The Cross roads of the galaxy [FT/Open]

[Theranis III]

Theran Embassy

Promik gave the Ixee a puzzled look. What an odd response to an offer of refreshments. A civilised being would have either accepted or declined the offering, not released a torrent of questions.he turned towards Aedil, who warily eyed his guests, as he made to sit down on a chair. He then studied the back of his paddle-like hand, and scratched at it , with a well manicured nail from the other. "We-all" he said, without lifting his eyes from his hand, "have not developed a taste for 'them'. I know of no Erinqho who has developed a taste for such things. As for our Elder Brothers, the Theraakhim, that is a different matter. Isn't that correct, Sergeant Ish ?" The Theraak sergeant remained stone faced silent, and Aedil irritably repeated his question. "Isn't that correct Sergeant ?" The Theraak kept his eyes forward, and replied, " It is no secret that Theraakhim taste buds are more developed than other species, and that a wide variety of foods are numbered in our caloric intake. Water eft included. "

Aedil frowned, "There, question answered. Enough with food related trivia. Now returning to my aide's question. Can you do with another peacemaker, or a war maker ? I would like to think you would prefer the former. Bear in mind, that while we Theran, whether Theraakhim, Erinqho or Vel are all bi-pedal, we are not Na- human. That one is ." the ambassador said, as he pointed a thumb at the female servant. " Our species are not even related, even though Na have a superficial resemblance to Theraakhim. So whatever pre-conceived prejudices you may have against the Na, should not be used against the Empire's citizens and subjects."

Promik shook his head slightly. "It is true, we are not related to the Na, but you cannot base all actions on the past actions of another. " he paused, and then smiled. " I take that back, you can. A Tara cat behaves only in the manner it knows. A lesson, so many species have learned, often at its own expense, as I am sure that yours has learned, as well as my own. But the purpose of this station, is to build upon a new foundation. In Erin, we have three words for peace, and in Classical En-Theraas, there exists sixteen forms of the word. The basis for peace is trust. " He nodded to the female servant, and softly said something to her, and she disappeared behind one of the doors.

"On that note, I will answer your questions about the water eft, strange as that sounds to us. The Theraakhim, as Sergeant Ish has answered, have a taste for them. These creatures are raised in the Xi-Nar sector of the lower levels. " He looked at the two Ixee, " You should be quite aware of the Theraakhim colony there. They have their own aquaculture gardens there. " Promik paused again, as he mused on the word 'garden'. He returned to his main thoughts, " and so produce those things that they are accustomed to eating. " as he finished speaking, the female servant returned with a large tray, and when she was besside the aide, lifted the tray lid, to reveal two lizard like creatures some 23 centimetres long. Their tails excluded, which added some five centimetres to their length. Each of the creatures were a muddy blue colour, had boomerang shaped heads, with long fat tails. "These are two of the water eft in question, for you to inspect." He said as the servant walked up to Ofosh, and showed her the amphibians.

"As you can see, they have just lost their gill fringes, and have yet to obtain their yellow striping. Am I correct in this Sergeant Ish ?" he asked as he turned to the guard, who nodded assent. "From what I am to understand, this is the best stage , to dine on water eft. As my superior has stated, we Erinqho do not eat this manner of creature."

[The United Dominion]

Theran Embassy

Both Ofosh and Awsaos visibly tensed more and more as the Theran representatives spoke but in the strong desire to not cause any incident from which they could not turn back, allowed Promik and Aedil to stumble through their explanations. Nothing was able to make them feel any better, and their anger was definitely raising.

In Ofosh's mind, she wondered how easily the both of them could kill everyone in the room. They mostly looked fragile in comparison, at the very least despite their varying size. Chances were neither she nor Awsaos would make it out of the embassy, but they could well have exacted vengeance for what hadn't yet been proven not to be an incredible offense.

It was when the female servant returned with a tray and Promik lifted the lid that they both set themselves further down on their tails, their muscles losing their tension as they back off of their physical desire to strike fast and hard.

"As you can see, they have just lost their gill fringes, and have yet to obtain their yellow striping. Am I correct in this Sergeant Ish? From what I am to understand, this is the best stage , to dine on water eft. As my superior has stated, we Erinqho do not eat this manner of creature."

Ofosh waggled her tentacles in amusement - also a little out of the immense relief that she felt. They weren't eating actual water efts, just some kind of primitive amphibian.

She was whistled at a little by Awsaos, his lapel translator still set to ignore his words, and bobbed her head at him.

"Those aren't water efts," she said. "Not to us, that is. And they look like they are already in the land eft stage or else they would look more like tadpoles and less like lizards. You may wish to note for the future that when you speak of water efts to ixee, you are to us speaking of the pre-ixee life form cared for and raised to ixee land eft by our creche fathers. And if you have researched our creche fathers, you should know that this conversation would have had much less patience in allowing for your explanation had one been here instead of us."

She added, "If you were capable of producing them, then you would have to be enslaving ixee to do so."

Slapping the tip of her tail on the floor, she changed the subject back. "Your question, about peacemakers, would seem to imply that you would change your attitude if we no longer hosted your embassy here. Otherwise, we wouldn't be without such a peacemaker in this galaxy - we would simply be without your personal presence. If you're on such a delicate balance then I wouldn't classify you as peacemakers but rather as warbringers-in-waiting, as history as thus far proven is the case with those of such flexibility. We're sure this isn't what you meant but we see no other purpose to this question."

The statement was long enough that the true difference in language efficiencies was obvious, as the undertone of whistling - Ofosh's actual speech - halted multiple times. She had to wait for the translator to catch up.

[Theranis III]

Theran Embassy

Sergeant Ish had stood stone-faced, quietly observing the Ixeee. his hand ever so discretely at his weapon. He unlike the two Erinqho had some familiarity with the Ixee, and knew some of their subtle mannerisms. The discussion of the water eft, was upsetting to their guests, and Ish could sense that things could suddenly go wrong. He listened to Promik , as he innocently went on about peace, and such. He rather liked this particular Erinqho, who really tried to do what was best, unlike the Erinqho Junker Aedil, what a pompous fool that one was. Unfortunately, if the Ixee blew their tempers, there was little he could do to rescue Promik. Thikka, had a chance to escape, as did the Na servant. That left himself to defend and alarm the emabassy. The two Ixeee would never leave the edifice alive, and that would start an international, if not an intra-galactic, incident. Well wars do test the mettle of an empire doesn't it ? he thought.

But the servant girl, broke the tension, when she presented the tray with the two water eft. The Ixee were clearly relieved that it was not what they had anticipated, but Ish kept his hand at the ready over his sidearm.

Aedil, Promik, and Thikka all shot each other a disgusted look , when they heard that the water eft of the Ixee , were perhaps Ixee young. How could they eat their own young? was the same thought born in each of their minds at the same time. The second statement struck them just as bizarre, who would want to enslave an Ixee ? Their sheer size was a hindrance for any practical usage, except perhaps as some sort of draft slave. And to feed them would probably not be cost effective at all. Of course they kept these thoughts to themselves, and made awkward polite smiles towards the Ixee.

Aedil then spoke up. "Of course the Empire seeks to be peaceful, and if we went away, there would be no war. To what avail would that be ? Our emperor Ea Anana IV desires that all the outer regions and worlds to know that we seek to join with our fellow travellers of this galaxy. For too long has the Empire remained behind sealed walls and gates. We open a gate to you of the bar realms of our own volition." The ambassador made a long pause, then laughed, "You said that we are perhaps 'war-makers-in-waiting'. We of the empire have known war for far too long. But we have known peace as well, and know that it is preferable to its alternative." he sat upright in his seat, as he continued to speak. "Yes, peace is preferable. It is the most profitable venture of all, for it brings with it creativity and life." Promik looked over at his superior, and gave an approving nod.

Yau Synod Offices/Talos Station

En-Ka studied the new reports from the other synod offices , and saw that there was an increase in communications among several of the offices, all pertaining to a missing arfefact and the trail of deaths following in its wake. En-Ka tried to find out more about this object, and correlate the information. Even Kin-Lin, was kept busy, trying to following the twisting trail, that at times seemed more like to find one's way out of a maze. Several times the word 'hand' or 'glove' came out in connexion to the missing artefact, he would follow the lead, only to come up against a wall of obsfucation. Then the AI tried a different tack, following the course of an Ilizean myth, about a mysterious weapon wielded by an ancient and mythic hero named Polda-Anazanze. This hero was given this weapon from one of the Ancient Ones, to assist him to battle the terrible monster Azat- Aazakurt. One description of the weapon was that it was a glove of some sort, and that Azat-Azakurt had laughed when it saw Polda-Anzanze approach, wearing only that glove.

Kin-Lin alerted En-Ka to the story, and he continued reading what the AI had shown him. Polda-Anzakurt did defeat the monster with a mere touch with the glove. According to the account, the monster burst into flames, and all was left were a melted mound of pure gold, and another of pure silver. Apparently these metals had some value to the ancient creators of this tale, because Polda-Anzakurt was able to purchase a fine house and land, with much money left over. But Polda-Anzakurt himself was later slain, and his mysterious glove disappeared, taken by his own daughter Masimarasena to some nether region.

After reading the story, twice, En-Ka looked up at Kin-Lin. as Ak-Kad and Ti-Ran read the story for themselves. "The artefact was first reported found in the My-Nasena System, on Hisodos... " En-Ka said, as he tapped up an image of the My-Nasena System halographic image. He zoomed in on Hysodos, and pinpointed a mountainous region on the planet. "... Approximately in this area. There were other artefacts found with it, but apparently what made it stand out, was that this one artefact was alien in origin, and not native. What is more, there is an ancient Hysodonic story of a warrior who defeated his enemies with a single touch. Could this be that same thing mentioned in the Ilizean tale ?"he asked. The three others looked up at the map.

But what does it look like ?" Ti-Ran asked, " Yes, it's a glove, but there are so many types and styles of gloves. And it's not like it can't be easily concealed, just slip it into your pocket or pouch, if it's thin enough." The others looked at her. "Look at all all of these depictions of the glove in all of those stories about warriors who went into battle wearing a glove." she said as she brought up ma series of pictures from over two hundred cultures, of a single warrior, some male, some female, hold up one limb wearing a glove of some sort. In some of the images, the glove appeared to be ornate , elabourate affairs, others just a simple cloth or leather glove.

The four studied the images, trying to figure out just what they were looking for. "Why are we looking for a glove anyway " asked Ak-Kad, " We don't know what that Na brought to Dio. It could be just about anything." En-Ka nodded, Yes, it could be. But we can now safely surmise that the missing artefact originally came from Hysodos, and that somehow it has wound up here. Dio isn't going to be all that excited about some musty old wine cup or vase. He's after something more potent than that. Right now, our trail, is a story about a glove, and no ordinary glove. On the right hand it could save the universe, on the wrong hand..."

[Dyste]

OoC: Been a while, huh? Just a short post to get back into the thread.

Dystan Quarters

After what had seemed like ages, Emmeryn had finally woken from her rest. The tour of the Talos station had overwhelmed her, cutting it short. While Dyste was making plenty of advancements in technology thanks to having a surprising amount of allies for an island nation of roughly 15 million, this was beyond anything they could produce with it. Personally, she would stick to magic, thank you very much.

Ah, the magic school! She had almost forgotten about it in the rush of everything. The last time she had checked, they were working on the design. Yes, that would be a good place to start. "Betak, Drygk, let's get on our way," speaking to her two assistants. She had hoped her absence had not caused too much trouble...

[Ruskarkand]

The gentle flickering of aloft smokeless flames hung high on their brass braziers illuminated the vast numbers of the bright ivory and gold pillars which lined the humongous room. Soft winds purveyed the hefty expanse, and small intricate pots with burning incenses inside released discrete vapors of lavender-scented smoke. A feint tune echoed around the chamber, bathing it in a quiet melody - one which seemed to entrance a notably large Blue Dragon which had seated itself on the marble floors close to one of two grand doors - which were strangely not-too magnificent, as a contrast to the rest of the room. The Dragon eased off a brash huff, a malcontent expression escaping it - despite the countless hundred years of its long life, it certainly had no desire to prolong its wait any further. Its rich azure-colored scales glowed a warm orange as they reflected the candle-light of the room, it's arms tucked close to its tan underbelly.

A loud clunk rang out from across the room, before the padding of footsteps began to sound off as clicks against the marble floor. A Draan individual clad in a rich crimson robe and an ornate cuirass made his way across the decorated chamber - notably carrying a sizable bag slung across the back of his shoulder, in addition to a finely crafted Lucerne hammer. "You've got all the components this time? No need to walk out on me again, I would hope?" The Dragon bellowed, lifting up one of its hands and gesturing to the pack that the Draan Knight was carrying alongside it. "Were it so, I wouldn't be here - and I see you've lit the incense whilst I've been gone." the Draan remarked back, the voices echoing across the hall. "If only it actually did something to wash out that repugnant Ozone odor you carry with you, sparky."

The Blue Dragon recoiled its head at the quip, before slowly shaking its head. "By the Everlasting One's mercy, don't call me 'Sparky'. That's a terrible name. I -implore- you." he grumbled in response, to which the Draan posed a mild shrug.

"What am I supposed to call you then? On the grounds I do not know your name, and that you are a Blue Dragon; I henceforth dub you 'Sparky'. Unless you can correct your gallant Knight?"

"You mean to tell me that you do not know my name, despite the journey we have undertaken together?"

The Draan Knight threw his arms out to the side, adopting a rather mirthful tone as he posed his response. "Hey now, I'm not the one who has spent his time locked away in their quarters, sleeping on a pile of gold bullion and drinking fine wines by the ewer to drown out our journey here. I've actually been flying this overly bloated ship and making sure we get here."
For but a moment, silence encompassed the room as the Dragon took a few moments to calculate the statement. His eyeridges furrowed ever so slightly, and his jaw hung ajar - until he posed his response. "I would have you call me Vaakyl. Not 'Sparky' or Dragon. Just as I would be so respectable as to call you 'Sir Kylle' whenever I need to address you. Can I rely on you to do that?"

Surely enough, Sir Kylle breathed off a short chuckle; noting at how the Dragon had otherwise dismissed the accusation so quickly, he reached up a hand and made sure the straps of the pack he was carrying were securely fitted over his shoulders - his wings to the side and clear of the heavy load pressing against his spine as he continued to trudge forward towards the door that the Blue Dragon, Vaakyl, sat beside. "Yes, whatever you say. Now what say we find our residence and take to some nourishment?" he questioned - pausing intermittently to pat the robe covering his abdomen. "I fret that the mid-flight meals are hardly satisfying. What I would do in order to be able to stave off hunger like one such as yourself."

Vaakyl picked himself up from his seated position, standing on all four legs as he turned about to face the grand doors as they quietly began to pull themselves ajar through some form of mechanism. "Stave off? No, that's hardly the case. Whilst we physically do not need food all of the time, I feel as though we eat because we simply wish to do so - besides, I cannot build a charge unless I eat something, nor could a Red Dragon breathe fire unless it had consumed something prior to give it the energy to do so." he exclaimed as he moved through the doors into the connector tube which led to the Station's Cargo Bay - something more apt of an entrance for a being of his size.

"Seems like a fast way to grow round." the Draan retorted, pacing alongside the Dragon with some amount of difficulty - he had to maintain his gait in order to even have a hope of keeping up with the Dragon's walk.

"For a Knight, you don't know much. Dragons seldom grow fat, for anything excess is stored as such aforementioned energy." he spoke, before he went on to adopt a more cheery tone. "This one instance after feasting, I had so much power stored within me that it would arc from place to place across my body. A remarkable sight that you will not get from any other Dragon, I assure you."

Sir Kylle simply grumbled something in response, resuming his brisk pace so as to not fall behind the Dragon Vaakyl. His thoughts went astray for a moment; back to concentrating on how they weren't the only individuals aboard the luxurious vessel that they were in the process of leaving. The Pantheon of Dragons elected to send both two Dragons with two Draan Knights to accompany both. He himself had already met the other Draan; a female who took to the use of a Flammenschwert. To him, she seemed like she had a fair amount of experience in her line of work; perhaps even more than he did. She'd only turn out every now and then to do her shift of piloting the vessel, and rarely got to see her outside of that. He figured that one the ship was fully powered down; she'd of been out with the second Dragon.

His eyeridges furrowed slightly - the second Dragon, or rather a Dragoness. A Fire-breathing Red at that, her name was-.. her name was? What was her name again? The memory eluded him oddly enough, a strange virtue considering she was infact the face that he saw the most aboard the vessel, considering Vaakyl kept himself secluded and work saw him and the other Knight separated. She was perculiar for a Red Dragon, though - the usual air they gave off was non-existent, they were actually quite humble as opposed to the others, who were self-righteous and full of themselves. The Draan Knights Order would often advise caution to its new members when dealing with troublesome Reds because of this, but of all those whom he had encountered, he found it hard to comprehend this one. Her name yet eluded him, though.

"My, my. This place is quite bland." Vaakyl spoke forth as he left the docking tube, his eyes surveying the room vigilantly. It broke the Knight's train of thoughts, who only happened to stop just in time so as to not stray past the Dragon who had paused just beyond the door to the tube. "Not a single air of decoration in sight. I feel dismayed to so much as even set my eyes on it." the Dragon resumed, before breathing off a mild pout in order to reinforced his grumpy outlook. "I only hope the segment we've been promised is up to scratch."

The Draan Knight posed a small nod in agreement - although such Knights as he were less orientated towards the sights, smells and textures of luxurious materials with a hefty price-tag, he did find that having atleast something to enliven the environment preferable as opposed to having none. 'Shameful', he mumbled as he trodded alongside the Dragon into the Cargo Bay. He too surveyed the area, keeping his luggage stowed over his back as he tried to figure out a way to get his bearings - fearing that the Dragon's pride would ultimately end up in it getting lost somehow, after rejecting all forms of help. Then again, perhaps he was being too judgemental of a figure he hardly knew? Sir Kylle simply dismissed the thought, rolling his eyes for but a moment before he returned to the prospect of continuing to look around the Cargo Bay.

[Gundun Kibilu]

Future Site of the Grand Empire of the Thousand Suns Embassy

A’ami-miaz, architect and xenobiologist for the future diplomatic mission of the Grand Empire of the Thousand Suns admired his handiwork. The United Dominion, as was typical for their architecture, had allocated the embassy a sphere and he had done his best designing a new architecture, designed to fit – A’ami-miaz mused that, as a species flying on wings borrowed from the ixee, Hroa’agh would have to learn to use the space they were provided.

He had left a large open area in the center, a sphere about thirty five meters in diameter, with a cylinder maybe fourteen meters in diameter rising from the bottom to the top, filled with offices and meeting areas. The metal that made up the structures was covered by a rough ceramic material, designed to stand up to Hroa’agh use. As befit an arboreal species, the sphere was interspersed with an open lattice of thick steel bars spaced about three meters apart. The two openings to the embassy entered on the equator, with a wide catwalk leading to the central shaft. Not having much experience with ground-dwelling species, A’ami-miaz had worried about these, but the few humanoids that had entered the future embassy with deliveries seemed to manage fine. He had overheard them mention something about handrails, but A’ami-miaz had, after researching these, rejected them – he did not want to insinuate any infirmity or poor balance on the part of the ambassador or her staff. Which, he supposed, he was now part of.

Around the outside equator, entrances to living quarters lay separated by quotes from famous historical Hroa’agh, the calligraphy turned into intricate patterns. Water, red-tinged by algae and fungal plants native to Rai’ifaagai, lay up to a little more than seven meters deep at the bottom of the sphere, about ten meters below the catwalks. Four waterfalls trickled down the sides of the sphere from large planters placed at cardinal points. Other planters jutted out from the sides and central hub, growing a variety of red-leafed plants – A’ami-miaz had primarily chosen non-sporing plants with subtle scents that were pleasing to Hroa’agh. Chief among these was a vine that produced green and purple flowers; it had been genetically modified to flower all year, and A’ami-miaz noted with satisfaction that they were already starting to grow over the climbing lattice – this new species wouldn’t survive well in the wild, but it seemed to be thriving in carefully nourished planters.

The biologist turned to watch an iridescent gold flutterslug lazily fly past. He had imported them, along with a nocturnal, bioluminescent species from Rai’ifaagai. He had also imported small, yellow slimefish, and was soon expecting a shipment of brilliantly red whiskered chitin-fish to round out the tiny ecosystem he was developing. He had recently heard that the ambassador had a preference for the calls of a particular kind of four-wings, and twelve of them were scheduled to arrive, sadly, after the arrival of the ambassador.

A’ami-miaz had gotten this post soon after graduating from the Imperial University of Zamza’ghmagao, courtesy of his mother’s position in the council of interior affairs. Failing here would cost his mother and family Status, and would ruin him as well. Still, he thought as he surveyed his work, he had done well bringing a small, idealized part of the homeworld to his far-off station. The workers had finally left, and the ambassador’s arrival was still a few days off. He decided to allow himself a day off for a job well done.

[Ruskarkand]

Ruskarkand's Chamber

It'd been some marching, and for a considerable distance no less. Although, the faces of both the Knight and the Dragon sunk somewhat when their eyes took to surveying a room that was flanked on all four sides by cold metal walls, baring no such decorations as those on the ship - much to the Chagrin of the two. Indeed, Vaakyl opted to pace forward, his eyes scanning the room sharpish in order to try and spot anything out of the ordinary. "D'oh, no." he murmured, slumping down somewhat as he peered across the empty expanse. "No, this isn't good at all. There's nowhere to rest!"

Sir Kylle paced in after him, before he opted to lean against the Dragon's leg. "So it'd seem. I know not if we were supposed to bring our own things, but it seems like we were supposed to." he spoke, reaching a hand to the straps on his shoulders and promptly undoing them. But a moment later, the large rucksack was unclipped from its harness as it fell to the floor with a mild thud. "And I doubt a bag of spell components falls within the category of things we can decorate with. We only have so much powdered diamond, my friend."

"Bah, I'm not turning around now, or making a call to home in order to get some stuff shipped in." Vaakyl grunted, before he opted to seat himself and lift one of his forepaws into the air. He opted to focus momentarily, taking in a deep breath - his chest expanded, before he began to make a number of Somatic movements with his claw, beckoning to different regions of the room as he bellowed incantations. Kylle had opted to take a few steps to the side in order to grant the Dragon some room, his eyeridges furrowing as he witnessed the display. "Mirage Arcana? You clever thing, you." he mumbled, before he turned to face the rest of the room - noting how it was slowly changing. He closed his eyes and reached up one of his gloved hands over them - with his off hand, he also began to perform a somatic pattern as he spoke an incantation - that of the Permanency spell.

Vaakyl lowered his arm, placing his paw firmly against the ground as he eased off a brash sigh - his eyes opening to survey the room. Just as he had imagined, his work had rendered him weary, but the results were impeccable. Suspended by brass chains, a number of dishes hung from the ceiling; burning their odorless flames and illuminating the vast room with a warm, orange glow. Just like on the ship, the floor consisted of a fine layer of Marble, yet to be marred by the constant draping of clawed hands across its sheen surface. The walls, a fine sandstone; each segment divided by an ivory pillar draped in a spiral circuit of polished gold. In all four corners of the room, vast urns filled to the brim with a lavish incense burned away, their sweet vapors whisked around by the gentle breeze permeating the room. To the Dragons, it was paradise. Indeed, Vaakyl picked himself up, and began to slowly wander over towards one such corner of the room.

Sir Kylle watched the Blue Dragon make his way over towards one such pile of Gold Coins, surrounded by velvet curtains - it was of no surprise to him that the Dragon would of wanted rest. Normally, performing such naturally occurring spell-like abilities was allegedly taxing, but doing so after a long walk must of been outright exhausting. Then again, there was the thought of himself - and he took to noting that more when his stomach proved to growl in a ferocious manner. He was yet hungry from his venture aboard the ship, for his shift often left him with little time to eat. His vows as a Knight also ate into his time, granting him even less. If there was ever a time to simply sit down and have something to eat, it was now. However, with Vaakyl going to go and rest, he'd likely have to wait for the other Dragon to arrive before anything could really be prepared. Food wasn't among the things he brought with him, afterall.

With a short sigh, the Knight picked up the rucksack and pulled it across the room, to then prop it up against one of the pillars and sit down on it. The chamber only had one entrance, and that was through a set of massive, decorated double-doors which led outside of the chamber. Out there was no longer the Domain of Ruskarkand and The Everlasting One. There were an incomprehensible amount of beings who were not as he, or the Dragons. Indeed, some were similar, but not one to one - an unsettling thought, but he was also one-half both curious and anxious to discover new beings. He was not in a position to judge anything. He took vows against it...

Once more, his eyes turned to the doors as they were pushed ajar - the first figure walking in immediately being recognizable as a Draan, much as he. Although, the slender form and the Flammenschwert sword on their back indicated that it was the other pilot of the vessel that they'd arrived on. He took to noting their form, their face; how it was adorned with worn and faded ruby-like scales that were chipped in places, although what really caught his eye was the fact that this Draan actually had a mane to speak of. Running from the tip of their skull between the two horns lining the back of their head and running down their neck into the robe was a surprisingly well-kept line of white hair. For a moment, Sir Kylle focused on himself, noting the gap on his arm's vambrace, it allowed him to see the snow-colored scales of his wrists. It wasn't too different, void the fact that it was hair, although it was the first time he'd saw a Draan with the rare trait of having hair. He felt somewhat comfortable with the idea that there was a matching trait in their colors.

The next individual to pace into the room was the other Dragon who, much like the smaller Female Draan, bore red scales. Although, they were much more vibrant in color, baring few to no signs of wear whatsoever. He recognized the individual as the Dragoness of which he'd forgotten the name of, and he was quick to take notice of how she actually seemed rather impressed by the room. The Draan Knight posted a small smirk across his face, satisfied that the work he and Vaakyl had conducted had the fruits of its labor pay off - but, as he continued to stare at the Dragoness; she was quick to take notice unlike the other Knight. He soon found himself with two piercing yellow eyes staring right at him, the Dragoness' head cocked to the side in an inquisitive display. However, Sir Kylle merely played it off by lifting up a hand and giving a curt wave so as to welcome her - hoping to play off his staring gesture.

The Dragoness lifted one of her forepaws off of the ground, grouping two claws together as she cupped the rest into her palm. In a single wave across the air, she gave a two-finger wave back towards the Draan before she turned her head back around. A feint smirk was visible, and Kylle was quick to take notice of it - a malcontent expression dawning on him. She knew that he was staring, and didn't speak up as a result of his awkward gesture. The Draan's white scales on his cheeks tinged red somewhat, a blush encompassing his face as he settled down to stare at the marble floor instead. "Whoops."

"Whoops? Come now, surely you have to be surprised that she is here?" the Female Draan asked - startling Sir Kylle as he ushered off a short gasp, his eyes darting ahead to focus on the other Knight which had made her way over to him. However, he simply remained without an answer; posing a shrug at the very least. "Of course you're surprised. You couldn't of been staring any harder, could you? At me, or her."

"Hey, now that's just not true. I could of been staring twice as hard if I really wanted to." Kylle protested, furrowing his eyeridges somewhat as he opted to challenge the claim of the Female Draan. "Who is 'She' anyhow? You make her sound as though they're a little something more than what meets the eye."

"That's because she's the High Dragoness of the Pantheon, Sir Knight. Valyrnov? One of the few Dragons to have made contact with The Everlasting One? That's why they're important, and that's why you're staring, is it not?"

Sir Kylle opted to try and retort to the Draan's statement, but he found his tongue tied. His mouth only hung ajar ever so slightly, his gaze moving to the side to focus on the Dragoness once more as she made her way over towards the pile of gold coins and other luxurious objects which the Blue Dragon Vaakyl was resting on. "No, you're pulling my tail, aren't you? That's not the High Dragoness, otherwise you'd have to be a Marquess. I'd have to~.."

The Knight trailed off, as he turned his focus towards the Female Draan infront of him. For the amount of staring he did earlier, he actually didn't take to noticing the heraldic mark emblazoned on the cuirass of the Draaness. A family crest, one of a family of nobility. The sort of which a Marquess would tote about. "Oh, please. My poor old heart can't take any more surprises!" Kylle pandered momentarily, frowning somewhat as he sunk into his seat - especially when the Draaness only offered a curt laugh as a response. "Oh, my goodness. I forgot how seriously Knights take their jobs. Please, just settle down and treat me and her like normal people? We're on a ship full of other beings, so I doubt all of our titles and nobility will mean much outside of our territory." she spoke back, placing her hands on her hips. "Can you do that much, 'Good Sir Knight'?"

Kylle slowly posed a nod, before he eased off a mild, defeated sigh - he at least opted for a hint of sarcasm within his statement as he went on to speak again. "Yes, yes. I think I can, although I'm going to call it quits if The Everlasting One decides to manifest themself within this room for whatever purpose - I might call it quits if I don't get something to eat soon as well, preferably something that isn't from the ship."

"That can be sorted, I hope. I'll admit that the food on the ship was less than.. Satisfying." she responded, tipping her head forward as she delved into thought for a split-second. "Come, let's pester the Dragons to use some of their Clerical know-how to create something apt." The Marquess, Likah, responded as she turned around to pace off in the direction of the others - The Knight getting to his feet to follow her a moment or so later.

[Gundun Kibilu]

Talos Station Space
A ship, painted pitch black, and barely registering as a blip on sensors jumped into the system. Registering as little more than a tiny asteroid, the one hundred and sixty meter ship hung in space for a moment, locating the station and registering the various ships surrounding it.

Then it began transmitting identification codes from the Grand Empire of the Thousand Suns, identifying itself as the Midday Wisdom. As it began its approach towards the station, lights lit up on the outside of the ship – swirling patterns of red and gold with some accents of green and orange. It hailed the station’s traffic control – the ship’s arrival had been scheduled months in advance, and a berth along the ixee station had been reserved.

Onboard, Ambassador Zo’xigi watched the station on a viewscreen in the main command room as the staff artist, finished decorating her. Though she had more than two hundred terran years of diplomatic experience in service to the Grand Empire, from what she understood, Talos station had more species represented than any of her previous assignments. And most of them were humanoid. While she had plenty of experience dealing with humanoid species, she had found them generally aggressive and short-sighted. A drawback to the evolutionary pressures that had shaped the form, she supposed. She would have to ask her biologist about it once she was settled into the embassy.

The staff artist finished adhering red and green sequins in swirling patterns on her dull orange scutes, and begun to attach her ornate gold and copper epaulettes and a headdress with meter-long crimson filaments. As Zo’xigi admired herself in a mirror, she was pleased with how striking of a figure she was – ordinarily, it would be a bit much for climbing around a station, but as the saying went, “there is only one chance for first impressions”. Ceremonial garb was a minor inconvenience, but one that went with the job, and one well worth how good it looked. And as Talos Station was a human station, it would likely be designed for terrestrial creatures, and waddling would be easier than brachiating in full ornament.

Later, Talos Station, Ixee Docking
The ship docked and Zo’xigi slithered out of the airlock, flanked by four of her security staff, all Knights of War. There were four hroa’agh waiting there – mercenaries providing security for the ixee. There was irritable rumbling from both sides as the opposing sides engaged in subtle threat display. Zo’xigi cleared her airways and loudly said, as much to her own staff as the station security, “I am Abassador Zo’xigi, Knight of Service, twelfth rank; Knight of War, second rank; and the voice of the Emperor of the Grand Empire of the Thousand Suns in this place. You will have heard of my accomplishments during the Conflict of the Chaos Constellation Titans. I thank your leading officer, and you lieutenant,” she said, addressing the officer among the mercenaries, “for the honor you show myself and my staff by escorting us. I am wearied by my journey and will be going directly to my embassy. Guides knowledgeable of the station’s layout are most welcome, as are your glaives in my defense. I hope that there is a way to get there without getting too wet?” She noted with satisfaction that the station security had been cowed by her words and bearing.

As she and her staff was being led to the embassy, she turned to her secretary. “Please arrange a meeting with the ixee leaders and the head of their mercenaries. I wish to announce my presence, as well as work out security arrangements. I, personally, think that they should choose a meeting space, but we could host them in the embassy, if they would prefer.” Zo’xigi fervently hoped that the embassy was suitable – she had seen the initial plans, but the architect was untested, and she had not seen him since he left for the station.

[Rethan]

Just Noise, Surely?

There is a flicker, then a flare, an eruption of static and of images. Sigils, landscapes, grating screeches and drones. Here there appears a picture of rain on sand, and now a glowing sphere of amber. No, not amber, a glowing sphere of light and ink and nothing. Now there is a symbol in a colour you cannot quite discern. For a moment, viewers would later swear, the sigil seems to be watching through the screen. The speakers strain beneath static and cacophony, perhaps they even fail altogether. The images flicker ceaselessly, pulsating twisted images of worlds and stars and empty spaces assault the eyes and screens. The noises, the noises erupt from speakers in sounds not made for ears, a torrent and overflow of colours made audible, or visions rendered to screaming silence. How curious, that silence could be so loud. Whatever this message is, this deluge of signals and not-sound, it can only be background noise. A disrupted, meaningless jumble from a hundred different sources. Just noise, surely?

But there! Can you hear it? Perhaps you can't, perhaps it is just the mind trying desperately to make sense of the ancient emblems and words on the screen and the ill defined silence - noise, even - that spills from every speaker in its way. But maybe, just maybe, there is a purpose to the noise.

"Wish upon a star," these are the words you think the noise is making, that it is leaking. There are so many sigils on the screen now and they make no sense. Do they hurt to see, or is that just an imagined pain, or is it no pain at all?

"Wish upon a star, isn't that what they say? That it makes no difference who you are, anything your heart desires will come true. I wished upon a star once, we all did.

You've been noticed - don't think you haven't - as I was once. Someone among you must have wished upon the wrong star, and believe me there are wrong stars out there now. I wish I could tell you what was coming, but I couldn't possibly cover it all. I don't have enough time."

A new image, a new sigil, a new word, a new agony. A correspondence that doesn't quite match what is being said - but has an aura of utmost importance within it. The shrieking static is abating now, there is definitely a voice, but it is weak. Hurried. Whispered? Is the speaker whimpering, frightened? Why on earth should she be frightened - if indeed it is a she. It sounds like one, but there is no way to be sure....

"I've seen and heard tell of the first rejection and the first reckoning. The one still underway. I don't like that word 'first'. Is there to be another? Was there another betrayal? I don't know....god there is so much I don't know - SPEAK AND COUNT - and so much I don't want to know." Curious, that was a different voice but perhaps the same speaker? Does that make sense, probably not. But so little so far has made sense you should most likely expect nonsense and noise at this point.

"There is a war we can't fight and can't see, I think. But we're definitely a part of it, but we're at a disadvantage and I don't...god I don't even know why. I can't remember anything except this damned story I never wanted to know. Just...beware the - TRAITOROUS WRETCHED LIAR TYRANT - lights. The not-lights, I mean. You see them but not as colours, I don't think. My world died beneath a sun the colour of sleep, and that doesn't even make any damned sense. How can sleep be a colour? I remember feeling - ONE TWO THREE - tired until I closed my eyes. Everyone around me though...they just lay down and let themselves die. When I was almost out there was a flash of...something not quite right. And everyone just started eating themselves, fingers, chunks, whole limbs disappeared down their own damned mouths! Oh god, oh god - FOUR FIVE SIXSEVENEIGHT - oh god.

Just...don't let their eaters get inside. It's all over by - NINETEN ELEVEN - then if that happens. Oh god...I can hear something. I'm so...so...what was I saying wh-TWELVE. TWELVE. TWELVE. ONE WAS TWELVE ALWAYS TWELVE UNTIL THERE IS ONE-at was....

Oh god no, that colour, that smell. A sphere! A sphere! It cracks!

AS WAS DEVOURED SHALL DEVOUR. AS WAS BURIED SHALL BURY. ALL SHALL BE BALANCED AND EQUAL AND DEVOURED AND FAIR"

There is a sudden tone, a long and whispered drone as a last monstrous, angry sigil burns into the screen. When you next blink, you do not remember the sigil - the name. There was never any sigil in the end. The voice stopped speaking and the noise stopped. There was never a sigil, there was never a name.

For a few hours after, you can make no sense of the number twelve.

[Dyelli Beybi]

There were Dyellians hanging about the station. There probably were on a fairly regular basis, but not the Government kind, the kind that lived on the edge of Dyellian society - traders, raiders, tech salvage teams, scrap merchants and smugglers. Edledhril Vanlond could not have said for sure whether others had checked in at one point or another. She doubted she was the first, though she might well have been one of the more official kind - an officer of the Merovingdor Department of State Security. She had the title of Commissar (which she didn't generally use due to the unfortunate association with people who shot their own soldiers) and a grey-blue dress uniform to go with it.

Vanlond was a tall creature, with green eyes and sandy-blonde hair that she held back in a tight ponytail. Which was where it became abundantly clear she was not a human - her ears were lobeless and swept back like the leaves of a magnolia tree. Most Dyellians were not human, although most didn't have such an obvious distinguishing feature.

Her ship, the Torgan, had put in for supplies, and being as she was not connected to the central Government, she had given the GESO embassies a wide berth, heading straight for the nearest bar to order what passed for wine in this place. She felt slightly bad about not helping with the provisioning of the vessel, but the crew hadn't seemed to want her and besides, she was a passenger. Technically.

It was mid way through her first glass when the screen behind the bar turned to static and she started hearing voices gibbering insanely. She had a bit of a headache after all the nonsense was over, frowned up at the screen, then down at her glass, "Say... when I ask for wine in these parts, does it come with any extra ingredients? No special mushrooms or anything like that?"

[The Fedral Union]

Just Noise, Surely?

There is a flicker, then a flare, an eruption of static and of images. Sigils, landscapes, grating screeches and drones. Here there appears a picture of rain on sand, and now a glowing sphere of amber. No, not amber, a glowing sphere of light and ink and nothing. Now there is a symbol in a colour you cannot quite discern. For a moment, viewers would later swear, the sigil seems to be watching through the screen. The speakers strain beneath static and cacophony, perhaps they even fail altogether. The images flicker ceaselessly, pulsating twisted images of worlds and stars and empty spaces assault the eyes and screens. The noises, the noises erupt from speakers in sounds not made for ears, a torrent and overflow of colours made audible, or visions rendered to screaming silence. How curious, that silence could be so loud. Whatever this message is, this deluge of signals and not-sound, it can only be background noise. A disrupted, meaningless jumble from a hundred different sources. Just noise, surely?

But there! Can you hear it? Perhaps you can't, perhaps it is just the mind trying desperately to make sense of the ancient emblems and words on the screen and the ill defined silence - noise, even - that spills from every speaker in its way. But maybe, just maybe, there is a purpose to the noise.

"Wish upon a star," these are the words you think the noise is making, that it is leaking. There are so many sigils on the screen now and they make no sense. Do they hurt to see, or is that just an imagined pain, or is it no pain at all?

"Wish upon a star, isn't that what they say? That it makes no difference who you are, anything your heart desires will come true. I wished upon a star once, we all did.

You've been noticed - don't think you haven't - as I was once. Someone among you must have wished upon the wrong star, and believe me there are wrong stars out there now. I wish I could tell you what was coming, but I couldn't possibly cover it all. I don't have enough time."

A new image, a new sigil, a new word, a new agony. A correspondence that doesn't quite match what is being said - but has an aura of utmost importance within it. The shrieking static is abating now, there is definitely a voice, but it is weak. Hurried. Whispered? Is the speaker whimpering, frightened? Why on earth should she be frightened - if indeed it is a she. It sounds like one, but there is no way to be sure....

"I've seen and heard tell of the first rejection and the first reckoning. The one still underway. I don't like that word 'first'. Is there to be another? Was there another betrayal? I don't know....god there is so much I don't know - SPEAK AND COUNT - and so much I don't want to know." Curious, that was a different voice but perhaps the same speaker? Does that make sense, probably not. But so little so far has made sense you should most likely expect nonsense and noise at this point.

"There is a war we can't fight and can't see, I think. But we're definitely a part of it, but we're at a disadvantage and I don't...god I don't even know why. I can't remember anything except this damned story I never wanted to know. Just...beware the - TRAITOROUS WRETCHED LIAR TYRANT - lights. The not-lights, I mean. You see them but not as colours, I don't think. My world died beneath a sun the colour of sleep, and that doesn't even make any damned sense. How can sleep be a colour? I remember feeling - ONE TWO THREE - tired until I closed my eyes. Everyone around me though...they just lay down and let themselves die. When I was almost out there was a flash of...something not quite right. And everyone just started eating themselves, fingers, chunks, whole limbs disappeared down their own damned mouths! Oh god, oh god - FOUR FIVE SIXSEVENEIGHT - oh god.

Just...don't let their eaters get inside. It's all over by - NINETEN ELEVEN - then if that happens. Oh god...I can hear something. I'm so...so...what was I saying wh-TWELVE. TWELVE. TWELVE. ONE WAS TWELVE ALWAYS TWELVE UNTIL THERE IS ONE-at was....

Oh god no, that colour, that smell. A sphere! A sphere! It cracks!

AS WAS DEVOURED SHALL DEVOUR. AS WAS BURIED SHALL BURY. ALL SHALL BE BALANCED AND EQUAL AND DEVOURED AND FAIR"

There is a sudden tone, a long and whispered drone as a last monstrous, angry sigil burns into the screen. When you next blink, you do not remember the sigil - the name. There was never any sigil in the end. The voice stopped speaking and the noise stopped. There was never a sigil, there was never a name.

For a few hours after, you can make no sense of the number twelve.

Post here.

[Insectum]

Azuros, a few days ago...

Queen Alsse the 315th awoke with a start from her slumber in the center of her honey gold web. She'd felt something unusual. A short investigation revealed nothing and no one in her private chamber. This didn't relieve the Queen, it only served to make her more nervous.

"It wasn't my imagination, and I'm certain it wasn't someone else's either." she thought to herself.

Stifling a yawn, she reached out with her mind.

"My children, what is in the skies? I felt something. Is there a large bird of some sort we do not know about nearby?" The Queen asked the hive telepathically.

"Alls well in the rot pit, no strangers lurk in our skies." The Diptera people replied.

"BZZZZ, no unknowns in our fields or about the Hive. Patrols find nothing of concern." The Apocrypha people replied.

"Nothing below ground in the nests. The guards outside your chamber report a peaceful watch." The Formicidae people replied.

"Nothing shakes our webs, but our senses feel the presence of others far above us." The Aranean masters confirmed.

Alsse felt relief, for out of all the four peoples she ruled over, the Araneans had the most powerful minds.

Then a lone young voice.

"I saw strangely shaped metal hives passing in the distance I did I did I did. I wonder where they went, can I follow them?"

It belonged to the Hive Ship, recently grown, the first of many.

Neighbors. Let us be friends, before we are enemies.

Today....

It was that thought, of pursuing friendship that got the Hive Ship its desire, but only because it was carrying an assortment of the Four Peoples to make friends and learn of their neighbors, and as cargo, an assortment of fresh honey and fine silk for trade. Alssee herself stayed behind, incase of the unexpected.

Average as far as ships went in size, it looked made of Chitin, and seemed like a balloon laying on its side. It simply stopped at the edge of the system, watching, waiting, uncertain of how to proceed.

[Ruskarkand]

RDOV Frigate, HAVEN Faction - Drifter Class. 'Fallschirmjäger #LXVI'

A sleek vessel tore through space at frightening speed. The seldom-seen matter spread across the desolate void rippling off of its grey hull as it powered forward - encapsulated within a long tube-like bubble as the spooled FTL Drives pumped out a colossal amount of power to the Engines. It was such a tiny ship at no more than fifty three meters in length, a mere speck in the grandeur appearance of this particular bubble. For such a thing to wield this energy was perhaps worth questioning, for it was almost a haphazard risk. The hull of the ship was a horizontal swept block with safeguarded weapons, each one hunkered down into the armor and bolted tight. Only a minute amount of the structure were actually livable spots, although the 'Bridge' was easy enough to point out, seeing as it was a large hexagonal window. The safeguarded weapons were not to be used during this visit, for it wasn't necessary in the slightest. And for HAVEN, their use is almost never necessary. Leading forward from the ship were two scaffold-structure spokes connecting to a set of auxiliary engines, each one powering two small thrusters on the bottom of their mass. They gave the Rifter its symbolic guise with the immense grill-like radiators on the front. It looked more like an unwieldy fighter jet than an actual ship. On the side of one such spoke was a bleached white imprint; 'New Haven'. A designation as to its owner's outfit.

The ship reverberated violently in motions that would threaten to shake a lesser vessel apart within mere moments. And at such a velocity, even the particularly sparse matter of space would shear anything apart into finite bits in lieu of the warp bubble collapsing. Travelling at the span of a few Astronomical Units per second carried this risk. The Pilot's Cabin inside of the vessel was perhaps no larger than the average living room of a house. Each wall was lined with grey slatted panels, decorated with a neat orange trim. Nothing fancy, but rather practical and easy to maintain. Some bore various bits of circuitry and sensitive equipment, whilst others had simple technology inside their various modular slots, one being a dispenser of sorts. Two large oxygen tanks hung in the back corners of the cabin close to a door sealed shut with a rotor lock. However, the most prominent thing in the room was no doubt the control console, spanning over more than half of the room - it was akin to a modern era set of instruments you would find in a two-man cargo plane. Beyond it sat the thick, tinted window that gave a rather narrow view of the space outside of the front of the ship. It protruded out from the front of the vessel in a hexagonal shape, supported by a number of trapeziums in order to bestow slightly more room to the already cramped interior. A methodical means of construction to alleviate a slight in the design.

At the head of the controls was a single Draan, their frame covered from head to toe in an atypical flight suit with a SPIE harness. A Black Brassard on their right upper arm bore the words 'New Haven' below a set of Roman Numerals. LXVI, or Sixty Six. More than that however, they also wore a rather complex looking helmet which utilized a broad visor and a respirator, the hose of which was connected to a small port on the side of his seat. He was strapped down, his form rocking in motion with the rest of the ship as it reeled through the warp bubble. His eyes were fixated on the readings on the equipment at it was his behest to monitor those rather than the sight outside of the window. It was a breathtaking view to be sure, but his actual job was more pressing - that of a Navigator, a Pilot and rather every other bridge role compacted into a single occupant. But at that, piloting something with so little mass and inertial properties was a breeze. Although Warp was perilous for just about any ship. The low and loud drone of the Warp Drive constantly spooling itself permeated the walls, and the only other noise were the constant hisses and huffs of the respiratory mask covering the Draan's muzzle.

The ship was anything but a luxurious yacht for a VIP. Outside, it was sleek and quiet, but it was such at the expense of its operators inside of the cabin. Despite this however, the vessel was indeed lugging a VIP along with it. A representative of New Haven to be cast in with the rest of the Draan stationed at a political center, or that's what the pilot and their cohort were informed of. The result of a report that was no doubt trimmed of any fat. They didn't really need to know given that their job was simply to fly. Or, that was probably what the brass thought. The Pilot slumped back in his seat somewhat, the restraints automatically tightening against his chest. The Rifter, like the rest of Ruskarkand's vessels, lacked any form of artificial gravity. Without the belts locking him into place, inertia would have him shift out of his seat on a turn.

A violent forward-facing shunt sent the pilot reeling into his restrains, threatening to fly out of his seat as the reverberations all but ceased alongside the droning of the Warp Drive. The ship had started its gradual deceleration so that it might of been put in tow with the station it was destined to arrive at, but there was still time to be wasted. The Pilot locked one of the joysticks before taking his hand off of it - extending a single finger and using it to scan over the instruments, until it hovered over a set of controls for an audio player. He couldn't help a mild smile as the click rang out from the play button, concurrent with the door at the back of the room beginning to squeak as the lock was undone. Music flooded the cabin as the Draan pulled his hand back to the control lever he'd left alone to take a grip once more. He pulled himself upright as he turned his head ajar in order to catch the door in his peripheral vision.

A slight hiss rang out as the bulkheads decompressed their air locks, allowing the door to swing wide open. The Pilot's cohort, an AI with a FENRIR model chassis, floated through the doorway and into the cabin - using their prehensile tail and all four legs in order to navigate across the zero gravity environment as it spoke out with a brusque and synthetic tone. "Haven't heard this one before. Did you pick this up from the last market we went to?"

The Pilot glanced to the side, following the AI with his gaze as it came to a pause by the side of his seat. "Good Evening to you too, Zeke. And I did." the Pilot quips, sounding a little surprised. He shifted his head back around, focusing forward again to see where he was flying so he didn't decelerate into another ship or something. "You going to tell me you like it? Tickles your audio receptors?"

"That's one way of putting it. It's giving me nice vibes. I could live with the idea of listening to this." the AI responds with a curt nod, anchoring itself close to its friend. It was a considerably large construct, as even next to the pilot who was sat in an Elevated seat, the FENRIR sat on the floor was level with the eyes of its comrade. A Mechanical Wolf scaled up to the size of a Draan. "What else you got on that thing? Maybe forgetting myself in that tape will also let me forget the fact that we're drinking reconstituted water and hardtack on a daily basis."

A mild laugh came from the pilot before he shook his head. "Oh, please. Not to deviate from the subject, but all you have to worry about is the bland taste because of your damn metal teeth. I've got to worry about breaking mine on a block of cardboard."

"And you suppose the Draanvesa we're lugging along to this station is enjoying this ship's food more than we are?" the AI asked, before turning its head to glance to the Pilot in order to try and gauge their reaction. A gesture largely amiss due to the various bits of gear obscuring their face.

"Two things. One is the fact that she's as tough as nails despite being a 'Vesa. The other is the fact that they brought their own things, meaning they're not reliant on what this ship has got to offer." The Pilot retorts, taking a hand off of one of the levers and bringing it up below his chin. "What I wouldn't do to get some of what she has. Haven't had anything good for a while, and the thought of having something from the Motherbase is attractive rather than long distance non-perishables."

The FENRIR offered a short chuckle as a response, before getting up onto all fours. "I wonder what she's doing anyhow. Vouching to come all the way out here, knowing she'd have to stay with the actual Knights and Dragons stationed there. Promotion of HAVEN, sure. But we don't affiliate by any flag. You think we'd get our own place to stay." the AI remarked as it began to wander across to the opposite side of the cabin, over towards an interface with a small hollow slot next to it. He began to speak once more as he used the three blades of his front 'paw' to tap away at the interface, changing the topic somewhat. "I've seen the fights the HAVEN do on the deck of MB. Those torrential rainstorms battering everyone, and they do is slug it out by throwing eachother to the sodden ground. Fighting in chaotic conditions to repel eachother's hands and blades in sparring matches. It's impressive."

The Pilot remained quiet, simply taking control of the stick once more. This prompted the AI to continue as a thick, plastic tube was vented out from a chute into the hollow slot, before filling with a mildly warm and viscous mahogany-colored fluid and capping it off. The lack of a light in the slot revealed its phosphorescent properties as it glowed in a dull manner. "The Knights are something else however. We're not stuck in the past, for we actually use Tech as it comes to us. Our firearms, and our vehicles. They, on the other hand, have to use their blades alone. And to what effect if it's got them this far?" Zeke exclaimed as it used its prehensile tail to grip the tube. A couple clicks rang out from the dosimeter module in his chassis as he started to carry the object. "I think I'd pay to see our little VIP fight one of those Knights in a little sparring match."

Silence. Not a word was said beyond that for a few moments. All that rang out was the gentle hum of the engines coming from the open door and the fading music. Zeke looked to the Pilot, cocking its head to the side. "What's got your tongue all of a sudden?" it questioned, before beginning to trod closer to them, using its claws and the auxiliary blade spanning the back of its arms to anchor each foot to the ground so it didn't float off. And it was there that he saw it outside of thick-paned window. An immense station that robbed him of any words. Something on a scale so vast that even the Nyx Capital Supercarrier of Ruskarkand was probably dwarfed by its size. "That. That's got your tongue. Hasn't it?"

"Stole it right out of my mouth. I seriously hope that we don't have to trek for bloody miles inside a station just to get to the delegation." the Pilot commented, his faded green eyes blinking in surprise behind the broad visor of his helmet. "Atleast we don't have to worry about any parking spaces, though I guess I'll have to be careful we're not mistaken for debris because of our size." The Pilot exclaimed, before reaching a hand to the console and promptly beginning to hammer away at one of the keyboard interfaces. "Go inform our guest that we've arrived if you'd be so kind. I've got to boost our signature so we're not seen as pirates either."

"I don't really see why I should have to do that when she's stood right there."

The Pilot stopped his hand, before quietly swiveling around in his seat to catch a glimpse at the open doorway leading to the rest of the corridor. The first thing he saw was the AI, the large wolf construct obstructing a fair bit of the room as it locked itself to the floor. Beyond it was the Draan'vesa, holding themselves rigid and preventing themselves from flying off in the Zero-G room by planting their boots on the solid bulkhead frame and using their hand to anchor themselves with the top of the frame. Their appearance was atypical for the HAVEN Troops, the elite detachment which was named after the faction itself. A specialized suit built for sneaking purposes which featured protection from a whole range of hazards - in the appearance of a form-fitting one-piece jumpsuit and a complex head-suite including a state of the art protective helmet and full-face mask. A distinct and unique look as far as uniforms went.

"How long have you been stood there for?" the Pilot asked, his eyeridges furrowing in a concerned expression, even moreso when it was initially met with a brief chuckle on behalf of the Trooper.

Her voice was atypical. Notably feminine, but it reeked of confidence and, much to the pilot's dismay, occasional bouts of sarcasm - as much as it was laden with both a muffled guise from the mask's filter and a particularly light vocoder, adding a touch of reverb. "Long enough to have heard just about everything. For instance, I see you've a thing for Creedence Clearwater. That's a single from one of their Albums, although I prefer 'Willy and the Poor Boys'. You know, if you were both Knights of Ruskarkand's Order, that tape'd of been confiscated for being a relic of the times before their little Empire sprouted its wings." she commented, adjusting her grip on the doorway a tad. "Not that NH would care of course. Somehow, having no standards dictating how we should live puts us above those who do. But you should really hold onto that thing. Cassettes are far and few now, and that's a couple ounces of Gold to the right man."

The seat with the pilot swivelled back around, allowing him to face his instruments once more as he shook his head. "My music aside. I was told not to ask you anything about what you're doing coming here, but seeing as we're out in the middle of what I'd liken to deep space on our terms. I suppose nobody's going to chew me out for it."

"I might just do it myself. Depends on what you ask though..."

[The Fedral Union]

Azuros, a few days ago...

Queen Alsse the 315th awoke with a start from her slumber in the center of her honey gold web. She'd felt something unusual. A short investigation revealed nothing and no one in her private chamber. This didn't relieve the Queen, it only served to make her more nervous.

"It wasn't my imagination, and I'm certain it wasn't someone else's either." she thought to herself.

Stifling a yawn, she reached out with her mind.

"My children, what is in the skies? I felt something. Is there a large bird of some sort we do not know about nearby?" The Queen asked the hive telepathically.

"Alls well in the rot pit, no strangers lurk in our skies." The Diptera people replied.

"BZZZZ, no unknowns in our fields or about the Hive. Patrols find nothing of concern." The Apocrypha people replied.

"Nothing below ground in the nests. The guards outside your chamber report a peaceful watch." The Formicidae people replied.

"Nothing shakes our webs, but our senses feel the presence of others far above us." The Aranean masters confirmed.

Alsse felt relief, for out of all the four peoples she ruled over, the Araneans had the most powerful minds.

Then a lone young voice.

"I saw strangely shaped metal hives passing in the distance I did I did I did. I wonder where they went, can I follow them?"

It belonged to the Hive Ship, recently grown, the first of many.

Neighbors. Let us be friends, before we are enemies.

Today....

It was that thought, of pursuing friendship that got the Hive Ship its desire, but only because it was carrying an assortment of the Four Peoples to make friends and learn of their neighbors, and as cargo, an assortment of fresh honey and fine silk for trade. Alssee herself stayed behind, incase of the unexpected.

Average as far as ships went in size, it looked made of Chitin, and seemed like a balloon laying on its side. It simply stopped at the edge of the system, watching, waiting, uncertain of how to proceed.

Talos Station CIC

Captain Henry Calhoun placed his hands on a console, his brown eyes scanned the holographic display that popped up. Other than a few names so far it had been.. To say the least “quiet” at least for Talos; the station was the center of so many things that its tides where never really settled in to a visible routine.

-”Lets hope our next shift is as “quiet” as this one.”-

Calhoun spoke aloud he folded his hands behind him as he stood up glancing around the rather spacious operations deck; the ambient noise of the stations systems mixed heartily with the sounds of working personnel; it created an active atmosphere no matter what “time” of day it was.

His photoform XO merely known as Karris, replied as it sat toward the other end of the deck; the vast veil of space slowly crept up from behind their orbiting planet; the pin pricks of white light in the distance numbered so many that they dwarfed the massive station.


-”Don't jinx us, I don't want to end up traveling for three weeks in an escape pod trying to get a signal for help..”-


Calhoun held a chuckle back; he replied as he turned to the wide holo screen depicting the rising sea of space; he let out a sigh.

-”That sounds hilarious Karis; you're always a source of inspiration..”-

A few moments passed with out event; the two Terrans along with the rest of the crew in Ops going idly about their assigned affairs. Then; oh so suddenly a comm signal came through; the beeps clearly indicated a high priority message. Calhoun stiffened up a bit; Karris patched the message through. It was from a long range patrol; the ships avatar appeared in a shimmer; it wasted no time in telling the tale of what it had discovered.

-”This is the GRV Orion, I've got something you folks might want to see; we've go a mass moving on an intercept course with Talos. We don't know what it is other than its alive.. Quite literally.”-

Calhoun was taken aback by the situation, he looked at the data glancing at Karis, vectors compositions and so forth helped clearly determined that what ever was on its way here ; wasn't of allied or even known decent. Calhoun began to think; his mind running with ideas, speculation however wasn't going to solve the issue. And so after a second or so of silence he formulated a plan of action so to speak.

-”Raise our Defense status to Beta; have our ships on stand by, until we know more about what or who that is. Orion set an intercept course; try to open up a comn link to that ship."-

A soft blip indicated that a wide angle link was open; Calhoun in a guarded but amicable tone said.

= This is acting station commander Henry Calhoun of Talos station, we and this system are under the jurisdiction of the Galactic Economic and Security Organization. If you can please respond with your intentions..”=

That simple message would resonate outward toward the hive ship, it wasn't out of order for tensions to run high in a situation like this, a sudden appearance of an unknown object moving toward the station. Calhoun asked the obvious question on ever-ones minds.

-”How did that thing skirt long range scanners”-

Karise pondered for a moment; she could only throw out some theories, even her vast processing power and post singularity mind had limits, she wasn't a deity.

-”Could be any number of things; cloaking technology a simply undetectable system of propulsion.. If they had that ability I'm not sure we'd be standing here.”-

Calhoun took in that comment; Karis of course was right, If they.. Who ever they where could sneak up on one of the most heavily defended and well equipped ports of call in the galaxy, why where they still alive and not atomized?

-”They could still be hostile and could probably either be sizing us up for capture or attack..-”

Karis shrugged; it wasn't improbable, but the question remained.. “Why?”.

-”Would it really be worth it? After all while granted this is a high profile place, its just one station amongst the many others in the universe..”-

Calhoun nodded; in all the centric hubris of being on Talos, the fact that they where hardly the center of everything could have easily been drowned out or dismissed by the floods of people that ran or came through to trade here.

-”We'll have to see; lets hope we're not wrong here, we're after all rolling the dice with millions of lives..”-


Karis gently nodded, they waited for a reply their shift was scheduled to end and an allied commander was supposed to relive them; but as of now that had changed. Of course they would have to let the stations provost council know about this, who knew what the reactions would be.

[Insectum]

"This is acting station commander Henry Calhoun of Talos station, we and this system are under the jurisdiction of the Galactic Economic and Security Organization. If you can please respond with your intentions..”=

The communications was met with confusion! None of the Four Peoples had not expected to not understand what their neighbors were saying. By thought relay, all aboard could see what the Hive Ship was seeing.

"What a strange structure for a Hive Ship, how does it not collapse upon itself?" An apocryphan asked.

"It's not flesh, it's made of the hard rocks! But how does it live?" A Formicdean asked.

"More importantly, what are they saying?" A Diptera asked.

Granna, an Aranean, and leader of the expedition was contemplating what to do. The Ship itself meanwhile was taking action, first by activating chemical processes that coated the entire ship turning it as white as the driven snow. Community Memory from times long past during the flight of Afkengal, the great Hive Ship that had brought The Four Peoples to their new world in stasis recounted how many civilizations in space saw White as a peace sign, or at least a truce sign, and so Afkengal had recorded that to Community memory, a memory the young Hive Ship was now using to show it meant no harm.

Yet, that wasn't all it was doing. Those watching the ship could see its Chitin slide aside so a pair of giant antennae could raise, which rasied its senses to what most would consider "long range". It made no attempts to hide, it was listening on a very broad range of frequencies to all communications it could pick up, trying to figure out the language being spoken. Fortune favored the Ship, for Alsse, The High Queen herself had forseen such an occasion and so gifted the young Hive Ship with an organic translator. Unfortunately it wasn't a very good one, but it did work to a point. Having listened in on all it could, it worked out a basic translation.

"Commander Henry Talos, I am Hive Ship 1 of Batch 1. I am peace, no harm threat. Talk Method no good, not know all words. Mind Talk better. Learn Words faster. Carry first Trader of Insectum." The young Hive Ship communicated back.

It smiled in satisfaction, feeling its message would work, it was the best it could do after all. The ship however, did not understand how unsettling a giant grinning maw filled with razor sharp teeth could be to others.

[The Fedral Union]

Calhoun pondered the situation for a moment, he was still mystified by the insectoids but at least now he had made contact with them. This of course couldn't determine if the intentions of their visitors where hostile for sure, but it was a start. The in-comming transmission had broken his cycle of conversation with Karise, though the speech was rough Calhoun and Karise understood what the newcomers where getting at.

To his astonishment; that living breathing ship; with its oh so many occupants began its display of colors, A second or two passed, Karise said to Calhoun in a soft tone.

“I think they're using those color codes as a language.”

Calhoun nodded; not all species spoke verbally, some spoke through subtle pheromones others through displays of colors, it was that way in nature and it was only correct to assume that sapient species through the galaxy would have any number of ways to communicate. Calhoun brought up a slight point of contention as he gazed over the sensor readouts his voice calm and collective all the while.

-”And you're thinking we could use our sensor array to display a visible pulse of light.. Its worth a shot but how the hell do we know we're not saying the wrong thing?”-

Karise sunk back in to her chair replying to the captain.

-”I'm not sure if they would expect completely alien people to be flawless, never-mind in a first contact situation...That’s what I hope at least.”

Calhoun sighed, he crossed his hands behind him and folded them as he leaned over to the read out hologram.

-”Lets hope your right, lets start by imitating them; you think they'll understand a parallel voice message?”-


Karise nodded; she wasn't completely sure if that would work; but then who was sure in such situations about anything? The visitors seemed to roughly understand their audio communications; that was a start. Maybe the would be able to piece together the stations intentions with a color code going hand in hand.

-”Its possible; realigning sensor pallets now..-

A second later the stations emitters had been realigned, a visible beam of harmless light imitating the colors of the insect ship pierced the darkness of space; in tandem with that signal Calhoun spoke through the comms.

-”This is Talos; I hope you do not mind our ignorance of your language; we mean nor harm and wish to learn more about your people. Welcome to our space friends on behalf of the GESO, I am sure you're quite curious about us as well.. It is customary in our culture to meet in person would this be acceptable?”-

[Insectum]

The Hive Ship relayed all that had transpired via a quick mind-link with Granna, the trader. Granna smiled behind her mandibles, and patted the walls of the ship affectionately.

"What's going on?" A Diptera asked, buzzing about nearby.

"We've made contact, they want to meet in person. They are something called a GESO, and say it is tradition among them to meet in person. I feel the language barrier is still an issue. Instead of understanding our desire for Mental Communication, their flashing lights at us. Oh Deep Blue, why did you never tell us meeting new people was difficult?" Granna asked.

The assorted crowd waited silently, knowing Granna was selected for this mission because of her sharp wits and creative solutions.

"Ship, prepare the Psy-Beam, telepathy mode. It appears we're going to have to be direct about our desired mode of communication." Granna ordered.

Outside, the ship visibly pointed its Antennae at the station, sparks flying between them. A beam of white energy five feet wide in diameter shot towards the station bearing enough strength and power to melt iron in the space of an hour. It was sent along the same frequencies as previous communications, but this one bore images as well as sound. Those sensitive to Telepathic communications would get the entire message with crystal clarity. The station itself, provided it didn't block the communication, would get the entire message as well, just not as vividly.

.....
The Message:

A creature could be seen running through a forest. It was a spider, similar to a brown recluse, except it had a humanoid torso where it's face should be, and a regular spider's head atop that sitting astride a pair of shoulders. Something caught her, and the message flashed to a field of deep blue light energy.

"I am not your enemy, I am...."

In addition to the strange spider people bearing similar description to the creature seen before, were others of the same nature except sporting similarities to ants, bees, and flies. Something else chased them, something in metal armor, shooting them, killing them, hunting them. Burning their homes, slaying their children. There was a sensation of fear with this image, a fear that the GESO would do to them as had been done to them by the force that had hunted them before. But again, the image faded to a deep blue field.

"I am not your enemy, I am...."

A different spider, this one female, tarantula looking. A voice was speaking, the same that had spoken between images. "To you, the Aranea Spider-People, go the greatest powers of the mind. Along with the sharpest intellect, the power to speak and control the world around you with thought alone." The spider woman grew hazy, turned dark, then sharpened to an entirely different Spider person, a different woman. A black Widow. It was infact, Granna.

"Speak with Mind, not with Voice, not with sight, not with sound." She said.

Then, the sight of a Hive Ship that could only be described as being, Vast. It was seen from a mountain view somewhere, and it was the Afkengal, a distant memory of what it looked like. The scene shifted, and from Afkengal's point of view, of traveling across space, carrying all of insectum inside. Space seemed, stretched, as if into the infinite in a great corridor, yet flew past at warp speeds. It all faded into blue one last time.

"I am not your enemy, I am what could be, a friend. Speak with thought to me as I have gifted you with the power to do so with others, and I shall surely hear you, this promise I make to you, who I shall adopt as my children, and you shall know me as, Deep Blue." The blue energy said finally.

.....

The message to Talos finally ended, the beam faded as the ship moved on its own towards Talos Station, propelling itself at basic propulsion by thought alone. Since it didn't need to go any faster, it assumed, it could give its real propulsion system a rest. A giant tube that may have also been a tongue came out, looking to see where it could deposit Granna for that in person meeting that was desired. If properly guided, it could infact dock with Talos station fairly easily.

[Deminis]

Damian Phylum steps out from his machine transport, a vehicle of his own design and make yet he has yet to name it still. He stares up at the structure before him, its humiliating to find himself in another technologically advance place other than home. He sighs as he looks back to his transport "refuel and return" he orders simply as the machine begins to unfold before him, taking on its secondary quadruped form and revealing its defensive capabilities before rolling away much faster than it had arrived. hopefully no one attacks him. Damian thinks to himself as he nears the building.

He stops to admire himself after only a few steps towards the building, a pane of glass reflecting to him. His black leather jacket covers over his abnormally thin structure while a pair of iron ringed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, secretly feeding him information of the people around him. He takes another step towards the building, his heavy canvas boot ringing as the hidden steel toe collides with the ledge of the step sending Damian downward for a moment as he quickly reached out to halt his fall. He reached down to pick up his black silk low top hat, dusting off the red velvet ring running along its bottom before placing it gingerly atop his head and pressing it down as it reconnected with his glasses, opening his minute weapon systems on the left lens. A single blink disabling the system.

He pushed the door open and stepped up to the main desk, "Damian Phylum, I have a reservation in room 207, floor thirteen." he says to the desk manager as he quickly keys in the proper room. "Here you are sir", the desky says handing Damian the room key. "Enjoy your stay." "I already dislike it" Damian say before quickly turning off for the lift. First impression; predictable advancements, might as well be reading a comic book. the thought slips through Damians hardened face like a knife as a creeping smile begins to form under his glasses.

((like my introduction?

[Ruskarkand]

RDOV Providence - Draan Order Faction, Colony Class 'Karkov'

The incandescent light of a fake Moon, the likes of which was hung up in the farthest reaches of an artificial night sky, were cast all across a busy living center. Slightly overcast by light clouds, but rain was not going to occur any time soon. The shining rays of light betrayed the feeling of knowing what dark void laid beyond the thick walls of the Colony Ship. This was a vessel of volunteers from all walks of life moving to far reaches of the system in order to settle down and extend the borders of an Empire. A happy premise since it paved the way for a brighter future, but not one without its risks. Knights, one and all, all flocked to opportunities to serve and protect. From general disputes between the occupants, to the risk of Pirates. Such ships always had a Cruiser and a couple Frigates close by so as to ensure it would reach its intended destination, and this particular convoy consisted of a New Haven Hurricane Cruiser and a couple of Ruskarkand Draan Order Frigates. A great bout of reassurance to those aboard to have two parties guarding it at once.

Several large shutters dotted the segmented roof of the Commercial Center. They allowed 'natural' light to accompany the slight wash of orange glows the silver candelabras cast across the area. The full moon reared its face, but this night was yet a busy one. The nature of travelling among the stars was difficult to grow accustomed too, and people alternated between sleeping at day and working at night just as sure as they did the opposite. A Lone Knight sat at one of many guard posts, watching all of the faceless individuals stroll by as he leaned forward, halberd cupped in between folded arms and rested against his neck to act as a means of support. His white visage bore a crestfallen guise, eyes locked to the stone floor lining the plaza. Dark lines span underneath his eyes, the product of days without proper rest. He had reported to his Commander that he wanted an easier post so he wouldn't strain his overly taxed body, the likes of which he attributed to general fatigue and a bout of possible depression. Post-Traumatic episodes for Draan Order Knights were common-place, especially in some lines of work. The Market Plaza itself was busy, but it lived up to the promise of at least being somewhat peaceful for a Guard Post.

Families inspecting what goods they wanted when they colonized the planet. Mothers holding the hands of their Tiny Drakes as they roamed. Couples, young and old. Faceless though they might of been to the Knight, they were people under his protection. People he did not know, but people he swore to protect. But as hours eroded his will, his situation had yet grown worse. Nausea gripped him, and a sick feeling rooted itself deeply in his stomach - but the Knight yet persevered, resolute not to throw in the towel. He'd await the moment where he'd be relieved of that day's duty, like a good Knight. To be punctual, and live up to expectations. But to the Knight, that felt like a distant goal in his current state. An airy sigh escaped him as he pulled his Halberd out from his folded arms to then rest it by the side of his seat. The Guard Post was fitted with a simple bench so whoever was on watch wouldn't have to suffer standing for hours. The Knight was at least thankful for that. Beneath the scales lining the front of his temples, a slight itch began to surface - one that was soon rectified by a momentary rub. Each tick his heart made ran a pulsing noise through his head in a constant rhythm. Not unlike a drum, blood rushed through his ears as he lowered the bottom of his jaw to his fists in order to prop his head up.

He got a good look dead ahead of him. He hadn't noticed it before, but a petite juvenile Draan was staring right at him, distanced no more than a few meters away. A young boy, descended from a White Dragon not unlike the Knight himself. They peered to the guard with an almost awestruck expression, making it clear that they were rather fascinated by him. The Knight shifted a little uncomfortably, taking a hand and adjusting his own collar somewhat since it had grown somewhat tight, but even after doing that - the Juvenile was still stood there, which finally prompted a hesitant response. "Do you need something?"

He tried his best to sound resolute and formal, but the crippling nausea and sickness was getting the better of him in the situation, to neglect mentioning his dry throat. The Knight's voice was slurred, but this did not deter the child in the slightest. His expression beamed as the Knight spoke to him, before he replied with innocent enthusiasm. "I knew my Dad was lying when he told me that they didn't let White Knights into the Order!"

An overly eager young child, eager to become a Knight? Typical. The Knight allowed another sigh to slip from him before he promptly rubbed his temples once more. A nuance of pain shot through his skull, causing him to force out a silent gasp as his visual focus wavered. His temples continues to itch somewhat, and even ache - as though something was burrowing. Through grit teeth, the Knight cupped his face in his hands and hissed in a raspy tone. "Can you move along, please?"

His hands blocked his vision. For a few moments, he had the opportunity to feel and listen to what his body was doing. To the Knight, it felt like it was rebelling against him in its entirety. With each and every heartbeat, he felt a sharp pain course through his body. His veins and arteries throbbed, swollen with blood. His breathing was vapid and hoarse - to the point where it felt as though he was struggling to get oxygen. His joints creaked in an agonizing manner, but in spite of this, he kept shifting around to scratch his temples on occasion. He opened his eyes and looked through a crack between his fingers. Surely enough, the child had vacated the area as he had ordered. The Knight drew in a deep breath and pulled his hands from his face, keeping his lungs tight for a few moments as he tried to reassure himself that he'd eventually be relieved. His body was having none of it however, as a coppery feeling crept up his throat. The nausea became overbearing, but the Knight swallowed it back down quickly.

In that split moment however, the resistance was overthrown as he hacked up a particularly small mouthful of a crimson substance. The vile taste made him spit it onto the ground just in front of him. The viscous look made it clear that whatever it was, it wasn't blood. The Knight furrowed his eyeridges, before leaning forward and looking at the mucus a little closer. He felt like he'd seen the likes of it before, but he was far from certain. He glanced over to his gloved hand before visibly frowning. The once well-fitted gauntlet was now unbearably tight around his palm, and as he tried to close his hand into a fist, the stitching keeping the leather bound together simply ruptured apart, destroying itself. What remained underneath took the Knight by surprise; even going so far as to shock him. His white scales stretched and split apart, tinted a visible pink as the engorged veins underneath pulsed like bloated worms, leaking out into the surrounding flesh. As he stared at the grotesque deformity, he was made aware of just how painful it was. His rapidly beating heart caused the hand and forearm to pulse as he felt the bone inside of it deform and elongate itself.

At this point, he knew what was happening. He felt how his once suitable attire was straining to breaking point, the only thing containing his changing form. The crippling nausea that gripped his throat turned into the deep-rooted pangs of an insatiable hunger, but his jaw locked up to prevent him from calling out. He couldn't reach out to the halberd laying by his side and prevent catastrophe before it broke out. It was too late for the Knight the moment that he didn't go through the rituals set in place for returning Knights in order to cleanse themselves. A curse had taken root within his being, and it was now that it'd make its move. To invoke an animalistic rage and spread chaos where it saw fit. An affliction that the Knights were well aware of. But it became apparent that the crowd that had accumulated around him were not. Just as the scales lining the Knight's forearm had split in the wake of the veins beneath swelling, the skin soon followed. It snapped back almost immediately after it tore, reeling down to the elbow as the veins and arteries within burst, revealing not bloodied musculature and sinew. A growl no Draan could ever voice rung from the throat of the Afflicted as the skin beneath their suit continued to split and peel back, revealing a form drenched in a crimson ichor. At this point, members of the crowd began to disperse in a hurried state whereas the curious continued to look on, some bewildered and some horrified. The majority, however, were scared to move, whispers among them consolidating a creeping suspicion.

The sound of clanking rang out as boots slammed down one after the other on the stone tiling. Lit halberds were carried by Knights clad in clandestine armor, their visors covering their frightened faces as they desperately called out to the crowd with as much of their breath as they could muster. The words 'Lycan, Lycanthrope!' over and over, spurning those fleeing to do so faster. But to the crowd, they had already fallen victim to the bewilderment of the curse. Each merely staring with a blank expression. Man, Woman and Child - all peering forward to witness the Curse of Affliction. No longer did it resemble a Draan Knight, for its armor had burst open beneath its growing visage. Its newly formed white scales, each one thicker and harder than the coat it wore earlier, dripped with blood as its two wicked wings unfurled from behind his back, peeling away from its old skin. The temples had erupted into two auxiliary eyes, each one surveying the environment from their now elevated position whilst a singular eye locked in the forehead stared straight ahead. The sound of snapping bones and splitting skin had ceased, and all that remained was a feint white noise permeating the air, in addition to the shouts of the Knights who tried in vein to navigate the crowd.

The Crescendo to the haunting build-up was upon them. In but a split moment, a flurry of claws and blades was unleashed from the afflicted in a blind fury, driven to quell those before it for nothing more than rudimentary entertainment. It breathed sodden laughs through choking gargles as it cleaved through all in its path. It felt just about everything clutched within its claws at some point. The blood of the young and the old. Men and Women alike. Draan, Human, Xeno or AI Platform. It didn't matter. It had a whole colonization ship to play around in. Everything shed some form of blood, and it was determined to put all of its paints to the canvas. In less time than it could take for the accompanying Cruiser to muster a response team, the Providence Colony Ship was nothing more than a drifting space hulk that was saturated by the dark. The power was the first thing to go. And soon enough, the air would of been the second. But as far as any rescue team knew, there was yet something horrible stalking the corridors.

Talos Station, GESO Space. Ruskarkand's Quarters - Tent III

The Knight peeled apart his eyelids, audibly gasping as he lurched forward from the elaborate cloths draped over a bed consisting of a few feather-filled cushions. Even comfort could not stave off bad omens or nightmares, or so the initial thought of the Knight was as he breathed off a vapid sigh of relief. It didn't take long for him to settle down again, finding himself drifting as he focused back onto reality. His gaze shifted over to the FENRIR AI settled down in the corner on a similar bed mat - that one particular model being the companion of the Ancient Dragon just outside of the tent. The platform was curled up, 'Sleeping'. The sudden alarm of the Knight waking up didn't seem to disturb it in the slightest, which was somewhat relieving. He'd of hated to have woken it up merely because of a terrible recollection and the ensuing shock of the Nightmare as it passed. The Draan simply laid his head back down on the cushions forming the bed before bringing up his right hand to his eyes. No glove to speak of; Knights never rested with their equipment on unless the situation was dire. What he saw instead was his regular old clawed hand. Bleached White scales with relatively little on terms of marring or scarring. Each finger bore razor sharp claws instead of atypical 'nails', even larger than that of a Draan however. Each one was tipped with a small plastic cap along the cutting edge so no accidental damage was ever dealt. He felt his focus fix itself across multiple points on his arm at once, taking in the finite details of each scale for a couple moments.

Kylle allowed his forearm to come down from its held up position, resting it across his face as he allowed another sigh to slip from him. He was still somewhat tired, but he didn't feel like sleeping when he knew he'd be immersed back into haunting visions. He knew how it ended - innocent blood being spilled, but not at the hands of the beast this time. A sour mark on an otherwise impeccable allies' record. An accord that he did not wish to see it again. A brutal end, and a final stroke to that one particular beast's canvas performed by the hands of the New Haven group. He knew the whole debacle was one of the reasons that he came to fruition. And ever since he did, he was plagued by Nightmares of similar occurrences. Some peaceful, whereas some were laden with the blood of innocent. All, however, collaborated with real life events. It seemed that being far, far away from Ruskarkand's territories didn't fix that.

The Knight's attention was pulled away from his thoughts as the sound of sliding rings across a brass bar rang out. The curtains covering the tent's doorway were reeled across by the Marquess of the Draan Order. Kylle withdrew his arm from his face, continuing to stare at the fabric ceiling for but a few moments more, taking in the details of the blazing orange embroidery. A clear picture of all the patterns were presented to him, he'd of lost himself then and there were it not that he had a visitor. The quarters were spacious, but there were no actual rooms - which is where the idea came forward to make the tents from the packed equipment. The Draan Order sure did love their tents after all. Kylle dismissed his thoughts, before sitting up in order to face the Marquess - who visibly reeled back somewhat in surprise. "You have four eyes?" she exclaimed, adopting an accusative tone before pointing a finger to the Knight. "So you're a Lycanthrope. Good job giving it away by something so trivial."

The Knight, Kylle, blinked a few times. He figured it to be a sort of joke on their behalf, although the tone of the Marquess had garnered the attention of the AI which seemed to lift its head and peer towards the two intermittently, staring silently. "You're more perceptive than me, and you only have two. However, 'Lycanthrope' is the wrong word." Kylle stated with a firm tone as he sat up in his bed, lifting up a hand and thumbing himself in the chest. "I am not a Wolf. The similarity ends at the fact that both are perceived as a sort of curse-phenomenon, and they both include some form of the host changing, usually painfully.". He heard the sound of a blade scraping against its scabbard, and as he tried to shift forward once more so he could stand, he was quick to notice a blade held to the front of his face halting his progress. "Anticipating to go on a rampage in this station, Beast?" the Marquess stated in a hostile manner, before shaking her head. "You know I can't let you do that. I should kill you now, but you at least sound fairly knowledgeable. So perhaps-.."

"If I had just changed since the first time you saw me, then this room'd be a mess and I would be a lot less receptive to questions." Kylle quipped forcefully in order to interrupt her, before pulling up a hand and gripping the flat end of the blade pressing forward towards him gently. "For all intents and purposes, I am what you think I am. I'm also a part of the Order still, which makes me a Sanctioned Knight." he continued, constantly keeping a grip on the flat of the Rapier blade so he knew it wasn't going to press any further. A moment of silence passed, before the Marquess withdrew the blade, holding it by their side after yanking it from the grasp of the Knight. "How come I've never heard of a 'Sanctioned Knight'? I knew you were too large to be a Draan, but I figure you're not lying since they do not usually create uniforms in your sizes." she asked, her furrowed eyeridges betraying her wary attitude.

Kylle found himself leaning back once more, nodding slightly in response. "One of the reasons in fact. MPEFs are cheap-ish when on a production line, but for sizes outside of strap-adjustable ones, they're cost more than the average weapon system for a Frigate. If not, the Frigate's price itself." he exclaimed, concluding with a dry chuckle as he took note of the expression of the Draan. "But likewise, the Order's a little hush-hush when it comes to sanctioning those who are cursed since it spoils their image of purity in comparison to the squalor of Beasts. Every now and then, those who fight the accursed who aren't killed are left alive, but injured. Instead of receiving an honorable death as due by our creed, they're sedated and sent off to a containment facility in order to incubate the curse.'"

The Knight leaned forward slightly before making a box pattern with his hands. "Four walls, all of them metal. Everything spotless, with a nice arid atmosphere. Warm and Humid. Restraints against my arms linked to the ceiling. Various individuals with hospital scrubs and masks on, plus an armed guard with a Halberd soaked in a sweet-smelling liquid. No doubt the poison all Knights know and love." he explained, before leaning forward a little. A cursory glance to the side revealed that even the Artificial Intelligence Platform in the corner was listening in, although their expressionless face made it hard to discern whether or not this was a story they already knew. It merely cocked its head, as if it expected him to carry on. The Knight eased off yet another quiet sigh, before carrying on as he was. "One Injection. Then another. They even played a song on the radio for me. Made incisions in my skin all over my body just so the change would be easier. It only occurs once as a permanent change, but that once alone is perhaps one of the most painful experiences one could ever imagine outside of walking into the Cordoned Regions and diving into an acid bath. Bones and muscle constantly warping because at the hands of a pathogen until you're a spitting image of the foe who wounded you. When it was over, I was hosed down with ice-laden water and left to my own devices until I'd calmed down."

"But why though?" the Platform asked from the corner, its voice giving way to a curious intonation. Kylle peered to the side in order to focus on the AI, before promptly pointing to the set of eyes lining one side of his head. "Because those who bear the curse know better than anyone else who also bears the curse. The taint in the blood is what we can see, and others can't see that in those that hide among the Draan. Given that the Order'd already gotten what they wanted, I was either given the choice to live on in the Order at the expense of never being allowed to reproduce, or go ahead with the notion of an honorable death. Eitherway, I'd be marked as deceased in records and given a new identity. To Knights, I am Sanctioned - but I was to wear a helmet which hid my second pair of eyes when around Civilians."

"You think your size would give it away back home. But on this station? You're not afraid to display the stigma of the curse?" The Marquess asked, slowly beginning to bring their Rapier's blade up to the scabbard in order to sheathe it back into place. The statement itself had ushered the Knight to nod in response. "I don't expect anyone to be wise as to my condition is all. I was born big with a genetic defect which gave me an extra set of eyes. Nobody needs to know I've got the genes of a Biological Terrorist." he replied, reaching up a hand to the back of his head and briefly rubbing his neck.

"What was it like anyhow? Changing and all, I mean. What's it like now?" the AI asked after a stark moment of hesitation, it even seemed to recede somewhat when the Knight met the platform's look with a questioning glare. "A bit of a personal question since everyone's experience is different. Dragons already shed their scales and skin occasion during growth, and it's the same premise, but at a more rapid pace. And it's a little more than skin-deep." he explained, before taking his left arm and pointing to numerous points along it, particularly at the top of the bicep and on the lower forearm. "Blood is a form of transmission for this affliction. When you change, you hemorrhage tons of the stuff to increase the odds that others'll catch it whilst your body produces more and more. Since our skin has no glands, it just sort of builds up behind the skin in the veins and arteries until the old form bursts apart. That is, unless incisions are made so it can constantly drain out. Self inflicted or not. I had the good fortune of having it done masterfully, so I didn't exactly suffer that experience, and this form just sort of pressed out of the old one whilst the skin tore asunder." he continued, before rolling his head back and sighing as his tone sank to a sarcastic one. "It felt exquisite. It really did. Sometimes I wish I could just have it all happen again instead of it being a permanent fixture. I have pleasant dreams about it every night. Being ostracized from a religious society and being branded a perversion of a God's image in their eyes."

[The Fedral Union]

The Hive Ship relayed all that had transpired via a quick mind-link with Granna, the trader. Granna smiled behind her mandibles, and patted the walls of the ship affectionately.

"What's going on?" A Diptera asked, buzzing about nearby.

"We've made contact, they want to meet in person. They are something called a GESO, and say it is tradition among them to meet in person. I feel the language barrier is still an issue. Instead of understanding our desire for Mental Communication, their flashing lights at us. Oh Deep Blue, why did you never tell us meeting new people was difficult?" Granna asked.

The assorted crowd waited silently, knowing Granna was selected for this mission because of her sharp wits and creative solutions.

"Ship, prepare the Psy-Beam, telepathy mode. It appears we're going to have to be direct about our desired mode of communication." Granna ordered.

Outside, the ship visibly pointed its Antennae at the station, sparks flying between them. A beam of white energy five feet wide in diameter shot towards the station bearing enough strength and power to melt iron in the space of an hour. It was sent along the same frequencies as previous communications, but this one bore images as well as sound. Those sensitive to Telepathic communications would get the entire message with crystal clarity. The station itself, provided it didn't block the communication, would get the entire message as well, just not as vividly.

.....
The Message:

A creature could be seen running through a forest. It was a spider, similar to a brown recluse, except it had a humanoid torso where it's face should be, and a regular spider's head atop that sitting astride a pair of shoulders. Something caught her, and the message flashed to a field of deep blue light energy.

"I am not your enemy, I am...."

In addition to the strange spider people bearing similar description to the creature seen before, were others of the same nature except sporting similarities to ants, bees, and flies. Something else chased them, something in metal armor, shooting them, killing them, hunting them. Burning their homes, slaying their children. There was a sensation of fear with this image, a fear that the GESO would do to them as had been done to them by the force that had hunted them before. But again, the image faded to a deep blue field.

"I am not your enemy, I am...."

A different spider, this one female, tarantula looking. A voice was speaking, the same that had spoken between images. "To you, the Aranea Spider-People, go the greatest powers of the mind. Along with the sharpest intellect, the power to speak and control the world around you with thought alone." The spider woman grew hazy, turned dark, then sharpened to an entirely different Spider person, a different woman. A black Widow. It was infact, Granna.

"Speak with Mind, not with Voice, not with sight, not with sound." She said.

Then, the sight of a Hive Ship that could only be described as being, Vast. It was seen from a mountain view somewhere, and it was the Afkengal, a distant memory of what it looked like. The scene shifted, and from Afkengal's point of view, of traveling across space, carrying all of insectum inside. Space seemed, stretched, as if into the infinite in a great corridor, yet flew past at warp speeds. It all faded into blue one last time.

"I am not your enemy, I am what could be, a friend. Speak with thought to me as I have gifted you with the power to do so with others, and I shall surely hear you, this promise I make to you, who I shall adopt as my children, and you shall know me as, Deep Blue." The blue energy said finally.

.....

The message to Talos finally ended, the beam faded as the ship moved on its own towards Talos Station, propelling itself at basic propulsion by thought alone. Since it didn't need to go any faster, it assumed, it could give its real propulsion system a rest. A giant tube that may have also been a tongue came out, looking to see where it could deposit Granna for that in person meeting that was desired. If properly guided, it could infact dock with Talos station fairly easily.

Talos station CIC
Calhoun was taken aback; his eyes widened and for a moment the entire room seemed to cease what ever they where doing; it was more than likely that they had never experienced anything like this . It took a second or two to even partially sink in, the captain glanced around the CIC as if waiting for anyone to render an opinion; yet none came. Terrans by and far weather by a primal force, or a culturally engrained fear felt uncomfortable with such mind projections. Surely there had to be a scientific explanation.. But such was the hubris of Terra at times; in the here and now however the clear wave of emotions , imagery and symbolism had at least showed him, and the attending staff; that these beings meant no harm.

Calhoun was mentally drained by the experienced`; sweat began to bead upon his forehead as he placed a hand on the console in front of him. Karise looked toward Calhoun with a hint of concern, Calhoun raised a hand letting out a sigh of relief as the after affects upon him wore off.

-”I...I'm ok. Its fine, they're not hostile.. Send a general transmission to all defense forces and station personnel to… stand down.”-

Karise questioned Calhoun tempering her concern with a bit of disbelief; her eyes darted toward the ships moving toward the station.

-”How do you know?…. There was an increase in mentalic activity are you sure you don't need to go to med bay?-”


Calhoun looked back at the photoform his gaze filled with conviction, he knew some of that fear and paranoia dredged up by that link was still subsiding, and Karise did have valid concerns. But he explained simply as his composure finally returned to normal.

-“They're as afraid of us as we are of them… That increase you detected was a line of communication, they've.. Agreed to meet us face to face. They say… they want to be friends..”-

Karise nodded; putting together the captains expressions with the bits and pieces of that less vivid message that had been patched through the main communications systems in the CIC; Terran sophonts where so far in advance and so in tune with concepts that where beyond most non sophotont forms, she wondered what she lacked where she couldn't get every bit of that message? She had emotions, she had thought; she had self awareness. Maybe it was simply because her vast mind worked differently. She loathed to think; yet continued like many Terran's and non Terran''s weather they had what was “considered a soul”..


Karise of course simultaneously had set up the appropriate guide path for that ship, docking port 481A, Calhoun even through his facade of calmness grappled with what had happened; officers where trained of course to expect unconventional communications, as much as it was a violation of their own ethnocentric beliefs when it came to the sanctity he knew some day this would happen. He just never thought it would be so sudden or so soon.

-”Let them know that me and one other will be present; and that we will be unarmed. And before you say anything, you know as well as I do that where not here to start a war; inform the provost commandant's, and inform GRF personnel that under no circumstances are they to make any hostile or reactionary moves towards our guests. I know this is a risk; galaxy knows its a risk, not just for me. But I think you can agree its one worth taking. “-

Karies nodded; her mind, and brain melding together the logic and the morality of Calhoun words. Fear of course could be both healthy and lead to a rampant string of tragic events. It was a gamble and most who heard and under stood knew. There where varying opinions on the matter of course but at the moment Henry Calhoun was the person calling the shots; and in the end the GRF, nor the Terran's where a disorganized rabble of monstrous barbarians that some wanted to paint them as, they had long evolved for the most part out of that infantile way of thinking. But as with anything and with anyone, primal emotions and feelings still conflicted at times with these moral centers that Terran's held themselves too. Had they not adapted , had they not pondered long about the universe, life and asked the questions of why?.. They would have gone long extinct; and in general humanity would have.

Calhoun closed his eyes half way motioning Karies to follow; she didn't expect she'd be the one to accompany him, nonetheless she didn't even blink at the opportunity, she was after all one of the most qualified on the station on one hand able to understand the almost infinite complexities of the universe, meta and hyper space yet on the other still at times found it hard to struggle with the emotions imparted to her; logic and a mixture of sophont and Terran ethics would hopefully carry the day.

Peace over war

The stations gigantic space doors opened to unveil the buzzing well lit interior of docking bay 481, the rays of light upon this side of the station failed to reach what seemed to be almost an allegorical existence bellow the gigantic stations toroidal form; a form that spun subtly and slowly vibrant colors from the different environments of the many different species that had been transplanted; in to sections of the vast structure. As the hive ship would come closer it could see the many ships docking, leaving moving about even the largest of them looking as a mere ant to structure they beheld, yet even that structure would look just as small compared to the vast vale of stars that made up the universe; the large twin suns of the system and the planet it had been constructed around.

While it was metal; it was made from to what could seem to the insectoids as completely alien and foreign matter; it was no less teaming with life, this life just teamed and lived in a different matter. Just as confusing to Calhoun and others might be this ship; a hive of beings moving toward the welcoming embrace of something so foreign, No doubt spectators and persons from across the station who might be able to catch a view of the oncoming alien beings where filled with similar curiosity; uneasiness a light sense of fear. Where was on the fundamental level of life so different? Instinct, reason, sense.. Emotion, awareness. On this such basic level life was much similar than many thought; yet these facts are often obscured, obscured by the deviation in a sort of group mindset.


Their new friends would learn quickly that even enlightened beings have their flaws but despite them; they had always strove to be better and to understand, many decelerations had been murmured by isolated sects of the galaxy of “Human Hegemony”. Yet here was the prime example of such a thing being false. The GESO and the Terran Alliance weren't just made up of humans but of many different beings and sapient; it was indeed formed on an idea of a human; but just because an idea came from a particular race of beings that still have as much extremes in sects as any other species; would hardly invalidate it?

A principle of peace, defense, and cultural understanding… Some species like humanity and other beings in the past may not have evolved out of such “superstitions” Calhoun and Karise nodded to officers who stood their positions at their own check points ; there where no armed troops, drones, force fields or displacement fields present or hinted, a faint smile of confidence came across Calhoun's still tired face. Other diplomatic representatives with the same instructions to wander forth unarmed until an exchange of each ones traditions could be made had been summoned. He would hope that the other members of the GESO various diplomatic team , that represented the vast yet tightly knit coalition of nations would understand why. He knew he would get questioned by the chief Terran Representative aboard; and probably scolded or at least have a point made to him by the various delegates on how he had or has no authority to infringe upon their cultural representation.

But at this point he didn't give a damn, he put aside his cultural-centrism and feelings of violation for the sake of peace; if he could do it. They sure damn well could.

[Wandering Argonians]

Argonian Rogue Trade Vessel 'High Plains Drifter'

Captain Atticus Kerrich heaved a long sigh out of his lungs, visibly deflating in his command throne as he did so. It had been a long journey to the center of the GESO's network of power, and it had damn well be worth it. Such a trade center was likely to be a perfect place to offload the selection of luxury goods he'd acquired beyond the fringes of known Argonian space, at least he hoped so. The 'Drifter' had once been an Imperial Navy vessel, Destroyer-class. That had been several centuries ago, however. Her armaments were antiques by current Argonian military standards, her shields barely capable of keeping equivalent weapons at bay for more than a few salvos.

In truth, none of that was true any longer. Rouge Traders were a crafty lot by nature, and Kerrich had beefed up his ancient vessel with a few more current upgrades. The transponder chips hadn't been altered, however. This was quite illegal in the Argonian Empire, but Kerrich didn't often operate under their jurisdiction often, nor was he technically required to abide by every single legal code. His 'Writ of Trade' granted him certain freedoms above and beyond a common merchant, a fact that he generally twisted into supporting smuggling and illicit salvage to augment his meager income.

Kerrich wasn't much of a trader to begin with. He'd been granted his title by a simple (to his knowledge) clerical fluke following a minor commendation for bravery when he'd been a Naval provost. Petty Officer Kerrich had been given a shiny medal, a Writ of Trade, and a shoddy freighter for his efforts. He'd been unceremoniously shown the door afterwards, given his reputation among the other ratings on the vessel. While not a bad person, Kerrich had been a bit bent as a provost, selling confiscated goods back to their owners at a steep price and selling them to others when better offers were made. Because of this, he was quite popular among those who paid for his ill-gotten wares, and supremely unpopular among those he basically stole them from under the pretext of 'confiscation'.

He hadn't fared much better in his new role. Half of Kerrich's income came from mercenary contracts, everything from pacification of local indigenous tribes on colony worlds to outright open combat in some of the more distant reaches of the Empire itself where credits were more plentiful than combat troops. The one thing he'd done well was staff his ship with former Argonian military. All of his crew were former Navy, while his ground troops were all Imperial Guard from various regiments and homeworlds. Between them, his troops had the experience and expertise to handle just about any situation a client asked of them...

"Mr. Arrow, what's our ETA?"

Arrow wasn't his given name, but Kerrich had read it in a seafaring adventure novel somewhere, and it seemed appropriate...

"About twenty-five minutes, Cap'n. You going to set the lads loose on the station for some shore leave?"

Kerrich nodded once Arrow had turned around enough in his worn leather chair to make eye contact...

"I intend to. About all they do is run combat drills and train in the cargo hold when they're not otherwise occupied, and with the hold as full as it is they haven't had the room to do much these past few weeks..."

Arrow nodded in agreement. While he'd been career Navy, he'd spent a great deal of time on troop-haulers, gargantuan vessels able to transport a dozen regiments at once. Void-born (those born in space) like himself adapted well to the cramped conditions aboard vessels. The ground-pounders had trouble doing so, however, and were constantly kept busy and battle-ready running drill after drill in the massive training bays built into the troop ships for that exact reason. The former Guard troopers on board simply resorted back to what they knew during transit on the 'Drifter', and Arrow couldn't blame them. It was, however, a bit like having a pack of wild children with automatic weapons on-board. Idle time meant drinking, fighting, and practical jokes on unwilling participants. Any chance to get them off the ship for a bit was a welcome one...

"I agree. It'll..."

Arrow found himself cut off by the comms alarm, shortly before the gruff voice of Major Kasper Kresh cut in over the crackling comms...

"Rouge Trade Vessel 'High Plains Drifter', you are ordered to divert to Argonian docking bay seven."

Captain Kerrich stiffened in his command throne, his reptilian brow furrowing in annoyance...

"Under who's authority?"

His tone dripped incredulity and defiance. One of the best parts of his new job was being able to tell Naval personnel to stuff their regulations and orders where the sun didn't shine.

"The Emperor himself, Trader. Any deviation from your assigned course will be seen as an act of treason and grounds for termination. Do not test my patience..."

Somewhat enraged, Kerrich nodded in Arrow's direction...

"Take us in. There better be a damned good explanation..."

Some thirty or so minutes later, the Drifter extended a docking tube in the assigned docking bay. Kerrich had dressed himself in as much of a dashing manner as possible, hoping to further reinforce his status as a Rouge Trader and not beholden to Imperial Law like a common merchant. His occupation was partly intended to operate outside the boundaries of the Empire, making contact with new civilizations, exploring the unknown...

The docking tube airlock hissed open, and Kerrich was greeted by the scarred visage of his former commanding officer.

'Nine Hells...'

Any pretense of pomp and circumstance deflated like a punctured balloon...

"Atticus Kerrich. What an unwelcome surprise..."

Kresh was in full armor once more, with a squad of shotgun-toting provosts behind him, a row of gaping muzzles trained in his direction. The assembled veterans behind him tensed with anticipation, something Kerrich felt more than he visually perceived...

"Major Kresh. Likewise. By what authority do you challenge my Writ and the privileges it grants?"

The ranking Argonian officer on the station simply smiled, and handed Kerrich an embossed sheet of vellum, stamped with the Imperial Seal and signed in the Emperor's own hand. He found himself muttering to himself as his eyes scanned the delicate sheet of material...

"By order of his Imperial Majesty all vessels and merchants (Rogue or otherwise) are to abide by the directives and regulations set forth by the duly appointed ranking officer of his Imperial Majesty's military forces. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of treason, punishable by death..."

The Emperor was quite serious about being seen as a legitimate member of the GESO, and apparently wanted nothing to even have a chance at staining his otherwise sterling reputation...

"What that means, Kerrich, is that anything illegal stays on your vessel. You have to run all trade goods by me, to be inspected for contraband before you're authorized to sell it on the station. Any disembarking crew members will likewise be screened for criminal violations, desertions, and bounties. All non-tribal weaponry will be turned in until you return to your vessel. I'll not have any of your nonsense, either. Test my patience and I will personally kick you out of the nearest airlock and auction your precious ship for scrap, Writ or no Writ. Do we have an understanding?"

Atticus simply nodded in agreement. They did indeed have an understanding. When he'd served under Kresh it had been the same Draconian enforcement of His Majesty's rules...

"We do indeed. You haven't changed a bit, Kasper..."

Kerrich replied, turning to his assembled troops. The first batch heading on board included a few of his longest-serving crew members, a sizeable portion of his most veteran ground troops...

"You heard the man, gentlemen. Form a line so the bucket-heads can gene-scan you. The sooner we comply the sooner we can all get drunk..."

The troops assembled into a shoddy line in direct defiance of any parade drill training they'd ever received and glared daggers at the assembled provosts. Most of Kerrich's people had been in a scrap or two with Naval Security personnel at least once in their military careers. Troopers hailing from Marshlander Scout and Verdantian Ranger regiments typically settled their arguments with blades and were especially despised by NAVSEC troops. Kerrich had a few of those in his ranks. He was first in line to get scanned as well.

With a flourish, he drew the bolt pistol holstered on his right thigh and ejected the magazine, then the chambered round and spun the weapon stylishly to present it grip-first to the waiting provost armorer, who seemed far from impressed. Without a word, another faceless lackey played a boxy scanner over his retinas, waving him past as nothing registered aside from Kerrich's Rouge Trader status. The Captain simply nodded and sauntered off towards the end of the docking tube to wait for his most trusted associates to join him.

A Marshlander named Selous Vrash was next, a thirty-year commando-rated Marshlander Scout who served as the Scout-Master for Kerrich's ground forces. Athletically built and heavily tattooed like all of his tribal brethren, Selous slapped a hand away from his knife and stared the offending provost down until Major Kresh barked an order to let the matter lie. As a Guard veteran and tribal scout he was permitted to keep the weapon. The fact that he was a mercenary didn't enter into the equation, at least after he was cleared by the scanner. The Scout Master bared his canines and muscled through a pair of waiting provosts in a clear display of aggression as he made his way to stand with the Captain at the end of the tube...

"He always like this?"

Kerrich replied with a nod, snickering under his breath...

"Always. Figures he'd get assigned here. We used to joke that he didn't have a stick up his ass, it was a steel support beam. And before you ask, yes. He'd kick me out an airlock in short order."

Selous shrugged, unimpressed.

"I'll see to it the lads don't get too drunk and wild. It wouldn't do to..."

A muffled curse at the check-point followed by a series of shouts and racking shotguns cut him off. Their demolition specialist, a brute named Maddox, had apparently been flagged by the gene-scanner for 'drunk in public' and had promptly slammed his reptilian forehead into the riot-visor of the offending provost when asked to pay the fine. Selous was there in an instant, shoving Maddox back a pace and diverting the muzzle of a shotgun away in the same motion. His movements were economical and precise, the sort of fluid grace found only in professional dancers and seasoned killers. Major Kresh himself was taken aback slightly, slowly reholstering his bolt-pistol while Selous handed out a handful of credit-notes. Maddox was shoved down the length of the tube without further incident, if one didn't include the hefty slap on the back of the head Selous delivered by way of discipline. The demo specialist and the captain exchanged a fist-bump of sorts once Selous had turned away from them, however.

Further nonsense ensued as the last of Kerrich's inner circle underwent the gene-scanner. The provost ran it twice, just to be sure. Former Major Milo Tackitt, high-born aristocrat and honor graduate of the Defiance Military Academy, had a record of disciplinary actions longer than most men were tall. Fortunately for him, however, they'd all been resolved before this moment. They did, however, register on the gene-scanner as past offences. Major Kresh eyed the well-mannered former officer with a look of confusion and disgust as he simply nodded and continued to walk, packing his pipe with a fragrant powder and lighting it with a wooden match with practiced precision...

"Shall we?"

His voice reeked of cultured elegance and class, at odds with his choice in companions. The rest simply followed him into the station proper without another word...

[Insectum]

Hive Ship 1 of Batch One docked with the station as if it'd done it a thousand times before despite the fact that this was Insectum's first time docking with anything. This was the teachings of Deep Blue coming to the fore. For those with a dull sense of smell, the scent coming from the Hive ship's interior was surprisingly bland. Sharper senses could detect an increasingly sweeter smell, with the sharpest noses detecting the raw unrefined Honey within the ship. A membrane opened briefly within the ship, and the first creature out looked exactly like a giant five foot fly, except where the head should be was a humanoid torso and neck with a traditional fly head atop that. Strong muscular arms were on the shoulders, giant wings on the back. The creature leapt out, and paused, as if testing the environment itself.

"Pobo! Pobopobopobpobopobobpobopobo!" It chittered excitedly, a happy joyous expression in its eyes, It jumped for joy took flight and landed on a wall. What it said was very much a mystery, however a deep rumbling groan came from the ship itself in answer.

The membrane opened again, letting out Granna. She was larger, six foot at the shoulder, identical to the fly creature, but she was very clearly an alien spider creature. Solid black save for a red hour glass on her giant abdomen, and a smaller on her chest. As with many Black Widow spiders, it was an indication that Granna was a very poisonous creature should she bite them. No wings, but she did wear a silk bag around her waist. Her spidery eyes betrayed her emotion, fear, nervousness, excitement, wonderment and awe. The four peoples had never beheld such things in conscious memory. Even the oldest memories of Insectum were only stories, the actual memory had been lost forever.

With only a slight tremble in her steps she exited and walked over to Calhoun, and the two armed security guards flanking him.

"Granna I am, First Trader of Insectum, servant of High Queen Elsse. May we share language through mind thoughts?" Granna asked, ready to copy his linquistic ability if he agreed.

[The Atahez]

Near Talos Station…

Space seemed to ripple as something came through. Within moments two strange looking ships came from out of the warp. They looked like frigates but...alive. The tendrils on the edge of the ship, slowly fluttered in the vacuum of space as they stayed within the station’s sensors. They didn’t respond nor answer any hails. Some arriving and departing talos station would stare in awe and fear at these ships as hey just sat there, menacingly to some.

However, in front of those ships was a smaller, still living, spacecraft. Its lower body looked like some sort of transport, while the top half looked like a shell one would find on a Terran Beach. On top, there seemed to be some sort of...probe, grafted onto it.

Onboard the transport, Xaggavea studied the station carefully, along with the 6 other scholars. Each were considered the best among their cast and chosen personally by the Primarchs of their planets. Each of them represented one the 6 High Primarchs and were authorized to engage with diplomatic talks with the GESO. Xaggavea was voted to be the voice of all 6 scholars as he was from the homeworld.

They realized how intimidating the Frigates looked but 2 of the Primarchs wanted to send at least some defense in case intercepted by a hostile force. Xaggavea ordered them to stay far enough way to be picked but not appear to be attacking. He then consulted with the others on what to do next. There was some small chittering as the scholars discussed what to do: Contact them first or wait to be contacted?

They had no idea what language the creatures on the station spoke, as the probes investigating the station a month earlier picked up all types of languages. However, they did pick up sounds and signals that indicated there was some way to communicate by code. The prove grafted on to the top of their transport functioned as a communications array and the 6 decided to be the first ones to make contact.

Accessing the probe with their combined psychic powers they began to relay a message in an old form of code speak the probe had picked up. “ WISH COMMUNICATIONS. STOP. NOT HOSTILE.STOP. RESPOND FOR BETTER COMMUNICATION. STOP”

[Cybus1]

OOC: I was invited.


The woman was tall and had skin as white as snow. Her hair was a dark red, and it cascaded down her back, contrasting beautifully with her black dress. She wore high heels but had some more conventional clothes in her bag. She looked out the viewport at the station with her poison green eyes, the glow of the cigarette in her mouth reflecting on the glass. Her vessel approached, an elegant Art Deco shuttle produced by Mercer Industries, the Willow was a very luxurious transport for her and some of her friends. She was Elizabeth Caldwell, a rich young noblewoman who did not care for the stuffiness of her fellow nobles. She crushed her cigarette out and smiled as the ship docked in the station. She smiled and said "What treasures do you hold for me Talos?" She was going to look around, do some shopping, maybe catch a film or something. But at the moment she just wanted to get a drink. She noticed a few quite organic ships and raised an eyebrow but ignored them.

[The Selkie]

Captain Cedric Cainteoir of the Tribe of Galway, Captain of the pirate-cruiser Selkie Rover, leaned back in his command chair.
It was good to be Captain of such a wonderful, nearly 700 hands strong crew of vagabounds, rovers, misfits, small part time criminals and other people, all united under his command as pirates.
They weren't the jolly "Jo-ho and a bottle of rum!"-kind of pirates, but they weren't needlessly cruel either. Unless someone made himself worthy of punishment, of course. Their current major freight and their destination were supposed to fit as proof: A week ago, they captured a large and hefty freighter, loaded with valuables, just like their information said. They expected valuable metals, diamonds, latinum, maybe even weapons of mass destruction, in short things, which could easily be made to money. While that had been part of the cargo, they also found people there. People of many races, bound to be sold as slaves to the highest bidder.
They simply weren't able to leave them be. They had to do something.
Cainteoir held a vote amongst his crew and they all agreed, that doing the right thing in this case meant taking them to the next large and powerful political entity in order to repatriate them. They simply didn't have the ressources to do so and the Trossach System didn't have these ressources as well. The closest was GESO and its Talos Station.
He had around five hundred former, hopefully soon to be reptriated slaves onboard. He wasn't a monster, although his wanted-poster would suggest that. He was a pirate, after all, but his crew always took care of the hostages they had, safely escorting them and their funds to their respective destinations. He captured freighters and attacked convoys, taking the load of their ships. He even made it so that all losses in lifes were as minimal as they could be.
Although there shouldn't be any problems with it in GESO-space (he wasn't aware, if he had ever attacked a GESO-ship...), he still ran a huge risk for him and his crew. "We should have dropped them onto some cruise liner...", he mumbled to himself.
His bridge crew either didn't take notice or didn't care. They all had been at this point of doubts during the last week, but then again, it was the right thing to do. Done by the wrong people, most likely, at least in the eyes of the world, bu that was another question.
"Exiting Hyperspace in a minute.", the helm said, "Sounding alarm."
At the flick of a switch, the ship was filled with the wailing of a siren, which was the signal for bracing. Exiting hyperspace had been a chore as of late, they needed an overhaul. The ship's checkbook would be appropriate for it.
"Sound yellow alert.", the Captain ordered - yellow alert meant, that they would arrive at the edge of the system, shields powered up and fighters ready, but not launched, taking in the situation before acting. In this case, that meant contacting Talos Station.
There was a short shake of the entire ship, before the stars in front of the viewports turned to small specks again, like diamonds on silk. And, of course, there was the Talos System, right there in front of them. The station hung there as well.
Cainteoir fancied himself to be a brave man. He still gulped as he commanded his comms officer: "Open a channel to the Talos Station." The girl there nodded. "This is Captain Cedric Cainteoir of the Tribe of Galway of the Cruiser Selkie Rover. I request permission to dock at Talos Station and the presence of medical personell at the docks, we have... uh... how to say that... uhm... bring police with you as well."
His first officer facepalmed quite loudly.