With their focus no longer split, the jolt from Sparks seems to have done some damage, and the following shot lands as well, the opening provided by 15-0-10 bashing the creature back. That does result in a missed riposte from Dirk, the creature managing to bite nothing but air amidst another missed shot from Zephyr as the mess of a melee manages to make misses of shots from the back line. The damage does wear on it, not to mention the fatigue it is still suffering under.
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Party Up!
Fatigued:
You can neither run nor charge, and you take a –1 penalty to your Armor Class, attack rolls, melee damage rolls, thrown weapon damage rolls that add Strength to damage, Reflex saving throws, initiative checks, and Strength- and Dexterity-based skill and ability checks.
Kichiro guiding their direction serves to avoid any hazard that they might have encountered, whether it be trail or creature. The added familiarity with the terrain serves to make the trip almost nearly as smooth as if they had used the road, if more direct thanks to their vehicle. It is not too many days before the walls— and more importantly, the roads– leading to Hihibo are visible. Curiously, the gates are closed, and the signs of industry that you can recall from your initial arrival are lessened. No traffic seems to be going in or out, and for that matter, there are no guards posted outside that you can tell from your somewhat distant vantage.
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Dirk deftly dispatches one more of the creatures as its companion lunges at 15-0-10, only to get rebuffed by their shield. Another shot from Zephyr(bot) finds bulkhead, the careful angle aborted due to the ongoing melee.
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Party Up!
Fatigued:
You can neither run nor charge, and you take a –1 penalty to your Armor Class, attack rolls, melee damage rolls, thrown weapon damage rolls that add Strength to damage, Reflex saving throws, initiative checks, and Strength- and Dexterity-based skill and ability checks.
+1 Attunement Zephyr(bot), takes a careful shot in a moment where the fight at the doorway allows, landing a solid hit on one of the creatures still tangled up as both try to go for Dirk at the same time again, completely failing to do anything except get in the way.
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Party UP
Fatigued:
You can neither run nor charge, and you take a –1 penalty to your Armor Class, attack rolls, melee damage rolls, thrown weapon damage rolls that add Strength to damage, Reflex saving throws, initiative checks, and Strength- and Dexterity-based skill and ability checks.
+1 Attunement Sparks(bot), connects with his hammer decisively, the creature that had been menacing them going down and staying down, the light in their eyes dimming as the tentacles go slack in that manner that says unequivocally that there is no life left in it. That frees up Zephyr(bot) to attempt a shot with his pistol that does not hit but manages to bury itself in a bulkhead.
The pair of creatures held at the doorway again tangle each other up, possibly due to their fatigue. The shield of 15-0-10 holding against the teeth of the creature, where the other gets denied by the doorway against Dirk.
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Party UP!
Fatigued:
You can neither run nor charge, and you take a –1 penalty to your Armor Class, attack rolls, melee damage rolls, thrown weapon damage rolls that add Strength to damage, Reflex saving throws, initiative checks, and Strength- and Dexterity-based skill and ability checks.
+1 Attunement A wave of lessened energy rolls outward from Dirk, the corridor lights dimming in a ripple centered on the dwindling Dirindi detective, lethargy and threatening exhaustion in the wake of the effect that takes an effort to shake off for everyone. The effect is most pronounced on the creatures that are attacking you, as all of them seem to be affected. Their movements are not as energetic as before, as even their eyes dim somewhat. They still remain silent, save for the sounds of their claws on the floor and the impacts of their teeth on armor, and their bodies on the doorway.
The electric effect from Sparks connects, and the creature on their side cannot take much more, severely injured at this point.
Zephyr(bot), ~Total Defense~ continues to make sure that it is difficult for the creature to bite him, succeeding in baiting the creature to an ineffective attack that still almost hit.
Finding an opportune angle, one of the creatures in the doorway lunges to land a critical hit on Dirk(6 or 10 dmg, see below), potentially resulting in a detective on death's door if doom determines it. The other fails, perhaps hampered by the other.
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Party Up! • Dirk can spend 2RP to negate the critical damage, taking 6 instead of 10 damage, or take the 10 damage and gain the Dying Condition, requiring 1 RP to stabilize.
Fatigued:
Fatigued: You can neither run nor charge, and you take a –1 penalty to your Armor Class, attack rolls, melee damage rolls, thrown weapon damage rolls that add Strength to damage, Reflex saving throws, initiative checks, and Strength- and Dexterity-based skill and ability checks.
+1 Attunement Zephyr(bot), ~Total Defense~ is unprepared for the arrival of the creature so close, and rather than risk a shot, tries to make sure that it is difficult for the creature to bite him.
The melee in the doorway is a chaotic engagement full of shoves, teeth, and battering back against the creatures that are trying to get to or through what you all have set up. In the process, Dirk gets bitten twice(9 dmg) in keeping them from overrunning the doorway and into their group.
In the rear, the battered creature that took to the walls to circumvent the blockade of bodies in the doorway reels from the impact of Sparks' hammer, and lunges to bite at Zephyr, its teeth getting a hold before it has to let go.(4 dmg)
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Party Up! Rolling randomly for bites, 1= upper, 2= lower position.
The road back to Hihibo is much the same, though only slightly unfamiliar, as slight detours and paths make for somewhat uneven travel, but better travel than on the way here. With the weather warming some since the last time you passed this way, there are buds on the trees, and just the edge of that green scent that comes with the grasses in the summer, under the edge of chill and wet. The weather looks to be better tomorrow, warmer than today, at least. The signs of animals coming out of hibernation are easier to spot, and along with that, the tracks from goblins are not too hard for Kichiro to spot, and could guide his brother towards or away.
The cart is performing as expected, even over this uneven terrain, though there is always room for improvement. Perhaps a little more shock absorption along a couple of other points of contact as they tend to jostle a little going over bumps. Perhaps an adjustment on weight distribution, and there has to be something that could facilitate navigation just a bit better... There are still possibilities, some refinements, and that is not even getting into defensive or preventative measures...
+1 Attunement The next seconds are increasingly chaotic. Impeded by the door, both of the attacks are again impeded by the lack of space, bumping into each other and failing to be able to manage a successful angle. The creature that had climbed the walls leaps off to the opposite side, disregarding 15-0-10 and landing behind Sparks, lunging to sink teeth into the Brenneri(6 dmg).
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15-0-10 has an AoO on the wall-climber.
Party Up!
+1 Attunement While not quite as one— since the creatures do not seem to be acting as if they had a hive mind– the rush towards the door is still unnaturally quiet, save for the rapid clicks of claws on the deck.
This time, architecture is in your favor, as all of them cannot fit through the door, and the small entryway is both impediment and aid. Shots are fired, but no attack lands decisively. From his position at the back, Zephyr can notice the divots their claws leave on the deck, and the similarity with other divots that had been seen since they entered, on the floors, wall, and ceiling in a couple places.
As two clog the doorway on the floor, attempting attacks that are hindered by the narrow space compared to their combined width, the third almost flows around the wall and the upper corner of the door, managing to get past the impromptu blockade with some squeezing. That slight distraction does let one get its teeth briefly into 15-0-10.(6 dmg)
That does carry some risk, as it leaves itself open to the two holding the door, and escaping unscathed is unlikely.
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15-0-10 and Dirk get AoO on the climber.
The doorway is conveying soft cover (+2 KAC/EAC) to anyone targeted by attacks from the other side. A double move from one lets it get through the doorway on the wall above and to the left of 15-0-10.
A wide transparent aluminum window stretches across the forward wall of this control room; twinkling lights in the distance are all that can be seen of Absalom Station and the ships of the Armada surrounding it. Four stations with consoles and controls are spread out along the opposite side of the room, facing the viewscreen. From the doorway, more of the creatures are visible, these not seemingly asleep like the previous ones encountered in the hallway.
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Party has initiative.
A shortcut can be taken if desired— Less scrutiny, greater risk of encounters.
With a sense of practically the surrounding region with that roll, Kichiro picks up on signs of goblins, well before the two of you would encounter them.
Nothing interrupts your short amount of rest and repair that you take, there in the main corridor of the Acreon. Dirk, checking everything short of opening doors, unfortunately finds nothing of interest aside from the aforementioned unopened and abandoned meal bar. What pouches the deceased goblin has are filled with junk and what would generously be called scrap. With the power core brought up to functioning levels, the lights have warmed up enough to cast proper illumination, and the life support has warmed the circulating air from the temperatures of vacuum to its default habitable temperature.
There is a surprising dearth of AR features on the ship, what little there is only serving redundant capacities, labeling directions to bays outside of a barely enhanced display for Engineering. This ship definitely gives the air of "efficiency over enhancement". Still, it remains quiet. There are no communications over the comms of the ship, and if there is anyone left alive, they would likely have sealed themselves in one of the rooms of the ship. However, after a couple of weeks of quarantine, there ought to be some evidence... right?
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The destination set, taking care of preparations is a matter of no consequence, and before the day turns to afternoon the two of you can be on the road. This time, retracing your steps is not difficult, especially with the road in decent condition, though there are a couple of places that might prove advantageous, provided that Kichiro can pick a path that is off the main road that the invention can traverse. There still are not many travelers on the road, seeing only a couple of what look like locals, given their travel with only a mule and cart rather than the carriage and trains that merchants or nobility would typically have.
Combat Ended The shot from Sparks manages to be the final hit that sees the blue, tentacled beast collapse, a few more holes in its body than it started with. No further threats turn any corner, and having weathered events rather well, the threat of harm fades.
Dirk's scattering of the aggressive species not-quite shipwide sees him coming up to the body at the intersection, that of a Space Goblin. At the most obvious between the vacuum or the damage done to it, likely one of the two did them in.
The hallway that crosses the main corridor where the fight took place has markings along the walls that indicate both a port and starboard cargo bay, whereas the hallways crossing where the body of the goblin lay have "Quarters", "Mess" and "Crew Storage" stenciled onto the walls. Markings for the Bridge lay directly ahead.
Dirk drains the denim colored dire dogs— who dare dismiss his drain– though the electric discharge from Sparks removes one from consideration completely. Only the initial target remains, the former new addition collapsed and twitching on the floor, the curious scent of something cooked now in the air.
No other creatures are within easy reach, and another frustrated bite finds the SRO's shield too hard to get around.
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Party Up!
(ZephBot) A precise shot is placed by Zephyr on the newer creature(+6P! dmg), the one being buffeted by 15-0-10 a little harder to hit because of the wall.
15-0-10 manages to turn aside another bite, giving Dirk enough of a window to score a hit, another wound to to the toll on the significantly injured creature.(+3S dmg)
The creature reacts to the critical hit in eerie silence, a baleful glance given in the direction of the injury even as it limps, writhes, and attacks even as a bluish silver fluid spatters onto the floor. A daring Dirindi does garner attention by virtue of being the closest and teeth find minimal purchase, but still enough to further injure Dirk.(+3P dmg)
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Party Up!
?(12)
??(9){bleeding}
Attunement Point +1 The shield bash misses the figure, writhing out of the way of a solid impact as it moves more into proximity with 15-0-10, attempting another bite with its disturbingly wide jaws(6 dmg). The creature is not weathering the hits all that well, and another few seconds of damage might see it as dead as the others.
From down the hallway, coming from the southern corridor of the cross-section, one more emerges, running towards the group. Zephyr manages to get a shot off, having a direct line-of-sight to it, but Sparks is the first one it encounters and attempts to sink its teeth into the Brenneri, just barely missing, likely not having anticipated getting immediately shot.
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Party up, +1 Blue thing!
The possibility of returning to Hihibo over finding information in Sakakabe is a valid option. According to the map, that is approximately twice the distance to return than it would be to proceed to the capital city of Kasai. In the limited time that you had spent with them, while your escorts were courteous, their manner was more akin to that of enforcers than that of more professional samurai and protectors. Granted, they were not in any position to push the two of you one way or the other, given the injuries they sustained.
Still, you are back in town, and the chance to get anything that you may have forgotten is available before choosing which direction to set towards.
15-0-10 engaging with the creature sees it react faster than the other two before, the creature being hit and sinuously rolling with the hit before biting at the source of the damage and connecting with its shielded assailant(3 dmg). In the full light of the ship, this blue-skinned creature is clearly something "other".
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Party Up!
Zephyr's position still shows at the airlock, please adjust.
? (2)
15-0-10 leaves the doorway to advance down the corridor, stopping just at the edge of the first intersection, as the hallway crossing the latitude of the ship. To their left, just inside the hallway, is another one of those creatures that was previously dispatched in the engineering bay!
Like the others, this one was also curled up on the floor of the ship, in some sort of resting? Sleeping? state, though unlike the others, the tendrils that comprised a fair amount of the body were intermittently twitching or shifting slightly. This one seemed closer to waking up than the others were.
Dirk, able to make out the details of the small body down the corridor is also likewise stopped mid-stride as he skirts around 10-0-15. The hallway to the right is thankfully clear, though both hallways lead to airlocks, and judging by the markings on the wall, cargo bays. That is absolutely a Prime-Line ProtoBar* that looks to have fallen from the dead... Goblin? at the next intersection.
Sparks spots it just as 15-0-10 does, but is momentarily stunned by the request of the Dirindi detective.
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Prime-Line ProtoBars!™:
Touted by a subsidiary of Sanjaval Flight Systems, these compact bundles of nutrition are designed to be nutritionally perfect for spacegoing needs, small enough to not waste valuable cargo space unnecessarily, and come with an accompanying Flavor-Spike™ that could be inserted into the bar to liven up the flavor. The most notable review that persists is, "nutritionally perfect, unsettlingly smooth."
This long corridor seems to run most of the length of the ship from bow to stern. Signs of battle— bullet holes, scorch marks, and droplets of blood– are clearly visible on the walls and floors. A small body in a space suit lies sprawled on the floor in the middle of a junction in the hallway. With the lighting restored and the ship sealed, it is not difficult to make out the markings of the bridge at the far end.
While the debrief for the captain was done individually for Satoshi and Kichiro, the information conveyed was no different from what was said when he arrived on the scene, just this time, he was able to record the information properly. The questions that he asked about your assailants said that he was just as in the dark about their origin, though the trapper that was assisting them was someone that he recognized... It seemed that individual was neither the most friendly, nor the most savory of the people that were known to work in this area.
"Maybe seen him all of three times in a year", was the comment that the captain offered.
Everyone is declared free to leave, the situation recorded as an odd sort of foiled banditry.
After a minute or so of thorough checking— it would not do to have the restart ruined by a trap in the system– Dirk is able to bring up the entire system from standby. Rooting around inside, he is able to determine that the door controls could be triggered from here, as well as the life support brought up so that everyone is not reliant on the life support of their suits. It is not quite as simple as flicking a switch, but it can be done. The log of the system access looks like the doors were initially opened from here, with the system going into its low-power mode after a set amount of time.
It was more like three switches to close the doors, verify integrity, and bring the life support up, if that was the desired outcome.
In the corner beyond the danger Dirk deftly dispatched, another collection of those grayish-green shards that 15-0-10 had noticed on their entry(+1 bulk). Additionally, it seems that 300 UPBs remained in the still-functional tech lab that was part of engineering. Score!
Whether fortune fleeting found that moment favorable, or the energy that was momentarily drained was delivered directly at the right moment, the end result is a skewered blue body abutted atop Dirk's shoes, deceased.
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Combat Ended(400xp)
Dirk surreptitiously steps suspiciously close to the other blue tentacled hazard in the opposite end of the bay, and a tentacle twitches just as the detectives drastic discharge drains the small area around him for just a moment. The color and lights flicker nearby, briefly dimming the area around him.
The creature, tentacles writhing more as it uncurls, the sickly yellow eyes glowing as a slightly uncoordinated attempt is unsuccessfully made to bite Dirk as it gains its feet and closes with him.
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New Combat, everyone begins Unattuned
With the possibility of the creature being a threat removed, it is much easier to get a look at it, the blue skin being remarkably resilient, and the teeth equally as sharp as its claws. Whatever lingering impulses that have not faded cause twitches in its mane of tentacles, making the not-quite constant movement disturbing to see out of the corner of your view. The yellow light in its eyes has faded, so unless it is remarkably resilient beyond death, it is, in fact, dead.
Another of these creatures is curled up on the opposite end of the engineering bay, unmoving. The Engineering console is adjacent to Dirk, and though the detective Dirindi was injured, he still stands. It might be possible to bring the ship up to full power, if needed.
Restoring full life support would require sealing the ship from hard vacuum, however. Preliminary scans did indicate that the other two (port and starboard) airlocks were also open.
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ZephyrBot:The minimal gravity of the ship almost makes the motion of Zephyr aiming seem like it is being done underwater, as a streak of light the color of the middle of the accretion disk impacts the creature, the light almost seeming to splash against its skin as it recoils from the shot.
The disengagement of the Dirindi detective deters more damage dealt, an aborted attack instead aimed at the articulated annoyance and its accurate anatomy!
ZephyBot: Eyes caught by the languid movement of the once-still form, Zephyr reaches out to his mote, the lines of a blacklight pistol in his hand as his body starts to hum. Around his edges, the light seems to bend just slightly. (Graviton)
The uncurling form gets its feet under it and stands, its eyes sweep across the bay, orienting on the approaching detective as if in consideration, its jaw opening to show a maw of very pointed teeth. Deceptively fast, a lunge covers the remaining space between them, trying to take a bite out of Dirk! (7 dmg)
Its seeming disregard for 15-0-10 leaves its side open as it moves towards the more... fleshy members of the group.
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A.Bite:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17, 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7P
The engineering bay itself is long and wide, but not so wide that passing by the dormant creatures was something that could be done with a wide enough berth to stay out of arm's reach. Passing nearby did not seem to elicit an immediate response, letting the pair focus on identifying the starmetal. Dirk approaches as well, keeping a wary eye on the sleeping creature before gathering the shards (1 bulk) up to return to the engineering computer.
15-0-10 is able to identify the light greenish crystals as Noqual, though the full details of the information seem to be incomplete.
Zephyr and Sparks remain by the airlock, the Observer drone at a midpoint between everyone, surveying the area.
It is a twitch of motion that gets the attention of Sparks, the tentacled mane of the blue-skinned creature slowly shifting as it seems to be waking up, 15-0-10 is close enough to see the sickly yellow glow return to where its eyes might be as it starts to uncurl.
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Sparks has forewarning, no surprise. Party up!
Everyone files out of the airlock into the engineering bay and takes a look around. The... sleeping... creatures do not seem to react to the play of your lights over them and the area, having curled up into a position that resembled sleep. The nearby screens are dimmed, asleep due to the current setting of the power core.
What does catch your attention by virtue of them seeming out of place are shards of a pale green crystal somewhat scattered about near the shelves on either end of the bay. An estimate of the quantity as you pan around puts it at a couple bulk worth, perhaps. Under the consoles immediately before you, the handle of a weapon can be seen, likely having fallen there.
You are the only source of activity in this dimmed bay. The creatures do not move as if they are breathing, but neither do they appear to be dead.
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The weapon is a Tactical Arc Emitter. Physical Science will let you identify the crystal.
With the tether still reading vacuum on the other side, it is a close fit for everyone to get into the airlock. As the hatch seals behind you, the blinking red light on the console at the front is a reminder that you will be entering into vacuum. There is gravity with the systems of the Acreon on low-power standby, but not much else. It does seem that you are near the power core for the ship, the engineering section being what you are about to enter.
Engineering:
The engineering bay spans the width of the Acreon, a long chamber dense with silent machinery and the sterile precision of a ship built for work, not comfort. Gravity remains active, anchoring loose tools and debris to the deck, but the air is long gone. Everything rests in the eerie stillness of hard vacuum. Consoles and conduit housings line the walls, their indicator lights faint but steady, pulsing in rhythm with the ship’s waning power core. Without sound, the lights themselves seem to throb louder, the only heartbeat left in a hollow body.
Across the forward bulkhead, a line of maintenance panels grants access to the vessel’s power core. The faded amber of their warning trim has been scoured pale by time and micro-impacts, and the faint shimmer of residual energy dances beneath their seams. The Nova Heavy core still runs, though only at a whisper—enough to sustain gravity and baseline life-support in the few compartments that remain sealed. The rest of the ship is open to space, its systems quietly compartmentalizing to preserve what little stability remains.
To port, the space opens into the tech workshop, tools and diagnostic rigs suspended mid-task, locked in a perfect tableau of abandonment. Fragments of polymer and wiring hang motionless in the air, each one reflecting the dim glow of emergency indicators like dust motes frozen in time. The vacuum lends every surface a crystalline clarity; even the smallest scratch on the plating feels magnified beneath the sterile glow.
The bay feels less dead than asleep—a cold, dreaming machine, its heart still beating faintly somewhere beyond the bulkhead.
For the first out of the airlock, your contained sounds and the connection of your radio is the first thing that you notice. The hum of the core can still be felt through contact with the deck if you are sensitive enough. The engineering section seems empty, though you are able to see two things that are out-of-place in the section. Quadripedal and clawed, cerulean skinned, with tentacles flaring from the back of their head, faint luminescence along their spines. Predators of some sort, though their existence in a hard vacuum is a question. They appear to be in some sort of a torpor, unmoving as your light pans across them.
If you want to handwave giving your individual report to the patrol captain, you can. We can pick up with those being resolved. Your escorts are out of the picture for a week or so.
While the initial of your escorts was in the room, it appeared that one of the guards had run off to fetch a healer, as the two of them arrive with haste, the older woman spotting the injured party with sharp eyes. While there was a bit of panic and haste with the guard, she was moving with purpose, a satchel on her shoulder, carrying supplies that the situation might call for. The situation is not able to override her calm. Her no-nonsense manner is evident when she easily picks out which of you are injured and then brusquely asks him, "You. Can you walk?"
The second of your escorts nods, having spent the majority of the time figuring out how to sit with his injuries
(weakhurtflesheatconsumepreydevourdelicious) nods, a bit of a wince coming with the action. "Yes, but not swiftly and not far", still somewhat pale from the pain.
With barely a glance, a small ball of medicine is fished out and handed to the man. "Chew. Follow me."
She turns to leave, the escort leveraging himself up, when the guard that had gone to fetch her starts to object. "Lady Shiwamo, the—"
"I am aware", she cuts him off coolly, fixing him with a look. "I cannot treat his injuries here, seated. You can come with me if you think his absence is a concern. I may need extra hands, just in case." As if his response was irrelevant, she resumes her exit, patient in tow.
Judging by the look on the face of the guard, that response and additional responsibility was not something that they were expecting, but also not something that they had the authority to refuse. They started to open their mouth to say something, and then gave it up as they trudged after, reluctance in every motion.
Not too long after, the first of your escorts exits and heads back to his seat. The patrol captain sticks his head out and looks towards one of you. "Alright, you next."
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Was writing this and it got away from me. This is just the formal debrief, since you are not being held. We can handwave this, as you will not be charged with anything, and pick up after.
When in battle, you enter a state of metaphysical alignment with cosmic forces. At the start of your first turn in combat, if you are conscious, you must choose one of three stellar modes: graviton, photon, or unattuned.
It can be recognized without necessarily disregarding. The intent can definitely be recognized, which does provide information into Sparks' mental state and inclination without broader extrapolation. The hard part is that it breaks the balance in the mechanics, and the intent behind the class, as solar bodies do not instantly "Go Nova", or collapse into a singularity without a progression.
Essentially, circumventing the buildup without some expenditure is game-breaking.
Now, what I am willing to allow is that once combat begins, when attuning and when gaining an attunement point, a number of Resolve points can be expended to immediately gain a number of attunement points equal to the number of Resolve Points spent. The drawback to that is the sudden surge of alignment without the proper buildup can be severely taxing, forcing a Fortitude save of (10 + Cha Mod. + X), where X is the number of points immediately gained when the Solarian becomes unattuned.
Failure on a save conveys a level of exhaustion, as your body and its metaphysical connection has been strained before it was ready. Not to mention the use of RP potentially inhibits your chances of survival. You can burn bright, but you might just burn out.
As everyone gets situated to enter, a message chimes on the ship's comm as well as your individual units.
{Your shuttle sensors indicate that you have docked. It may have gotten moved by the technicians, but an Observer-class drone was placed in storage locker three to help with recording evidence of the arbitration. Please retrieve and activate the drone before entering the Acreon. ~Ambassador Nor}
The docking tether lights that indicate the secure connection to the Acreon also have a red indicator light signaling vacuum on the other side of the tether. Normally, if this was the only connection that was vented to space, that indicator would be the green of a stable atmosphere from the Hippocampus' connection. As the scan did not indicate any damage, one of the other access points had to be open.
Crossing the quarantine perimeter is almost anticlimactic— there’s no alarm, no visible shimmer of a barrier– just a soft chime from the AR display as the green arc on the viewport dissolves into nothing. The comm feed crackles, and the last tethered ping from Absalom Station fades into static. Out here, even the stars feel more distant. The void presses close, the kind of silence that seems to listen.
As the Acreon fills the view ahead, its worn hull details resolve: the faded red sigil of the Hardscrabble Collective, a faint trace of carbon scoring near the bow, and the gaping aperture where its main cargo bay doors stand half-open. No running lights blink along its hull; no heat signatures register beyond residual power. Yet its systems hum at the faintest threshold— shielding active, internal life support at minimal levels, a low-draw pulse of energy flickering through the sensors like the ghost of a heartbeat. The Acreon isn’t dead. It’s waiting.
The Hippocampus’ computer chirps quietly as docking protocols initialize. Target vectors trace across the viewport in faint green outlines marking the ship dorsal port as the most stable point of approach. Thrusters adjust automatically, microbursts of blue light flaring against the void as the shuttle aligns itself. The coilgun turret sweeps idly along the horizon as systems check and recheck proximity fields. Inside the cabin, safety harnesses click, and the tone of the engines shifts into a deeper, steady hum.
As the docking clamps extend, the hull of the Acreon looms so close that the pitted texture of its plating is visible beneath the shuttle’s forward lights. The AR overlays flicker once— just a hiccup, a single frame of static across the HUD– as the Hippocampus makes hard contact. The sound of magnetic locks thuds through the deck, deep and resonant, followed by the slow, hollow hiss of the airlock cycling. A faint tremor runs through the cabin, and then— silence again, heavier than before.
The internal lighting on the Hippocampus shifts to low blue, indicating sealed synchronization. The boarding ramp indicator pulses patiently, waiting for manual override. Outside, the Acreon drifts in perfect stillness, tethered to the vast, dark mass of the Drift Rock, both suspended in the lightless quiet of space. There’s no movement. No sound. Only the faint pulse of the ship’s external beacon, blinking once every ten seconds— like a heartbeat, echoing through the dark.
The Hippocampus glides in slow orbit around the Acreon, the sensors pinging rhythmic notes into the dark as 15-0-10 works the console. Green holo-lines trace the transport’s silhouette on the display—medium-class hull, Hardscrabble Collective registry, crew capacity six. Data scrolls by in precise, orderly columns, yet something about the readings feels off. The power signature is faint but stable— minimal energy output consistent with life support and gravity, but no propulsion, no weapons, no movement.
Refining the scan, the aft section pulses brighter in the readout— Airlock. Open. Vented to vacuum. The instruments confirm exposure across several compartments, yet interior pressure elsewhere remains intact, contained by emergency bulkheads. The ship is wounded, but not broken. A second pass sweeps through the weapons grid: the chain cannon and gyrolasers are powered down, their targeting systems cold, no threat evident. A handful of subroutines still run at low priority— life support, gravity, environmental stabilization– all at survival thresholds.
When the sweep widens to include the Drift Rock, the return signal flares, then flattens into noise. The asteroid registers as inert— rock and metal, density consistent with drift debris— but the readings resist refinement, as though something in its structure is swallowing the scans. The sensor feed jitters briefly before stabilizing, the display showing only static where mineral data should be.
Magic Officer:
While the instruments hum and data scrolls in ordered light, Zephyr closes his eyes at the auxiliary console. The Hippocampus’ systems sync to his biometrics, and the AR display flares with color in a cascade of Castrovelian green and gold, branching outward like living vines. The divination subroutine unfurls like a digital Harrow Deck, each glyph flickering across the display as if shuffled by unseen hands.
The first card appears— The Lost Sailor, inverted– a figure adrift amid tangled lines of energy. The interpretation blooms across his senses: the crew are gone from their proper course, their fate severed from the paths of life but not yet claimed by death. The next glyph forms, The Blooming Crown, its Castrovelian motif of flowers entwined with circuitry glowing softly. It pulses once, then fades into shadow– life remains, but wan and fading; nurtured by something unnatural, a mimicry of vitality rather than its source.
The divination shifts, the digital vines curling into the outline of the Drift Rock, rendered as a void where no data dares touch. The third card emerges—The Shrouded Root, its imagery twisting into obsidian tendrils. The card trembles, flickering between organic and metallic hues. Through the hum of the shuttle, the Zephyr senses something– it is not malevolent exactly, but ancient, still, and deeply alien. It is not that the Rock resists revelation. It is that it has no reflection, nothing the weave of magic can grasp. A stillness so profound it consumes meaning.
When the final glyph fades, the Harrow projection dims to a pale, living green that settles over the console like moss in moonlight. The divination ends, but a faint echo remains— a single, recurring pulse from the Drift Rock’s position, inaudible to the ear yet thrumming through the heart of the interface. Whatever dwells there does not move, yet it waits, and its waiting feels vast.
15-0-10, performing a thorough look through the systems of the Hippocampus as part of the ready check, is able to discern the work that was done by the station technicians. The systems were cleaned. It is likely that the technicians stripped everything out of the system down to the factory default settings, and then reinstalled the needed programs and integrations from scratch. As such, a lot of the startup and ready check is done as if it is the maiden voyage for this ship.
The checking of the integrity of the engineering reports does lead to finding a small Observer drone, marked in storage and listed on the manifest, still in its sealed packaging. An AR tag serves as a message and signature, with the window aesthetics and appearance styled in what you might call "Diplomatic Eoxian", complete with the organic stylistic touches and not-quite-uncanny coloring.
~ {This Observer drone will unobtrusively record your exploration and verification without needing any oversight. Please deploy it prior to docking. -Ambassador Nor}
The remainder of the Engineering sweep finds repaired and replaced panels and wiring regarding the docking clamps that were damaged in the initial situation, and its related systems. Everything appears correctly placed, and properly prepared.
Travel and Approach:
For the first hour, the journey through the void is routine— uneventful but charged with quiet anticipation. The Hippocampus hums steadily under the guide of the pilot, the power core thrumming through the deck plating with a rhythm that settles into the bones. Beyond the canopy, the light of Absalom Station fades into a distant glimmer, replaced by the endless depth of the black. The AR overlays from station control taper off one by one as the shuttle leaves the primary traffic lanes, until only the faint green arc of the quarantine perimeter remains ahead—a slowly pulsing boundary marker in the void, surrounding the silent form of the Acreon.
As they near the restricted zone, the comm channels grow quieter still, save for the occasional burst of static and the soft ping of long-range sensors updating. The AR interface flashes intermittent updates: <Approaching quarantine threshold. No authorized transmissions within radius. Automated defenses inactive.> The Acreon soon resolves on the sensors— a medium-sized explorer-class vessel, its transponder broadcasting a weak but steady identification signal. Visually, it drifts with eerie precision, held in perfect station-keeping against the backdrop of distant stars. Its hull bears the faded livery of the Hardscrabble Collective, streaked with micrometeor scars and decades of wear. The forward shielding shimmers faintly, still powered, though no visible movement comes from within.
Off the Acreon’s port bow looms the Drift Rock. It is a dark, irregular mass of stone and crystal nearly the size of the ship itself. It rotates lazily, its surface reflecting faint, unnatural hues: purples, greens, and deep blues that seem to shift even when unlit. The rock’s proximity to the Acreon feels almost deliberate, its tethered edge held fast by the ship’s anchored light tether. Every sensor return paints it as inert, yet there’s something about its silhouette— uneven, almost wrong– that makes the eye want to glance away. The void around both vessels is disturbingly still; even radiation readings sit flat, the emptiness too perfect to feel natural.
The Hippocampus glides along the edge of the quarantine perimeter, its exterior lights dimmed to passive mode. Automated warnings from Absalom Station echo faintly across comms: “Caution. Quarantine boundary established. No boarding or transmission contact without authorization.” Within the cockpit, the glow of the displays reflects across intent expressions and focused eyes. The Acreon hangs ahead like a ghost— its lights low, its engines cold, and its silence pressing. Beyond it, the Drift Rock turns slowly, patient and inscrutable, waiting.
The dock lights shift from warning amber to a steadier white as the airlock seals disengage, the low hum of power returning to the bay systems. Sergeant Voss appears again with a datapad in hand, the faint reflection of an active comm channel still glowing on her visor. Her tone, when she speaks, is taut and formal— the sound of someone caught between irritation and the knowledge that this incident just jumped three levels above her pay grade.
“Well,” she starts, glancing up from her screen, “congratulations. You’ve officially made it onto the station bulletin. The Eoxian ambassador himself just pulled strings to get your clearance reinstated. I don’t know what kind of political mess you’re walking into, but it’s got every eye from Astral Extractions to the Hardscrabble Collective pointed straight at this dock.” She thumbs across the datapad, and the faint hum of the power core rises as systems flicker back to life under station authority. “So— good news, your shuttle’s live again. Bad news, if you so much as sneeze on the wrong circuit this time, I’m going to need to call in a diplomatic liaison to explain it.”
She holsters her stylus, the gesture sharp and final. “You’ve been cleared for immediate departure, under Nor’s authority. You’ll have escort telemetry fed from Station Control until you’re off-grid, so don’t deviate from your flight path, and don’t make me read about another ‘procedural irregularity’ in the logs. The ambassador might have faith in you, but I don’t take orders from corpses— diplomatic or otherwise.”
For a moment, her tone softens just enough to be almost human. “Look, whatever this Acreon business is, get it sorted fast. You’ve got miners, executives, and now an undead diplomat all waiting on your report, and none of them have a reputation for patience. So— keep it clean, keep it official, and if you come back in one piece, maybe I’ll even pretend this morning didn’t happen.”
Nodding with the conclusions reached, as they were accurate in regards to the policies that were in place for the town security, the Sergeant looked to the two brothers, and then their escort. "If everyone is able to return, let us do so. A gesture has another of the five move to assist the Second, who was looking around at the area and investigating.
The return back to Shuryo does not take long, though the Transport has a wide berth around it, with one of the patrol trailing behind, the destination being a sturdier building just inside the outer area of the onsen town. From the looks of it, it was constructed on what had been the edge of the town some time back, and subsequent growth has now put it one or two streets in beyond what is now the edge of town.
The four of you are escorted in and gestured to have a seat, one of the patrol staying with you, while another writes out a note on a nearby desk and then leaves. Shortly after, the first of your escorts is called into a nearby office further into the building, the door closing behind them.
15-0-10 receives a static tone that pings to an automated messaging system, then drops the signal afterwards, a data packet attached to the forced termination.
{Faraday Protocol in effect, your attempt recorded. Please wait patiently.}
The heavy door to the dock hisses open, and within seconds, a half-squad of Station Security in dark-blue armor sweeps in with the kind of efficiency that comes from having done this too many times. Their weapons stay holstered, but their stance leaves no doubt that this is not a social call. At their head is Sergeant Harl Voss, a broad-shouldered human woman with the expression of someone who’s already filed the report in her head and isn’t thrilled about it.
“Alright, which one of you clever souls decided to make my morning interesting?” she says, her tone clipped and dry as she scans the group. “The lockdown flagged an unauthorized systems event on a restricted shuttle— that’s your shuttle, by the way– and Command doesn’t like surprises. So before anyone starts explaining how this is all a big misunderstanding, let me make one thing clear: the only reason I’m not hauling you straight to debrief is because I haven’t got the paperwork for it ready.”
She gestures to one of the nearby consoles, which still flickers faintly under station override. “You tripped three layers of security, one of which hasn’t been used since the Wisp Dock fire, so congratulations on that. I’ve got system control here, meaning the ship stays cold until a tech team clears it. That’ll be at least an hour, more if they find you’ve overwritten any of the safety code. So sit tight, breathe slow, and don’t touch anything— I’d hate for the next system to think you’re trying to leave without permission.”
Exhaling through her nose, she rubs at her temple with a gloved hand. “Look, I get it. Half the time, the right credentials don’t talk to the right terminals, and nobody tells the contractors anything until something sparks. But station procedure’s procedure. You’ll give your statements, I’ll file the incident, and if Command clears you, I’ll personally make sure your little field trip gets back on schedule. Until then— stay in sight, stay calm, and don’t make me call in Ops.”
Everything is a mess for what feels like a minute, but was in fact several chaotic seconds before someone on the dock— whether it was a quick-thinking manager or adept worker– hits the failsafe. In seconds, Lockdown protocols isolate the dock and cut power to any connected ships. Similarly, a routine is run that forces a shutdown of any connected vessels. Controls no longer recognize input, and the station dock has total control.
Dirk finds the cause of the issues, but is subsequently unable to make any headway analyzing it— the workstation locking and going dark just as the digital dick discovers dubious data to decode. Drat!
Aside from minimal life support, the ship is silenced, lit only by the emergency lighting along the floor and by the door.
The Hippocampus has the bones of a Wanderer-class shuttle but none of the austerity of its stock model. Its interior shows clear signs of a government retrofit— functional, yes, but adapted for reliability and extended missions rather than just short patrols. The cabin is still compact, its curvature tight and efficient, yet the upgraded Micron Ultra core hums beneath the deck with a steadier, more confident rhythm than its predecessor’s thinner pulse. Reinforced plating lines the interior bulkheads, and the matte finish of mark 3 armor gives the compartment a subdued but reassuring solidity.
The forward cockpit retains the sleek, fighter-inspired geometry of the original Wanderer, but the tri-node computer system has expanded the controls into a multi-layered AR interface that overlays flight and tactical data in seamless harmony. The pilot and co-pilot stations curve slightly inward, creating a focused workspace, each with its own set of holographic instrumentation tuned for efficiency. The upgraded mid-range sensors feed a constant stream of telemetry into the canopy’s transparent display— range grids, movement vectors, and identification codes flowing like threads of light through the black. The turret mount’s diagnostic readout glows in the upper corner, ready but unobtrusive, a quiet reminder of the shuttle’s newly installed coilgun.
Behind the flight deck lies the guest compartment, a welcome addition uncommon in most Wanderer variants. A pair of benches face inward along the port and starboard walls, each fitted with grav-harnesses and fold-out interfaces that provide personal AR readouts: life-support status, shield integrity, and mission data projected in gentle blue-green text. A narrow hatch at the rear leads to a small cargo hold, where magnetic clamps and stabilizers hold equipment or supplies steady even during sharp maneuvers. Overhead, recessed panels mark the lifeboat access ports, their AR overlays discreetly glowing to indicate emergency readiness.
Absalom Station’s civic AR grid overlays every surface in a faint, practical luminescence. Icons label compartments, color-coded guide lines tracing safe movement paths, and responsive highlights that fade in as crew members approach consoles or storage points. The system doesn’t dazzle like a corporate environment; it’s clean, neutral, and quietly reassuring, its tone matching the voice of Absalom Station itself. When powered, the interior illumination brightens to a crisp white, the hum of the core deepens, and the AR lines converge briefly into the symbol of the station before resolving into standby mode. The result is a ship that feels stable, capable, and trustworthy—a tool of duty rather than luxury, the kind of vessel built to weather trouble and bring its crew home safely.
The Hippocampus responds to the digital keys sent to your comms, registering your signatures and granting you access to the ship. A small walkway extends a short way out to the door, which opens as the walkway reaches it. All the work contracts are finished and completed, and every checkbox shows green as access is granted to the stations that everyone chooses, and preliminary synch occurs as your communication settings are adapted into the ship from your comm unit. All that is left is to get settled in.
At the start of the pre-flight check, alarms start to trip— not just on the ship but in the bay! The dock clamps show errors, the lights dim and cold drafts are briefly felt as the life support registers errors. A check of the comms show that lockdowns are initiating around the bay as well!
__________________________________
Threshold challenge! Something has happened before you can even depart!
Computers(15): try to discern what is going on with the system {+2 Computers bonus available}
Piloting(17): keep the ship on an even keel as things are going haywire {+3 Piloting bonus available}
Engineering(16): try to address the situation with the docking clamps
Diplomacy/Intimidate(15): to talk down station officials.
With the evening and night spent as all of you might individually like, as morning creeps closer, so does the actuality of setting foot on a highly-visible mystery. It has been over two weeks since the Acreon has made headlines, and your arrival onto the station and into this situation is seeming to culminate in this. The hustle and bustle of Absalom Station does not stop, but the pace and flow does change as the diurnal crowd starts making their presence known.
Whether taking the trek by foot, or arriving in style in a REBU Black, the docks are both familiar and unfamiliar. Familiar in that no matter the station, planet, or celestial body, the dance of function in arrivals, departures, loading, unloading does not change, just the dancers and the set pieces. Unfamiliar in that you are not departing through docking bay 94, but docking bay 86, where the remnants of the evidence of upgrades sits around the shuttle intended to get you to your agreed-upon destination.
The Hippocampus:
The Hippocampus rests in the docking bay, a compact, well-used shuttle with a frame that favors function over flair. Its dull steel-gray plating bears fresh weld lines and utility scuffs, the kind of wear that comes from constant patrols rather than neglect. Absalom Station’s livery stripes of deep blue trace cleanly along the hull, marking it unmistakably as property of the station’s security fleet. Even dormant, its engines emit a steady, reassuring thrum, like the heartbeat of a craft meant to endure. Weapon mounts, discreet but ready, cling to its flanks, a reminder that this shuttle is not just for ferrying, but for protection when needed.
Augmented reality overlays drift across its outline, projected by Absalom Station’s universal civic grid. At a glance, the ship looks plain; through AR, it is bracketed with crisp identifiers of its designation, current clearance level, and assigned flight plan— flickering neatly in blue-green text. Icons pulse at hatches and docking clamps, offering visual confirmation that safety checks have cleared. A soft chime sounds as it recognizes your access, the overlay gently shifting to highlight the boarding ramp, as if the station itself were ushering boarders forward. Unlike the polished spectacle of Bluerise Tower or the unsettling gloom of the Eoxian Embassy, here the AR is practical, universal, and unobtrusive.
