Alieth

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

ch'Ranni: ::with a nervous comedic quip:: Ouch. I just kissed a cave and I think I liked it.

Welcome to the fleet cadets ensigns! It has been a pleasure share this week with you all :D. If you need anything, my mail and discord DM are always open for you! LLAP!

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

congratulations and welcome!

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!

@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

@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 =========================