(OOC: The events of this thread are happening two months after the events occurring in this thread: The Boulder Falls TG with an idea for entry if you wish to join.)
Azura's Mask stretched for eight light-years in all directions, its shifting hues of colour illuminating the void in shades of violet, blue, gold and green whilst brilliant flashes of purest white shone briefly in the tumultuous mixture of cosmic gases, the product of miniature explosions as unstable elements collided and formed. A maelstrom of cosmic energy expressed as a celestial cloud, glimmering in the darkness of space with the promise of future grandeur as untold thousands of potential stars fought over the abundant elements, destroying their nearest competitors in a quest to gain enough mass and energy to take form as one of nature's mighty fusion reactors that are the most essential building blocks of life. Truly, it was difficult not to imagine an all-powerful god when beholding the Mask, for its beauty, immensity and purpose was so astounding that it seemed impossible that the random forces of chaos could spawn such a thing. And it was this majestic, shimmering field of light and astral magic that now faced Admiral Penrod Codrington, Officer Commanding the 1st Expeditionary Armada of the Royal Navy, which composed elements of the Xeddefan and Jurassa Planetary Defense Stations, as well as the 2nd and 7th squadrons of the Interior Fleet; a total of 3 First Rate Ships-of-the-Line, 2 Second Rates, 4 Third Rates, 7 Fifth Rates, 7 Sixth Rates, 2 Titan-class Dreadnoughts, 4 Olympian-class Battle Cruisers, and 12 Hero-class Frigates. Supplementing this already impressive gathering was a further 30 civilian vessels of differing shapes and sizes, contracted to carry all the non-military supplies and equipment of the armada.
Codrington stood before his command crew aboard the HMS Constellation, his personal flagship. He was a tall man, standing roughly 6'3", and yet his long limbs held none of the lankyness usually associated with height, but rather seemed perfectly suited to his thin but muscular frame that was clad in an unassuming white cotton shirt and blue khakis. The sleeves of the shirt were carelessly rolled to the elbows, whilst the top three buttons of the front were down, revealing a nest of mahogany brown hair that matched the ruffled crop on his head. Peering about the bridge with those cool, hypnotic eyes that were the colour of a grassy meadow, he cooly surveyed the situation. When the Defiant had first pursued the Sisyphus into Zarithian territory, it had been through a series of random zigzags that had taken nearly two months' time. When the Admiralty had plotted the direct route, however, they found the mighty nebula of Azura's Mask in the way. Not to be stopped in this new grand campaign that was seeing the largest mobilization in Consortium history by a "small cloud", they had dismissed the nebula as unimportant. "Use that clever brain of yours that everyone's been talking about, there's a good lad," had been the exact words used by the First Lord of the Navy.
The reports had been streaming in for the past hour as the Constellation sat waiting for the rest of the armada to slow to sub-luminal speeds and regroup before the swirling mist of the cosmic cloud, and as far as they could tell, it wouldn't be a problem to traverse. Naturally, scanners would be severally limited to a few hundred kilometers in each direction, and transmissions would be limited to basic radio waves as transferring data by lightbeam would be rendered impossible due to the electromagnetic interference of the cloud, but if all vessels stayed in constant contact and relayed what they could see, the armada could successfully, if slowly, pass through. The alternative was to add an extra two weeks to the journey by bypassing the cloud, and the situation in Zarathoft called for immediate reprieve.
"All ships reporting in, Admiral," an officer in a sharp naval uniform reported. The lad was young, and it was a matter of great pride that he had achieved the rank of Lieutenant-Commander at the age of 25; almost as impressive as Codrington himself, who was himself only 32. The officer took great pride in his appointment, and was rarely without his full uniform perfectly pressed; he will go far, Penrod thought.
"Very good, Mr. Ballantyne, "Codrington moved towards the prow and gazed at the floor-to-ceiling display that was entirely filled by the nebula. "Signal the fleet. All fighting ships are to form up in an arrowhead to enter the cloud. By order of size, First Rates at the tip, with all others coning out. Civilian transports are to form a staggered square in the rear of the column, and follow military escorts. And Ballantyne, all alert now, we don't want to run amok of any pulsars or asteroids." The young officer smiled slightly and nodded, before turning smartly and relaying the orders to the bank of comm-operators.
"Switching to radio transmission."
"Heightening scanner power output to maximum."
"All hands at basic alert. Engine room on standby."
The reports from the section leaders came in clear tones, the voices of men accustomed to their tasks. There was an imperceptible lurch as the sub-light engines engaged once again, propelling the Constellation towards the shimmering womb of stars, and as the prow pierced the dense particles of the cloud, a small chill ran down Penrod's neck, and for the first time in years, he felt the grip of uncertainty slowly spreading over him.
