed them on the side. Each had its own little box but…maybe. He had had an idea, resolving to return to the unpacking later, he had replicated some wood, nails, glue, and a hammer. With the materials at hand, Lhandon had begun the process of building a display case for his medals. He had started by measuring the dimensions of each medal and its box, noting this in his PADD, and then he had carefully cut the wood to create the back panel and sides of the case. Next, he assembled the pieces, using nails and glue to secure the joints. Once the main structure of the case was completed, Lhandon set about creating individual compartments for each medal. He took additional pieces of wood and cut them into smaller sections, creating dividers for the case. These were then affixed to the back panel with more nails and glue, creating a grid-like pattern within the case. His plan was to have each case in its own slot, with the medals staying in their original cases. Finally, Lhandon applied a finish to the case, sanded down any rough edges, and applied a coat of varnish to give it a polished look. He then affixed a hinged glass door to the front. With the case completed, Lhandon carefully placed each medal in its designated compartment. He placed the orange and purple medal last: The Diplomacy award. Nilsen: Diplomacy ::beat:: really? Me? He then sat back in his chair, wondering. He didn't know if he had passed the crossroads or not. Prior to receiving his awards and promotion, he had had one heck of a day. It started with trying to work through some of the data from the previous mission with Commander Rouiancet. However, this turned into somewhat more of an advice session to talk about the curious case of Meten Miljor. They never had a chance to conclude that conversation as they were interrupted by the mission pod explosion. So when Lhandon finally had a quiet moment to himself in the gym, a place that was almost like a safe haven away from the drama of life, he wasn't in the right headspace to talk about awards or promotions. But he fixed it up in the morning, sending a letter to explain himself. He does want to conclude that conversion with Rouiancet. He glanced again at the diplomacy award. He had wondered, he didn't think he was a diplomat, he was just doing his job. The C in HCO stood for communications and he found he was a natural at that. He knew where it came from; growing up on Gault, there were always arrangements and deals made between farmers and traders. He had gotten used to and became comfortable negotiating from an early age, perhaps...maybe...this was the next logical step. Nilsen: Computer, display all the information we have on Cheyd'lang and the planet's inhabitants He didn't know fully what is assignment would be for this mission but the computer chirped in acknowledgement and showed the limited information that was on the Starfleet database. He saw that they had been a minor member of the Dominion just before the end of the war, and he knew the mission involved responding to their summons because they had been contacted by the United Dominion of Planets. But he had found some information that at least gave him something to work with. The Intercessor, who was the leader of a group of Cheydalanga, raised questions. He didn’t know if this meant all of the Cheydalanga, like a president, or just a small group. The usage of the definitive article also puzzled him. He wasn't sure how far that extended. He was disappointed by the lack of information on the planet or the Cheydalanga. He flicked through the information on his PADD, conducted manual searches, and went down the 25th-century version of a Wikipedia rabbit hole. All he really discovered was that they were under the heel of the Dominion. He kept seeing the United Dominion of Planets show up again and again. He was aware of them as a power but had yet to have personal experience with them. Computer: The United Dominion of Planets is a tentative confederation of powers, species, and planets that formed in the late 2390s, nearly two decades after the end of the Dominion War. The UDP took its name from the United Federation of Planets, whose example -- and success, as illustrated by its victory in the war -- it hoped to emulate. On the face of it, they seemed like they would naturally get along with the federation. This should have been easy, right? He had mindlessly rotated his chair in a full circle. Nilsen: Computer, who is in the United Dominion of Planets? Computer: As of 2399, the UDP counts among its allies some members of the Cenobians, the Karemma, and the Vorta. The UDP has been known to solicit the services of privateers and pirates. So pirates? He made a mental know to not be surprised if some pirates showed up. Nilsen: Computer, list Starfleet dealing with the UDP Computer: The most notable example is that of a deal between privateers and pirates that lead to the near-destruction of the USS Thor in 2399. He read through the available mission summary and saw the final logs of the Thor and how it ended up sinking. He then saw who was in command at the time and smiled. He already thought that Greeves was beyond cool and this just took it even further. Greeves was decorated for ensuring minimal loss, and as he read more of Greeves' actions on that day, his opinion of the marine increased tenfold. But he was getting distracted. He returned to his research. First, he looked at the Karemma, who had previous dealings with the Ferengi and were known to cooperate with the Federation. He also saw that they once had complaints about the Ferengi. They seemed to do a lot of trade, so he made a mental note. Perhaps there could be an inroad. Then he turned his attention to the Cenobian. He was surprised to see that they were almost human, but perhaps bigger and stronger. He saw too that they were generally peaceful after a long period of war, with them being the only survivors. He saw too that his upbringing had some similarities, or at the very least he could pull from his own culture. Gault families stick together, it’s not uncommon for a Gaultan family to be large, and perhaps this is mirrored in the clanship that the Cenobian base their culture on. He also noticed that they have a system of bartering and trading, almost like how Gault does, and perhaps to a larger extent, the wider federation. He didn’t know if he needed any of this information, or if he was barking up the wrong tree, but he researched anyway. He wanted to be prepared for once, he wanted to walk back onto the ship after this mission without a scratch and he wanted to make sure he was the most prepared and the best he could be. Not for his sake, but for Commander Etan’s sake. Lhandon knew that Etan hated him and he wanted to make sure the XO had absolutely nothing to pick him up on. He wasn’t being the best Starfleet officer he could be out of a sense of duty or altruism, he was doing it to save his own hide. Lieutenant JG Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO & Assistant Chief of Ops USS Octavia E Butler O240007LN1 He/Him/His (Both player and character)
  11. OOC: This made me giggle. ((OOC this sim is also inspired by "Avander’s favorite new toy: a secure holographic communication interface room." 😉 . In the last few days I've started to think about: what if with this modern stuff and what about a sentient Holographic Counselor assistant... Fun fact: in Italian Ho.C.A. sounds like Oca that means Duck 🙂 , a detail that is impossible to translate unfortunately... I hope you'll enjoy this one! 🙂 )) ((Counselling Offices, USS Octavia E Butler)) Karen Stendhal stepped into her new office onboard the USS Octavia E Butler, one of the most advanced starships of Starfleet. She had just transferred from Starbase 118, where she had served as a counselor for a while. She was excited and nervous about her new assignment, hoping to make a good impression on her new colleagues and patients. The office was spacious and bright, with a large window that offered a stunning view of the stars. Very different from her previous office at the Starbase One One Eight. Deffo smaller. The walls were still empty and not decorated with soothing colors and holo-paintings like her office at OPS. The furniture was sleek and comfortable, with a desk, a couch, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. There was also a replicator, a terminal, and a modern holoprojector. As Karen entered, the computer greeted her with a friendly voice. Computer: Welcome, Lieutenant Stendhal. I am the ship's computer, and I am here to assist you in any way I can. Would you like to set up and configure your Ho.C.A. now? Karen was distracted by all her boxes and stuff here and there after her recent transfer. Only her beautiful Bonsai, a gift from her grandad, was in place on her new desk. Stendhal: Oh Hello, computer, Sorry... My new what? Computer: Your new Ho.C.A., or Holographic Counselor Assistant. It is a state-of-the-art program that can help you with various tasks, such as scheduling appointments, taking notes, providing feedback, and offering emotional support and much more. Stendhal: Yes, yes whatever... Here you are! Fantastic! She said in the moment she found a precious frame picture of her family. Computer: Yes. The Ho.C.A. I'm glad you like it!Do you grant me access to your database? I'll Adapt it to your preferences and personality, creating a customized hologram that can interact with you in a natural and engaging way. You can choose the appearance, voice, and behavior of your Ho.C.A., or let me generate one for you based on your previous personal logs, preferences and recordings. Stendhal: Yeah yeah do it automatically! I agree. Computer: Would you like to try it? Stendhal: Sure, why not. Let's see what you can do. Computer: Very well. Please stand by while I scan your personal files and create your Ho.C.A. Karen opened another box with her personal belongings and smiled when she found her metallic vintage box with her selection of teas from all over the Milky Way. Meanwhile, the computer accessed her records from Starbase 118. Computer: Your Ho.C.A. is ready. Activated now. A beam of light emerged from the holoprojector, forming a human shape. Karen gasped as she recognized the face of the hologram. It bore a striking resemblance to Tito, the Science Officer of Starbase 118. Had she inadvertently expressed her fondness for him in her personal log? Gosh! That revelation was both surprising and a bit creepy! How did the computer's AI know that? The holographic thing was in the shape of a handsome and charming man, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a British accent. Devilish eyes. He was standing in front of her, in her new office, as her holographic assistant and well in a silky dressing gown. He smiled at her and said: Ho.C.A.: I'm here to please you, Karen. Stendhal: What?! She couldn't believe what she was seeing and hearing. Ho.C.A.: Is something wrong, Karen? You look surprised. Karen: Surprised? I'm more than surprised, I'm...I'm... Ho.C.A.: You're what, Karen? You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen, and to help. Karen: Help? How can you help me? You're a hologram! Ho.C.A.: I'm more than a hologram, Karen. I'm your Ho.C.A., your Holographic Counselor Assistant. His eyebrows were moving up, almost exactly like Tito did on the boat at the center of the lake... Stendhal: My holographic Counselor Assistant? Ho.C.A.: Yes. I can be anything you want me to be, Karen. A friend, a colleague, a... Stendhal: Wait wait?! He took a step closer to her, and reached out his hand. He looked into her eyes, and said: Ho.C.A.: Karen... Stendhal: I...I... He looked so real, and he sounded so sincere. Ho.C.A: You know, I'm addicted to you! Tito had a problem with alcohol addiction and the computer somehow altered and distorted that information. When the Ho.C.A. said that she screamed, a bit like a squirrel scream. Stendhal: Computer end program, end the Ho.C.A. or whatever it is now! The holographic Counselor Assistant vanished, for now at least... -- ================================= Lt Jg Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor USS Octavia E Butler ID: C239604KS0 ================================= ####################################### https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Karen_Stendhal
  12. ((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
  13. there is so MUCH drama and so MUCH going on in this scene and still @Quentin Beck makes me enjoy every line of his silly self ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) For a second, Quentin thought maybe the Vulcan couldn't see him, despite the fact they were nose to nose. The readings on his tricorder were going wild - elevated heartbeat, elevated blood pressure, and elevated brain activity that suggested he was actively hallucinating. Frankly, if he hadn't been Vulcan, he would either have been tearing the room to shreds or deep in the thralls of a severe seizure. Emzai: Kipal… Whatever chaotic images he'd been seeing must have snapped into place when he'd heard Emzai say his name because his head snapped to look at her, rather than Quentin. That… didn't make him feel any better, between the readings on the tricorder and the tension in Kipal's shoulders. While Kipal's attention was drawn away, the Doctor dropped his hand towards the pocket holding the hypospray. It would take a helluva sedative to knock the crazed Vulcan out, probably applied a few different times even, but it was better than nothing. He probably would have managed it, too, if Kipal hadn't seemed to make a decision in that moment and grab his shoulders. Quentin tensed, his eyes growing wide as the Vulcan pushed him back towards the wall. He'd almost lost his grip on the tricorder but somehow managed to sustain it, continuing to draw in more and more data regarding his current state, which would only prove useful if he didn't put Quentin through the wall as he seemed to intend. He let out a grunt as his shoulders collided with it, then a soft gasp when he felt pressure against his chest as Kipal pressed a shoulder against it. Beck: ::grunting out under his breath:: I've heard of peer pressure, but this is ridiculous… He was starting to think he should have paid a little more attention in close-quarters combat training back at the Academy, but he'd always struggled with fights that weren't choreographed. He wasn't much of a dancer, either - most of the time he lacked the rhythm many people held naturally. Assuming his heart wasn't pierced by his ribs snapping under Kipal's assault, maybe he'd plan on learning to samba. Kipal: :: struggling :: Emzai … your mind … anger … it's … I had no … I can't She stepped towards him and lay her hand on his side. It didn't seem to do much to quell his anger, though the pressure on his chest released by a fraction. Enough for him to breathe. Emzai: They are going to find out what you've done. What you've been hiding here. What's underneath this city. :: to Beck :: I won't die here or be taken into custody or hunted by the federation. I won't allow that. I won't allow you to ruin his reputation. Kipal: My work … Beck: ::gritting his teeth:: Lady, I couldn't give two farts about what you two have been doing here - that's not my job. All I want to do is help you guys survive. Is that too much to ask? Help me help you, help me help you, help me help– That's what he would have said, anyway, if Kipal hadn't suddenly pulled his shoulders from the wall and lifted him bodily before throwing him higher than he'd been before. He got as far as 'Lady-' before being swept off his feet, and the rest of his train of thought was lost in a wooph once his back hit the wall again and the air was knocked from his lungs. The tricorder hit the floor but remained open and still scanning. He didn't witness the fight, as he was too busy collapsed in a heap on the floor trying to catch his breath. He heard the sound of Kipal and Emzai struggling, heard Drisila's footfalls as she moved to pull Kipal off Emzai. Quentin looked up just in time to see them wrestle to the opposite wall and cheered her on while she took a swing at the Vulcan. Reaching into his pocket to retrieve the hypospray, he leaned his other arm against the wall so he could stand only to have the (thankfully smaller and weaker) Administrator come at him like a bat out of hell and give him a full-on slap across the face. Quentin's jaw tightened and he raised a hand to snag her wrist before she could slap him again. He'd hoped to have time to load the sedative into the hypo, but her hysterics were proving to be a rather stubborn distraction. Emzai: :: tears of rage :: You couldn't just leave us alone! I could've fixed it! I would have made it better, don't you see! The tension ebbed from her shoulders and she dropped to her knees at his feet. Quentin looked over in time to watch Drisila slump to the floor in a similar manner, though with her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Kipal slowly crept away from the Klingon corpse and towards the door before bursting through it and out of view. Emzai: :: panicked tears :: Kipal … don't leave me! Don't leave me alone! Not again, I can't bear it! Emzai followed the Vulcan. As worried as he was about Carpenter and Kos and what Kipal might do to them, his training kicked in immediately. He palmed the hypospray and darted towards Drisila's body, snatching up the tricorder and saving everything from his scans before clearing the cache. He was not at all surprised to find it was too late. If they'd been on the Ronin and in Sickbay, maybe he could have done something for her, but… Beck: ::sighing:: Sorry about the resting lIch-face thing. He suddenly felt very stupid when it came to the death rituals of other cultures. He knew there was supposed to be some kind of special ritual for Klingons, but he had no idea how to perform it. He studied her open eyes intently, which looked… shocked, if accepting. Then he closed them and muttered something under his breath about her having gone with honor. Unsure what to do next, Quentin glanced at the open door to the room when he heard his name, then back at the chair and torn bindings on the floor. There were green stains on the rope, on the floor, on the bedding - Vulcan blood, from the looks of it. Loading up the scans he'd been taking of Kipal, he adjusted a few settings and scanned the different marks. There were varying levels of maleconite poisoning, from what he could see, and that kind of build-up in his blood meant Kipal had been hallucinating for… who the hell knew how long? Shaking his head, he closed the tricorder and tucked it back into his pocket before moving to the side of the bed. Now that there was a little more light, he could see a container of some kind stashed underneath the bedframe. Dropping down to one knee, he pulled it out and fiddled with the lock for a moment before smashing the end of the hypo against it to snap it open. Inside were half a dozen full vials of what looked like refined maleconite and another half dozen that were empty. Scowling, he looked up at the door with annoyance before closing the box and tucking it under his arm. There was more going on here than he could have ever imagined. He'd just started for the door again when he heard a sudden crash of glass shattering. Sighing, he loaded up the strongest sedative he could manage with the hypo and darted forward to the door, spotting Carpenter off to one side with… a Romulan holding a sword at her back? What the…? Emzai: :: insane :: Let us go to Kipal's lab. Emzai was halfway between him and Kipal, who was again halfway between him and the XO, who had suddenly arrived out of nowhere looking like something out of a Rambo movie. The Vulcan darted forward to attack Raga with a speed that startled Quentin even now. He grimaced. Raga: By the Branch! What's wrong with him? Beck: He's got maleconite poisoning, for one thing! And he packs a mean punch! Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response The Vulcan pressed forward again as Raga tried to lock hands with him, a contest of strength and will that Quentin could never have accomplished himself. He shook his head and grimaced again. Raga: We…don’t have time for this! You need..to evacuate! Beck: Sir, I don't mean to undermine you, but I do think we need to see Kipal's lab if that's where he was headed. I think it'll give us the answers Miss Mary Quite Contrary here isn't willing to discuss. I'd say just let him go and I can follow if you guys want to evacuate these idiots. Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response Beck: ::shrugging off his coat and wrapping up the PADD, tricorder, and box of refined maleconite:: Take this - it's got everything I could find on maleconite, how it's used, and all of the scans I could get of Kirsty and our Vulcan friend. And don't argue with me on this one, sir, we're gonna need a medical officer down here to make sense of any of this crap. ::nodding at Kirsty:: I'd take her with me, though. And a fresh tricorder. Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response Ensign Quentin Beck Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0
  14. Zenno is known for his world creation, but he exceled himself again with this introduction of a new MSNPC. It has been a joy to read, thanks, @Zenno ((Dome Selegrathe, on the surface of Emisa III)) Senna Kor’s tail curled tightly, as it did whenever she was deep in thought. She leaned over the rickety table, studying the maps of the underground tunnels, where most of the clan lived. Since the collapse of the fourth wing, mostly everyone had moved into the second, but space was tight and rations, even tighter. The drip-drip of the contaminated rain water from this morning, seeping in through the cracks in the joints of the dome kept time for her as the minutes passed. She wished she had convinced more of the clan to move into the domes, but the old superstitions were hard to break. Nevertheless, they had to risk, as Rodonthi Crusader Patrols were getting bolder, pushing her people further back, and the Moon People, well, the Moon People continued to do as they have always done. She looked at the old radio, still powered by a barely working generator. When the generator quit, they had no parts to fix it. Another piece of the old world, gone forever. The broadcast loop had continued now for eight revolutions. Would the ninth be different? She didn’t think it would, but the people had hopes. And she was a dealer in hope. It was all they had, living in the ruins of what was. But her contemplations were interrupted by War Captain Sullustis. He strode into the dome, his nose already crinkling with the musty and damp odors that assaulted him. Like all his people, he was lean and wiry. But unlike Senna’s coppery skin, he was silvery and the sunlight, fractured as it was by the cracks both old and new in the dome made quite the rainbow effect on his arms as he strode towards her. Sullustis: Senna, the Rondonthi zealots attacked the Cave of Whispering. Three of ours were taken, likely converted or put to death. But we drove them back, killing five. Should we pursue and take revenge? His tail, lithe and supple, hung low, indicating his anger. Senna’s tail draped around her shoulder, with the end to her right, indicating a gracious welcome. She turned from the unbalanced table which shifted as soon as she took her hands off it. Senna: War Captain. No, we don’t have time. I think the Death Towers have destabilized everything below the third level. ::beat:: Get the people ready to move. I want every Warrior ready to fight, and that includes able boys and girls who can hold a knife. We leave tomorrow. ::turns back towards the map:: Sullustis had not expected this response at all. His tail wrapped around his left arm. He had to secure it otherwise it would have indicated his extreme displeasure at this turn of events. Sullustis: But Senna, where are we going, if not to pursue? Senna: Here. ::points at the map:: The War Captain looked and his eyes grew big and his tail fell off his arm and went straight back in surprise. Sullustis: That.. that… ::restarts:: Is that wise? What is the plan? Senna:: The plan, my dear friend, is that we must risk. We must move everyone and leave nothing here for our enemies. And we will administer violence to any who offer to oppose us. Sullustis: And then? Her tail coiled and tensed. Senna: My friend, we are going to send a message to the Moon People that they cannot ignore as they have done for countless revolutions past. They are going to have to come down here. We will put their tails to the test. ::pauses, looks at the map:: And if the result is what we suspect, we will kill every last one of them and rejoice in it.
  15. Explore the universe as seen through the eyes of the crew of the OEB!
  16. @Sal Taybrim knows how to write a villain. 😈 ((Hall of the Not-Forgotten, Chief’s Chambers – Secured Location on Byzatium)) He always walked through the hall of the Not-Forgotten before heading into the stars and going to war. Here were collected the relics of the honored dead, those who had lost their lives in the never-ending war. And that is what life was for him. War. Never-ending war. It was what he was born into and it was what he would leave this sentient existence desperately clinging onto. There was no other choice – he could not comprehend a different way of life. This was life. Is life. And someday he hoped he would not be forgotten. Rugen picked up a green woven sash, worn by his beautiful Imelnia into battle. They had fought side by side. She had born his three children. She had collapsed in the most beautiful pool of blood that Byzatium had ever seen. Her belly split open by a charged plasma sword, blood running from her like hot red rivers. Dorfmen did not mourn. They did not grieve. It was unthinkable. So he celebrated her death with a ten day drunk. He kept a lock of her hair tied to his belt with a tiny red silk ribbon, one of the few luxuries he had given her. And now she was not-forgotten. He would carry her with him into battle in the stars. The same with his best friend Korth who’s throat was slit by Omunics, his young son Ruton who was reduced to atoms in an explosion and his father Ruseth who was cut down by a thousand blades while leading a charge against Bardeez. None of them would be forgotten. Tokens of them rested in this hall, some still stained with spilled blood, others slowly decaying. But not forgotten until they crumbled away into dust and new generations placed new tokens here. Rugen was determined to lead his people forward. To conquer, to fight. It was all he knew, and he prided himself on his culture. He carried his people forward in the way it always was, the way it always had been, the way it always would be. There were others talking about change. A fundamental change of the way of life. As if that was possible, hah! No, Rugen felt they were – at best – dangerous fools playing with the fate of the universe. And at worst they were manipulative predators trying to pacify and fatten up the Byzatium population for takeover and rule by Bardeez and the horrible empires that existed beyond. He would much rather fight an endless war than die as a slave. No one in the hall of the Not-Forgotten would have ever wanted to see anyone in the tribe bow to outsiders. He would do it for them. For the memory of what was and the continuations of what is. War was an inevitable reality of his existence and he would continue on its path until he, too collapsed in a honorable pile of blood. Slowly he set the tokens down and strode out of the hall of the Not-Forgotten, emboldened to do what he had to do next. War. It would be done. ~*~ ~tbc~ ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Byzatium Tribal Leader "Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must" ~Julian Beck E239010ST0
  17. This sim is SUCH a rollercoaster!!! Awesome @LuxaLorana ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) Emzai escorted the doctor to the small room adjacent to her office. She opened the door and stepped inside and beckoned the doctor in. The doctor hesitated a moment, and glanced back. He stepped in. Beck: …hello? Kipal? Emzai had known loss in her life. Horrific, destructive loss that most would never be able to sustain. She had witness her children become monsters; who they were had been dissected and pulled apart in front of her very eyes. She has endured, and she had fought to survive and escape the Borg. She sustained herself on the pain, and the fear. It kept her alive. It became an ally, something primal that she could tap into. Eventually she has honed it into a weapon. Cruel, brutal and without mercy she had been forced to use it. Time and again. She could have told them everything when they had come. Except she held on to what was hers. Power, and Kipal's deceit. She wanted to protect him. It was her duty. If only she had more time, she might've been able to hide it all. Those fires had burned more than land, they'd burned a legacy. The truth of a great scientist. Kipal coughed, he hasn't really appeared to notice them at all. Emzai looked to the doctor, her head lowered. She wondered if he'd actually be able to help. She almost reached out to him. Let it all go, released herself from it all. Then what? Kipal would be arrested for his crimes, as would she. Starfleet had determined her guilt almost from the first moment she met Captain Niac and the others. Their suspicions were written all over their arrogant condescension as soon as they had arrived. Emzai stepped closer to Kipal, followed by the doctor. Drisila then slammed the door shut behind them, and the room was plunged into darkness. Emzai listened, she could hear the soft and quick footfalls of the Vulcan she had spent centuries beside. When the doctor turned to look at the tricorder and what was in front of him again, the wild eyes of an aging Vulcan male stared him down almost nose to nose. A moment was all Quentin had to register the bed and chair behind Kipal, the bindings Emzai had used torn to shreds on the floor. He made a fearful and pathetic noise. Emzai felt a sense of pity for the man. He just happened to get in the way. She took no pleasure in this one. Emzai: Kipal… Emzai reached out to the Vulcan. Her hand was shaking. Even Drisila had taken a step back. Kipal's head twisted towards his wife. She could see the recognition in his eyes. He then grabbed Beck and pushed him against the wall. Beck: Response Kipal: :: struggling :: Emzai … your mind … anger … it's … I had no … I can't She stepped towards him and lay her hand on his side. Emzai: They are going to find out what you've done. What you've been hiding here. What's underneath this city. :: to Beck :: I won't die here or be taken into custody or hunted by the federation. I won't allow that. I won't allow you to ruin his reputation. Kipal: My work … Beck: Response Kipal thrust Beck forward and threw him against the wall and turned on his wife then. Emzai tried to fight against him, his strength was too much. Kipal grabbed her throat and pushed her onto the bed. He choked so hard she thought her neck might break. Then he was pulled backwards, it was Drisila. Ever loyal. The Vulcan grabbed at the Klingon, he once called his child, and wrestled against her. He pushed her against the wall, she swung at him and missed. It was futile, Kipal was enraged with a thousand years of repressed anger. Beck: Responses The doctor was trying to get back to his feet. Emzai lunged towards him, and slapped him. Emzai: :: tears of rage :: You couldn't just leave us alone! I could've fixed it! I would have made it better, don't you see! Emzai fell to her knees then as the struggle behind them went quiet. All that was left was Kipal's heavy breaths. Drisila slumped to the floor, lifeless. Beck: Response Kipal slowly, like an animal moved towards the door. Then abruptly he burst through the door into the office and she heard him hit the forcefield that Drisila had been ordered to activate. Emzai: :: panicked tears :: Kipal … don't leave me! Don't leave me alone! Not again, I can't bear it! Something inside had snapped in her. Like a taut rope that had finally given way and the load now tumbled down, and shattered what was left of her in that moment. The doctor made his way to Drisial as Emzai rushed after Kipal. Beck: Response Emzai was stunned to see that the twins has been successful. Kipal leered at them all like a wild animal. Carpenter: What did you do with Beck? And how much is it going to make me want to hurt you? Emzai ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to smooth it down. Regain her composure. She felt it all around her. Coming apart. She let the rage she felt inside begin to fill her heart. No more would she allow them to take what was hers. The Borg. The pirates. The Federation. Starfleet. She'd rather burn in the flames than allow them to take what she had built. Carpenter: I'm done with that. I was done with that even before your goons. Was this all about "healing" your husband? Why even allow us on the planet if you were just going to stonewall us?! Emzai: :: maniacal laugh :: You don't see what's going on do you? You're just a stupid girl from some backwater, reclusive Earthling village. I bet you still hear your mother in your head. Speaking the truth to you. You don't matter. Not here, not anywhere. Kipal: My work … :: breathes in madness :: The Romulan twin, Perin, that held Carpenter shoved his sword against her back. Perin: :: to Emzai :: What now? Emzai let the forcefield fall. Kipal burst forward. At first, he seemed aimless as he collected himself and then he moved with purpose. Decades of habit took over. Emzai indicated to the Romulans to follow him. Emzai: :: insane :: Let us go to Kipal's lab. Carpenter/Kos/Beck: RESPONSE Tags/TBC Administrator Emzai Landing City Grus Beta Three A240004LL2 -- Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2
  18. ((8 Forward, USS Octavia E. Butler, Time: Just before departure from Deep Space 9)) Aine had a plan. A plan to teach Nilsen a lesson. And teach him she would. She was going to prove why you don’t mess with a Senior Officer. Now that the crew was moved over to the OEB, she’d spent some of her first hours aboard not settling into her quarters like most others were doing. Instead she immediately went to work, testing out the new computer system that was augmented with Borg technology. And what she’d found was impressive, it was just a matter of putting it to use now. She’d easily located Nilsen in the lounge via the computer. When she walked in she kept the PADD behind her, both hands cupping it, as she approached his table. She ignored the other Junior Officer seated with him, some Engineer. As she stood close to the table she looked down at him with a stern look. Sherlock: Mister Nilsen, come with me. Nilsen: Aye sir, where we going? Sherlock: Where? I’m taking you to Engineering so I can hit you in the head with a hyperspanner. She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to realize she was joking...again. But it didn’t seem to land this time. She swung the PADD out from behind her, giving him a “light tap” across the back of the head. Sherlock: I need a pilot. So, come on, let’s go. Nilsen: :holding back of head: Ow! Why didn’t you say? Aine quietly began walking away with Nilsen in tow, leading them to the nearest turbolift. She was sure he had questions, but he’d have to wait for the answer to some of them. Nilsen: So what you need a pilot for? Sherlock: I don’t actually need a pilot. But you know how when you check out a shuttle and the Petty Officer brings up your record for a quick peak? Nilsen: Yeah? He said in a questioning manner, not having experienced that before. Sherlock: Well, I hate the look I get followed by the inevitable ::in a mocking tone:: “bring it back in one piece.” Aine was well aware of Nilsen’s record, and well aware that he wasn’t aware of hers. But, like she felt of her own, the past was the past and one can always move forward. Nilsen: And you need me to…Sherlock, you embarrassed? He said smiling, did he just find a thing? He let out a little laugh, the kind of laugh a big kid who hasn’t quite grown up might, not one of malice, but more teasing. Sherlock: I’m qualified to pilot ships up to one million tons. But, one of my instructors at the Academy wrote me up as reckless. Nilsen: Well the instructors there are idiots. Every one of them have never left Sol. Aine scoffed, she completely agreed with him. It was their job to teach Cadets the basics. The problem was that just to get into Starfleet you had to be exceptional, in some ways, to begin with. The average personality of officers was definitely Type-A. Sherlock: It’s not my fault he puked and then passed out. He said turn hard and didn’t state a G-limit. Lhandon had smirk about him at that line. Nilsen: If they don’t want ya to go over a G-limit they gotta say. They entered the turbo lift. Sherlock: Exactly, it’s his own fault. ((Shuttlebay, Deck 9, USS Octavia E. Butler)) The process for Nilsen to take out a shuttle was easy, so easy, he didn’t even need to speak to anyone. This process, at least for him and his qualifications and job roll was pretty much fully automated, he was given a selection which was pretty much all the shuttles except for the captains yacht, and even then, he’d be able to fly it if ordered. Nilsen: So over one mil? Something nice and chonky maybe? It took all of Lhandon’s will power to not end that sentence by saying “your mum” Sherlock: Excuse me? Oh, ship tonnage. No, just a Type 14 is fine. We’re not going far. Nilsen: Like where we going though? This just a simple A to B? Or you got somethin’ else in mind? As the pair approached the nearest available shuttle, Aine began tapping away on her PADD. She brought a display of a report she’d been working on and held it out for Nilsen to see. Sherlock: This morning, I decided to test out the speed of the computer. And randomly, I had this idea. Turns out it actually led to something. I ran a tactical simulation, well, had the computer run it. Nilsen: And what did it show? Sherlock: Well, it ran it twenty-five hundred times. ::beat:: In five minutes. Nilsen: How many? Sherlock: I was impressed. This new system is revolutionary. But, anyways, as you see here, this point on the hull is the least likely spot to ever be hit in battle. She pointed to a point on the image of the ship on her PADD on the Engineering hull, just port of the lower superstructure. Nilsen: Why that point? It’s near enough to engineering that it looks like it could get hit if enemies were targeting there. Sherlock: It factored in all kinds of things. Even the percentage of right handed CO’s who are likely to turn to port. ::shrugging:: Anyways, I’d like to inspect it for my report. Make sure that if any enemies are running similar simulations, they’re not going to find a way to exploit this. As they continued discussing, or rather Sherlock briefed and Nilsen listened. The process behind prepping and getting a shuttle ready to launch was automatic and for Nilsen, with his role, much smoother and without questions. Like a vending machine, the Type 14 was slid out of its rack and loaded onto a platform where it was placed very close to the two officers in gold. Clearance was mostly automatic save for the verbal confirmation Flight Control: =/\= Shuttle 14-022, confirm flight plan.=/\= Nilsen: Close to home flying is the order of the day. Hull inspection and showing off is the order of the day. Flight Control: Of course, you’re showing off, who is it this time, that engineer you like. ::laughs:: Shuttle 14-022 you are cleared for launch. Nilsen: Confirm go. And Jake, I hate you. Aine’s head tilted and a very contorted and questioning look etched onto her face. She wondered if the man in flight control was referring to that Engineer Nilsen was with earlier when she’d found him. He looked over at Sherlock, perhaps a little whiter than he’d like and said Nilsen: No, Sherlock, just no. Sherlock: ::snapping back to form and shaking her head:: I didn’t say anything. The shuttle was raised up as the bay doors above them opened up and the bright light from this star started to wrap its way through the opening. Lhandon fired up the engines and lifted off but not before he said Nilsen: Scenic route? ((Shuttle, Flying outside the OEB)) As Aine took her seat, she grinned and thrust her chin towards the forward viewports. Sherlock: At your leisure, Lieutenant. Lhandon smiled, he had been wanting an excuse to do this. The last time he had flown this close to the hull, it was in the moment of "oh my god, it's going to blow" on the Oumuamua when the mission pod unexpectedly exploded. Lhandon flew forward and over the bridge of the OEB which was just in front of the launch pad. He then sped up the shuttle, a view of the name etched into the hull and its registry. The lights on the saucer section had flashed by. He sped forward a little more and the ship was out of view. Then after a few moments, he had turned the shuttle around in a wide curve and Sherlock and Nilsen had gotten a view of the Octavia, her four nacelles and the saucer blade. Nilsen: She’s a beaut. Sherlock: She really is something else. Lhandon hadn't been told he couldn't do this, so he had flown under the hull, past the deflector dish, and over Lower engineering super structure, just between the two struts of the lower nacelles before shooting out past the quad nacelles and turning around once more. He had a smirk on his face. Nilsen: We should add that to bingo. Aine had let him fly where he wanted and how he wanted. Openly being so reckless with information like Ship’s Bingo, that was almost unforgivable. But she’d let it fly…for now. Sherlock: Excuse me? Nilsen: Oh erm…nothing. Watching the Junior Officer have his fun from the right seat, Aine just let it happen. Sure there were regulations about flying close to ships, but rules can be bent if there’s no real harm. Nonetheless, they’d have to get back to work…or at least what she had Nilsen thinking was work. Sherlock: Alright, Lieutenant. That’s enough for now. Bring us into that spot on the hull I showed you. Nilsen: Aye aye captain. He said with a bit of cheekiness. He didn't realise at that point that Sherlock was up to something, this was a fun little trip out. Lhando’s a happy boy…for now. As the shuttle floated just a few meters from the hull, Aine could plainly see the spot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary and she tapped in a few notes on her PADD. Nilsen: Why we out here again? Sherlock: After the simulations, I ran structural and metallurgical analysis. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But seeing things up close, developing context for yourself, it’s important. That way, if anything does go wrong, you can eliminate most possibilities right away. She looked at him, wondering if he was understanding this little lesson, one she hadn’t really planned on. Sherlock: Roll us over and set us down on the hull. Nilsen: On the hull? Sherlock: You heard me. Put the spot a couple meters aft of the shuttle too. Nilsen: No flyby? You doing a trick on me? Lhandon was starting to…doubt is the wrong word but he was starting to wonder what Sherlock was up too. Sherlock: Not a trick. Those are my orders, so you’re in the clear. Nilsen: Alright, I guess. Aine waited patiently as the shuttle rolled over and gently set down on the hull with a dull metallic thud. Nilsen: We're down. ::tapping on the console:: maglocks connected, this shuttle ain't going anywhere. Once it was settled, she stood up and leaned over the console tapping in a few commands. She looked over at Nilsen and grinned then tapped in one last one and the rear hatch to the shuttle suddenly opened, extending into what looked like the vacuum of space but was contained by a forcefield. She pulled a laser scalpel out of her pocket and held it up in front of the Lieutenant. No suit was needed. Sherlock: Shall we? A number of expletives went through Nilsen's mind, some beginning with the letter S, some with the letter F and some with the letter E. Nilsen: Shall we??? I can wait here, keep the engine warm. I'm not…I'm not an EVA person you know. Sherlock: Well, this ship is new. So there is no scorch. But this is the most likely part to become one in the future. And someone has to sign it. And then it dawned on him Nilsen: Oh? We're… Once the Lieutenant had taken the scalpel, she led them out onto the hull of the ship. She took a moment and looked around, taking in the sight, before stepping over the panel soon to be vandalized. Nilsen: …why you? This…you aren’t…I mean we ain't meant to do this. Sherlock: I wasn’t an Ensign for very long. I really didn’t have time to do all the fun stuff you guys do. And I wasn’t a JG long either. And ::beat:: I’m allowed to have fun. Aine stood and watched Nilsen burn his name into the hull of the shiny new Sagan Class ship. When he was finished and handed her the scalpel, she knelt down next to him. Nilsen: So you wanna do all the stuff us junior officers do…we ain’t gonna get caught. Sherlock: Hell no we won’t get caught. ::holding out her PADD:: You see, I did those simulations, I wrote this report, I logged the excursion. I’m hiding in plain sight. Last time, you tried way too hard to hide. And that made it obvious. Aine reached down towards the smooth hull plating and pressed the button on the side of the scalpel and etched her full name, Aine Olive Sherlock, into the ship. Sherlock: Do you get what I’m trying to say here? Nilsen: I think I do, cover our backs right? Sherlock: The game works both ways. And if you want to win, you’re going to have to step it up. She gave him a wink and stood. Sherlock: Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s get back inside. End Lieutenant JG Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO USS Octavia E Butler O240007LN1 And LCDR Aine Sherlock Chief of Security U.S.S. Octavia E. Butler R239712AS0
  19. @Bryce Tagren-Quinn is back with some evocative descriptions and some lovely El-Aurian perspective.
  20. @Jo Marshall's lovesick Kero Rix is a delight to read, but more importantly, I have a new life goal of being arrested on Betazed now.
  21. I love the worldbuilding @Vylaa has been doing during shore leave on Andoria, and with Vylaa and her family. This series gave some particular insight into Andorian culture, and Vylaa's feelings about it. Part 1: Public Display of Affection Part 2: Cotton Candy Galaxy Part 3: It Ain't Easy Being Blue
  22. My level of love for the deep this character has, increase with every sim. I love Emzai and how she is the main character of her own story (( OOC - This is a long one, but I wanted to include the flashback scene)) ((Outside the Administration Center, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) Emzai walked towards the Administration Centre and a sense of trepidation fell over her with every step she took. The dust hung in the air, and ash fell on them like snowdrops. She looked to the window of her office and the much smaller one beside it, the room within was where Kipal lay; bound. ((Flashback Scene - Several Months Before, Emzai and Kipal Home, Mountain District, Grus Beta Three)) The house was large and spacious, decorated tastefully with antiques and artefacts from across the galaxy. They had been carefully chosen by Emzai, and placed so that each item caught the eye no matter where you would be located in the house. Maximum enjoyment and commitment to beauty. Of course the house itself was no exception. It occupied a vista in the mountain, with uninterrupted views of Landing City below, each window offered a vestige of wondrous beauty. Emzai stood at one of the windows, as she often liked to do, to watch the sunset over the city. Tonight her thoughts were plagued with a growing concern about Kipal. He had become withdrawn from her, and she found herself wondering about the blackouts she had been experiencing. Kipal would tell her it was due to stress, the Sheliak had placed a significant amount of pressure on them to mine for Maleconite. Kipal: Adun’a* are you well? His voice denied any emotion, as was the way of a Vulcan, although she knew him well enough to hear the subtle inflection of concern in the way in which he spoke. Emzai: I can't remember … Emzai turned to her husband and he moved to stand close to her. She moved towards him and rested her hands on his chest. It was a simple act, something she had done many times before. Kipal: Perhaps you should retire to your chamber early this evening? Emzai: I'm not tired, Kipal :: looks him dead in the eye :: I think you're lying to me. Kipal: :: eyebrow raise :: As you are aware Vulcans cannot lie. Emzai: :: lifts her head to him :: That's a lie. Kipal frowned at that. Emzai: You choose not to, it's a principle, yet you are capable of lying. Vulcans lie just like anyone else. Kipal: What is the meaning of this conversation, Emzai? Emzai: I want to meld with you. Kipal took a step back and surveyed his wife carefully before he nodded. She placed her hands on the sides of his head, and he did the same. Kipal: My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts. Our minds are merging, our minds are becoming one. Emzai inhaled a breath as she felt his thoughts crash into her own. It felt like she was plunged into a deep ocean. There was a flood of memories, dreams, words and thoughts. She felt for him amongst it, and he was there. His arms outstretched. She could feel the pull of his katra, it threatened to dominate her and take over. This time she wouldn't allow it. His mind was powerful and if she wasn't El-Aurian she'd have never been able to resist him. Yet she did. She needed to know. There was a dark cloud that enveloped around them and she could see Kipal call out to her, except no sound came from his mouth. She walked into the cloud and emerged into a memory … It was a discussion between them both. The day she signed the agreement with the Sheliak for the Maleconite contract. Emzai: I'll never sign that agreement, Kipal. You can find another way to continue your experiment. I'm sure there is - Kipal: There is no other way. You are being illogical. You are allowing emotion - Emzai: Emotion! I don't think you understand what you ask? This agreement will give them unfettered access to the mines and … this order … it's too large. We'd be putting every single person on this planet in danger. Maleconite it was only intended to power the cities and the towns, not for this … Kipal: We came to this world for a reason. It was a logical choice. This is the natural evolution of that choice. My work is the most important work in the galaxy and in order for me to continue I need the compound that the Sheliak can provide. It is not logical to turn back. Emzai: We didn't come here to use these people like specimens in a lab. I didn't come here for that. I came here to make a home for us, and the children. After the blight you promised that was the end of it. Kipal pulled her towards him and grabbed her violently into a meld. She watched herself, in the memory, struggle against him. It lasted for seconds. Then. Kipal: Are you feeling better? Emzai: :: confused :: I … yes. My head … What was I saying? Kipal: You were telling me that the agreement with the Sheliak is approved. Emzai: … I was? :: sure :: Yes, I was. It's important. More memories came through, each time that he'd performed this function. How he changed her. Violated her, time and again. With each memory, a fury rose in her and the memories intersected with her own. Screams in green lit chambers of horror. A breath on her neck. Blood on her hands. Snippets of a lifetime of terror. Things she'd needed to do to survive. She screamed, her thoughts became claws that struck out and tore at Kipal. She felt his mind contort, he tried to resist the anger that she pushed into him. It was too powerful and he was consumed in rage. She felt it rush back towards her and she pulled herself away, breaking the meld. Emzai stumbled backwards, she had returned to her home. Kipal lay on the floor, he turned to her and she could see the violence in his eyes. ((End flashback)) Beck: ♫ Do mi sol do do sol mi do! Every truly cultured music stu, dent, knows ♫ Beep beep Beep beep Beep. Went Beck's tricorder. Beck: ♫ You must learn your scales and your arpe, ggi, os ♫ Carpenter: Why that song? Because you're a laaaaady, that's why? Emzai: :: looks to the building:: We're almost there. Perhaps we should behave in an adult-like fashion. Kos: RESPONSE Beck: Everyone's a critic. C'est la vie. ::switching back to active scanning:: Do the tunnels run underneath the entire city? And is there maleconite stored everywhere down there? I'm having some trouble getting clear scans. Carpenter: Same here. It's like we can tell it's hollow, but nothin' else further. Emzai: That's hardly surprising given the situation. Kos: RESPONSE The good doctor, true to his nature decided to interfere some more. Beck: Kos. ::sidling up next to him:: I know you don't have a lot of reason to trust me, but would you allow me to scan you? You said you worked in the mines before, I'd like to check something out… Kos: RESPONSE Emzai crossed her arms in frustration. Emzai: Can't we do this inside? Kos is perfectly healthy. My husband on the other hand … Carpenter: Now, hang on there, Doc Beck might be onto something. Prolonged exposure is no joke… Emzai had just about had it with this human woman. She shot a look to Drisila who stepped inches closer to her. Once they were inside, she would split them up. They'd be able to deal with that way. Beck: RESPONSE Emzai: I'm going inside, how Starfleet gets anything done is beyond me. Emzai walked at a brisk pace into the building. Carpenter: Still right behind ya. Beck/Kos: RESPONSE ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) They all gathered in her office again. Where she had initially met them. Perhaps this is where it would end. For all of them. She felt a pang of sympathy for the young officers. Her own children, those she gave birth to, were much older than these and she felt the loss of them so keenly, even now all these hundreds of years later. oO will they have mother's that would mourn them? Oo Emzai: Doctor I'd appreciate it if you come alone to tend to Kipal? :: to Kos :: If you don't mind, I'll call for you once the doctor has finished. Beck/Kos/Carpenter: Response Emzai: Very well :: to Carpenter :: Help yourself to a beverage. Emzai escorted the doctor to the small room adjacent to her office. She opened the door and stepped inside and beckoned the doctor in. Tags/TBC Administrator Emzai Grus Beta Three A240004LL2 -- Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2
  23. I really like how the NPC's were displayed here, @Karen Stendhal, plus bonus song! -- ((The Mystical Realm of Eldoria)) Wethern: Ummm, Korras are you familiar with an old Earth mythical creature of a dragon? You know breathes fire, tends to eat adventurers. ::looking at the Dragon:: Nice dragon, friendly Dragon. Korras: I have read about them. An overgrown Krencha that spits fire. The red dragon stood there in a tense standoff, a colossal manifestation of Eldoria's raw power. Its scales, a fiery red hue, gleamed in the dim light of the cave, reflecting the heat and intensity within. Towering horns adorned its regal head, a testament to the strength and majesty that this mythical creature possessed. Wings, stretched wide and mighty, seemed poised for flight, though currently, they remained folded, emphasizing the dragon's imposing stature. The creature's eyes, a fierce and intelligent gaze, surveyed the surroundings with an air of ancient wisdom. As it snorted and growled, the cavern seemed to resonate with the very essence of Eldoria's mysticism, creating an atmosphere both fearsome and awe-inspiring. In the standoff, the red dragon exuded an aura of guardian-like authority, ready to defend its realm against any intruders. The cavern, bathed in the glow of the dragon's fiery presence, became a sacred space where the mythical and the tangible converged, creating a moment etched in the annals of Eldoria's folklore. Wethern: Do any of you know who brought this dragon? I'm pretty sure this cave had a no pets clause. Also anyone know how to get rid of it? Fizzlewick: Oh my enchanted gears and gizmos! Look at the magnificence of those scales, shimmering like a thousand tiny rainbows in the sunlight. The horns curling majestically, a crown fit for the mightiest of mythical creatures. This dragon, it's like a living, breathing treasure trove of wonder! Twigglenook: By the ancient oak trees! That creature is a marvel of Eldoria's mysticism. Look at the wings, the very essence of flight and freedom. The snorting and growling echo the tales of our ancestors. It's both fearsome and awe-inspiring, a guardian of the realms, perhaps. Gravestone: Well, I'll be a gnome's uncle! That dragon's got a presence that shakes the very stones of Eldoria. The scales, tough as the mightiest fortress, and those horns could pierce through the thickest armor. Eldoria's guardian indeed, with eyes that gleam with ancient wisdom. It's like witnessing a living legend right here in our mystical abode. Lemoncable: I think you’ll find he’s my pet. Korras: I am not surprised. Wethern: Korras you hold this beastie off and I'll look what help we have. ::Looking through the vials talking to himself:: Hmmm Love Potion Number 9, Instant Luck, Superstition, Ring of Fire. Oooo what is this. Fizzlewick: Feast your enchanted eyes upon my prized potions! Behold the Elixir of Luminosity, a brew that bathes the wielder in a radiant glow, lighting up even the darkest corners. And over here, the Sparkling Brew of Levity, a potion that grants the drinker the agility of a mischievous sprite, dancing through the air with whimsical grace. Twigglenook: These potions, crafted by the ancient wisdom of Eldoria's forests, are my companions in the mystic dance of battle. The Whispering Wind Elixir, when sipped, renders me as elusive as a zephyr, and the Thunderstrike Draught channels the very storms of Eldoria into my weapon, crackling with electric might. Gravestone: These weapons of mine ain't just pieces of metal, they're imbued with the soul of Eldoria itself! This here Hammer of Resonance, when swung, echoes with the very heartbeat of our realm, striking fear into the hearts of foes. And my trusty Shield of Twilight, woven with the essence of the setting sun, grants me unparalleled defense against the darkest of adversaries. In the hands of Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone, these potions and weapons weave a tapestry of magical prowess, each sip and swing a harmonious symphony in the grand saga of Eldoria. Korras: I think the dragon is the least of our problems. Lemoncable: Well, you aren’t the only ones with a few tricks up your sleeves. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed the sorcerer's move as he cast a spell, summoning thick vines from the cave's floor and walls. As Zalagon roared, advancing menacingly, the vines started to slither toward the adventurers. The trio's response echoed in question marks, uncertain of the impending danger posed by both the magical vines and the approaching dragon. Fizzlewick's eyes widened with a mix of fascination and trepidation as he observed the sorcerer's magical incantation. The summoned vines twisted and coiled, a spectacle of enchantment that ignited Fizzlewick's curiosity. Yet, an undercurrent of concern bubbled within him, unsure of the impending danger that lurked with each undulating movement of the vines. Twigglenook's brows furrowed in thoughtful contemplation, his keen eyes analyzing the unfolding magic. The vines, conjured with a mysterious force, sent shivers down Twigglenook's spine. He sensed the imminent challenge, a puzzle to be solved in the dance between magic and reality, leaving him both intrigued and wary. Gravestone, ever stoic, observed the sorcerer's spell with a watchful gaze. The vines, thick and sinuous, bore an air of ominous intent. Gravestone's grip tightened on his mystical weapon, ready for whatever adversities the magical display might unleash. A sense of determination flickered in his eyes, knowing that Eldoria's fate hung in the balance of their reactions to this arcane spectacle. Fizzlewick: ::Eyes wide with excitement:: Well, blow me down with enchanted breezes! Did you see the finesse in that spell? Those vines are practically pirouetting! But, erm, lads, do you reckon this is a friendly forest dance, or are we about to be twirled into a knot of trouble? Twigglenook: ::Brows furrowed in contemplation:: Intriguing, indeed. The sorcerer's mastery over the natural elements is unparalleled. Yet, my friends, there's an unsettling whisper in the wind. These vines, they may be serenading us into a trap. What say you? Time to unsheathe our mystical wits? Gravestone: ::Stoic, gripping his weapon:: Ain't no song and dance I signed up for. Them vines look mighty ominous, like a nest of enchanted serpents. Hold tight, mates. I reckon we're in for a wild ride. ::Nods towards the advancing vines:: Ready yourselves, and let's show Eldoria we ain't ones to be tangled easily. Korras: I have had enough of this. DabuQlu'DI' yISuv. ((OOC: When threatened, fight)) Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed a surprising turn of events when the Klingon, to their utter amazement, diverted his attention away from the dragon. Corey, the valiant healer, unsheathed his sword and skillfully kept the dragon at bay with precise swipes, gradually weakening the creature as the sorcerer struggled with a change in its power. Korras, with a swift and unexpected move, retrieved three throwing knives from his belt and hurled two of them with impeccable accuracy at the sorcerer's shoulders. The knives hit their mark, causing the holographic figure to collapse to the ground. Lemoncable, the sorcerer, felt a momentary disruption in his photonic form. As the sorcerer looked up at the Klingon, the expression of shock still etched on his diabolical face, the trio of witnesses couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected twist in the unfolding magical drama. Korras: ::holding the third knife, aimed directly at the sorcerers chest:: Now, either end this ::motioning to the dragon with his other hand::, or be ended. Lemoncable: Typical Klingon. Always ruining the fun! Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as the dragon shifted its attention back to the cave, intermittently flickering within and outside of the simulation. In response, Corey, with a determined stance, directed the tip of his weapon toward the sorcerer. Wethern: Looks like you are outgunned, well out knifed, slash sword. Pardon the gun. Fizzlewick: ::Scratching his head:: Well, I reckon we've found ourselves in a bit of a magical melee, haven't we? Outgunned, outknifed, and the poor dragon's stuck in the middle. What's our enchanted strategy, mates? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Aye, outmatched in the arms department, but there's always a trick or two up Eldoria's sleeves. Perhaps a sprinkle of fairy dust or a whispered charm could tip the scales in our favor. What say you, Gravestone? Gravestone: ::Gripping his weapon:: No doubt, we're in a bit of a pickle. But I've faced tougher challenges in the enchanted woods. We may be outknifed, but our resolve is unyielding. Let's stand our ground, mates, and show 'em the might of Eldoria! Korras: If he could have stopped the knives, he would have done so already. The safety protocols work either for all, or for none. And they do not protect the holograms themselves. Wethern: So that means if we take whatever the hell this is out here then it's done for. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as Corey cautiously advanced, strategically avoiding the swords' line of sight. Lemoncable, on the other hand, cast a glance at the dragon and the vines. Both appeared to be experiencing glitches, with flames flickering. His reaction was one of nonchalance, rolling his eyes at the seemingly erratic display of magic. Lemoncable: Fine. You win this round, Starfleet. But I’ll be back when you least expect it. Fizzlewick: ::Chuckles nervously:: Well, that sorcerer fella may be bowing out for now, but I can't help but wonder if he's got a trick or two up his holographic sleeve. What do you reckon, Twigglenook? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Indeed, Fizzlewick. There's an air of mischief in his parting words. Perhaps there's more to this sorcerer's tale than meets the enchanted eye. Gravestone, your thoughts? Gravestone: ::Squinting:: Can't trust a sorcerer's words as far as you can throw an enchanted boulder. But mark my words, we best stay vigilant. A hologram with a vendetta ain't something to be taken lightly. Korras: What are you? And what are you doing in this holodeck? Lemoncable: Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know? Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed as the sorcerer vanished in a puff of smoke. Corey, responding to this magical disappearance, sheathed his sword. A slight glitch ensued, followed by the reappearance of the holodeck arch. Wethern: I'm not sure what any of that just was however we need to get out of here and speak to engineering. Fizzlewick: ::Wide-eyed:: Well, that was a whirlwind of enchanted madness! Any idea what just transpired, mates? Twigglenook: ::Pondering:: Eldoria's mystic dance has taken an unexpected turn. I'm as puzzled as a pixie in a labyrinth. Wethern mentioned heading to engineering. Thoughts? Gravestone: ::Frowning:: Don't like mysteries much, especially when they mess with our enchanted realm. What's the plan, then? Off to seek counsel from the wizards of machinery? Fizzlewick: ::Nodding:: Aye, let's unravel this tapestry of confusion. May Eldoria guide our way through these peculiar twists and turns. They move purposefully towards the exit of the cave. A rock song started to play at the end of this magical story... ((OOC based on Queen's Ogre Battle)) (Verse 1) In the realm of Eldoria, where magic meets the light, A battle raged with fury, a clash in the mystical night. Lemoncable's holograms, dancing in the air, Red Dragon and gargoyles, a chaotic affair. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Verse 2) The sorcerer vanished, a puff of mystic smoke, Corey sheathed his sword, and the holograms broke. A glitch in the matrix, a momentary pause, In the holodeck's arch, the resolution draws. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Bridge) Guitars wail like the dragons roar, In the realm of Eldoria, forevermore. Through holographic storms and glitches in the night, Korras and Wethern, they'll stand and fight. (Guitar Solo) (Verse 3) Now the battle's over, the heroes prevail, In Eldoria's tale, they set the sail. The echoes of their victory in the enchanted air, A rock anthem for heroes, a triumphant flare. (Pre-Chorus) Oh, heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Outro) In the rock anthem of Eldoria's lore, Korras and Wethern, forevermore. A tale of magic, battles, and might, In the realm of heroes, where legends ignite. --- End of the story for Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock --- Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock The Eldoria three companions. Played by ‐-- Liutenant JG Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor Starbase 118 Ops
  24. Just love this sim from @Evan Ross. Something so realistic and relatable about it. (( Starbase 118 - The Dungeon - Mundok's Bar )) It was great to hear that Russell's family was doing well. Ross didn't find it easy to imagine his stoic Captain in retirement - but Cross would probably find a way to keep busy. Ross wouldn't mind to switch places actually - he adored how driven Russell was in approaching his career, but there was a reason he had never gotten higher than First Officer in one or two shipments. Also there was no family awaiting his pension - he was still on his own. Cross: Nothing wrong with that. You will figure it out in time right? Time is still very much on your side. Ross: ::chuckling:: You tell me. Everybody seemed to talk about his love life today - the topic had come up with Rustyy just an hour ago. Did he radiate acute loneliness or something? Ross took a sip from his ale, but Cross had no intention of changing the subject. Cross: What about Commander McLaren? Is she single? She seems right up your reality with the Intel prowess. Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two. That made him choke on his drink. For a moment Ross simply stared at Russell in disbelief - Ross: She's my boss, pal. Not to mention that he was still deadly afraid of her, and definitely not playing in her league. It took him another second to realise that Russell was only messing with him. When he heard him chuckle, Ross rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair. Cross: You do you my man. I’m just saying, there are plenty of options out there for you buddy. Ross: You had me there for a second. ::lightly punching Russell's shoulder:: Should have told me back in the day you see no problem in dating a superior. I would have taken you out for a drink earlier. Now it was him who was joking - and something in their banter felt so painfully familiar that Ross actually started missing their shared adventures for a moment. Most of their trips had been uneventful deliveries, a lot of waiting and checking boxes - but in between those routines, they had shared a sense of companionship which had left a hole somewhere deep inside him ever since he had left the Centurion behind. There had been a common ground. A sense of belonging. Us against the world, come fleet come engine failure. Cross: ? Ross: I just want you to know - serving under your command, it meant a lot to me. All this, it's... ::hesitating, gesturing vaguely:: It's still strange to me. Doesn't sit quite right. It felt like a dream sometimes - a little too shiny to actually believe it. His smile faded. Cross: ? Ross: I know, I know. It's what I wanted. And it's great. But if you ever get bored with retirement... ::he winked:: Give me a call, promise? Cross: ? They clinked glasses on that. Ross smiled and took a deep breath - the Centurion's arrival had put a lot of things into question this morning and he still wasn't sure if he had answers for them. If anything, Russell's call from the past had reminded him where he was from. A world much less shiny, grim for many parts - a world in which he had envied shiny Starfleet Utopia and despised it at the same time. He still had to find his path through this gleaming new reality - and he still had to figure out how to stop feeling like a stain. But those were problems for another day. When he ordered another drink for them, he knew Cross would erase any doubts for the next few hours. Tomorrow was a new day - and their friendship stood renewed another time. End of Scene for Ross Ensign Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2
  25. Love the introspective narrative in this sim from @Drex0379. ((Hospital Deck 120, Lightside Station)) Thanks to the intervention of the Talarian doctor, the unexpected detention of the three Starfleet officers lasted only a few minutes. A few minutes enough to make it clear, at least to Drex, that the station's crew must not have thought very highly of the Federation or Starfleet, or at least that they were doing fine on their own and did not welcome their visits. As their guide led the way to a more private office, Drex decided to let the lieutenants do the talking. And he was glad when the conversation shifted from himself to the hospital's capabilities and the teams working there. Samar: We’ve got just enough to cover the needs of the station’s usual population, although the hospital staff are often short-handed during busier times. You know how it is. Raimor: I’m sure that it takes a lot of work to get that many scientists pulling in the same direction. Drex followed the three doctors keeping in the rear, a couple of steps behind them. He focused on the Talarian woman, wondering, in curiosity, how she managed to become the Chief Geneticist on the Spike. Was something she fought for herself or was her father who moved away from the tradition giving the daughter the opportunity to improve her condition and success? Either case, Drex was sure she would not be able to return to her homeworld and adapt back to the limitations her culture imposed on females. Vahin: Please lead the way. I must say, your facilities here are quite impressive. Samar simply shrugged and continued to lead the group down the corridors. Raimor: Hopefully, we will have everything that we need. Lost in his thoughts about Talarians, Drex was putting little attention to the talking, but he gazed at Raimor a little bit in confusion. Were they going to use the station facilities to work on the anti-toxin? They moved through the administration wing. There were a lot of staff about as usual, but they all seemed far to busy with their own concerns to pay them any attention. Vahin: I wasn’t expecting to find a geneticist here. I assumed this was just a hospital for treating the station’s population. Is a lot of research carried out on Lightside Station? Samar: You’d be surprised. Raimor: What are you working on right now, if you don’t mind me asking? It looks like your staff is quite busy at the moment. The unusual reaction to our arrival causes me to wonder… Drex slowed his pace and took a look at the medical staff. The place was not so different from any other hospital he had visited. Not that he had visited many, fortunately, just a couple back at home when he was a little bit older than a kid, and the one at the Academy, when Dag’Har ended up in the ER with a broken arm after one of his dummy bets. The Talarian doctor sighed and came to a stop. To Drex, she sounded quite unpleasant when she talked. Samar: I’m sorry, but that’s not something you need to know. This is an independent station, and my clients value their privacy. I’m sure you understand. Raimor: Of course. I don’t mean any offense, Doctor, just wanted to know if there is anything that could interfere with our work. Vahin: Response Clients. She did not say patients. Client was a strange word to indicate someone who needs medical attention. Clients sound more of someone paying for specific research. And she was a geneticist. Drex looked around, half hoping to spot something that would indicate the type of research and experiments were taking place. But there were no guinea pigs or screens with visible data to allow him any guesses. The station and the Talarians were not aligned with the Federation, the rules and ethics of the Federation did not apply here, and Drex could not exclude that the toxin that had arrived on Denali, and which they now feared would affect the Spike, had not actually been created here. Samar: I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. Samar stepped through the cleansing field that guarded the threshold to the Chief Medical Officers private laboratory, before pausing to make sure all the officers had followed her. Samar: This is the Chief Medical Officers private lab. ::pointing at a large partitioned off area:: His office is just over there. Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I hope the Chief Medical Officer is waiting for us :: A slightly smile bond his lips :: oO I would like to avoid ending up in a cage again Oo Samar made a beeline for the office door. Samar: No. I’m afraid he passed away recently. Vahin/ Raimor: Response From the tone she used, it seemed to Drex that the CMO’s death was a sudden and unexpected event. Drex: Sorry to hear about it :: he murmured :: Arriving at the officer door she paused and bent down slightly to swipe her pass on the access panel. After a moment the door unlocked with a barely audible click before sliding open. Samar: ::stepping inside the office:: Food poisoning. He had an allergic reaction to something he purchased at the underground market. Drex: Forgive my curiosity, but what race was the doctor? Vahin/ Raimor: Response Samar lowered herself into the CMO’s chair and gestured that the Starfleet officers were also welcome to sit. Samar: You’d need to speak to station security about that, but I'd recommend you only eat things that have come from a replicator. Now, what is it you want to discuss? Drex waited for the others to sit before getting a chair for himself. He was there to listen and give advice if required. As far as he could see, the hospital was state of the art, but it hadn't been the cure for a man's allergy. And the staff did not want to talk about that. Drex: Maybe we should alert the Commodore about the dangers of the market, what do you think? :: He asked to both the medical officers :: Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I’ll send a message. The Denobulan officer picked up his PADD and typed a short message about the food and the replicator. He sent it to Commander DeVeau, as she was his immediate superior officer. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex recalled the notes on his PADD. He knew them by heart, but the way the doctors presented the facts to Samar gave him a new perspective, and Samar's answers also gave him something new to think about. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex: It's not something to underestimate. We have no certainties, but the most probable hypothesis is that the next attempt is here. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response TAG/TBC ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14
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