Alieth

No promises!

From Walter Brunsig narrative: @Quinn Reynolds I don't think I'll ever get over this description

Not as funny as a perfect concise little recall and motivation of the character for being where he is, nice work @Bryce Tagren-Quinn!

welcome and welcome back! hope you have a great time in your new ships!

Bear, the Magnanimous, has some Roman Emperor ring

It's great to see an ensign start to find their feet with the character and the narrative and this, just, is what we see here beautifully with @Bryce Tagren-Quinn . Good work! keep it up! ((Corridor, Deck 8, USS Gorkon)) The part El-Aurian doctor would have been lying if he said that practically dragging makeshift gurneys down the corridor of a deck experiencing a hull breach was an ideal method in transporting critical patients. However, the unique circumstances necessitated the need to think quickly and utilize anything that they had a line of sight to in the moment. There was no room for second-guessing. The herculean effort was a physically taxing process for the entire rescue party, but he was thankful and appreciative for their efforts. The Andorian Commander. The Bajoran scientist. The Ferengi engineer. The Ferengi engineer. As they made the journey in silence to the rendezvous point, he couldn’t help but contemplate the series of events in the lab, of Lephi taking it upon herself to perform surgery on the security ensign. Judging by her statements, she seemingly justified the action as a life-saving measure and, had Bryce had the opportunity to reassess things after exhausting a more conservative approach, he would have advocated for the same thing if it meant saving the officer’s life. The fact that she took the task upon herself, with him in the room only a shout away (especially after asking for her to keep him abreast before stepping away to address other patients), made him question a variety of factors. Not knowing the woman, he wondered about her judgement. He wondered about the amount of stress she might have been under. Was irritability and rashness a natural state? With her line of work, he imagined that she would approach things with a sort of methodical stance. Perhaps it was the situation itself? It was enough to set anyone on edge, to behave in ways they normally wouldn’t. He also wondered if the move was something born out of first impressions. Did she question his credibility, his competence? When he was called upon the deck initially, he was not dressed for a breach – but having been elbows deep in working with patients, he reflected backwards. The call was for an explosion, not a situation where there was compromised structural integrity. He hadn’t anticipated it but he should have known better. Live and learn. There was much more than what was happening in sickbay, in his world - and it was an awareness that he needed to develop… quickly. Because it could have costed him his life, and where would they have been? Lephi did give him that suit. Regardless of what might have prompted the action, it was done and they needed to focus on the matter at hand, and deal with the fallout later. His thoughts weren’t allowed to wander too much further, as the beautiful sight of security ensigns marching towards them greeted them. The doctor dropped the rope in relief and took a moment to breathe. ch'Ranni: =/\= Janders, get these people to the triage area. Doctor, please provide your report. =/\= He nodded, took a few more quick scans for good measure, and pulled out an encrypted PADD that contained all the scans and his hurried notes. Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Please give this to the nurse. =/\= There were some other details that he provided quickly, knowing that they would do their best in transporting the injured and ensuring their safety in the event of full depletion of energy. Janders: Understood, doctor. We'll take care of them. With the hand-off complete, there was an awkward silence. As the group seemed to collect themselves, Tagren-Quinn readjusted his kit and glanced between them. ch'Ranni: Ready for the next section? Tahna: =/\= Ready. =/\= Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Aye, ready. =/\= Another beat… or three. The hybrid raised an eyebrow. ch'Ranni: =/\= Coming, Lieutenant? =/\= Lephi: =/\= Yes sir, whatever you need. =/\= ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\= ((Deck 8, USS Gorkon)) The walk was a seemingly ominous one, which was made more pronounced by the silent tension that was amplified by the situation. He worried about those they found, of those that they didn’t. Of what obstacles they might face. But, it was not productive to become trapped by those fears. Despite everything, they needed to push on. Sections were broken with the now common view of space greeting them around bends. It was terrifyingly beautiful. The pace slowed as Lephi approached a containment field, indicating it with a certain amount of emphasis. Lephi: =/\= I won't cut off anymore arms, but we've got to be quick. See this? ::points to a containment field holding back the inky blackness of space as they walked by:: That tells me we don't have more than another hour, even without my scans. =/\= He was impressed that she could gauge that by eyesight alone. But, with scans unreliable and such a time crunch, their window was shrinking quickly. He wished they had a concrete estimate to work with. Tagren-Quinn: =/\= How much ground do we have yet to cover? =/\= ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\= Tahna: =/\= Do you have a suggestion to make recovery quicker, Lieutenant? =/\= That was a great question. He listened to their responses with rapt attention. An engineer would know her ship, and the Chief of Operations would have a good sense of things. ch’Ranni/Lephi: =/\= Response =/\= Tahna: =/\= We still have three scientists listed as present in the duty logs who are unaccounted for. There may be other security officers too, like Tzim-Shah, who were clearing the labs. =/\= Tagren-Quinn: oO Very true. Oo ch’Ranni/Lephi: =/\= Response =/\= They talked as they walked and, as they approached the next bend, they were met with a sight that left them knowing instantly that things were going to be even more complicated, even more impossible. Before them, stood a wall of broken pieces, of tangled pipes and wire. He just stood for a second, horror threatening to squeeze in. Tahna: =/\= Is this the part where we crawl through a Jeffries tube to save the day? =/\= Bryce glanced at Tahna before glancing over to ch’Ranni and Lephi. He could see they were working things out too and deferred to their expertise. ch’Ranni/Lephi: =/\= Response =/\= Tagren-Quinn: =/\= If we journey through this Jeffries Tube, how long will it take to get there on a normal day, a normal jaunt? =/\= ch’Ranni/Lephi/Tahna: =/\= Response =/\= Tagren-Quinn: =/\= And, if we encounter these three, possibly more individuals, that we might have to transport out… might there be any other alternate routes, perhaps on the other side that might be open? =/\= His words tapered off, attempting to develop a strategy of escape while considering their rescue and time constraints. ch’Ranni/Lephi/Tahna: =/\= Response =/\= Tagren-Quinn: =/\= If they are alert and mobile, that would be best case scenario. If their injuries are more substantial, transport via Jeffries Tubes may not be possible. Our time is shrinking by the second, so I guess we’ll see how things are on the other side… =/\= He didn’t want to monopolize any more time sorting it out loud. They had a job to do. ch’Ranni/Lephi/Tahna: =/\= Response =/\= -- Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn, M.D. Medical Officer USS Gorkon (NCC-82293) T238909AT0

QOTM material @Tahna Meru? QOTM material for sure

i SWEAR this need to be all around a QOTM

Even if I KNOW the context of this, it makes an AWESOME out of context line @Samira Neathler

Are you sure @Quinn Reynolds? :3

Probably one of the most unsettling SIMs I've rad in a time. Thanks @Jo Marshall I hate it ((Sickbay, Deck 2, Sasu Gol)) Every grind and thunk of the ship systems, or metal groaning under the growing cold, only made the Nurse try to suppress a shiver. Bear could only imagine the mental strength needed to hold off the emotional turmoil he'd found himself asunder. If Bear looked closer, he could see Diinr shaking. Diinr: We detected a rapid increase of tachyons and gravitons shortly before the first of several "blips" the ship encountered, then several afterwards. Several of our colleagues within Sickaby rapidly descended into a particular type of hysteria we failed to diagnose or treat in time before… He gestured to the room, to the splash of green dried blood on the biobed they'd found earlier, and glanced in the direction of the room with the spiralling brushstrokes. Diinr: In short, our crew turned mad within moments of being inside the Rift. Stoyer: We can find the others and get them help. Bear wasn't sure if it was the bare emergency lights flickering across Diinr's features, or if the Nurse had wavered a little then. Did he know something they didn't? Where had the crew of the Sasu Gol gone to? They'd heard the scrambling through the maintenance shafts, heard the doors thumping shut with their clanging metal frame. There had to be others still on board. However, something weighted in the man's statement seemed to catch hold of Alieth's attention, and frantic Vulcan fingers began tapping rapidly into her tricorder. Alieth: Wait, you said you were unable to treat them in time, so, you found a medical treatment? Diinr: A treatment, certainly. Blue eyes narrowed in his direction, the twitch at the corner of one a product of the cold. Stoyer: Diinr, do you know if there are any other survivors? No one could respond as the doors shattered open with a force capable of knocking through the bulkheads to make a spacious open plan starship design. The lights in the sickbay dimmed, allowing the darkness to sweep in from the corridor; a torrential tsunami of onyx, all limbs and fangs and eyeballs and things scarcely identifiable beneath the tide of blackness. Alieth: Take cover! Stoyer: What is that? Bear didn't need to be told twice. There was no staring down the barrel of that phaser rifle to be shot on the other end of it. He hit the deck behind the bloodied biobed, the shadows surging overhead like shadows didn't, stretching throughout the Sickbay. Alieth's scream ripped through him like a razor blade, and as he looked over to her, the flashes of light made her actions stop and start. She'd reached forward, trying to grab the Vulcan nurse, trying to drag him toward the cover. But Diinr didn't move. Alieth: Diinr! Now! Stoyer: He’s going to get hurt. O. Marshall: Get down, you mad [...]! The Vulcan simply stood there, watching the oncoming darkness as if it wasn't the most terrifying wave ever created. His eyebrows had lifted, surprise on his features there and recognisable, and the thought alone dropped through Bear like a boulder into a deep quarry. The tricorder in Alieth's hands beeped in a high-pitched tone and Bear shot his eyes to her as she advanced on the young Vulcan… only for the shadows to pick her up and send her flying across the room. She hit the opposite wall with a loud crack and slid down. Stoyer: Aleith! Diinr: Don't you see, Lieutenant? Don't you see this is our fate?! He laughed loudly as he stepped up onto the biobed and held his arms out, spread like wings, on either side of his body. The darkness curled around him, almost curiously, covering his Vulcanoid body like a shroud, a cloak of midnight black, of space, and everything children were afraid of when the lights went out. A roar resounded, reverberating from the duranium bulkheads; a deafening cry of a ship full of disembodied voices. On top of the bloodied biobed, the shrouded Vulcan grimaced, emotions running wild and rampant through the features that should be stoic and logical. Young as he was, Diinr's eye sockets had become thickened and hollow pockets of black, and up his olive skin, thick branches of black veins had grown. Where his green blood had flowed before, only black remained, and turned his flesh a hue of grey Bear had never seen before. Diinr: It demands sacrifice. ::His voice boomed with the slip of shadow, amplified by the swirling madness around them.:: You will become the next. Grabbing one of the flares from his holster, Bear sparked it up, and the end lit in bright red. All around them, eyes and faces festered and leaned out of the shadows, before retreating with a deep hiss. Diinr growled as he leapt down from the biobed, his feet landing in the deck with a heavy slam. …and then everything was still. Lights were back up. Shadows dissipated. Back to normal. Diinr was gone. Bear pried his eyes open, willing his heart to climb down from the top note it remained on, his breath thick and ragged beneath his beard. Sure enough, sweat rolled down his spine as swear words in Bajoran and Federation rolled off his tongue. No flare in his hand. He pushed himself up from the floor using the biobed as leverage, onto shaking feet. Somehow, Stoyer was on the other side of the room. Stoyer: Diinr? O. Marshall: He's gone. He rubbed his hand over his face, threading his fingers through his beard, and remembered their other Vulcan had taken the initial whiplash. Grabbing the discarded medical tricorder, Bear climbed over the debris to where the Vulcan had landed. O. Marshall: Alieth, you still with us? Logic once for yes, twice for no. Alieth: Response On the other side of the room, Stoyer slowly got to his feet. Nothing looked broken from where Bear stood, or dislodged, save for some Stoyer: You guys ok? What was that? O. Marshall: That was one goddamn crazy Vulcan. Is that what happens when your lot loses their minds? Alieth: Response He glanced back over to the green, bloodied biobed, and pieced the words together in his head. Every part of this felt wrong; being there, in the Sickbay room where it had all taken place only seconds before, made Bear's stomach roll. O. Marshall: He said sacrifices. More than one. Alieth / Stoyer: Response O. Marshall: Human blood on the doorway. The Vulcan Doctor committing suicide. ::He pointed to the biobed.:: That. You tell me the logical path from there. The equations don't fit. Alieth / Stoyer: Response O. Marshall: Just… a thought. Maybe he lured whatever it is here. Maybe it became… part of him. Or it became part of him. I don't know. ::His heart had started to come down from the rafters, blood no longer singing in his ears.:: Whatever it is, I want out of this room and off this damn ship. Where does the umbilical connect? Alieth / Stoyer: Response -- Lt. Commander Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

Welcome to the fleet ensign Ral!

@Jona ch'Ranniconfirmed :

Even if it's a tight call for me due androrians antennae moving was ACE just how WELL cardassian make up worked and how iconic it is get my vote. Saying this, and probably unpopular opinion, JJ aliens (mainly in Beyond) have some of the best make up i've seen on screen, i mean: http://blog.trekcore.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/beyond-aliens.jpg

Now I want to read that list, @Tahna Meru... for science!

@Lephiknows the best laws to obey... guess she knows which do not too

@Quinn Reynoldslaser eyes: confirmed

We all love our cranky engineering team in moments like this, aren't we @Bryce Tagren-Quinn? Good one!

WINNERS ANNOUNCEMENT For this year, we tasked all our artists with representing what they, or their characters, consider being "Home", and to do so within the confines of the Star Trek universe. "Home" We have two submission categories: Digital and Non-Digital. Our judges have pondered and deliberated over the beautifully crafted entries submitted for the StarBase 118: Graphic Contest 2022, and we can now reveal the winners are... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Digital Winner Kivik smashed it out of the park with their rendition of what home means to an officer onboard Amity Station. Not only did Kivik achieve this with some showstopping pizzaz (check out that Defiant-class!) but also managed to make it feel like everyone is welcomed into the chaotic party. Fantastic presentation for the contest and an astounding well done! Our judges had this to say: Non-Digital Winner A really surprising non-digital entry from Ikaia Wong has clinched the top spot for this category! Themes of home come through not only in the jigsaw representation of Wong's home city but also peeking through the underlayer of stars is the outline of Amity Outpost. This imaginative and creative piece if beautifully put together and throughout deserves the accolades! Our judges had this to say: All our fantastic entries will be displayed on the contest gallery page, with special features of the winners on our DeviantArt social media. You can find all of the entries on our forums here including all of the non-competing entries submitted for fun and stretching those creative muscles. Thank you to everyone who participated in the contest this year! Roll on 2023!

Welcome back to the fleet!

welcome to the fleet

I was revisiting some of this week's sims to get a better overall picture of the mission as a whole and I came across this sim again. It's painful, the descriptions are so colourful and bring such tangible images to my mind's eye and, at the same time, it totally puts me in Halat's half-crazed skin that it's hard to read and, at the same time, impossible to not do so. Incredible work @Jo Marshall ((Sickbay, USS Gorkon)) Mort launched up onto his feet, his small hands grabbing the front of Taeval's coat as he tried, with a strength not in Denobulan bones, to pull him forward. Stubs of his fingers bled profusely, the skin protruding from beneath his undershirt like that of a banana forgotten at the bottom of the fruit bowl — withered and rotting in black and blue bruises. Halat: You CANNOT GO BACK THERE! DO NOT TAKE ME BACK THERE! His hands clung to his face, fingers trying and failing to dig into his cheeks, leaving only the bloodied trails behind. Out of the corner of his eye, black and gold colours lurched toward him before a hand threw out to stop them with a wall of pulsating shadow. Loxley: Wait! I don’t think he’s any risk to us. Fortune: No, not... right now, at any rate. Ensign, you have to know that suddenly grabbing us, that isn't the way to go about things. Hands of green caught Mort's wrists as his fingers pawed at his face, clinging to the vestiges of blood and skin underneath his remaining fingernails. Pointed ears. Green eyes. Shock of dark hair. Shadows beneath it all. So many shadows clawing at the surface. Clawing at the soul. Loxley: Ensign, listen! Nobody is taking you anywhere. You’re safe here, you can heal and rest. Let us help you. Fortune: ::She nodded, recalling her pointed grimace.:: A meal, a bed, and you'll feel right as a newly scrubbed ship. Taeval: There’s a runabout out looking for them, we’re not headed that way. We’re not taking you back. ::Not yet, anyway. But one step at a time.:: Will you come and sit on the biobed? You must be sore, and it’s more comfortable than the floor. Mort didn't answer, save for a sharp nod as the dark pools beneath the green eyes of the man with the pointed ears grew downwards, like streaks of tears flowing over cheekbones and chin. Guided to the biobed, the soul of the ghost on top of it wasn't there anymore. Loxley: I don’t know what the hell happened, but he’s in bad shape, in more ways than one. Let’s analyse the blood on the uniform and see if the combadge can tell us anything. And I really need to get a good look at his injuries. Fortune: Oh! ::His combadge appeared out of her pocket.:: Here. I don't think he'll want to see it right now. Loxley: I want to ask him about this ‘rift’, too, it might be useful for the away team. The lights flickered. Momentary at first, but then… …blackness. The pitch of it, the essence of it, the soul of pitch, the darkness runs to when the light retreats and the universe winks out of existence. The stars, the suns, the fade glimmering there in the aftermath of the nothing that was to come. In the snap of fingers, the universe would cease to proliferate and the souls of all those trapped still within the dying glow of whatever remained would be there forever. Revolving around nothing. For infinity. Taeval: Mort? Are you all right? He blinked open his eyes to the light of sickbay streaming in from the dome above; tendrils of it, like the long limbs of a forgotten creature long gone from the universe but destined to remain behind in the memories of all those who stayed. A hand appeared on his arm and Mort looked down at the thrumming green of blood and bone, sinew and flesh. Emerald and on fire. Fortune: What was that? Loxley: I don’t know… ::He swallowed.:: Get in touch with the bridge, see if it was just us or… Khunsh: ::Gruffly,:: Comms aren’t working. Loxley: Okay… in that case I’ll go up and tell them myself and find out what’s up with the comms while I’m at it. Mort drew his hand up toward Taeval once more, the thought in his mind that if he could just get the monster to take someone else, he could push the Romulan into the mouth of the beast, into one of the waiting tentacles. It would wrap around his form and take him up, up, up, into the ceiling and away from him… Away from him forever. Taeval: Perhaps we’d be better sending a runner through the Jefferies tubes? Or can we send a different kind of message to the bridge? We don’t deliver casualty reports over the comms. Fortune: I...yes? ::She gave a small shake over head, fingertips rubbing at one temple:: Whatever that was has really rattled my head. Loxley: Response Then the tentacle came down from the ceiling, like a huge limb from a god flailing in the centre of the room, looking for him. Looking for him. He knew it was looking for him, seeking out his flesh to consume, or his bones to crunch in the fiery beak, or take him back to the universe and crush him one thread at a time. Mort whimpered as he cowered, pulling himself into the biobed as if it would envelop him like a glove and hold him there, tied to the Sickbay floor. But it wasn't the tentacle that grabbed hold of him. A dark hand shot out of the darkness, the eyes of crystalline blue, and the enveloping pitch only a fraction of what was to come. Fingers wrapped around his throat easily; their length only matched by their sheer strength as they squeezed. I found you at last. You're coming with me. Taeval: Halat? ::A far away sound, a hand on his shoulder, the man frantic.:: Halat, can you hear me? And, just like that, in the snap of the fingers, Mort fell flat onto his back. -- Ensign Mort Shinzing Halat Operations Officer as simmed by Lt. Commander Jo Marshall First Officer USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0