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Alieth - 4L13TH

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About Alieth - 4L13TH

  • Birthday 06/26/1986

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    Illustration, art, scifi.... not star trek, who would love star trek here :P

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  1. Not all heroes have capes and not all painful and dramatic scenes are as beautifully crafted as this one. ((Hidden City Outskirts, Darime IV)) Ico was in serious danger, running through a pipe with a killer drone in hot pursuit. No cover. No weapons. All she had was a tricorder, which Jack suggested throwing as a last resort; it had absolutely no effect. In fact, it only seemed to make the thing, the hunter, angry. If an artificial construct could be describe as such. She wasn't going to make it. Unless she jumped... but Jack's prey instincts had taught him something and taught him well; the drone only killed its second target. Ressan: ::Hoarsely,:: Come on, Ena! Isaacs, she's going to jump out, so get ready! Isaacs: What— Obviously the question didn't land, but there was no time to give it again. Ena burst into view at the mouth of the tunnel, reaching for Jack. Her body was hot, her legs pumping, going as fast as she could, striving to survive. He reached back, their hands meeting near the lip, her feet pushed at the lip of the pipe, and Jack gave her as far a throw as he could manage, trusting in Isaacs to catch her. Or... make sure she didn't shatter her skull in the fall. Ico: IEEEEEEEEE!!!! Isaacs: Let go! Jack can— Watching in mute horror as Ico flew through the air, his heart in his throat, fear soaked into every pore of his body; the distance was not too far for a Kelpien, but for a Bajoran, she was likely to be seriously injured if she landed wrong, or Isaacs misjudged his effort to catch her... Far. Ena had fallen too far. She was going to be hurt; a broken leg at this distance was a death sentence. A serious concussion, a death sentence. Any number of injuries, certain doom. The two collided with a sickening thump, no doubt sore and injured, sprawling out on the ground like ragdolls. But both were moving. Both were alive. Success. Jack stood in the pipe basking in the joy of seeing Ico survive, and in doing so, violated the first rule of survival: Never turn your back on a predator. The briefest, brightest flash of ultraviolet light behind him. A light which struck him in the back, a scintillating shower of every hue perceptible, ranging from deep infrareds through every shade of the visible spectrum, ending in bright, twinkling ultraviolets. The glow of the weapon's heat surrounded him as the energy cut deep into his body; so bright to his eyes that it cast a giant shadow out into the surroundings, a garish Kelpien-shaped scarecrow projected onto the massive tree trunks and the walls behind it, warped and distorted by the curves of the trunks and the jagged rocks of the shining, reflecting stone beyond... but recognisable. An outline of his body. An outline with a fist-sized hole in the chest, light shining through like some kind of central eye. Pain. His legs no longer worked. Jack slumped forward gracelessly like a puppet with its strings cut, pitching forward and tumbling out of the pipe, by sheer luck landing in the nearby moss, face-first on the soft surface. At least he missed the water. Some part of him was aware of the buzzing of the drone above, the predator inspecting the fresh kill, and then it departed. Isaacs: It’s gone. You okay? Nothing broken? Ico: Response They were okay. They were both okay. Feebily, Jack tried to stand, but all he could manage was a flop. His legs didn't respond to his call; the injury to his back felt cold instead of hot, and there was nothing below his lower back. No feeling of pain, no wet and cold of the water, no pain from his fall... just a void, a detachment that he could not adequately explain. Isaacs: Jack? He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Isaacs: ...Jack? Slowly, slowly, air came into his lungs. He croaked out a couple of words. Ressan: ::Croaking,:: I swear I had something for this. Ico: Response Isaacs: No. No, no no— The others ran over. He felt himself moved onto his back; the weapon, whatever it was, had cut right through him, but the only injury was visible on his chest. The same one that had struck down Gilbert. Now he got a look at it, a decent look, it didn't look good. It didn't look good at all. Isaacs: Come on, Jack. Please. Stay with us. Ico: Response He wanted to give another one liner, another stupid joke to reassure them that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn't think of one. Everything was distant and muddled, foggy, like he'd had too many drinks at the Academy bar. Slowly, inexorably, he felt it. He felt Death's cold hands around his throat, the cold chill of her icy breath washing over him, getting ready to send him off, her chilly hands sliding around his throat... But She did not choke the life out of him. It was no violent, painful struggle against the end; his multitudinous senses could feel the damage to him, smell the ozone in the air, the singed flesh, the rich scent of blood. Ressan: It's my time. I can feel it. I have to... go now. But don't worry. ::His eyes drifted toward Ico.:: Isaacs... can get you out of here. You'll be okay. Ico/Isaacs: Response Ressan: ::He smiled fondly and reached up, touching Ico's cheek, leaving behind a bloody handprint.:: We... will see each other again. His pupils dilated, letting in as much of the light as possible, a bright, hopeful, comforting feeling spreading up from his toes and up his legs, over his body like a warm blanket on a cool autumn night; he could smell the saltwater of his home, feel the sand under his bare feet, and the sweet scent of incoming rain on the clouds as they drifted in toward him. There was no fear. No pain. Nothing but a gentle joy that permitted down to his bones; the passing of one state to the other, a falling star drifting into the atmosphere and burning up, providing light and joy for just a moment before slipping away, consumed by endless tranquil night. Ressan: It's... beautiful. And then he died. -- J'ryn "Jack" Ressan 4th Year Cadet simmed by Lt (j.g) Serren Tan Security/Tactical USS Gorkon O238704AT0
  2. The ability to evoke unique, alien, yet relatable moments and paint them with emotion and imagery so clear and pure in our mind's eye is a mark of a gifted writer. Just one more of the many notorious talents of @Jo Marshall Well done, girl! ((N’amiu’s Garden, Darime IV)) The garden, sloping gently down to the divine mountain steam, was usually lovely in the evening. Lines of vacca shrubs ran down the centre, while a tangled yucca copse surrounded the meadow on either side. As the seasons changed, the leaves took on a blazing brightness, with dancing reds, bruising purples, and oranges that made the mouth wet. Silence reigned supreme throughout the fall months as leaves dropped from the trees to be renewed by buds in the spring. The opulent verdure of the meadow delicately balanced against the encroaching darkness of the distant stars in the indigo sky as the small Pelian woman trudged through the waist-high growing grass. Long strands of the misty evening brushed against the inside of her hand as she swished it back and forth. Geosmin aroma rose from the sodden earth after the storm. Prayers wandered from her lips as she whispered the tenets of their faith to the moons shining above. Tomorrow, the dawn would rise. That night, the stars were a scornful, silver reminder of the beautiful and the scattered Pelian people. She coughed into her palm. Red spittle, the tangy taste of life-giving fluids. Age was the eternal equaliser. Kinless and kith less, the Garden was all she had left. Family long since moved on. Diaphanous mist rolled in over the meadows and arches, dewdrops of the rain long since seeped into the ground. Intertwined trees simmered thoughts of her partner, long since committed to their religious practices for the route of the dead, and how he would welcome her with open arms into the next life. She moved as if she were a spirit, cane in hand, swaddled in graveclothes. Eerie quiet shrouded the garden, imparting an otherworldly sense to the natural beauty all about, swathed in its miasmal patina. A divine magnificence entrusted to their care. A gift given by the gods of past and present. In dreamscapes, a marvel of everlastingness. Slabs of polished stones lay in the thicket of a clearing beside a wizened eethrolia tree. Sitting down to rest her withered limbs and weary legs, she looked into the distance. Rolling mountains emerged like the spined back of a young tasita. Spring would breathe new life into the valley. Leaves would become a flourishing green once more. Animals would frolic in the pastures. Pelians would still make their pilgrimages to the sacred site for centuries to come. Closing her eyes, the old woman conceded the spiritual plane to seep into her old bones and frail, wrinkled flesh. She drifted away into an infinite sleep as a somnolent smile played across her lips. The garden, sloping gently down to the divine mountain steam, was unusually lovely on the evening Rybi Trantim passed into eternity. -- Rybi Trantim Old, Sick Pelian As simmed by Lt. Commander Jo Marshall First Officer USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0
  3. Archaeology digs are chill places, damn't!
  4. @Alleran Tan Holding hands? SCANDAL!
  5. This.. just this. Action, humour and splendid described images. Nice work @Jona ch'Ranni ! ((Natural Cavern, Darime Underground)) The team of three had made their way into a natural cavern that forked off the newer tunnel construction dug by the Pelian surveyors. The vaulted ceiling and walls were littered with an impressive display of mineral ore veins and crystal patches. ch'Ranni: The rock and crystal formations are amazing here. He pointed to a yellowish patch of geometric crystalline growth on one passing stalagmite with his hand torch. It flashed and glittered in the beam of light with an almost internal glow. ch'Ranni: I saw some of this crystal in the ceiling of the main cavern. Tan: ::Softly,:: This is beautiful. Vossti: Response ch'Ranni: Record and sample everything. There's no telling what data the Pelian researchers may find useful. Vossti: Response Tan: Aye, Commander. As the two worked, Jona took a step back and spun on his heel. He made it only a few steps before his left foot found only air instead of solid ground. His arms pinwheeled backwards in an attempt to regain solid footing as the maw of the deep crevasse loomed before him. ch'Ranni: ::calling out:: Whoa! Watch out! As gravity became his worst nemesis, he slowly pitched forward, losing his vain fight to maintain his footing. Tan: ::from behind:: Jona! For what felt like seconds, but was logically much shorter, Jona felt like he hung motionless over the deep maw before its pitch dark tendrils pulled him down. A hilarious (it would be hilarious in any other circumstance) image flashed in his mind of an animation series he watched as a younglings where an anthropomorphic Gralaa wolf attempted to chase a Zabathu but always came up short in his endeavors. The poor wolf was always falling from great heights but somehow managed to survive. Jona wasn't so sure he'd have the same fate. Vossti: Response Just as he was about to disappear into the sheer ravine, he felt a hand grasp at his left ankle. It had to be Serren - the man who had stuck with him through bar hopping and shenanigans, the man who was the most important person in his life in this second. Tan: ::grunting,:: I got you! While Serren's desperate grip was keeping him from certain doom, it could do little to stop the laws of physics. The Andorian's momentum carried him forward in an arc and his face slammed into the crevasse's rockface below Serren's feet. There was something thoroughly unpleasant about dangling upside down in the blackness of a kilometer deep cave. ch'Ranni: ::with a nervous comedic quip:: Ouch. I just kissed a cave and I think I liked it. Vossti: Response Jona could hear Seren speaking in a clipped, serious tone - different from his usual light - and providing direction to the only one of them that could give an extra assistance. Tan: Vossti. Rope in my bag. Tie it off on a strong-looking crystal, or use a climbing piton if you can't find one. Just anchor it. Commander, do you think you can put on a climbing harness upside down? Or freeclimb a rope? Vossti: Response ch'Ranni: Yeah, I think I can. As he waited for the safety equipment to be passed down, he noticed he was still gripping his torch tightly in his hand. It was amazing that he still held it. Though, in the moment, he mused it was probably evenly split on whether a person involuntarily gripped an object in terror or chucked it away in surprise. He shone the beam of light above his head and spotted a hidden ledge about twenty meters below. And there was a light source casting a dim glow outward. ch'Ranni: How's that harness coming? Tan/Vossti: Response ch'Ranni: No rush. Hey, Serren, thanks for not skipping the upper body routine last week when I tried to get you to go to the holodeck with me. Tan: Response -- Lt. Commander Jona ch'Ranni Chief of Operations USS Gorkon (NCC-82293) C239510JC0
  6. ch'Ranni: ::with a nervous comedic quip:: Ouch. I just kissed a cave and I think I liked it.
  7. How to write a good and awesome paced action scene by @Alleran Tan. Slow beginning, nice and in the mood of the previous scene, sudden snap to action, breathtaking description and..... Awesome job mate! ((Tunnel Fork, Darime Underground)) Wandering down an unexpected fork in the tunnel, one that wasn't on any maps, team JAMS—Jona And Mallora, Serren—were feeling pretty crammed in by the low ceiling. Or at least, Jona and Serren were. Mallora seemed to be doing much better. And the heat... and the smell... Okay, so everything wasn't so great after all. To make things worse, there was a hot, possibly radioactive, electronic thing on the other side of the wall. Mallora indicated it was a malfunctioning generator and he had no reason to doubt that assessment. But they had come to a fork in the road, one that wasn't on either of their maps. ch'Ranni: Great. Which one do we take? No way to know. Tan: Fifty-fifty shot. But if I had to guess... the new tunnel would probably be more interesting. That generator isn't going anywhere. Mallora stepped over to the place where the cooler passage split off from the main tunnel. There was a pile of loosely scattered rocks on the ground almost marking the divide between dug tunnel and natural cave. Waving her tricorder at the two passages, she examined the flow of data on the screen. Vossti: Sirs? I think there's a scuff mark here. ::she pointed to one of the larger oblong rocks about the size of a Trill honeymelon.:: Like someone stepped on this rock on their way through. Mallora looked at them questioningly. Tan: That would likely be our cadets then. Jona mulled the decision while the doctor leaned against the surface of the wall. The Betazoid doctor seemed a touch startled as she directed her tricorder to the walls of the tunnel. Vossti: What? ::hesitantly:: I'm checking for structural instability in the tunnel, but it looks fine both here and in the cave beyond. ch'Ranni: Good call. I think the last thing any of us wants is to have a few tons of rock and dirt falling on our heads. What does your scan show? Serren definitely didn't want that. But he really had no idea what they were looking at. Vossti: Response Tan: But it's stable for now, right? ch'Ranni: Right. Stable for now. That's the best we can do. Head into the natural tunnel and see where it leads. From the scuffs the doctor saw, we can expect that someone has passed through here before. That's enough to warrant a look. With Serren in the lead and the doctor bringing up the rear, they maneuvered themselves and their equipment into the side tunnel. In doing so they left behind the cramped passage as the natural one opened up above their heads. The sheer relief he felt when he was able to finally stretch out was delightful. But it wasn't just the high ceiling that brightened his day. The ceiling was dotted with bright shining geodes, reflecting and refracting the light all around them. ch'Ranni: The rock and crystal formations are amazing here. It was hard to disagree. Jona pointed to a yellowish patch of geometric crystalline growth on one passing stalagmite with his hand torch. It flashed and glittered in the beam of light with an almost internal glow. ch'Ranni: I saw some of this crystal in the ceiling of the main cavern. Tan: ::Softly,:: This is beautiful. Vossti: Response ch'Ranni: Record and sample everything. There's no telling what data the Pelian researchers may find useful. Vossti: Response Tan: Aye, Commander. Serren absently pulled out his tricorder and began taking a routine scan. Vossti would no doubt be on it too, but it was good to have a second set of data just in case. With Serren and Mallora working, Jona took a wander around the cavern. Serren idly shook his tricorder, urging it to scan faster. The sooner they were done with the scan, the sooner he could check out the beautiful geological formations. His eyes flicked down to his device, watching a tiny bar fill up on a too-small screen. Why didn't they make these things a little bigger, just so looking at them didn't strain the eyes so— ch'Ranni: ::calling out:: Whoa! Watch out! Serren's head snapped around. Time itself seemed to slow down; body instantly flooded with adrenaline, he assessed the situation in a flash. Hidden crevice. Deep. None of them had seen it. Jona, off-balance, arms pinwheeling. A split second away from disaster. Tan: Jona! Serren exploded into motion. His tricorder fell out of his hands, clattering onto the ground, and he slid out of his heavy pack in one smooth motion. Trill legs pumped furiously as he transitioned instantly from "relaxed scanning" to furious sprinting, closing the distance between himself and Jona. ch'Ranni/Vossti: Response Too late. He was going to be too late. He... Did a risky and dangerous thing, totally against his training, that risked sending him off the edge as well. Serren leapt forward like a hunting cat as Jona tumbled backward. His arms outstretched, reaching, reaching... trying to grab any part of Jona he could. A boot. Serren landed bodily on his chest, sliding on the smooth rock, shoulders over the edge. One hand had managed to grab hold of Jona's left boot, holding on with every ounce of his strength as he caught his buddy mid-fall. Tan: ::Grunting,:: I got you! But then the full weight of the guy was transferred to his arm, to his shoulder, and then to his whole body; threatening to pull him over the edge too. Serren's fingers held on to Jona's ankle as tightly as he could, his blue buddy swaying ominously below him. He felt himself sliding forward too; the weight pulling him over... kicking frantically, his boot hooked around a crystal formation, snagging there. Serren held on as tight as he could as Jona dangled over the abyss below. It all happened in just a few seconds. ch'Ranni/Vossti: Response Serren's training kicked in, voice totally bereft of its normal levity. His tone was clipped, calm, and professional despite the strain on his shoulder, ankle, and whole body. They'd need all three of them to get out of this. Serren shifted his posture, grabbing hold of Jona's boot with two hands now. Much better. Tan: Vossti. Rope in my bag. Tie it off on a strong-looking crystal, or use a climbing piton if you can't find one. Just anchor it. Commander, do you think you can put on a climbing harness upside down? Or freeclimb a rope? It was that or something much more primitive, like a lasso around the arm. ch'Ranni/Vossti: Response -- Lieutenant (j.g.) Serren Tan Security/Tactical USS Gorkon O238704AT0
  8. yay! research in odd stuff for simming is one of my fav things and you'de done your homework nicely here man, good job again!
  9. @Alleran Tan here gives us a perfect display of humour, a very alien perspective of the scene and just the right spark of mystery and intrigue to keep us totally caught up in the misadventures of this unfortunate group of cadets. Good job! ((???, Darime IV)) Jack could smell grass and tree sap. They say that Kelpians can sense the approach of death before it happens. A combination of their various senses; acute vision, perceptive hearing, sharp noses, specialized threat ganglia, and instincts burned into them from generations of hunting by apex predators. Even in a semi-conscious, teetering between waking up fully and passing out again, Jack was definitely sensing it. How did they get here? And why were there plants? Isaacs: Ugh... ::He pressed his hand to the back of his neck, massaging the muscles in an attempt to relieve his headache.:: Is everyone okay? Or at least... you know, alive? Instinct kicked in. The prey-instinct to lay still when wounded, pretending to be dead, hoping that the predator's prey-drive would diminish. Lay in the grass, pretending to be tasteless. Gilbert: I’m fine, I feel like I just finished a week long pub crawl, but that’s not a first. Voices. Voices of his fellow cadets. They were all going to die. Ico: ::almost whispering:: I...I’m mostly fine :: The petite Bajoran turned to her left, towards the lanky form of her other colleague.:: Jack, are you…. are you OK? He was being directly addressed. That was enough to suppress the "play dead" urge for now. Eyes still closed, and groaning softly, Jack pulled himself up into a sitting position, his threat ganglia extended. It was hard for him to swallow the instinctive fear that coursed through his veins like lava through a subterranean tube; vahar'ai had not yet come for him, and the fear that it dispelled had not yet diminished. Eyes closed. That would help with the fear. Ressan: I... I believe I am uninjured. ::Bajorans used their last name first. He remembered that at least.:: Thank you, Ico. Uninjured. Just terrified. They were all going to die. With a shaking hand, Ressan did his best to smooth down the threat ganglia, but it didn't work. Finally, he opened his eyes. A kaleidoscope of colour greeted him, full of ultraviolet shimmers and unexpected thermal patterns. His vision rapidly acclimatised to the strange environment. His nose hadn't lied; there were trees here, plants of all descriptions, their thermal patterns and strange colours taking his dazed eyes a second to become accustomed to. Beyond them the walls here were metal, reflecting the light in a way that made him squint, pupils contracting. The warm glow of the three other cadets' body heat were a comforting sight, proving that they were, indeed, alive. For now. The other cadets seemed more blind than he was. Ico found her backpack and began rummaging around in it, while Issacs was fumbling with a box containing a tricorder, seeming to have trouble seeing it. When it opened, the sound echoed around the room, mirroring the various emissions his eyes were struggling to process. Overall, a confusing and disorienting sensation that only served to reinforce the notion that, in fact, they were all going to die. More worrying, Ico seemed to be checking the contents of her bag carefully, as though several items were missing. There was something about those walls that made it hard to see. Like watching a movie through a refractive lens. Their reflectiveness played havoc with his finely tuned senses; everything seemed too bright, as though someone had gone through and splashed everything with gaudy UV paint. Isaacs: Anyone know what happened? One minute we were... ::he paused, and screwed up his eyes in thought.:: Uh... I’m actually not sure. The last thing I can remember is breakfast. Gilbert: And breakfast didn’t contain alcohol, so why the hangover? Ena took a sip of water before she spoke. Ico: ::Handing the canteen to Gilbert:: I remember that we were about to go to a briefing with the instructor, and we were running late, so I packed my breakfast for later, then .... ::: she pulled a hand to her temple once more, migraine gripping her again as she struggled to recollect their past:: ...Then it's all a blur. Ressen: I was having breakfast too. Maybe our meals were poisoned... ::Although that didn't explain what happened to Ico. He managed a shakey smile.:: Breakfast! The most important meal of the day! Except for the antidote. Ico: ::Guys? Jack sensed it before it happened, his ganglia twitching. A low rumble, like from a stardrive. But there were trees here, this couldn't be a ship, unless— Light. Light so bright it momentarily overwhelmed his senses; his eyes quickly adjusted, watching buildings simply appear from the soil, thrusting upward as though pushed up through the grass by some giant. Ribbons of gold and ultraviolet hung down from the ceiling, thin ribbons of silver and ultraviolet between them like bridges. Cowering momentarily, unable to suppress his instincts once more, Jack took a second to breathe. It was okay. They were in a strange seven sided clearing... boulders sparkled with every shade he could see, a bountiful and dizzying array of light. Beautiful. A combadge chirped mournfully, regretfully. Then another. Ressen tried his as well, just like the others. Following protocol. Nothing. The only one who didn't try was Ico... which honestly made sense to him. Isaacs: So... We should probably try to get out of here, or at least get comms working. Any ideas? Gilbert: No…::Head craned back to look up at the towers::...where are we? What is this? What did you do? Ico opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. So today was Tuesday then... Ico had a great idea, but didn't share it, because everyone was talking too loud. They were all going to die. Ressan: I don't think any of us did anything. Solomon rounded on the other cadets, one hand on his hip, the other thrusting an accusing finger at them. Gilbert: Everything was fine until you started poking about at your tricorder, now not only do we have to get out, but we have these alien towers to worry about. Ressan: I don't think a tricorder could summon giant buildings. Isaacs: Response Ico raised up a hand awkwardly. Ico: ::shyly:: hummm Ressan, with his acute hearing, always found Ico's voice to be the most pleasant and well-modulated out of the four of them. But, once again, she was silenced by the two Humans. Gilbert: Do any of you recognise them? No, you don’t, so don’t pretend you do. For all we know you activated some sort of defence system which is going to vaporize us if we try to leave this clearing. Vaporized instantly. Turned to ash. Evaporated. Nobody would ever know what happened to them. They were all going to die. ... but there was no way he was going to let everyone think that. Ressan: ::Sarcastically,:: For all we know it might well have activated the galaxy's largest puppet-conversion ray. If we don't know, we don't know. Issacs: Response Finally, Ico mustered enough courage to raise her voice. Ico: GUYS! That doesn’t matter if we don’t get out of here. We are all friends and classmates after all... r-right? The Bajoran's voice lost strength and volume as she spoke. A flush rose to her cheeks, her whole face heating up warm as the dawning sun. Ressan: Yeah. You're right, Ena. We're Starfleet, we can handle this. ::Grinning,:: Or all get turned into puppets. Isaacs/Gilbert: Response They were all going to die. Ico: I don't know, but we have to remember our training: determine dangers, get as much information as possible, try to get out of here or look for help. Jack nodded emphatically, his threat ganglia twitching despite his efforts to quieten them. Ressan: That's right. Isaacs was right before, as well; we should try and get a signal going. Even if these walls are messing with our combadge signals, there might be a way once we sit and think for a bit. Isaacs/Gilbert: Response Ico grasped her bag tighter looked down at his boots—Kelpian style, designed to accommodate his tip-toes. Ressan was momentarily amused—just for a brief moment—that he didn't seem to be the most scared in his team. Ico: Maybe, maybe they are already looking for us actually, we just need to stay safe and don't do anything crazy. They had no idea how long they'd been gone, but four Cadets just up and vanishing wasn't something Starfleet would ignore. Ressan: It's a good survival rule. "Stay put". We don't know how we got here, we don't know where we are. We could be just down the road from our quarters, or we could be on the other side of the galaxy. ::Burying his fear under false bravado, Jack tried to reason with the two Humans.:: Could be a The Traveller situation, could be a Q, we could have gone full Voy' and be in the Delta quadrant—could be there's something in the air and we are all tripping the most balls ever as your people say with disturbing regularity. Until we know more, we should examine our immediate surroundings first. Isaacs/Ico/Gilbert: Response Pity none of them were medical staff. It could help eliminate the last suggestion. Ressan: I'm just saying. Let's look around before we run off. ::To Gilbert,:: You too. If a Q did this, I promise you can try and seduce them. ::He fought down a wave of nervous laughter.:: Not that you ever needed my permission to try the Solomon Manoeuvre in literally every single possible situation ever. They were all going to die. Isaacs/Ico/Gilbert: Response Humans were almost blind compared to him, but at the same time, increased visual acuity sometimes caused problems; at the present, he could see too much. Jack craned his neck, squinting and focusing his vision on those metallic walls. Within them he could see myriad reflections as the feeble light in the room bounced around and around, seeing himself and the other cadets' body heat, the shape of them from the side and behind and above, the light and thermal patterns disturbed and distorted like a funhouse mirror, reflections folding in on reflections until they were just a blurry mess. And the trees... so strange. He'd never seen any like them. Not in any textbook. Certainly not on his world. They were all going to die. Ressan: The walls are reflective in a wide range of bands; a good chunk of the visual spectrum, especially in the ultraviolet—and thermals, too, so... presumably that's what's scrambling our comm frequencies.. We might be able to talk to each other with a bit of rejigging, but we're not getting a signal out here if that material treats comm signals like it does everything else. But that'll take time. Isaacs/Ico/Gilbert: Response -- J'ryn "Jack" Ressan 4th Year Cadet simmed by Lt (j.g) Serren Tan Security/Tactical USS Gorkon O238704AT0
  10. @Jo Marshall always finding the bone of the matter
  11. I LOVE the fine level of emotion plus excelent worldbuilding in this sim. Awesome one from Jo! ---- ((Museum, Iyiria, Deluvia IV)) Set beneath the undulating waves of a Deluvia up above, the entire city was born from pursuing science and art. Mosaic lined the city streets, a holdover of the Selkie homeworld of Pacifica and the capital city of hi'Leyi'a, twirling in time with the delights only Deluvia offered, displaying the battle between the elements of the climates warring on both sides of the tropical and the arctic. Rarely was Vorin awestruck by the sheer magnificence of a place, however, the capital city of Iyiria enraptured his Vulcan heart. The ShiKahrian philosopher Salln once noted it was inevitable a culture would transform when the arts and science became secondary to the needs of the military, shifting the focus of the creative to the narrow. Despite their enslavement by the Orions, the Selkie had no military to speak of, therefore developed their own unique style, able to indulge in their passions of horticulture, marine aquaculture, science, engineering, and the health of their people and the Federation. Vorin clasped his hands in the small of his back as he walked through the grand gallery, in as much of a funk as he could be. Leaving behind the revelry of the night before, having assimilated significantly less alcohol than his fellow revellers, a walk amongst the museum seemed the perfect escape for the man with much weighed down on his mind. Applying logic to a situation born from a love of his t'hy'la seemed to leave him cold and empty, with much meditation required to return to the fundamental principles of cthia. Fortunately, he had not yet resorted to Shal'tiar, though the notion seemed quite amusing. The halo of holographic sound surrounded his head, emitting the spoken word to his ears. A voice fluently Selkie yet universally translated in the Vulcan dialects. Descriptions and explanations of the exhibit he stood in front of, statues nearby when he turned toward them, and the magnificence of the vaulted ceiling made from a type of limestone, carved out to create a cathedral of light and shimmering colour, carpeted by the sand from the seabed. The speaker had introduced themself as Aoides, master of the legends, and curator of the museum. They explained, in serene and soothing tones, how the religions of the Selkie had long since fallen into mythology, with few if any practising sects remaining throughout the disconnected worlds once the species had left Pacifica. This had the effect of distancing the state from religion, of erecting a soft barrier where the governments decided with logic rather than a belief in the writing of one deity or another. Vorin appreciated this immensely, showing his approval with a mild raise of an eyebrow as he continued his walk. He paused beside a statue of a shockingly beautiful Selkie male, pellucid skin as though they carved the effigy from ice, rippling dark golden hair shimmering from the crown of his head down his spine, embedded eyes the colour of glistening amber. Aoides: =/\= Here we find Scotu, the God of Crossroads. However, as with all things, he is also our patron of chaos, politics, and feasts, traditionally worshipped by warriors and those about to embark on long journeys. Ancient oral lore speaks of a ritual greeting his followers would use to distinguish themselves when travelling, hoping to receive generous hospitality in return. =/\= The statue was shorter than Vorin expected, the carve of muscles visible along bared arms, a light armour of pearl and green adorning his upper body, and the tunics of traditional Selkie dress worn beneath. As Vorin gazed up at the statue, he could almost feel as though it smiled back at him, with the guise of a smirk lifting one corner of translucent marbleised lips. Aoides: =/\= You can find shrines and altars dedicated to him beside bridges, with offerings one might associate with the trappings of travel, such as a silver cethipa coin to ensure safe passage. Many myths involve his friendship with Araera, the Goddess of Tricksters, and the two creating havoc for the traveller who does not respect the passage. =/\= At the foot of the statue, examples of the cethipa lay scattered over Scotu’s translucent shimmering webbed feet, as though an elderly Selkie had kept the coins for such a time and dispersed them to ensure their safe passage on an enduring voyage across the stars. It was more likely, however, that they were not real currency from the ages and times long gone. Vorin, not one to believe in superstitions, as logic prevailed, still bowed his head a little, almost imperceptibly, to ensure the Gorkon continued finding a good fortune among the stars. Leaving Scotu and his charming amber eyes behind, Vorin and his halo of sound turned toward the centre of the limestone cathedral to see the fierce and brave Trill security officer he had descended beneath the waves with. Her dark curled hair brought to mind one of the many statues surrounding them inside the gallery. Undoubtedly as fearless as any of them, with boundless courage he had seen on the SS Vikartindur. For once, the Vulcan was glad of the company, and although they had parted ways upon entering — to listen to the stories recited by the Aoides, and seek what interested them — he was interested in her impressions. Vorin: How are you enjoying the explorations of the mythical and cultured, Ensign? Eden: Response Vorin: There is much here I would expect of a culture derived from the sea and associated with extensive voyages. ::His dark eyes flit around for a moment, the various other statues all symbolic of another elemental wonder.:: More so when you discover their oral histories extend further back than their written records. Relying on generations to continue the retelling seems… illogical. Eden: Response As Aoides spoke once again into his pointed ear, Vorin paused the hologram and the projected halo of light swimming around his head vanished back into the breastpin attached to the navy Pel-el styled sleeveless shirt. Once again, his hands clasped in the small of his back as he turned to the side, inviting Maia to walk with him at a slower pace through the museum as they conversed. Vorin: A previous host of the Eden symbiont was a historian, was he not? I enquired, following our venture onto the Vikartindur. I expected to find a battle-worn warrior of the Trill hiding among your incarnations. Eden: Response -- Lieutenant JG Vorin Biologist USS Gorkon G239304JM0
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