Alieth

@Jo Marshall always finding the bone of the matter

welcome to the fleet!

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

I believe that setting a scene is one of the critical parts of our media, and that making it appealing, engaging and yet with a delightful ability to open a door to another world and let us be enchanted by it is a true artistry. @Jo Marshall does a wonderful example of creative writing here, perfectly setting the scene, the mood and the tone it will have, while giving us a window into the wonders of Deluvia. I can almost feel the sea breeze. _______________________________ ((The Golden Tree, Promenade, Cochtois Lagoon, Deluvia IV)) A little further toward the centre of the promenade stood a huge golden tree. It was quite likely the tree had been there when the Selkie had settled on the planet in recent memory, as the gnarled branches and thick roots growing out of the loamy soil whispered of centuries rather than decades. Boughs and limbs stretched overhead in a canopy of gorgeous crisp leaves, fluttering beneath the radiant sun, and soaking up the salty sea breeze wafting in from the lagoon. Set up around it, several tables for standing and leaning on, and more importantly, resting a glass on, were arranged in a circle. Instead of sitting and marvelling at the view, or taking in the thriving tree, or listening to the rustle the leaves made on the quiet hum of the zephyr, guests could stand and take their requested beverage in the full knowledge when they were finished, it was time to move on. Only a few had made their escape in the brief space of time Jo had stood there. Leaning her elbows on the wooden tabletop, she looked out to the sea rolling just off the promenade, listened to the leaves and the chatter of nearby patrons, and the sounds of clinking glasses over the swell of the ocean breaking against the shore. Pensive was in her mood, while her expression bore someone trying not to be so lost in her own thoughts. Ordering another round of drinks, she looked up when someone familiar stepped into view not so far away and waved him over. Marshall: Cory, over here! Stoyer: Response A selkie server with eyes like pools of mystical shimmering water set down another two glasses of their token golden tree ale — made from the sap of the tree they stood under. Light orange and smooth in texture, they served it in a plain but tall glass. It smelled of fruit and a little like sugared cinnamon, though it was hard to describe without tasting it, and it lingered on the breath for hours afterwards. As her friend approached, Jo pushed the accompanying glass over the wooden table toward him. Marshall: It tastes nicer than it looks, trust me. Though try to take it slow. It packs a punch to the olfactory senses like no other. Stoyer: Response Marshall: With great power comes the great need to take a nap. I’ve been eying up your hammock spot for most of the morning. ::Said with steely determination in blue it would one day be hers.:: How are you doing? Skarbek hit you like a freight starship as well? ::Then paused for a second as she looked at him with a wisp of a smile on her features.:: Have you got taller or am I imagining it? Stoyer: Response -- Lt. Commander Jo Marshall First Officer USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0

Woho! Welcome to the fleet @Tomas Falt My door is always open if you have questions!

One of the best worst things that ever happened to me on SB118 is two awesome writers plotting STUFF! behind my back without me having a clue about it and making me laugh out loud with it. @Meidra Sirinand @Ikaia Wong you guys are the worst... Keep up the good work. ((Ikaia’s Quarters - Room 03-1122 - USS Veritas - 03:00 in The Shoals)) Ikaia had long since fallen asleep in his quarters. Softly snoring, he had his blankets pulled over his head leaving his bare feet exposed. His dreams, however, were interrupted by the sound of a call on his PADD. He was barely conscious as he woke up with a snort. He was still feeling groggy when he sat there for a moment questioning if he was really being called for something. It could be that someone needed him in sickbay. Maybe? His arm lazily popped out from under the pile of blankets as he fumbled blindly for his PADD. He groaned as he tried to feel for it. His hand bumped around his nightstand until he finally felt the PADD. He ended up sliding his whole hand down the screen in order to try to answer the call. What he failed to account for was that he had turned on the camera to his PADD. So anyone answering would be greeted with a pile of blankets. Ikaia allowed his arm to dangle off the side of the bed. Wong: ::Yawns:: Aloha…. This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Ikaia Wong…. How… how can I help you….? He sounded sluggish and tired. Times like these, he was a little useless without coffee. Sirin: Greetings, Lieutenant Wong. Have I disturbed you? Meidra had wandered Resolution’s corridors for the last hour, trying to come up with a suitable gift for her cousin. Alieth had been looking forward to a particular type of race where she would cobble together various bits of chaos and metal to get an engine ready to get her across a great expanse of land in as little time possible. She remembered Lt Wong had sent Alieth a certain type of chocolate that Meidra believed might be a good distraction. Because Aleith was becoming insufferable. Wong: Huh….? That wasn’t sickbay. He lifted himself up. The blanket still covered his head as he looked at the screen. Wong: Heeey. I remember you... How are you…? Sirin: I am well, thank you. Do you remember me? He remembers that face! This was one of the teal shirts he met at the Medical Officers Support Group (MOSG) meeting. Meidra’s eyebrow raised in amusement as he sat up, bleary eyed like a small child. Sirin: You’re looking well rested. It dawned on him. He had his camera on. Meaning that Lieutenant Sirin had a really good look at him right now. Ikaia sheepishly pulled the blanket off his head and tried to pull his hair back. That went about as well as it could for someone who still felt uncoordinated. His hair was still a mess. Wong: Sorry you had to see that! Meidra waved a hand dismissively at the camera. She’d seen far worse. Sirin: I’ve seen Genkos before his first coffee. You’re fine. I need a favor. Well he definitely didn't have his first cup of coffee either. That wouldn't be for a while yet! Ikaia tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Wong: A favour? I don't mind helping! ::yawns:: What's the….. favour? Sirin: First, I would like to thank you for getting my cousin addicted to those little balls of decadence. She’s been on a quest to find some, but her canine may have eaten the tag showing where you acquired them. I need the chocolate. Wong: Oh! Ha ha…. You're welcome! Yeah. I picked them up on Esperance. I think the store was called The Chocolate Tribble. Thankfully, they didn't actually have tribbles there. Otherwise, I don't think I could safely step inside unaccosted. Meidra had the brief memory of Tribbles attacking a certain fanciers’ event on Risa not that long ago and shuddered. She hoped that her former pet, Roc, was doing well traveling the universe with an evil shape shifting alien from another dimension. She also wondered when her life would start making sense. Sirin: ::pause:: I would hope that you didn’t get her addicted to eating Tribbles. She thinks the chocolate was extremely delicious. Wong: She does? That's fantastic! I picked out the dark chocolate cinnamon ones for her last time. They're amazing! But pretty diabolical for a Vulcan. Meidra laughed, and could see why her krei enjoyed this Klingon’s company. Alieth was getting grumpy, for those people who knew her well, and Meidra was getting tired of the random messages sent to her PADD at all hours such as, “Why do ensigns insist on breathing near me?” and “How much do I really need this job?” She sighed heavily, staring into the camera, and hopefully into his soul. She was desperate. She repeated the only thing that made sense right now. Sirin: I need the chocolate. Wong: I think I picked up two extra boxes just in case they got lost on transport. You never know with The Shoals! Anyways, I could send you the other two boxes if you'd like? The counselor’s face grew almost giddy with excitement. She leaned in and looked right into his soul with the intensity of a cousin who had reached her limit. Sirin: Send them directly to her, for the sake of my sanity. Do you have any idea how disagreeable that hobgoblin can get when she’s found a new source of addiction? The random messages, the threats of her taking the Thor into the chocolate nebula to track down cocoa? She is seriously making me want to throw a box of candy at her and run for my life! ::takes deep breath:: I apologize, Lieutenant, please send them if it is convenient. Wong: It's okay! I don't mind parting with them. Sirin: Thank you, if you could be certain to make the boxes Cheesecake proof, that would be delightful. I told her that she could get chocolate anywhere, but she insists that these particular candies have given her a greater insight into her state of being. In Alieth speak, this means she was, as the humans say, wasted. She refrained from her views on naming animals after food, and simply took a quick gulp from her ever present flask. Seriously, keeping your cousin sane and out of prison for chocolate deprivation was a full time job. Wong: But I have to ask - what's the occasion? Sirin: ::totally serious:: My not killing her. Wong: That’s a uh… good enough occasion. Sirin: ::shrugging:: She would do the same for me. Wong: Back at the Academy, I had to hide my jars of chocolate hazelnut spread if she came over to study. If I didn’t, I’d definitely have discovered them missing after she left. I think she once took one of my half eaten jars when I wasn’t paying attention. Meidra bit back a laugh, Alieth made no secret of her fondness for anything sweet. Sirin: Were you still eating from it at the time? Wong: Uh hey! How about we leave my eating habits out of this? As for Alieth….You know somehow, I don’t think that would have mattered to her. Sirin: As an infant, she once reached into a relative’s mouth for a piece of fruit and started eating it. Then realized it was not candy and spat it back at our cousin. ::fondly:: Even then, she had a bit of stubbornness to her. Wong: I can see there’s been at least some things that haven’t changed since our Academy days! Ha! But how has she been doing these days? Sirin: Pouting that she cannot race, I mean - socialize, with her friends due to work. She needs a vacation, but her shore leaves often turn out to be more chaotic than her missions. ::coughs lightly:: I mean, the ones she spends with me, but I digress. ::sits up and smiles brightly:: She is well, thank you for your inquiry. Meidra looked at her chronometer, she had a new junior counselor to meet. She sighed and looked at the Klingon again in thanks. Sirin: On behalf of my sanity, I thank you again, Lieutenant. I hope that we can one day meet in person and share more stories of my delightful Krei, and the lengths I will go through to keep her from going through withdrawal from sucrose. Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0 + Lieutenant JG Ikaia Wong Physician Assistant USS Veritas V239711IW0

In fact, I feel the opposite, I consider that not including the Maquis as something French was the right thing to do (although hey! you could have talked about Jean Valjean or the parallels with French novels in the final arc of DS9, because there is a hint of Les Miz in all of it). Mainly because there were other groups with the same name active (the Republican groups against the Franco regime, for example, after Spanish Civil War/during WWII) that also had an impact, so the term is a bit blurred. In any case, even if I am the most British of the French, my vote goes to mon capitaine.

Such a WAY to start a SIM @Alleran Tan 🤣

The level of drama, drag race references, emotion and worlbuilding in this sim is over the top. I'm here with my popcorn ready to see how this arc develops. Great work @Yalu & @Etan Iljor ❤️ (( Molly Malone’s Irish Pub, Deck 225/226, Deep Space 224 )) The hustle and bustle of the pub actually made Dwich feel more comfortable about saying what he wanted to say; he could speak and let his voice get lost in the din. Certainly no one beyond their table would be able to overhear him even if they wanted to. Hamsan: I know you’re Meidra’s best friend, but you’re the only other Bajoran I’ve gotten to know on Resolution. I was wondering if I could ask for your advice. Etan: Uh, of course… The delay in Iljor’s reply and the uncertainty in his tone of voice made Dwich pause, and he second guessed whether or not he should continue on with his question. After a moment of consideration, he pressed on. Hamsan: ::gestures to Iljor’s earring:: You’re… observant, right? You follow the way of the Prophets? Etan: Of course. It guides me in everything I do. I believe I am walking the Prophets have laid out for me. Dwich nodded. Bajorans had a reputation for being a spiritual people, and while some were less devout than others, one could generally trust the assumption that Bajorans believed in the Prophets. It made sense for them, more so than Humans or other species for whom religion existed. To Dwich’s knowledge, they were unique amongst believers in that their gods were actual, real beings, living just out of time but very much involved in the affairs of the people they watched over. Hamsan: I’ve been thinking a lot about my path. Meidra and I have talked about moving in together, and I think we both want to take that step. But I keep thinking about Yurba’s Second Prophecy. Etan: I’m not familiar with it. ::he said, trying to rack his brains for any recollection.:: Hamsan: Before I joined Starfleet, I was in training to join the religious order at the Kaiett Monastery in Dakhur Province. But that was a long time ago. ::beat:: In Yurba’s, there’s one verse I can’t get out of my head. “If thou cantst love thyself, how canst thou love somebody else?” It’s making me wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Etan: Reading prophecy is fundamental. It is part and parcel of our spiritual lives. But there comes a point when sometimes we have to follow our hearts. My grandmother spent some time as a young woman considering doing the same as you did: joining the clergy rder- but it never felt right. When she met my grandfather, she was torn about whether to give up the order and marry my grandfather or give up my grandfather and spend her life in silent seclusion at the Vandawan Monastery. Dwich remembered his last day at the monastery, when Prylar Ulan told him to pack up his things and follow another path. It hurt, and for months, even years after, Dwich had felt lost. The one thing he had wanted more than anything else in the world was not the life for him, or so he had been told. Hamsan: What did she do? Etan: She wasn’t able to have an orb experience to find the answer, but she did speak to Vedek Vehsajj who told her of a passage from Yalar’s New Insights which said “One must not be sabotaged by the saboteur from within”. My grandmother realised that she was stopping herself from being truly happy and she left the seminary. Dwich recalled the book to which Iljor referred, though he didn’t remember the specific passage. Over tens of thousands of years, the Prophets had revealed themselves to chosen messengers on Bajor many times, which resulted in a diverse canon of prophecies to which the faithful could turn for guidance. In the past few days, Dwich had done his own share of poring over some of his most beloved sacred texts, but he was left with no answers, only more questions. Hamsan: But how does one know? How did your grandmother know? I love Meidra, but I still dream about joining a religious order. I don’t know how to reconcile those two things. Dwich tried not to scooch to the edge of his seat in anticipation as Iljor stopped to take a sip of his drink. It wasn’t as though he had the magic answer to solve all of Dwich’s problems, but perhaps he could provide something thought provoking or shed a new angle of light on the situation. As Iljor set the glass down, Dwich tried to anticipate what he would say. Etan: My point is: ask yourself how you feel about Meidra. I think you’ll find the answer is that which makes you the happiest. Dwich thought about his own feelings for Meidra, and the way she reacted when he finally expressed them to her. If he were speaking in his own language, he would have used the word tem’en, “bright one.” And he wanted to be her ja’ital, her “light,” in return. He knew she felt the same way about him, but Dwich felt that there was something in the way. Something within each of them that complicated their relationship and prevented them from becoming as close as their feelings might wish. Hamsan: I wonder if she would still want to be with me if I–– ::beat:: if I left Starfleet after my four years are up and joined the clergy. ::begins thinking out loud:: Not in a contemplative or cloistered order, one where she could come with me, maybe teaching or caring for the poor. With my medical training, I could do a lot of good in one of the cities. Ashalla, maybe. Or Tamulna. Etan: response Dwich realised he was getting ahead of himself. He had discussed his vocational aspirations with Meidra a few times in the past, but he had always framed it as a part of his past. He’d not previously let on that he still thought about it every day of his life. Hamsan: I guess sharing quarters is such a big step, that it’s caused me to rethink everything about my life. I didn’t realise when I asked her that all this would come up. Etan: response Hamsan: But I don’t think I’m the only one. Dwich looked over at his unpalatable, nearly full beer. It was likely warm and flat by now, rendering it even more unpleasant. Even so, he grabbed it and took a draught, pulling a face as he set down the glass and forced himself to swallow the mouthful of acrid beverage. Hamsan: I think she’s hiding something from me. Something that she thinks would change the way I feel about her if I found out. Etan: response Hamsan: I don’t know. ::beat, suddenly realises:: And this isn’t me trying to prise it out of you, Iljor. Honestly, I would never want to exploit the confidence between friends. I just wish she believed that nothing could change the way I feel about her, and even if the Prophets don’t intend for us to walk the same path forever, she can at least be herself with me in the here and now. Dwich realised that his own words could just as easily be spoken in the reverse about him. It was as though each of them had brought a third one with them into their relationship, a secret or a longing, that threatened to derail what they had together. Etan: response (( OOC: The musical accompaniment for today’s sim is Between performed by Vienna Teng. )) Tag / TBC PNPC Crewman 2nd Class Hamsan Dwich Emergency Medical Technician USS Resolution NCC-78145 simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145 Justin D238804DS0 As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others, those who have lost the right to speak. — Mahmoud Darwish

Congrats everyone!

Here I'm waiting eagerly for my one-year badge to brag about it, and you've poured all this on me.... you guys.... you guys are the best, I'm a lack of words atm so I'll only say.... ¡Gracias! And absolutely congrats for all the well deserved STARS there

Thank you so much for all the awards team effort to review and evaluate every nomination submission! There has been EXCELLENT writing this year, no matter how CRAZY the world has been, and you all deserve to be praised to the moon and back

Congratulations and welcome to the fleet @Kivik it has been a pleasure see you through the academy, hope you enjoy your new position!

Ladies, gentlemen, people of neutral or other genders, meet Mr. @Geoffrey Teller and his unique ability to turn something mundane into something fun and a true genius. ((XO's office, Deck 1, USS Thor)) Unnecessarily straightening his uniform for the seventh time in as many minutes, Geoff Teller shifted in his chair and watched as the chrono counted down. He hadn't been looking forward to this call and even though the smorgasbord of brass were all safely on the other side of a screen, Geoff still felt their looming shadows like they were in the office with him. Teller gulped the remainder of his cup of coffee and looked towards the carafe parked on his desk, already half-empty. Starfleet Command was still digesting their most recent mission reports and unsurprisingly, they had more than a few questions about how matters were handled. It was a formality for the most part triggered automatically when Fleet Captain Kells mentioned the Prime Directive in his mission report but it still rankled Geoff slightly that his judgement, and that of his CO, was being dissected from afar. Still, he'd gotten to his office early, prepared his mission notes thoroughly and legibly and he'd even polished his pips. In his experience, Admirals appreciated a bit of extra spit & polish. The last few seconds ticked off and the display on his wall monitor was replaced briefly by that Starfleet Command. Geoff sat up, prepared for at least three admirals and their various aides, but after a minute all he continued to see was the Starfleet Command logo, spinning in place. Teller: The hell... Vansen: =/\= ....an you hear me now? =/\= One third of Geoff's screen was replaced with the shaky image of a Lt. Cmdr. in Engineering gold. Teller: =/\= Uh...hello? =/\= Vansen: =/\= Oh finally, the Admiral is going to kill me if he misses any more calls today. Damn..on.s.orm.re..ly..fou....p....tran..iver =/\= The image degraded before freezing and being replaced with a test pattern. Geoff snorted a laugh but felt a pang of empathy for the poor engineer that was about to give bad news to an Admiral about their subspace transceiver. He wondered if that meant the meeting was going to be rescheduled when the right third of his monitor came alive with the image of a particularly stoic and wizened looking Vulcan Rear Admiral. Any smirk on Geoff's features was immediately erased as his spine stiffened. The Admiral pinned him with a frosty gaze and began speaking. T'mpok: =/\=...........=/\= Geoff's brows furrowed in confusion. He could see the Admiral's mouth moving, so Geoff was certain the man was saying...something. Geoff found himself nodding along at what he thought were appropriate moments but he could find no break or pause in which to politely tell the Admiral that his audio pickups had been disabled. T'mpok: =/\=...........=/\= It felt like an eternity but the Admiral paused and Geoff interjected as best he could. Teller: =/\= Sir this is Cmdr. Teller...I'm not sure if you can hear me or not, but I haven't been receiving your audio...I can see you just fine though..sir...I recommend running a level 3 diagnostic of your...=/\= The Admiral's image suddenly winked out and Geoff was left with his mouth hanging open, wondering what he'd done (recently) to earn the favor of the subspace gods. A few moments later a brief text message from the Admiral's office came through stating that the Admiral had only recently received a new communications unit and was still, in their words, 'getting used to it.' Geoff could hear an aides deep exasperation written large between every letter. He responded and offered to reschedule as the center of his screen came to life. Roth: =/\= Cmdr. ::bark:: Teller? This ::bark:: is Cmdr. ::bark:: Shelby Roth in ::bark bark:: Admiral Otyl's office...I ::bark:: apologize for ::bark:: MISCHA NO! MISCHA DOWN! :whimper, scratching sound:: Don't you dare!...Go, go...go find your bobo... =/\= Geoff watched this unexpected animal psychology lecture with rapt fascination. His only regret at the moment was not having a snack of some type on hand. The Commanders image was briefly replaced with an empty chair and Geoff could hear the distinct swish of doors opening and closing in the background. Roth: =/\= Sorry about that, Commander. The Admiral's prized Alfa-177 can be a real handful when things aren't just so. ::Muted bark:: To that end, the Admiral is behind ::Muted bark:: schedule...he was supposed to be here to get his ::Muted bark:: dog three hours ago. I'm reaching out to let you know we're rescheduling this debriefing and we'll forward you ::Muted bark:: a new set of subspace ::Muted bark:: frequency details. =/\= Off camera there was the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground, the excited yapping of a completely uninvolved dog, and a colorful string of expletives from Commander Roth, several of which Geoff would have to look up. The screen winked out and the three panels merged, replaced again with the stately logo of Starfleet Command, under which Geoff was surprised to see a small query prompt. Teller: Well I guess the call quality was pretty good... Geoff tapped five several times, hit submit and poured himself another cup of coffee, relaxing in his office chair and reveling in his unexpected free time. [End] =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0

The title alone deserves to be here @Wes Greaves Jokes aside, Wes never disappoints in creating well rounded characters, full of personality and giving us an excellent perspective of what's going on either with his PC or with his amazing PNPCs. Brilliant work. ((Main Shuttlebay, Deck 7, USS Thor)) Rodriguez: Get yours hands outa your damn pockets Cooland and help get those tools moved! Sarah didn't even wait for the reply, she just pasted a deep scowl on her face and placed her hands on her hips. The Marine in question opened his mouth but thought better of it and raced to the corner of the shuttlebay where several tool racks were still standing. Reports from the surface weren't looking good. The Klingon's attack had arrived early and shifted everyone's timetable, including everyone's on the ship. Greaves had set up the work assignments for everyone before he left and Sarah's platoon was split to the four corners of the ship, helping pretty much everywhere. There were advantages to having her Det Commander also be Chief of Security, namely much closer integration for work like this. Sarah wasn't sure if it all had been intentional or if Greaves had just been forced into it due to lack of planning time, but for all intents and purposes, it was working out. A deafening series of metallic clunks and clangs reverberated throughout the shuttlebay and Sarah spun on heR heel to find Lance Corporal Cooland perilously keeping a shelf full of tools from falling over while a fallen wrench bounced along the deck plating. Rodriguez: Cooland! Some of that crap ain't easy to replicate! Get your head on straight! (turning to another group) Crewman Jones! Go help Cooland. The man gave Sarah a sideways glance, not wanting to meet her gaze, and then scurried over to help steady the tool case. Sarah had worked with Starfleet Security off and on throughout her career. Moreso since transferring to the Thor but she'd never been in charge of security personnel before. The dozen Marines and Security personnel in the shuttle bay today were under her direction, however and the woman could tell those in gold weren't exactly thrilled by her leadership style. Sarah mentally shrugged at the thought. She was a Marine, and a Marine leader at that. She wasn't going to change things up just because a few non-Marines weren't used to getting shouted out. The woman glanced at her padd looking for a status update and frowned more severly at the news. Rodriguez: (Loud, clear, command voice) Okay, grunts, listen up. Ops has started bringing aboard some of the civilians from downstairs. It's only a matter of time before some of the Klingons are brought aboard, and THIS PLACE STILL ISN'T READY. She paused and stared down everyone across the bay as her voice echoed against the walls of the nearly empty room. All of the shuttles and fighters had already launched. All that was left to do was move all the tools, carts, and cargo containers so they could use the space to secure the Klingon's. Rodriguez: You've got five minutes to get this all done. FIVE MINUTES. Got me? The Marines in the room muttered out a rushed aye-aye, while most of the security personnel offered nods of acknowledgment before turning back to work. They were running out of time to prep the ship. With a final look at everyone from near the door Sarah grabbed a hovercart and started helping to clear the room. ========================= Staff Sergeant Sarah Rodriguez Marine Platoon Sergeant USS Thor - NCC 82607 E239702WG0 =========================

Alieth showing all her Vulcan Drama this year

yay! welcome to the fleet

Again here: congrat @Wes Greaves! nicely done

The level of technobabble, the fine set of the situation and the ability to be clear about a very complex scene/setting from many points of view of @Sirok always amazes me. Magnificent work. ((USS Thor, Main Engineering)) It had been a grueling few days, even for a Vulcan's physiology. The work for Sirok and all the people under his command had been extensive and had only just begun. On the one hand, the engineers readjusted the life support system in order to extend as much as possible the number of people that the Thor could accommodate. On the other hand, the operations crew, along with the ship's security team, prepared every available space to accommodate as many people as possible. With an added difficulty, a significant number of them would be considered enemies, so they would almost have to be treated as prisoners. To this end, the areas where they would be had been equipped with more force fields and anesthezin prepared to use in their ventilation ducts. Given the number of people to be accommodated, even the shuttles and runaboats were outside the ship to add a few more people to the total and make maximum use of the hangar. Still it would be impossible to accommodate everyone, there were no miracles possible to accommodate 5000 people plus the Klingon army, when the Thor even pushing the limits and using the auxiliary ships could accommodate just under 4000 people. And the Thor already had 745 crew members. Another team of engineers worked with several scientists to set up a system that could help temporarily contain or accelerate the pressure in the tectonic plates and thus regulate the timing of the explosion. Unfortunately, it had to be placed inside the volcano itself, which was tremendously dangerous at the time. They had also worked on designing the plan to remove the wreckage of the Excalibur and the Klingon ship. The Excalibur was apparently in one piece, but to get it out they would have to lower the Thor to a tremendously dangerous altitude for a starship, which is not designed for atmospheric flight and take it out of the planet with the tractor beam. They would also have to configure the tractor beam not only to pull it out but to break it apart in the process,because due to the humidity and being in the planet's atmosphere most of the structure was totally rusted. The Klingon ship, impacted in a more distant area of the planet and was in much worse shape, the good thing is that a couple of runaboats would be enough to remove the wreckage of considerable size. A much larger impact than the Excalibur would explain why the Klingon survivors did not use more advanced technology, simply because they could not recover it. At that time Sirok was in main engineering viewing the data projected by the holographic table that was relatively close to the warp core. On the one hand he had a view of the area of the Calabrum fortress, where he could see the movement of the troops of both armies. But his interest was to control when the transporter enhancers were activated. Without them they could transport people but at a much slower pace due to the problems caused by the ash from the volcano. The screen also noted the position of the Loki, with Commanders Rouiancet and Brodie, who were going to place the device in the volcano. If they succeeded in their mission it would give them more time to do everything else and blow up the volcano when they were done. To review their activity and give more data to the commanders he had tasked Ensign Katsim. Sirok: Ensign, Have you found a safe landing zone for the Loki? The commanders might have good data while they were in the shuttle, but it would not be the same once they started moving forward on foot.. Katsim: response He had left the last piece of the holographic projection to check the tractor beam and the position of the Thor in relation to the Excalibur. It would be the last thing they would have to do once they had transported as many people as possible from Calabrum. Kells: =/\= This is the captain to Sirok and Katsim. =/\= Sirok: =/\= Sirok here, Capitán. =/\= Katsim: =/\= Responses =/\= Kells: =/\= How are the preparations going? Or have you begun beaming refugees aboard? =/\= Sirok: =/\=No, Captain, unless you order otherwise. The ash from the volcano advises against transporting large groups of people, at least until the pattern enhancers are connected. =/\= The engineer checked again the numbers of how many people they could accommodate on the Thor and its auxiliary ships. Sirok: =/\= Captain, I have rechecked and after adjusting the systems we cannot accommodate more than 3205 people, including the crew of the Thor 3243 if we can count on the Loki once she completes her mission. Under no circumstances can we count on the wreckage of the ships on the planet, their condition makes them totally unfit to transport anyone. We have to select who we transport. My recommendation, taking into account the prime directive in the long term, is to transport anyone with non-autochthonous DNA and the others should be randomly selected.=/\= His voice was monotone as always, with the same tone he used to report the status of the ship's plasma conduits. Katsim/Kells: =/\= Responses =/\= Tag/TBC

@Geoffrey Teller 's giving it his all to start Act 3 of our mission and hits all the right notes: humor, epic, references to legends, novels and classic books and a great setting to kick off the final fanfare of our epic/fantasy crossover. Incredible work! ((Outside the city walls, Calabrum)) There was simply no eloquent way to put it. No deft turn of phrase to encapsulate his thoughts. However he turned it over in his head, Geoff Teller's thoughts kept coming back to one thing, and one thing only. His [...] hurt. He'd spent the better part of the last two days in a mad dash around the planets surface, largely traveling by the local equivalent of horseback, and he was miserably saddlesore. It may not have been the most modern means of transportation and the smell was truly appalling but it was far more discreet than the transporters or a shuttle and the crew was already bending the Prime Directive nearly in half to help these people. They were interfering, yes, but with the larger goal of removing mass scale cultural contamination which Starfleet had, however inadvertently, caused. At least, that's what Geoff kept telling himself when he imagined the forthcoming board of inquiry after this mission. Whatever happened there was going to be a lot of paddwork. For now, neither Geoff's sore backside or his forthcoming court martial were really the issue. They were running out of time. Geoff drew his mount to a halt roughly a hundred meters from the next group of refugees they'd try to get into the city, or off to the ruins of the Excalibur. A crashed starship turned ark...Geoff shook his head. At least the court martial would be entertaining. The remainder of his team halted their mounts alongside his and Geoff looked over his small order of knights. Captain Greaves had somehow found for himself a green gambeson suitable for a Marine and wore it and the heavy metal armor with apparent ease. To his right, Ensign Dar was brilliant in crimson, wearing the colors the knights of Calabrum themselves wore. It suited her, much like the armor. Doctor Quen, at least to Geoff's eye, did not appear quite as comfortable in her azure regalia, explicitly set aside specifically for those dedicated to healing or the wizardry of science. Geoff looked down at his own golden tunic and felt an odd pang of sentimentality. For almost half of his career he'd worn gold as an engineer and somehow it felt good to be wearing it again just now. Geoff raised a hand to his group and pointed towards the refugees. Teller: That makes...four hundred twenty seven we've helped move so far and that group looks like it could bring us to an even four fifty. Captain Greaves, Ensign Dar, how're we doing on transport enhancers? Greaves/Dar: Response Teller: Good, but let me know before we're down to the last set. I'd like to keep one in reserve, just in case. Greaves/Dar: Response Geoff chuckled. Teller: When has plan A ever worked for us, Captain Greaves? Greaves: Response Teller: Lt. Quen, how're your medical supplies holding out? Think you've got enough left if these folks have injured? Quen: Response Teller: Alright, use whatever's left. We might have enough time to make a resupply run back to the city but those drums are getting awfully loud and ::Geoff turned his head and shouted in the general direction of the oncoming klingon hoarde:: extremely annoying! The drums were unimpressed. Quen/Dar/Greaves: Response From behind Geoff heard the galloping of an animal approaching and turned to see the Queen herself, resplendent in shining golden armor, mounted on something that looked like a horse wearing half a tree as a sideways hat. Geoff would later learn that this animal is called an elk and that he was not, in fact, born to be a poet. He nodded respectfully as she approached. Teller: Your Highnessness. We were just about to head to that next group. How are the preparations going? Du Pendragon: Response Quen/Dar/Greaves: Response Tags/TBC =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0 --

@Sirok & @Geoffrey Teller have given us the best of them to make a perfect crossover of Star trek and high fantasy, klingons and orcs, so i only can love everything in this JP, from the title to the song. Great job guys! --------------------------------------------------------- ((Gre’thors Latrine, Klingon encampment on the outskirts of Calabrum)) Kaaj came out of the tent of his warboss, whom the pitiful weakling peasants called Modrawt, with a savage smile that was as large as it was toothy.. He had not seen the ancient warrior so excited in years but when he handed him that arrow-shaped trinket, everyone knew their long awaited destiny was finally at hand. Finally they would finish what their fathers and grandfathers had started. Finally they would crush the hated humans and their stone city. Finally they would reclaim their lost honor and rise, as the stories told, to hunt once again among the stars themselves. The camp had two clearly differentiated areas. The Klingon officers had their tents haphazardly arranged on a promontory, although the way they were positioned meant that one protected the other. Like a pack of wolves, the solitary klingons formed groups like this for only two reasons. Mutual protection, or when hunting large and dangerous quarry. Occasionally, laughter and the clash of metal blades or a ringing expletive could be heard. Their peasant levies did not dare approach for fear of becoming a source of brief and painful amusement for the increasingly frenzied warriors. In the lower camp and in perfect orderly ranks were the ramshackle tents of the slave soldiers. There, several Klingon officers shouted training orders with sharp, guttural barks to a huge company of malnourished and terrified peasants. Those that failed to follow orders perfectly were beaten savagely the first time. Those that failed a second time became practice dummies for the spearmen or small snacks for the perpetually voracious wartargs. It was a cruel but effective training technique. It was what had allowed Modrawt to rampage across the country, to gather more resources and equipment, and to finally lay siege to Calabrum. Almost as soon as his scouts reported sighting the city, the great Kri'stak Volcano began to rumble and belch flame. Like a powerful omen from the ancient songs brought to life, the sulfurous fumes and searing heat had lit a fire in the hearts of the warriors. The young Klingon made his way to one of the tents outside the camp, where the beast guards were stationed. Kaaj: Good news, brother. We've made it. We've found the ones mother and father were talking about. Our enemies from the stars. He held out his hand showing the trophy of his defeat, a damaged combadge with the symbol of his ancestral enemy, perhaps the only sweet defeat he would ever have in his life. In his fairly short life, Gron had come to love only two things with great fervor. The rancid taste of stinging Blood Mead sloshing down his gullet was by a wide margin the first. The second were the great wartargs, for whom he had cared all his life. So far the work had added scars to his skin and subtracted years from his life, but Gron didn’t care. The wartargs were the brothers and sisters he headed into battle with and it was his pride that they were nearly uncontrollably vicious. Now the pack was starved, having not been fed for several days so their appetite was at a peak when they reached the battle. Gron looked at the golden amulet, and the shattered mountain belching deadly fire against the backdrop of a reddening sky, and smiled. Gron: Today is a good day….to ride. Gron rattled his trashing stick against the cage bars behind him, eliciting a cacophony of savage yips and snarls. As soon as Kaaj finished, he patted him firmly on the back. Kaaj: That's right old friend, at last a rival worthy of a legend. Behind Gron the targs howled and snarled in apparent agreement. Gron: and a meal worthy of legend... The conversation was interrupted by a rhythmic murmur coming from the rest of the camp. As they left the tent they understood that the murmur was a song, a song sung in unison by the entire camp.Both Klingons saw all the warriors and soldiers looking at their leader's tent, who was at the door and had the bat'leth over his head. Despite hearing everyone singing the voice of their leader stood out above. *Qoy qeylIs puqloD. Qoy puqbe'pu'. yoHbogh matlhbogh je SuvwI' Say'moHchu' may' 'Iw. maSuv manong 'ej maHoHchu'. nI'be' yInmaj 'ach wovqu'. batlh maHeghbej 'ej yo' qIjDaq vavpu'ma' DImuv. pa' reH maSuvtaHqu'. mamevQo'. maSuvtaH. ma'ov. Both warriors joined their voice to the song. Today they would finally secure their places in Sto’vo’kor. Shouted orders and a stampede of running feet brought the army into marching formation soon after. The sky darkened and the ground shook as they began the final journey towards Calabrum...and destiny. [End] ========================== Kaaj of the Klings E239702S10 & Gron of the Klings V239509GT0 ======================= *Hear! Sons of Kahless. Hear! Daughters too. The blood of battle washes clean The Warrior brave and true. We fight, we love, and then we kill. Our lives burn short and bright, Then we die with honor and join our fathers in the Black Fleet where we battle forever, battling on through the Eternal fight. =========================

welcome back to the fleet