The story of the events in Kelvin's Clasp began a long way outside it.
Abruptly, in a patch of empty space above a lone orange-yellow star several dozen light-years away from the Clasp, a jagged, key-shaped vessel appeared. With nothing to judge it against but the star, it was miniscule, but as ships of the Dragon Empire went, the Negotiator was a force to be reckoned with. Her tiered superstructure bristled with the ports of laser and torpedo batteries, and thousands of running lights animated and rippled across her six mile long frame.
She was a Tyrant class battlecruiser, and her well-illuminated colors and polished, unmarred exterior proudly displayed the heraldry of House Osorus, the blue dragons, the house that was a byword for oppression and ruthless efficiency.
Within, the crew went about the duty-checks that came after each starcast. The act of thrusting a multi-billion-ton warship instantaneously through the Astral plane put interesting strains on its structure, and required strict, meticulous maintainance.
Among the tens of thousands of Osorus naval personnel that scurried about their tasks, one man, a human, stood out. Dressed reverently in fitted battle-armor, a Tech-priest of the Smith walked through the corridors, blessing the ship's hull, its electronics, and it's armaments with a sweet-smelling, holy oil. A small collection of acolytes from the ship's crew followed in the wake of the tall and broad-shouldered cleric, repeating the blessings after the Tech-priest has moved on.
When the last corridor was blessed, the last generator and turbine thanked for it's work, the senior acolyte stepped forward from his brethren and silently offered a datapad to the armored cleric...
Suddenly jolted from her meditation by the slightly disorienting experience of starcast-transit, a soldier-ascetic devotee of the Warrior opens her eyes for the first time in hours, allowing the noise and press of her spartan quarters back into her consciousness. What little furniture the stateroom had is pushed against the wall, leaving a wide open practice and meditation space.
Aside from the gentle, reverberating thrum of the huge ship's engines, a sound that was inescapable no matter where on the Negotiator one went, another technological sound fitted itself into the elven monk's consciousness: the quiet-but-insistent beep of the communications terminal in the corner...
In the core of the battlecruiser, beneath the thickest belts of armor, far away from the dead vacuum of space, a thick grove of trees grew in a huge arboretum. The Negotiator was home to thousands, and as a thriving, mobile city in it's own right, some accomodations were necessarily made to the comfort of it's crew. The grove, carefully arranged in spiritually relevant geomantic patterns, was the home of one of the onboard temples, and oft-patronized by the gnomes and elves aboard.
In this space, a druid awoke as well to the respectful, silent presence of one of the hooded grove-keepers. In soft, indirect words, a message was passed...
The Negotiator's chapel was one of it's largest internal structures. A huge cathedral dedicated to the tripartite worship of the Warrior, the Judge, and the Reaper, filled with iconic imagery of titanic battles - victories of House Osorus over the outclassed navies of both Outlands worlds and some of the smaller Imperial houses.
Here, a paladin of SOLAR, resplendent in her heavy, ornate armor, was departing from her afternoon prayers when a Lieutenant of the ship's watch caught up to her. In a brief exchange, he passed on the news...
They had arrived.
One more jump, a few hours away, and they would be in the Khalesh system, the starcast-gateway to Kelvin's Clasp, a collection of a dozen systems flung like a necklace into the Outlands of Osorus space, the place where the real fun would start.
Each of the four worthies had received their clearance orders. They would finally be meeting in a formal sense. The silent swish of the automated doors let them into a long, ornate briefing room. Dominating this room was a black marble conference table, with holoprojectors in the center and five datapads laid out in front of leather chairs.
At the head of the table, Captain Nokovros, a tall and regal half blue dragon in formal black dress uniform, stood waiting. He leveled a stern, commanding stare at the door as the quartet entered. But for the sure presence of hidden cameras as there would be on any Osorus ship, he was alone. He stood rigidly, waiting for them to be seated.
Draped in a lightweight brown robe and loose-fitting linen clothes, the young druid entered the conference room. Offering a polite smile and respectful nod to the stern half-dragon, he made his way to a seat on the far right and looked at the digital pad in front of him. As he silently took his seat, the hawk perched atop a boiled leather shoulder pad surveyed the room with it's steely gaze, tilting it's head as the others entered.
He bore no communicator, no sidearm, not even a wristwatch. Druids were not an entirely uncommon sight in the Empire, but seldom did one witness one so completely divorced from technology as this. His face was shaven with little sign of stubble, his shoulder-length brown hair tied back into a short ponytail with a leather cord, and his hands were calloused well beyond his years. He picked up the datapad, scanning over the words presented on it's screen, and then placed it back on the table with a nod.
With the soft thud of leather soled boots bearing armored coverings, there was a slight scraping of metal over metal as Brother Larimore stepped into the room. A darkened, solem look crept over his face as the metallic holy symbol to the smith brushed across his breastplate. Clearly unable to be mistaken for anything other than a cleric, and that of the Smith, the holy symbol was handmade and was connected by a heavy steel chain. The long, flowing brown cloak strategically peeking through his armor in placed ended in a hood that was pulled down.
The blessings were complete, he could now rest.
His right metal gauntleted hand formed into a fist and brought itself to his left breast. Bowing his head slightly to make eye contact with the chest of the imposing Captain, he offered the half-dragon a salute before continuing further into the room.
"Captain." Brother Larimore offered, more an address than a formality. It was the was someone said hello to someone while addressing their rank and status, while not socially prostrating himself. The captain would forever have more political status than the cleric, but the cleric had already decided it best to leave himself a neutral mystery. He didn't doubt that the Captain was already informed that the initial blessings of his ship were complete, not with the cold rigid posture of a creature he assumed was well drowned in a similar rigid sense of order. The captain wouldn't be trifled with. He was, after all, here to see to the funeral of a dying ship.
A murdered ship, but one that died serving its purpose. Warfare.
Stopping at a pitcher, Larimore pours himself a glass of water and moves to the conference table. As any simple farmer or honest man would, there's little fleer to the way he seats himself. But seat himself he does. Sipping the water, he sets the glass down, offering a nod to the druid.
A compact, tough-looking elven woman fixed the assembled with a measuring yet serene gaze. Her clothing was clearely selected for austere functionality; the drab charcoal gray pants and wrap-around tunic were severely secured close to her body by straps winding up her calves and a sash cinched tight about her torso and buckled at her lower back. The tunic’s sleeves were detachable so as to effectively deal with warm or cool weather, and the fabric of the sash and the thighs of the pants featured various zippered and buttoned pockets---some with light magnetic flaps for quick access---in which she could store a variety of yet-unseen objects. She appeared simultaneously feminine and sharp, like a small dark ant emerging from the desert sands.
Facing the half-dragon Captain, the monk’s slender, sun-browned body described a bow which looked as though it should have been awkward, yet was executed with a practiced fluidity. Reinforced boots crossed at the ankles, the fierce-looking woman bent at a strict forty-five degree angle at the waist, her arms folded over her chest and crossed at the mithril-laced cloth bracers on her wrists. Her head did not bow with the rest of her, however, but instead stayed raised so that her eyes remained level with the Captain’s own, fixing him with a fearless gaze of liquid gold from beneath curly black, severely cut hair.
Having paid the respect due from one warrior to another, and a superior at that, she straightened, and then turned to the rest of the escort. There were warriors there too, and non-warriors as well, but Rakti was a reasonable woman; rather than waste time sketching the naté and the simpler nat to each of them in turn as befitted their individual warrior and non-warrior statuses, she simply gave them all the benefit of the doubt. Surely even the non-warriors would fight bravely---even if ineffectively---in battle if the situation forced their hand? Yes, they too deserved the naté until their actions on the field proved otherwise.
Her body traced the naté faster this time, and the bow was not as low or as precise as it had been before, but she still intoned the ritual words in her head, “I respect the Warrior within you.”
Obeisance paid, greetings made, and without ever once uttering a single word to the assembled, she turned and approached the table. Flicking the end of her sand-colored, crimson-rune dotted cloak out of her way with a business-like efficiency, she took her seat.
Captain Nokovros nodded his head stiffly to the Tech-priest, and did so in tandem with Rakti's bow. When he spoke, it came in a serene, baritone rumble. He seemed not to move at all except for the scaly, reptilian head, as though he were a poorly animated holovid.
"The Paladin, Sejah, was summoned as well. She should be here shortly. Does anyone have any questions before we formally begin? Have you all met one another? Have you had a chance to explore the ship? I assume hospitality has been up to standard, and there have been no incidents with the crew?"
He enunciated every word like a diction coach, looking slowly back and forth between the three.
"No, I do not believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you all. My name is Elan. I am a Druid of the Oak and Thorn from Arborea... a planet you may know as Calusa III." The young man smiled with genuine warmth as he introduced himself, bowing his head to the others in attendance while remaining seated.
"This ship is most impressive, I must say. The amenities rival many stations that I've visited and the hospitality has been most generous. I appreciate the inclusion of a grove within the ship's biodome as well. It does much to dispel the homesickness." He nodded again to the half-dragon, a low sweeping nod that bore much reverence and respect.
Brother Larimore offered Elan a polite smile in return. While polite, it must have seemed a little strained. The druid was, after all, his polar opposite...at least by trade. His eyes blinked slowly as he turned to watch Elan for a moment, an expressionless look on his sand-hardened face. His hair would be a charming color, if not for what appears to be years of heat, sun, and sand affecting it. It was a miracle that he wasn't dark skinned, but everything down to the slightly dry, tired smell of the leather on his armor gave way to his heritage on a desert world.
For the small moment his eyes lay over Elan, he pondered if their trade was a vocation that communed them with gods, or of the creations of the Mother and the Father. Perhaps they weren't to different, he thought to himself, as the tech-priest regularly communed with creations of the Smith as well as collaborations of both the Smith and the Magus.
Turning his head back to the table, he sips his water again and sets it down gently. Brushing his vision over the datapad before him, he addresses the room.
"I am Brother Larimore Antares. Tech-Priest of the Smith. The Ironbourne." He started, giving a slight pause. "My home is a Citadel-Cathedral in the Birinas Sector of the Osorus Domain." He finished, not naming the planet or moon of his home, while pleasantly naming their Citadel's House Osorus benefactors. Dragons of blue color always seemed to prefer that their subjects didn't forget their rule over them, and referring to them as benefactors would be just the little bit of stroking always needed to make them feel as if their needs were considered alongside those of the god that was worshipped there. Such careful wording, even small doses of prostrating for their rulers, were necessary sometimes to those from the slice of the galaxy that belonged to House Osorus.
Brother Larimore gave a wry, small upturn of the right side of his mouth, letting it settle into a friendly smile. Turning to Elan again, he nods, masking his amusement as a friendly gesture. He wouldn't dare say aloud that the smile was brought forth from his inner monologue, wondering if the Captain entertained so much internal monologue, and if the druid entertained the same 'polar opposite' thought process that he did.
The elf's voice, when she spoke, was surprisingly soft and rough, like a piece of old boiled leather stretched too thin and hung far too long in the sun to dry. Two times she cleared her throat, before she finally attempted speech. When spoke the words dropped like stones from her lips. "Raktiada Nadhu," she said with a curt nod to the assembled. This time she swallowed instead of clearing her throat and the next words poured somewhat more easily from her mouth. "Of Sythura Octi."
"I am Sejah," a young elf offers in a voice that doesn't seem to match her youth, "and I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to all of you for my tardiness; unfortunately it could not be helped." Sejah bows to her peers and with deep humility she gives her superior that due which is formal and right and stands to the side with the others.
Though she is a fighter by vocation her mannerisms are soft and inviting. Her entrance and interruption are full of grace and her very presence encourages.
Sejah wears a light day gown of linen colored in the sun's hues. It is easy to tell that she is spry and strong and will be affective in combat.
Her hawkish eyes softening somewhat at the appearance of another elf and warrior, Rakti's weather-beaten lips twitch in a small, stiff smile. Fixing the other woman with a gaze which unfortunately seems more assessing than welcoming, she raises an eyebrow and flicks a calloused finger toward the chair next to her, inviting the newcomer to join the others at the table.
Nokovros smiled his draconic smile, all teeth and cold-bloodedness.
"Now that we're all here, I shall begin.
The Imperial Special Police Directorate has authorized an independent investigation into the destruction of the vessel Bringer of Reason, in the Kirinth system of the Kelvin's Clasp subsector. Kirinth is an agricultural world whose main export is heavy, seasonal grains, so preliminary analysis suggests the attack did not have conquest in mind.
The planetary governor is Lord Kalifaxus of Osorus. Lord Kalifaxus has not had sufficient time as governor to raise an planetary defense forces. He hired a contingent of fifty Outland mercenaries to assist the understrength company of Osorus Legionnaires on-planet with peacekeeping and initial investigation, but the mercenaries' in-system transit was attacked as well, presumably by the same enemies."
Nokovros stared dispassionately down at the seated guests. He seemed unmoved by the retelling of events, neither angry nor aggrieved.
"Initial reports from the planet via ansible have indicated that the debris from the Bringer of Reason was rather severe, and as the destroyer was in close geosynchronous orbit with the planet's capital, much of that debris fell amongst the populated areas of the planet, with a particular impact of note on the city itself," Nokovros handed Brother Larimore a datapad at this, before turning to address the rest of the group.
"In three hours, we will be starcasting to the Khalesh system to retrieve our ISPD representative. As you are representatives from throughout the Dragon Empire, you can appreciate the gravity with which we are handling this situation. This is the Osorus Outland, and it behooves us to display our wrath before those who would attack us so. I expect you to bring the utmost of your talents to the task at hand."
Are there any questions?"
Larimore:
"Are there any questions?"
The druid raised two fingers to signal his inquiry. "What is the population of this planet? The civilized population that can be accounted for, at least, and what level of urbanization has been achieved? Is the planet still largely unsettled or is there a vast network of cities in place already?"
The druid raised two fingers to signal his inquiry. "What is the population of this planet? The civilized population that can be accounted for, at least, and what level of urbanization has been achieved? Is the planet still largely unsettled or is there a vast network of cities in place already?"
"Kirinth is fairly populated, home to around six million. There are only two major settlements - the Capitol and Legionnaire outpost, and a central agricultural processing center diametrically opposite from that outpost. The 'six million' estimate, of course," He said, with a faint look of distaste. "Is before any casualties are tabulated from this event."
"As for urbanization, they are thoroughly concentrated in their cities, with the exception of those picked to operate the agricultural machinery. Kirinth was particularly resistant to occupation when the Explorer fleets arrived forty years ago. A great deal of pacification was necessary to achieve the state of peace and order we have now."
The Captain smiled, speaking with a measure of pride.
The druid raised two fingers to signal his inquiry. "What is the population of this planet? The civilized population that can be accounted for, at least, and what level of urbanization has been achieved? Is the planet still largely unsettled or is there a vast network of cities in place already?""Kirinth is fairly populated, home to around six million. There are only two major settlements - the Capitol and Legionnaire outpost, and a central agricultural processing center diametrically opposite from that outpost. The 'six million' estimate, of course," He said, with a faint look of distaste. "Is before any casualties are tabulated from this event."
"As for urbanization, they are thoroughly concentrated in their cities, with the exception of those picked to operate the agricultural machinery. Kirinth was particularly resistant to occupation when the Explorer fleets arrived forty years ago. A great deal of pacification was necessary to achieve the state of peace and order we have now."
The Captain smiled, speaking with a measure of pride.
Looking over the datapad, Brother Larimore raised his hands slightly and pulled at the tips of the glove on his right hand. Exposing his bare, naked hand, he placed the thumb to the scanner on the datapad and held it in his left hand in a manner that what was contained would be for his eyes only. Speaking as his eyes fell over the screen of the small, technological wonder, he spoke plainly.
"How much, if any, preparation has been done to the Bringer of Reason to sustain its orbit around the planet thus far?" Larimore asked, raising an eyebrow to emphasize its point. "Or more directly, have calculations been done to verify how much time will elapse before the Bringer of Reason begins to enter the atmosphere of Kirinth Prime?"
Larimore looked up from his view of the datapad, having skimmed over the first bits of data.
"My reason of asking is this: Per my instructions, in reverance to the Forge-Gods as well as in reverance to the noble fleet, I am to assist in removing the danger of the Bringer of Reason from entering orbit and further damaging the populace. Once stabilized I am then to assist in urging the Bringer of Reason into its last rites, a funeral worthy of a Rapier class destroyer. Then, I am to assist in bringing these insurrectionists to justice. All things included, if we are on a clock to keep the Bringer of Reason from entering Kirinith Prime's atmosphere, that clock leads me to a few additional questions. Will we have additional staff and technicians at our disposal for the ship's recovery? Will we have starfighter support or gunnery support from this vessel? Lastly, once the Bringer of Reason is stabilized, shall I see to its last rites myself as the rest of the team begins their investigations, leaving the burial to her brothers and sisters in the fleet to rejoin my team after the blessings have been completed?"
Captain Nokovros's eyes widened a little and he nodded once with slow reverence.
"Ah, so you are sent to us for the ship's decommissioning as well. The Citadel moves swiftly," he said, giving a slight bow of his head. "The dedications and ablutions of the Smith are not truly well-known to me, and so it is left to you to determine how best to handle your duties, Brother Larimore.
As for the Bringer of Reason, we do not yet know with any certainty whether the ship is in a stable or decaying orbit. We shall see upon arrival. Regarding technical staff, once the issue of your investigation is resolved, I will detach personnel to your control for the purpose of salvage, recovery and decommissioning."
Nokovros turned his yellow, feline eyes to the group as a whole.
"The Negotiator will remain in orbit of Kirinth Prime as her new designated orbital defender. This is the Negotiator's shakedown run after a rather thorough overhaul. You will have our protection while in the system, as well as the accompaniment of our point-defense squadrons.
We do not anticipate that the foes that attacked the Osorus Explorer Corps and the private mercenaries will have the wherewithal to engage a front-line battlecruiser, but if they do, you may be assured we will make short work of them."
Larimore:
It contains an overhead photo depicting the Legionnaire Outpost/Capitol City of Kirinth Prime, likely taken from an unarmed reconnaissance aircraft. The city is more-or-less circular, surrounded by nineteen large gun emplacements within a thick outer wall. The interior of the city is hazed in thick black smoke, but tremendous damage is visible beneath. If this were any other situation, you would assume the devastation were due to an asteroid impact.
A blinking white arrow indicates the epicenter of the destruction, which has leveled roughly two square miles of the city. The arrow is labelled 'Impact of #3 Plasma Reactor, Bringer of Reason.' It appears that the attackers in orbit dislodged a fair portion of the engineering section, and that one of the power generators of the destroyer fell to the planet and detonated on impact.
Another hour passed in somewhat tedious discussion of logistics - here was noted the Negotiator's five hour recharge time after every few starcasts and the half-day to take on supplies at Khalesh for the battlecruiser's extended stay at Kirinth. Nokovros made clear that any last taking of supplies or equipment should be done in Khalesh, specifically at Criegshold, the Khalesh system's capitol, over which the Negotiator would orbit.
"Kirinth," he stated somewhat derisively. "is not an exceptionally developed world, and will not have much of what you may need in terms of technology or armament. Take your opportunities on Khalesh, if you have need."
---
The new team of four took in the starcast from the Negotiator's lower observation decks. Decorated and treated as an officer's club, the entire deck was a single room on the ventral spine of the ship, with the core elevator shafts tastefully making up a pillar in the center and heavy, triple-paned plasteel windows on all sides. Banners of House Osorus hung in recesses in the outer walls in between the windows, the emblem of the House tastefully lit by indirect lamps.
Many of the ship's crew and officers were present, taking up tables and talking quietly to one another. The fascination of starcasting was enough to attract even veteran hands to witness it occasionally, while the young or inexperienced were often at odds with their own willpower not to plaster themselves to the windows in amazement.
When it came, the actual translation between two places was almost anticlimactic. Floating in space, the Negotiator simply vanished from the orange star's orbit, a brief blue-white flaring of her aft plasma vents the only indication that something was changing.
Inside the observation deck, the starcast was a bit more dramatic. The orange sun's glow from beneath vanished completely, and every star in view abruptly changed. A few half-hearted claps went up from the assembled officers and dignitaries, while others looked at each other and grinned somewhat giddily. The process of starcasting was disorienting to many sentient beings, rather about as common as seasickness, and few amongst the novice crewmen were completely immune to it.
As the ship came to rest again, maneuvering thrusters fired and hove her slowly about. The planet of Khalesh came into view, close enough to pick out gross details of civilization and terrain.
Larimore and Rakti:
Here and there, though terraforming covers it over it like badly applied makeup, the visible scars of orbital bombardment are present on Khalesh. Mountainsides that resisted sculpting still bear heavy craters and jagged fractures. In one particular place, radial black scorch marks fan out in all directions around a heavy set of divots that had almost certainly contained a seaside metropolis before.
Already in orbit and waiting, a small shuttle distinguishes itself from the background of space with an orange flare of it's engines, cruising toward the Negotiator and making to dock.
Truly, the workings of the Empire were vast and complex, and what few tiny cogs related to Bharek personally were so far removed from their eventual function as to at times be utterly incomprehensible. It was not the team he'd have chosen. He went over the dossiers for the fifth time, his eyes tracing over the nearly memorized text. Sunshadow's was the last, and the briefest. Bharek had an inherent distrust for individuals who had lived 'off the grid' for any length of time but the Druid seemed like a fairly straight arrow. He closed the file down and was about to open Antares' again when he glanced out the shuttle's viewport and noticed the stars were moving. So, the Negotiator had arrived.
Bharek stowed his personal datapad in it's reinforced steel case, and withdrew a small collapsible folder from his bag. He glanced out the viewport again just in time to notice the last glimmering stars disappear behind the overwhelming bulk of the battlecruiser. Bharek smiled quietly into himself as he felt the small shuttle enter the Negotiator's gravitation field. It was Osorus policy to keep their capital ship's on board gravity set .1g higher than standard. A small enough difference that those who lived and worked on ship adjusted completely, and those who were merely visiting...well, they felt the 'weight' of the situation in a very real sense.
The shuttle docked with a cool buzz of machinery and the triple green circle of atmospheric integrity illuminated above the door. Bharek glanced about to ensure he had all his personal items on him - the bulk of his gear would be taken to his assigned room by the ship's porters. He tugged at the hem of his tapered black ISPD dress coat, felt to make sure his datapad and personal comm were in their proper place, grasped his black leather attache case and tucked the binder under his arm. The door slid back with a hiss and he was immediately greeted by a Osorus Legionnaire. He produced the first of many waves of identification from the folder - an encrypted datachip that produced a rotating hologram of his head superimposed over the ISPD logo when slotted into the legionnaire's datapad. Signed papers, notarized orders, retinal scans, and genetic analysis were all scrutinized in turn until at last Bharek was presented with an arcanoreactive screen onto which he cast his personal Arcane Mark. The screen throbbed a dull blue of acceptance and then displayed the lounge where his team was currently assembled.
He synchronized his comm and the ship guided him through it's corridors and levels to the observation deck.
The metal lift doors slid open and Bharek watched as slowly all eyes in the room turned towards him. He took one step out and let the elevator swish shut behind him. His long, dark, close-fit coat with scarlet epaulets and trim let everyone in the room know that he was a member of the ISPD on official business. And Bharek hated it. The coat he wore looked as fresh and pressed as the day it was made with good reason - he never wore it unless he had to. He hated that an article of clothing could transform him from a person to object of terror. He hated that the organization whose badge he now wore was synonymous with suspicion and oppression. But most of all, he hated the fact that in the eyes of anyone who saw him in this uniform he was now one of Them, and that he had to overcome all of the baggage that came with that. But at the same time, jurisdiction is jurisdiction and if he wanted to have an impact on a wider scale then it was necessary to make some sacrifices. One could only do so much from the city desk.
He spotted the two pairs of Human men and Elven women almost immediately but took a moment to visually scan the entirety of the observation deck. His eyes lingered for a moment on the scarred face of Khalesh, and his jaw clenched slightly. At last the dark skinned Dwarf strode across the room to join the small group, his boots clicking sharply over the sound of haltingly restarting conversations. Bharek came to a stop a few feet away from them and looked up into each of their eyes. "Antares, Merahvyr, Nadhu, and Sunshadow. I am Lieutenant Bharek Jorgenson of the ISPD. We will be working together for the next few months at minimum, and our mission begins exceedingly soon. I would like to discuss some protocol as immediately as possible, but I am aware that your meeting with Captain Nokovros ended not too long ago. Do any of you require any refreshment or have any duties that need be attended to before we begin?" Bharek spoke with a rich baritone, but far from the expected Dwarven brogue, he inflected his words with the rolling aspirations of a native speaker of Draconic. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for his new team members to respond.
The young human simply shook his head. "I am fine. I have everything I need."
The druid gently patted the well-worn leather satchel that rested at his hip, it's contents obviously nothing terribly bulky. The silver-and-blue hawk that rested on his shoulder turned it's head to be parallel with the floor, giving some sort of queer appraisal of the dwarf. Elan simply smiled, his smile betraying an inner power that could not be so much seen as felt.
"And please, call me Elan. I realize that you are in a business of formalities, but 'Sunshadow' is more of a job title than a surname."
After aiming a businesslike naté the dwarf’s way, Rakti cleared her throat sharply, already beginning to feel hoarse from so much unaccustomed speaking in so short a time. "My respite and renewal lie in the art of consecrated work, Lieutenant," she grated in a bizarrely clashing tone of equanimity, and left it at that.
Brother Antares took a slight second to take in the sight of the ISPD agent before shaking his head. He didn't care nor bother himself with the politics of the galaxy, but it didn't pass him that in the presence of an ISPD agent...he should.
"I require nothing, Lieutenant." He replied with a voice that was like soft sandpaper being brushed over his tongue. It was a common throaty accent from his dusty and sandblown world. "I am ready for you to continue at your convenience, but thank you for your offer."
Turning to regard all of them openly, Antares rose and folded his hands behind his back after slipping away his datapad.
"I thank you for your care, Lieutenant Jorgenson," Sejah bowed deeply "but I am well." Sejah glanced around at her fellows and smiled at the strength of her team. With the help of the Father, this mission should come off quite well, she thought.
"I think we are all anxious to move forward with this mission and to hear what you will say." she said to the Lieutenant with another nod.
Bharek punctuated each reply with a terse nod. "Excellent. Follow me please." He turned sharply on his heel and strode back in the direction of the lift. As he walked he slid his datapad out of it's case, and tapped out a few brief commands. He wordlessly guided the small party up several levels, and through a handful virtually identical corridors, pausing only occasionally to proffer the proper identification. A final electronic checkpoint granted them access to a spartan briefing room - no more than six angular chairs arrayed around a matte black table, the stark lighting highlighting the utter lack of decoration on the walls. Bharek stepped to the table and set his attache case upon it. He removed 4 slim datareaders each with a small ISPD stamp in the corner and passed them out to the assembled company. "Please sit, I'll make this as concise as possible. These files contain what House Osorus considers to be pertinent knowledge on the Kirinth system for the purposes of this mission. Please review them as completely as possible given the time we have pre-mission, paying special attention to your respective areas of expertise."
"Now to the mission. In brief, the purpose of this expedition is to find out who it is that destroyed The Bringer of Reason and what their motivations were. Our first stop will be to a mercenary ship that was attacked in the Kirinth system asteroid belt as it was en route to Kirinth Prime to serve as reinforcement. This is no more than a formality - we will be the first ship under Osorus' auspice to travel through that subsector so we need merely confirm that there are no survivors nor anything of use to the House left in the wreckage. From there we will proceed to the Bringer of Reason to begin our investigation proper. Once we have learned all we can there, Brother Larimore will formally decommission the ship. The bulk of the mission will take place on Kirinth Prime itself. We will rendezvous with Legionnaire Asturian at the Osorus outpost on the planet's surface, and set up our base of operations. Past that our course depend entirely upon what our investigation uncovers, with certain concession to the needs of Elan and his specialized analysis of the integrity of Kirinth Prime's ecosystem and agriculture in the wake of the attack. It is also worth noting that this team has been detailed two security personnel, Rakti and Sejah. While they will hopefully prove unnecessary, we must assume the worst and prepare for it. There is no predetermined termination of this mission - we are to pursue answers until our results have satisfied both House Osorus and my superiors in the ISPD."
Bharek cleared his throat and glanced around the table, "Are there any questions pertaining to the mission parameters before I go on?"
The druid looked at the slim datareader he was given with a somewhat puzzled expression on his face, watching the others activate theirs before he nodded, now understanding the operation of this particular device, and proceeded to activate his own.
"The mission seems clear, Lieutenant. I know what will be expected of me."
The datareaders were slim, black models, like the sort one could find to save textbooks on. The gold ISPD stamp in the bottom-right corner seemed to somehow add extra weight to them.
The Kirinth system was listed within the subsector labelled 'Kelvin's Clasp.' It was highlighted in white. The other systems were labelled as well - Abalorn, Crossing, Thaddeus, Zanazrix, Gorshaz, Sorum, Callades, Dorth, Verum, Pendant, and Crown - though the datareaders contained no information on them beyond their name.
The system contained Kirinth Prime within it's habitable zone, as well as two icy terrestrial worlds in slow, far orbit. Between Kirinth Prime and these outer worlds was a mediocre gas giant with a string of moons, and a thick asteroid belt.
The datareader's display contained a projected holoimage of Kirinth Prime, the capitol of the system. The planet's landmass consisted of two major continents that covered almost half of the world's surface. The rest was covered with a world-spanning ocean that was pockmarked with unpopulated islands. The planet's six million inhabitants existed within two clusters - the central apartments for the massive agricultural undertakings on the more southerly continent, and a dense population to support the Legionnaire outpost on the other.
The rest of the system was sparsely populated. The two distant, icy worlds were labelled as unexplored off-limits to landers by the Explorer Corps. The asteroid belt was home to a thin collection of prospecting miners, Outlands traders, and small interplanetary stopovers manned by less than a dozen full-time residents.
Elan:
Larimore:
Rakti and Sejah:
After a brief pause Bharek continues, "Very well. As representative of the ISPD and House Osorus I will be leading this mission, but you are all experts and will be necessary for this investigation to succeed. Specifically: Sejah, you are primarily responsible for security, as well as aiding in the peaceful relations with individuals not directly involved in our mission. Rakti, you will serve as our advance scout, where your perception and speed can be best put the to use. Elan, your task is to monitor environmental hazards, as well as oversee the execution of any bivouacking should such become necessary. Larimore, we will need to supervise our communications and requisitions if necessary, in addition to watching for any mechanical hazards. I ask that you all voice your findings and opinions openly, and raise any concerns you have even if they do not fall directly into your area of expertise. However, I would also like to remind you that violating a direct order constitutes a criminal offense, which will be prosecuted to the extent of Osorus law.
"There is only enough time for a few more shuttle runs before we will starcast away from Khalesh. If there is anything you will require - even feel that you might require - I strongly advise you to pick it up here. There is no telling what manner of supplies we will have access to once we are on Kirinth."
Bharek glanced down to his datapad and flicked out a couple of lines with his stylus. "Our next meeting will be at the shuttle that will take us to the ruined mercenary ship. You will be contacted one hour before expected to arrive there, at an estimated time of 1.32.52.19 Imperial. In a few minutes, Khalesh liaisons will arrive to negotiate any supplies you require. In the meantime, are there any other questions or comments?"
"If I am to be responsible for setting up campgrounds in the wilderness, should it become necessary, then adequate camping gear should be requisitioned before we depart. Unless, of course, the rest of you are comfortable sleeping beneath a lean-to made of logs and leaves. It would not bother me any to accommodate you thusly, but if you have any desire for creature comforts, it would be wise to voice your desires now."
"Camping supplies are one of the few things we can rely on from the Legionnaires. The basics at least. If anyone has more extravagant needs feel free to accommodate them from here. Additionally, Kirinth has a fairly well stocked munitions depot, so as long as your weapons accept standard clips, propellant, and energy packs we should be able to resupply there."
"I've no needs, Sir," Rakti asserted the Lieutenant with a look of neither pride or apathy, but something in-between. She glanced at Elan with a quirk of her cracked lips; a smile perhaps, but also maybe a grimace of distaste. "Definitely not 'creature comforts'."
[ooc]Any last-minute purchases of gear or supplies should be done now. Mid-day on Tuesday, I'm going to advance us to the Kirinth system and get this boulder pushed down the hill at last.[/i]
Any last-minute purchases of gear or supplies should be done now. Mid-day on Tuesday, I'm going to advance us to the Kirinth system and get this boulder pushed down the hill at last.[/i]
Any last-minute purchases of gear or supplies should be done now. Mid-day on Tuesday, I'm going to advance us to the Kirinth system and get this boulder pushed down the hill at last.
A datapad is essentially a PDA. You don't really need one, no. Rakti can probably get what she needs from the other party members who do.
Yep. Personal communicators are essentially like Bluetooth headsets, as far as I remember. They have a range of about ten miles if they don't have a support network (cell phone towers). They'll work just fine within the confines of the Legionnaire outpost and about ten miles outside it. After that, it's line-of-sight only, with severe diminishing signal after about half a mile or so.
No. Your natural low-light vision is already better.
Transports went back and forth between Khalesh and the Negotiator for the next few hours, ferrying final supplies for the long tour of duty in the Kirinth system, as well as allowing crew members their last shore leave for weeks, if not longer.
One half of an Imperial day went by in this manner. The team was gathered for final instructions and boarded a search-and-rescue transport in the Negotiator's hangar. Other spacecraft were being prepared for launch as well. They had only just finished seating and situating themselves when the Negotiator's starcast-warning klaxon sounded once, twice, three times. They all felt a slightly sickening shift, but without a direct line-of-sight to space, the nausea of displacement passed quickly.
The starcast completed, and within minutes the Negotiator's launch bays opened. Two flights of sleek, swept-wing, dagger-shaped aerospace fighters swooped out on either side of the vessel. The communications channel, audible to the team as they waited in the small shuttle, crackled with the flight's confirmation that the asteroid field was secure and free of hostiles.
Long, irregular blades of ship debris, the remnants of armor plating or internal structure, floated around the exterior of the Negotiator. Strange objects like chair cushions, destroyed small arms and ammunition clips, tatters of cloth and somewhat more ghastly humanoid remains floated in between, remnants of the attack itself or the more insidious workings of hard vacuum.
Here and there, bright flashes splashed across the massive battlecruiser as large pieces of debris lazily ran into the ship's shielding systems. Larger pieces came away burned and melted, while smaller and softer objects were simply vaporized by the intense energy.
"Away Transport, you are clear for departure," came through loud and clear, and the shuttle's pilot looked back into the passenger compartment and gave a thumbs-up before pressurizing the interior and sealing off the cockpit.
The team, in close-fitting vac-suits that provided no armor but allowed them to breathe even in hard space, saw more than felt the ship drift up from it's moorings and orient toward one of the larger pieces of debris, the only one that had reported active biological signs from the Negotiator's sensors.
As the shuttle's engine flared and pushed them away from the bay, they saw two of the dagger-like fighters slide in alongside them. Being backed by the ISPD had it's perks.
The pilot's voice came through the communicator systems inside the vac-suit helmets. "In the kitbag at the front of the compartment, you'll find a spellware component that looks like a small egg," he said coolly. "We're going to insert you into an elevator shaft protruding out of the bottom of the wreckage. Schematics analysis says the shaft connects up into the ship's commons area. When you're all in the shaft, fasten your grav-boots to the wall and attach the spellware to the side of the shaft - it'll create a force-shield to trap atmosphere inside." A moment passed, and he wryly added, "Remember, there won't be any atmosphere inside until you get to the commons-area entrance, so don't take off your helmets. Once you open the commons-doors, the shaft will repressurize until it equalizes."
They saw a fleeting glimpse of a gray metal column go by, with thick chains waving limply inside it, as it flashed past the transport's window.
Over the common channel, they heard the background noise of the pilot interacting with the Negotiator.
"...Negotiator, this is ISPD-S&R transport, coming on station with marked wreckage in ten... nine... eight..."
The countdown was dead on, and when the side-wall of the transport slid smoothly away, the team's perspectives were challenged a bit as they looked into the ripped and sheared end of an elevator shaft. It vanished off into the dark, with a few indents on various sides for other floors' exits, most of which would have led into empty space, assuming the doors worked at all.
"ISPD team," came the transport's pilot again. "I am your comm link with the ship. Relay all reports and requests through me, and advise of any further developments. Good luck."
Elan:
Elan was visibly uncomfortable within the tight-fitting vacuum suit at first, though it's relative simplicity put him at ease within a few minutes. In his mind, however, he could not help but imagine what would happen if something malfunctioned within the suit. More than once he found himself staring at Larimore, silently calming himself with the thought of being in the presence of a priest of the Smith if such an event should occur. When Brother Larimore inevitably caught him staring, the young druid responded with a meek smile.
Rakti felt strangely nude in the form fitting vac-suit, but the sensation was not particularly uncomfortable. In fact, she found she rather enjoyed it; the close fitting clothing allowed for a much freer range of motion than the desert-bred modesty to which she was accustomed.
She stretched experimentally, then patted the fabric over her elbow and thigh. Nodding with satisfaction, she gripped the inside of the opening into the elevator shaft with her right hand and swung her right leg out the door to the side and back.
Feeling the sole of her grav-boot connect solidly with the inner wall of the shaft, she paused for a moment to flex, bend and lift her leg, confirming that she was not about to plunge straight down to her death or float away. Then she lurched the rest of her body forward so that her other boot connected with the wall as well, and looked over her shoulder back at the others from her oddly arachnidial vantage point.
Bharek gave a bare smile at the elf so readily stepping into her role as scout, and looked at the others, and engaged his comm, "Alright, people. This is only the beginning. Let's get done here as quickly as possible. Everyone into the shaft and I'll bring up the rear." Bharek surreptitiously glances down to ensure that Elan's grav boots are engaged and recheckes his own as well. He stares levelly down (up?) the shaft and gives a quiet sigh. Through his helmet he is seen to whisper something that he chose not to transmit.
Bharek gave a bare smile at the elf so readily stepping into her role as scout, and looked at the others, and engaged his comm, "Alright, people. This is only the beginning. Let's get done here as quickly as possible. Everyone into the shaft and I'll bring up the rear." Bharek surreptitiously glances down to ensure that Elan's grav boots are engaged and recheckes his own as well. He stares levelly down (up?) the shaft and gives a quiet sigh. Through his helmet he is seen to whisper something that he chose not to transmit.
Brother Larimore didn't notice the stares at his back as he glanced down to his right fist. Clenching and unclenching it, perhaps feeling a bit bare without his ceremonial armor as well, he did a final check of the gear that he did bring. His backpack was kept light and tightly shut, bearing his datapad and his tools. Securely fastened to the right side of the pack in a militant manner were his blaster rifle and his warhammer. Sadly, his armor and shield remained behind with the rest of his gear.
"Communications check. Reading you loud and clear, pilot." Larimore's gravelly voice suddenly muttered over the comm. Raising his head to peer through his visor at the elevator shaft, his face bore a grim sort of reverence that only a cleric of the smith would be feeling right now. This, in every sense of the word, was an autopsy to the man.
Stepping forward, just after Rakti, he reached up and grabbed one of the handholds, letting another worry about the egg-shaped spellware enviro-shield. In a rather ungraceful display of flexibility, the cleric slapped his heel onto the hull-metal of the elevator shaft and engaged the magnetic lock. It would be safe to assume he rarely danced or climbed rocks. Grunting a little over the communicator, he started up after Rakti.
"Rakti. Be on the lookout for what appears to look like mist, vibrating hull sections, bulged doors and -above all- anything that appears like a hazy mirage. There is no air here and it will always be something less pleasant. Corrosives will be a danger to us and our suits." Larimore stated, rising to his full height with both boots solidly connecting. Taking a hollow outline of metal shaped like a pie wedge from a pouch, he connected the caribeaner to his belt for when they decide to break out any rope.
"Do not for once think that this fallen child of the forge is a safe environment..." He muttered over the comm. "...the lack of oxygen is by far only one of the hazards. Above all things remember to exercise caution."
The elevator shaft was perhaps eighty feet long and eight feet wide and tall - enough that they could stand two-by-two without any discomfort. The destruction that had shorn this piece of debris away from the main body of the ship had caused a clean break further up hull on both sides of the shaft, leaving the structure jutting and exposed like a magazine on a rifle.
The tearing was mostly at the bottom, where they stepped on. The rest of the tube was apparently sound enough, and appeared to have no interior tearing or space-venting. So long as they proceeded a few yards up the shaft, anywhere would be safe to activate the spellware and seal it off.
Rakti:
Tellek!!:
Eyes narrowed in the darkness into two caramel slits, Rakti took a few steps away from the group, looking for signs of lurking chemical clouds or other manmade demons. "Clear," she confirmed over the intercom in a low, calm voice. "Atmosphere?"
The druid stepped unsteadily out of the transport and into the shaft, gasping slightly as the maglocks engaged and fastened him to the shaft's metal interior. He gazed around, disoriented for a moment, then blinked and nodded, slowly making his way after the others.