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Hull Composition
The hull of the Star-Ship Leviathon is comprised of a dual layer of toughened Erythoril, an alchemic mix of compounds flowing between the two. Both skins are tolerant enough to withstand very high pressure and heat, and the liquid between acts as the ship's chemical defence upon puncture of the primary hull, sealing breaches over time and dissolving most missile and magic attacks.
Bridge Deck
Comprising a total of four decks, the bridge deck includes the Captain’s Quarters, flight cabin (also known as the Bridge) and weapons command. It is the central command centre for the whole ship and various cabins contained within are used as conference chambers.
Propulsion Deck
The alchemial propulsion chambers are housed in the propulsion deck of the ship. Power is provided by the highly unstable form of powdered Erythoril ore, carefully mixed with acid in huge chambers, the controlled explosions dircted out of the rear of the craft to propel it forwards. Only alchemists and members of the bridge deck are allowed in this area due to the dangers of working with the raw materials.
The mixing of Erythoril powder and acid has explosive effects - obviously how the ship is powered. Equally as obviously, there will be a significant 'jolt' when the reaction first takes place, which will be quickly stifled by the Alchemists adding a stabilising chemical to the mix. To avoid throwing people off of their feet, Ritualists have placed protective sigils throughout the ship that help maintain balance; however, that doesn't stop the sensation of movement and people who are habitually sea-sick will experience the same feeling as on a boat, others may feel a sudden weakening of limbs (more jelly-legs than complete collapse). This is all illustrated in a rolled-up parchment placed upon each bunk along with other safety instructions and the laws of the ship.
Observation Deck
This area is styled as an observatory, the observation deck’s clear domed ceiling allowing 360 degree views of the surrounding heavens. While used mostly for recreation during flight, it also contains door panels that allow access to the outside hull of the ship and is used as the main exit for passengers and VIPs.
The Weapons Deck
With restricted access to solely the bridge crew, members of the Weapons Guild and military VIPs, it is unknown how much the weapons deck holds. The primary weaponry defence for the ship are toughened Erythoril, harpoon-style arrows that are fired out of the ship’s hull at a high rate, using the same propulsion method as is used to power the ship.
VIP Quarterdeck
The VIP quarterdeck is composed of luxury living quarters for those personnel considered VIPs, primarily including the Lords and Ladies of Ista. Access is limited to VIPs and bridge crew, although some leeway is given for those employed directly by the quarterdeck’s inhabitants.
General Quarters
The living quarters for the majority of the ship’s inhabitants are named the general quarters. While not necessarily lavish, these cabins have all the simple amenities provided for a middle-class family or individual that is required. These decks all have relatively easy access to the ship’s facilities.
Lower Quarters
Those members of the lower- or working-class population live in the lower quarters, above the ship’s hold. The quality of these cabins is very basic and only the servants and elementary crew reside here.
Military Quarters
Those from the Militant Guild responsible for the safety of Leviathon’s passengers and the ship’s mission live in the Military quarters. With close proximity to the training room and flight deck, the military quarters also have easy access to both the observation and propulsion decks and the outside of the craft for emergency situations.
Military Training Room
The military training room contains areas for weapons and drilling practice with plenty of space to contain the third of Ista’s army that is accompanying the mission.
Flight Deck
The size of a small temple, the flight deck has a large open floor that serves as a ‘runway’ from which the Rocs and riders can traverse the deck to the openings at either end of the room, and as an area for the birds to stretch their wings. Enclosed roosts or ‘eyries’ with open fronts line both sides of the room on two levels, allowing housing for two dozen birds, and sturdy ladders run down from each of the upper eyries for Teela use. A few of the resident Roc ostlers (numbering half a dozen in total) in Militant Guild uniforms, see to the eagles housed within the unit. It is noted, however, that while performing the everyday tasks involved in shipping the large birds, i.e. primarily hygiene based tasks, the ostlers will rarely approach an eyrie while a Roc is in residence, leaving any social and medical needs to the riders. Foodstuffs for the birds are relayed via a pulley system of boxes from the hold and it is the responsibility of the Roc’s companion to feed their own mount, due to the unpredictable nature of the eagles – particularly when their prey-drive is activated. While the main floor is relatively brightly lit, each eyrie remains in shadow for the comfort of its resident. However, a lot of ambient light – even at ‘night’ when the ship’s lights are turned down – comes from the rear window, where a slightly opaque ritual shield protects the inhabitants from the harsh climate of the heavens and which can be opened upon landing to allow the Rocs to take flight. While the flight deck isn’t restricted to riders only, half a dozen guards are always visible to ensure the safety of the Rocs and their visitors. Overall, the area gives an impression of being an overly large and well-guarded stable.
Academy
These decks contain the many rooms used by the scholars, mages and healers from the academy, including medical bays, lecture theatres and research archive chambers. A permanent cycling group comprising of 20 ritualists are based here, maintaining the 'windows' of the ship by sealing off the outside while allowing observation where most needed.
Ritual Library
With an open central floor surrounded by bookshelves, the ritual library offers a place for the mages to work, as well as providing valuable storage space for the academy’s literature.
Gymnasium & Baths
The main feature of the ship’s gymnasium is its sunken palaestra or wrestling area, known as the ‘Pit’. While the wrestling is primarily allowed to discourage brawling amongst the crew members, a few ‘official’ sessions are held to provide entertainment for ship’s inhabitants. Similarly, the Pit is also used for armed combat displays with swords and staves, though these are only ever held as authorised performances or tourneys. In addition to combat, the Pit can be used as a theatre due to the seating that rings the area. Surrounding the palaestra is a running track that can equally be set up with hurdles and, between the track and the sunken pit, various weights and training devices are available to be used by the ship’s residents. The gymnasium leads into the public bathhouse, which holds a reasonable-sized cauldarium, large tepidarium and a fridgidarium – the smallest pool of the three. There is always a few attendants present to cater to the needs of the nobility, including massages (which can only be afforded by the nobility), and a single healer is always patrolling in case of emergency. This is a very social area of the ship and a major hotspot for the Leviathon’s gossip, but those less used to the public nature of the baths may find the ‘bare-all’ atmosphere uncomfortable.
The Market Precinct
As with traditional markets, the precinct contains all the stalls and stores that any passenger on the ship would need. From tanners to smithys, grocers to butchers, and clothiers to cobblers, you can buy virtually anything.
The Commons
The Commons’ high ceiling gives the impression that the area is large, though it is probably only twice as big as a standard tavern. A large mezzanine level rings three walls of the main room, with a walkway between the two sides, spanning the width. The far end of the mezzanine – opposite the entrance – is left for musicians and the occasional entertainment act but there is enough space on either side for a good amount of tables. The bar can be found along the right-hand wall, underneath the balcony and ending at the door that leads to the kitchens on the far wall. This central area tends to be more rowdier than the mezzanine and, as such, the stairs up to the higher level are situated close to the door, allowing nobles to slip in and out without too much contact with the lower society. In order to make the Teela feel more at home, the room is decorated traditionally with a variety of paintings, tapestries and cloths.
Corral & Supply Hold
All of the Leviathon’s supplies are stored in the bowels of the ship, in an area called the hold. Animals are corralled separately from the foodstuffs and include livestock such as cattle, sheep and swine and well as mounts for the nobility and militant guild.
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OOC Notes
Private Quarters
All contain: 1 x lockable door; 1 x porthole window; 1 cot/bunk per individual/pair (up to you as to whether you are living with a roomate/family member - Lower Quarters are generally all shared by 2-4 people but there are more individual residences available in General and Militant Quarters - most VIP Quarters are individual unless otherwise requested); 1 x lockable trunk for belongings; self-contained privy; 1 x washstand with basin.
Militant Quarters and the General Quarters that aren't shared also have: 1 x plain writing desk/table; 1 x chair.
The VIP Quarterdeck cabins contain more luxury furnishings, e.g. cushions, curtains, carpets, as well as: 1 x extra window; 1 x private washtub (filled by servants); 2 x armchairs (at least); 1 x armoire (instead of trunk); 1 x dressing table.
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The Gymnasium & Baths Pre-launch (pm):
The Gymnasium is relatively quiet in the afternoon before the launch, though the baths seem to already be filled with the nobility and a few less important crew members. The soft murmur of voices and steam-filled air gives the environment a very calm feeling at present, though the steady flow of visitors suggests that this area may become more crowded towards the latter part of the day.
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The Flight Deck Pre-launch (pm):
In the afternoon before the launch, the flight deck is a riot of avian calls and Teela chatter, as both ostlers and riders mill about trying to settle the Rocs into their eyries. Though most have been habituated to their new roosts beforehand, a few birds balk at entering their new residences and are seen to be coaxed by their riders, bearing large slabs of meat as incentive.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Commons Pre-launch (pm):
In the afternoon of the pre-launch, the commons is the second busiest area of the ship, filled mostly with milling nobility who have little to do in the organisation of the ship’s launch. Mead and wine is already flowing freely and a lone guitarist has settled herself upon the mezzanine stage, playing a mixture of soothing and lively songs.
All contain: 1 x lockable door; 1 x porthole window; 1 cot/bunk per individual/pair (up to you as to whether you are living with a roomate/family member - Lower Quarters are generally all shared by 2-4 people but there are more individual residences available in General and Militant Quarters - most VIP Quarters are individual unless otherwise requested); 1 x lockable trunk for belongings; self-contained privy; 1 x washstand with basin.
Militant Quarters and the General Quarters that aren't shared also have: 1 x plain writing desk/table; 1 x chair.
The VIP Quarterdeck cabins contain more luxury furnishings, e.g. cushions, curtains, carpets, as well as: 1 x extra window; 1 x private washtub (filled by servants); 2 x armchairs (at least); 1 x armoire (instead of trunk); 1 x dressing table.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Gymnasium & Baths Pre-launch (pm):
The Gymnasium is relatively quiet in the afternoon before the launch, though the baths seem to already be filled with the nobility and a few less important crew members. The soft murmur of voices and steam-filled air gives the environment a very calm feeling at present, though the steady flow of visitors suggests that this area may become more crowded towards the latter part of the day.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Flight Deck Pre-launch (pm):
In the afternoon before the launch, the flight deck is a riot of avian calls and Teela chatter, as both ostlers and riders mill about trying to settle the Rocs into their eyries. Though most have been habituated to their new roosts beforehand, a few birds balk at entering their new residences and are seen to be coaxed by their riders, bearing large slabs of meat as incentive.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Commons Pre-launch (pm):
In the afternoon of the pre-launch, the commons is the second busiest area of the ship, filled mostly with milling nobility who have little to do in the organisation of the ship’s launch. Mead and wine is already flowing freely and a lone guitarist has settled herself upon the mezzanine stage, playing a mixture of soothing and lively songs.
OOC Notes
Places open:
Gymnasium & Baths
Flight Deck
The Commons
Private Quarters
Corral & Supply Hold
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
((Sol. The Flight Deck – Pre-launch pm))
Wincing as the piercing screech assaulted her ears again, Sol waved the large rat at arm’s length before her mount’s beak, watching his beady amber eyes assess the treat suspiciously. “Come on, you bugger,” she muttered as Crya’s gaze twitched downwards, before suddenly spotting the Roc’s interest. “Hey!” she shouted, lunging forwards to distract the giant bird from the witless ostler who had wandered into her restless companion’s vision, voice biting in the idiot’s direction, “Do you want to die, fool?”
Finally catching the Crya’s interest as the man hurriedly moved off, Sol tossed the rat by the tail into the Roc’s roost, throwing in a second when the inevitable glare of disgust appeared in his haughty gaze. Giving her one last look of disdain, the eagle sauntered in after his prize, flicking his pinions casually at her head as he passed. Sighing, Sol collected up her gear and turned towards the rear of the deck, frowning once more at the great big hole in the back of the ship. Already, ritualists were gathering either side of the deck’s entrance, the small bundle of Teela conversing quietly over large etched symbols on the floor that Sol surmised must have something to do with making a door. She had never been good with magic.
With a shrug, Sol turned her back on them and headed out, sparing a brief scratch for Crya – who attempted to make a meal of her fingers – and an appraising nod to the comfortably dozing Hercule. Rummaging beneath her shirt as she walked, she drew out the key to her room, noting the number and peering at the interspersed maps on the way to ensure she held the right direction. It looked as if the ship would pose far more of a navigation problem than she realised.
She always hated getting lost.
Gymnasium & Baths
Flight Deck
The Commons
Private Quarters
Corral & Supply Hold
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
((Sol. The Flight Deck – Pre-launch pm))
Wincing as the piercing screech assaulted her ears again, Sol waved the large rat at arm’s length before her mount’s beak, watching his beady amber eyes assess the treat suspiciously. “Come on, you bugger,” she muttered as Crya’s gaze twitched downwards, before suddenly spotting the Roc’s interest. “Hey!” she shouted, lunging forwards to distract the giant bird from the witless ostler who had wandered into her restless companion’s vision, voice biting in the idiot’s direction, “Do you want to die, fool?”
Finally catching the Crya’s interest as the man hurriedly moved off, Sol tossed the rat by the tail into the Roc’s roost, throwing in a second when the inevitable glare of disgust appeared in his haughty gaze. Giving her one last look of disdain, the eagle sauntered in after his prize, flicking his pinions casually at her head as he passed. Sighing, Sol collected up her gear and turned towards the rear of the deck, frowning once more at the great big hole in the back of the ship. Already, ritualists were gathering either side of the deck’s entrance, the small bundle of Teela conversing quietly over large etched symbols on the floor that Sol surmised must have something to do with making a door. She had never been good with magic.
With a shrug, Sol turned her back on them and headed out, sparing a brief scratch for Crya – who attempted to make a meal of her fingers – and an appraising nod to the comfortably dozing Hercule. Rummaging beneath her shirt as she walked, she drew out the key to her room, noting the number and peering at the interspersed maps on the way to ensure she held the right direction. It looked as if the ship would pose far more of a navigation problem than she realised.
She always hated getting lost.
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
((Stella))
Just as Stella thought she would do, her first destination inside the mighty ship would be the public bathhouse. Of course, she wasn't exactly happy about the place being public, as it would mean she could draw the gazes of certain lascivious old man, which would incomodate her in a great way. However, there was nothing that could be done. She was covered in blood, and it was important for her to get rid of it, before it stained her soul, as well.
Upon entering the bath zone, Stella removed her clothes in a place that was far from other people. Fortunately, the place was not very crowded, which made Stella feel at ease. Those clothes were probably washable, to a certain extent, but they would not look perfect after that. She decided to have them washed, so that she could use them as "work clothes", later on. It was always good to have some of those. Perhaps she would search for some clothing dye, too, so that they would look new and nice. She also prepared new clothes for her to put on, after the bathing session was over.
The chosen clothes were quite light and comfortable, yet rather expensive-looking. Stella had refused to take with her clothes that could only be worn by noble people, but she had to admit her choice hadn't been that intelligent, either, as her clothes seemed expensive enough so that only noble people or very rich merchants could wear them. That long tunic was white with turquoise and purple trimmings, which formed an elaborate pattern all along the sides of it. Once everything was ready, Stella proceeded to the tepidarium, where she enjoyed mildly warm water for a while, while cleaning herself. Fortunately for her, the water was clear and perfect, at this time of the day. Surely it would be much worse by the end of the afternoon...
After spending some time there, at the large tepidarium pool, Stella moved to the caldarium, which was still reasonably big. The water was much much hotter, and at first it took a while for her to get used it. She could feel her skin pores opening, because of the hot water. That would be a great way to clean her skin, but also her hair. After the caldarium session was over, there was only one thing left for her to do. It would be so hard to do, though, as she had been at the caldarium, and her skin was sensitive because of the hot water. As soon as she stepped into the frigidarium, which was a small pool with really cold water, she had to cover her mouth in order to avoid screaming. For some reason, she had always tolerated heat much better than cold, and it was the same thing with water.
The last pool was nice, though, after a while, because it refreshed her mind, and made her felt like regaining energy, after a long day. She was now feeling quite better, and was ready to leave the baths, after a while there. But, for some reason, Stella was feeling at ease, at the water, floating, without having to worry about anything. However, her time in there, relaxing, was cut short, when she heard some noble men entering the place, talking noisily, and she decided she didn't want to be seen. Stella then quickly moved to a corner of the room, where she put on the long tunic she had prepared before, and also a pair of sandals. With that, she was ready to go.
Her next destination would obviously have to be the Military Quarters, where she should have a place for herself. It should not be very big, but it should be enough for her to keep her things safe. A short walk through the Leviathon allowed Stella to see how huge this place was, in fact. What she saw after opening the door of her cabin pleased her quite a lot. It might not be the room a noble person would have, but it was certainly more than enough. The cot seemed comfortable enough, and the trunk had a good size, so she was able to store all her things inside it. Stella kept the key safe with herself, and locked the trunk. She looked through the window, and still saw the tents below. Everything looked so strange. She was in a ship, but she couldn't see the sea... what was that supposed to mean? And even more impressive, it would be, once the ship started "sailing". What would it look like, to be flying? Roc riders would surely know, but flying was certainly new to Stella.
After everything important was done, Stella's final destination was, for now, the Commons, where the nobility was spending some time. Chatter filled the air, as well as a lone music tone of a guitarist, who was playing a calm song, as Stella went into the place. A few eyes locked on her, as she walked around the place. She couldn't say if she was being recognised or not. As far as she could tell, she shouldn't be, especially because she didn't recognise anyone, so far at least. She should be safe, she hoped. The safest bet would be to stay inside her cabin, but that would be very suspicious, and could uncover her secret. Taking the risk was worth it. If she was lucky, no one would know she was Stella Ocmare, and things would go on normally.
However, she did have a bad feeling about something. As if she was about to be discovered... so many people here. Something made Stella think it was very likely that someone who knew here would be inside the ship, by the time it set out. Hoping to relax a bit, Stella made her way to the place where drinks were being served. Mainly it was wine, that people drank, but Stella wanted something lighter. In the end, the girl decided to get her favourite kind of sweet water. She asked it to be as cold as possible. After all, cold water was something she always enjoyed, and even more if it was of the sweet kind!
As Stella took a few sips of the water, she smiled to herself. Those were the things that made life good! However, she also kept in mind she had to be careful, so she kept an eye for anyone who would be suspicious.
Time set: PM
((Stella))
Just as Stella thought she would do, her first destination inside the mighty ship would be the public bathhouse. Of course, she wasn't exactly happy about the place being public, as it would mean she could draw the gazes of certain lascivious old man, which would incomodate her in a great way. However, there was nothing that could be done. She was covered in blood, and it was important for her to get rid of it, before it stained her soul, as well.
Upon entering the bath zone, Stella removed her clothes in a place that was far from other people. Fortunately, the place was not very crowded, which made Stella feel at ease. Those clothes were probably washable, to a certain extent, but they would not look perfect after that. She decided to have them washed, so that she could use them as "work clothes", later on. It was always good to have some of those. Perhaps she would search for some clothing dye, too, so that they would look new and nice. She also prepared new clothes for her to put on, after the bathing session was over.
The chosen clothes were quite light and comfortable, yet rather expensive-looking. Stella had refused to take with her clothes that could only be worn by noble people, but she had to admit her choice hadn't been that intelligent, either, as her clothes seemed expensive enough so that only noble people or very rich merchants could wear them. That long tunic was white with turquoise and purple trimmings, which formed an elaborate pattern all along the sides of it. Once everything was ready, Stella proceeded to the tepidarium, where she enjoyed mildly warm water for a while, while cleaning herself. Fortunately for her, the water was clear and perfect, at this time of the day. Surely it would be much worse by the end of the afternoon...
After spending some time there, at the large tepidarium pool, Stella moved to the caldarium, which was still reasonably big. The water was much much hotter, and at first it took a while for her to get used it. She could feel her skin pores opening, because of the hot water. That would be a great way to clean her skin, but also her hair. After the caldarium session was over, there was only one thing left for her to do. It would be so hard to do, though, as she had been at the caldarium, and her skin was sensitive because of the hot water. As soon as she stepped into the frigidarium, which was a small pool with really cold water, she had to cover her mouth in order to avoid screaming. For some reason, she had always tolerated heat much better than cold, and it was the same thing with water.
The last pool was nice, though, after a while, because it refreshed her mind, and made her felt like regaining energy, after a long day. She was now feeling quite better, and was ready to leave the baths, after a while there. But, for some reason, Stella was feeling at ease, at the water, floating, without having to worry about anything. However, her time in there, relaxing, was cut short, when she heard some noble men entering the place, talking noisily, and she decided she didn't want to be seen. Stella then quickly moved to a corner of the room, where she put on the long tunic she had prepared before, and also a pair of sandals. With that, she was ready to go.
Her next destination would obviously have to be the Military Quarters, where she should have a place for herself. It should not be very big, but it should be enough for her to keep her things safe. A short walk through the Leviathon allowed Stella to see how huge this place was, in fact. What she saw after opening the door of her cabin pleased her quite a lot. It might not be the room a noble person would have, but it was certainly more than enough. The cot seemed comfortable enough, and the trunk had a good size, so she was able to store all her things inside it. Stella kept the key safe with herself, and locked the trunk. She looked through the window, and still saw the tents below. Everything looked so strange. She was in a ship, but she couldn't see the sea... what was that supposed to mean? And even more impressive, it would be, once the ship started "sailing". What would it look like, to be flying? Roc riders would surely know, but flying was certainly new to Stella.
After everything important was done, Stella's final destination was, for now, the Commons, where the nobility was spending some time. Chatter filled the air, as well as a lone music tone of a guitarist, who was playing a calm song, as Stella went into the place. A few eyes locked on her, as she walked around the place. She couldn't say if she was being recognised or not. As far as she could tell, she shouldn't be, especially because she didn't recognise anyone, so far at least. She should be safe, she hoped. The safest bet would be to stay inside her cabin, but that would be very suspicious, and could uncover her secret. Taking the risk was worth it. If she was lucky, no one would know she was Stella Ocmare, and things would go on normally.
However, she did have a bad feeling about something. As if she was about to be discovered... so many people here. Something made Stella think it was very likely that someone who knew here would be inside the ship, by the time it set out. Hoping to relax a bit, Stella made her way to the place where drinks were being served. Mainly it was wine, that people drank, but Stella wanted something lighter. In the end, the girl decided to get her favourite kind of sweet water. She asked it to be as cold as possible. After all, cold water was something she always enjoyed, and even more if it was of the sweet kind!
As Stella took a few sips of the water, she smiled to herself. Those were the things that made life good! However, she also kept in mind she had to be careful, so she kept an eye for anyone who would be suspicious.
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: Bathes
((Jean))
A black patch in the bathes; the price water paid for cleaning a warrior. It was ironically poetic, but Jean could not appreciate. There were no nobles, of the few aboard most were stained with the same colours as he. The silence was good for Jean; it allowed him to calm down. After the battle he had checked up on the troops; most men had survived and only few were significantly injured. Still battle's consequence was a thought Jean preferred to banish from his head. It was not his army, nor his command, but Jean doubted their captains would come to see them to thank them for their efforts and inform them they had won.
Chanson had taken a bath earlier and she had been directed to their room. Jean had given specific orders and he did not want the girl wandering about the ship. Still she got to see the room before her. Jean had accepted the VIP cabin they had been offered, it would have been mad not to. To let a child sleep amongst strangers was still not an idea that excited him. Jean felt a little disappointed Chanson would get to see the room before him, but he was not yet done for the day.
Jean thought he saw Stella leaving and then heard others enter. He recognised the sound of Micháele his voice and decided he would need to hear Stella's report before facing the nobleman. Jean headed towards the cold water to close his pores and skipped the final bath. In his mind, he made a quick list of things that needed to be taken care of before he would allow himself to sleep;
Hear Stella's report.
Check up on Hercule.
Check up on Solstice.
There were many more things that required his attention, but not as immediately. This mission would be harder work than Jean had hoped for. He knew nothing about space, astronomy and little about the inner workings of the ship, those were interests he thought that would have kept him busy.
Now that he had lost sight of Stella's location (Jean had no idea where she and Solstice were positioned in the ship), the easiest to find would no doubt be Hercule. Jean did not spend much time in his quarters, where he found Chanson asleep. Silently he looked for clothes. After he had found something to wear, Jean quickly headed to the stairs that went up to the flight deck.
Location set: Flight deck
Hercule was sleeping peacefully too, and upon inspection he was not suffering any injuries. Jean was relieved. It would have been bad if Hercule would have had wounds while flying through the ash-filled skies. Not far from Hercule was Crya, devouring what seemed to have one been a rat. Ritualists had gathered on the flight deck and were preparing a ceremony. Jean figured that if Crya was the only one eating, Sol must not have left too long ago. He inquired for the woman.
Location set: Military Quarters
Not too long after asking, Jean found Sol trying to navigate through the quarters. “Hold on, lady Solstice.”
He caught up with the sky-fighter, and began to think of a way to formulate his questions. He did not know Sol well, but when dealing with a woman known for being impulsive and violent, Jean had to see to it she wouldn't attempt anything... Unexpected. Yet he couldn't help but harbour worries over the things Sol held grudges.
“We have fought well. We suffered no more than minor losses. The town and mission are no longer in danger. The mission is no longer endangered.” Jean began, as he had already done many times in the past hours. It was only half a truth at the time, Jean hoped Stella would seen have taken care the other half soon.
“A reason we fought well was greatly because of unity, I'm sure you are aware of its importance in battle. However we are now aboard a ship, not in service of an organised division. Our numbers will slim considerably as we take off. This itself is not an issue I worry about. What worries me is our unity. The smaller a group, the more significant a conflict between it's members. Do you understand where I am going, lady Solstice?”
Jean stopped speaking to hear Sol's answer. It was not going to be easy, of this he was aware. Jean hoped Sol would be understanding of the matter at hand... This responsibility did not befit him.
“I want you to leave lord Micháele to me. I must attend all meetings, however you are not obliged to. I cannot forbid you from joining them, of course, but if possible I want you to avoid our commander and inform me of any... Advances he might make. What happened today was unacceptable. Any action you take towards him, he can pay you back in tenfold and nobody aboard this ship is authorised to stop him. What I can do is mediate where necessary or attempt to persuade him to stay away from you and the birds, but that is the extent of my power. So please, do consider my words.”
Time set: PM
Location set: Bathes
((Jean))
A black patch in the bathes; the price water paid for cleaning a warrior. It was ironically poetic, but Jean could not appreciate. There were no nobles, of the few aboard most were stained with the same colours as he. The silence was good for Jean; it allowed him to calm down. After the battle he had checked up on the troops; most men had survived and only few were significantly injured. Still battle's consequence was a thought Jean preferred to banish from his head. It was not his army, nor his command, but Jean doubted their captains would come to see them to thank them for their efforts and inform them they had won.
Chanson had taken a bath earlier and she had been directed to their room. Jean had given specific orders and he did not want the girl wandering about the ship. Still she got to see the room before her. Jean had accepted the VIP cabin they had been offered, it would have been mad not to. To let a child sleep amongst strangers was still not an idea that excited him. Jean felt a little disappointed Chanson would get to see the room before him, but he was not yet done for the day.
Jean thought he saw Stella leaving and then heard others enter. He recognised the sound of Micháele his voice and decided he would need to hear Stella's report before facing the nobleman. Jean headed towards the cold water to close his pores and skipped the final bath. In his mind, he made a quick list of things that needed to be taken care of before he would allow himself to sleep;
Hear Stella's report.
Check up on Hercule.
Check up on Solstice.
There were many more things that required his attention, but not as immediately. This mission would be harder work than Jean had hoped for. He knew nothing about space, astronomy and little about the inner workings of the ship, those were interests he thought that would have kept him busy.
Now that he had lost sight of Stella's location (Jean had no idea where she and Solstice were positioned in the ship), the easiest to find would no doubt be Hercule. Jean did not spend much time in his quarters, where he found Chanson asleep. Silently he looked for clothes. After he had found something to wear, Jean quickly headed to the stairs that went up to the flight deck.
Location set: Flight deck
Hercule was sleeping peacefully too, and upon inspection he was not suffering any injuries. Jean was relieved. It would have been bad if Hercule would have had wounds while flying through the ash-filled skies. Not far from Hercule was Crya, devouring what seemed to have one been a rat. Ritualists had gathered on the flight deck and were preparing a ceremony. Jean figured that if Crya was the only one eating, Sol must not have left too long ago. He inquired for the woman.
Location set: Military Quarters
Not too long after asking, Jean found Sol trying to navigate through the quarters. “Hold on, lady Solstice.”
He caught up with the sky-fighter, and began to think of a way to formulate his questions. He did not know Sol well, but when dealing with a woman known for being impulsive and violent, Jean had to see to it she wouldn't attempt anything... Unexpected. Yet he couldn't help but harbour worries over the things Sol held grudges.
“We have fought well. We suffered no more than minor losses. The town and mission are no longer in danger. The mission is no longer endangered.” Jean began, as he had already done many times in the past hours. It was only half a truth at the time, Jean hoped Stella would seen have taken care the other half soon.
“A reason we fought well was greatly because of unity, I'm sure you are aware of its importance in battle. However we are now aboard a ship, not in service of an organised division. Our numbers will slim considerably as we take off. This itself is not an issue I worry about. What worries me is our unity. The smaller a group, the more significant a conflict between it's members. Do you understand where I am going, lady Solstice?”
Jean stopped speaking to hear Sol's answer. It was not going to be easy, of this he was aware. Jean hoped Sol would be understanding of the matter at hand... This responsibility did not befit him.
“I want you to leave lord Micháele to me. I must attend all meetings, however you are not obliged to. I cannot forbid you from joining them, of course, but if possible I want you to avoid our commander and inform me of any... Advances he might make. What happened today was unacceptable. Any action you take towards him, he can pay you back in tenfold and nobody aboard this ship is authorised to stop him. What I can do is mediate where necessary or attempt to persuade him to stay away from you and the birds, but that is the extent of my power. So please, do consider my words.”
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
((Stella))
Stella was quite wary, as she sipped on her glass. The cold feeling of the transparent glass she was holding was helping very much, after the bath, but she couldn't help but be quite nervous. After all, there really was a chance to be found out. After a few minutes, she had to force herself to forget about that. She was there to relax. If she was found out, then so be it, but for the time being, she would behave normally.
It was a good idea to keep her mouth shut, though, so Stella concentrated on listening to the nearby conversations. A couple of young men talking about their fancy estates... and about the lovely mistresses they had. Filthy pigs, they were. Stella couldn't stand these kind of men. She would even punch them, if she wasn't 'hiding'; and she didn't like violence, to begin with.
Shortly after, Stella grew bored of the silly stories the two men told each other, and she decided to stand up and walk around the whole place, trying to understand as much as possible the way this place was built. She looked up, and realized it was probably the high ceiling, that gave her the impression that the room was very big, when in fact, it was not that big.
The next conversation Stella listened to was between a woman and a man. Apparently, they had some kind of business together. While business was an important part of belonging to a noble family, Stella found that stuff to be way too boring, and refused to learn about that in depth while she could avoid it. Therefore, she quickly moved on, and kept looking around the room, rather bored. She laughed to herself, as she thought that her bored face probably looked very much like that of the typical noblewoman.
"Excuse me, young lady, may I have this dance?" A mature man, a noble, Stella would say, was extending his hand towards her. What did he think this was, a ball? Stella eyed him, not smiling, for a second. She decided to change her approach, however strange she thought this proposal was, given that the music was too calm to dance, and no one was really dancing anywhere. "I am very much flattered by you, but I will have to refuse, for I am waiting for the arrival of someone who is to meet with me, here." Without giving the man time to answer, she turned around and walked back to where she was sitting before.
It was then, that Stella spotted a man from the militant guild inside the room. She had been waiting for this moment, ever since she had talked to Micháele! She stood up and walked quickly towards him, and was surprised to see he was walking towards her as well. "Lady Oceane! I have been searching for you!!" The man seemed to have been rushing for her. She decided to allow him to speak first. "I have been asked to confirm you survived the last attack. Are you healthy and fine?" The man asked, obviously because it was his duty, but he could already see she was fine.
"Obviously, as you can see, I am perfectly fine, and the battle was won. But be quick, listen to me. You have to make a favour for me. You will go straight away to the highest Militant guild officer we have nearby, and you will request the guild's help to protect the city. It is imperative we do this, as we know it might get attacked again soon. You hear me?" The man nodded, and quickly left the room, rushing once again.
((Ymber))
Ymber was actually quite surprised to see the size of the ship, on the inner side, too. He had thought the walls would be so thick that the useful space inside the ship would be too small. He decided, at first, to walk around a bit, and explore the place. It was a magnificent vessel, that was beyond any doubt. After walking around for a while, and seeing that the place was still rather emtpy -which meant he was one of the first people to get in there-, he decided to go seek his room.
While Ymber walked towards the VIP cabin zone, he walked past some noblemen. A few had recognized him, as the youngest child of the Ocmare family, because he was always flashy, which meant his face was recognized more often than her sister's. Of that he was certainly proud. Why did she like to keep a low profile, anyway? Before finding his place in this ship, he was almost bumped by a man who was running, apparently on a rush. "Be careful, you idiot!" In the end, he found his cabin, in a rather nice zone of the ship, and as soon as he opened the door with the key he had, he was greeted by a really fancy room.
What he saw inside the room made him smile. Just as he wanted it, of course; the room had two windows, from which he could look outside, a very comfortable-looking cot, a rather big armoire, and two armchairs. Ymber regretted not having brought more things, as he now had all that much place. What a shame, indeed, but he had to admit the room was a lot better than he had expected it to be. And it had a washtub and a dressing table, too. It almost seemed like a room that could be found in a noble house. The decoration was not perfect for his tastes, but at least there were some cushions, curtains and especially, carpets.
At first, Ymber thought it was a good idea to get rid of some of the dust he had collected while being outside, taking care of Chanson. Hm, that girl... there was a certain something about her, that made him think of her, even now. He was certainly willing to see her again. Soon, after washing himself up, Ymber decided to go back outside, making sure his clothes were without dust, as well. He then decided to go to the commons, where he expected to meet some interesting people to chat with.
The first thing that could be heard was the music tone of someone who was playing a calm song, but as Ymber approached the place, he started hearing people's voices, as they talked. It wasn't particularly crowded, and he felt relaxed. For some reason, he had been rather annoyed, for a while, but seeing all those noble people here made him feel at ease. He was finally back to where he belonged. He closed his eyes and laughed softly for a moment, as an idea crossed his mind. Why not find a good looking girl to spend some time with? He was not planning on doing anything strange, but, if he could choose a young good looking girl or an old geezer, to talk with, Ymber would always choose the first option. After all, any sane man should do the same, right?
Ymber walked slowly towards the place where the drinks were being served, trying to find a nice looking girl. He could not see anyone, and he began to be pissed off. It was then, that he spotted a a glimpse of a girl with long light brown hair, and pretty expensive-looking clothes. He wanted to get her attention, but she was hurriedly walking away from where he was standing, so he decided against it. She was not worth his time, if she hadn't noticed him. Then, he noticed a man, dressed in an apparently militant guild outfit, approaching the girl, and talking to her. The conversation was short, and the man rushed, afterwards. He only heard something about "Lady Oceane", so that was the young woman he had seen before entering the ship...
Time set: PM
((Stella))
Stella was quite wary, as she sipped on her glass. The cold feeling of the transparent glass she was holding was helping very much, after the bath, but she couldn't help but be quite nervous. After all, there really was a chance to be found out. After a few minutes, she had to force herself to forget about that. She was there to relax. If she was found out, then so be it, but for the time being, she would behave normally.
It was a good idea to keep her mouth shut, though, so Stella concentrated on listening to the nearby conversations. A couple of young men talking about their fancy estates... and about the lovely mistresses they had. Filthy pigs, they were. Stella couldn't stand these kind of men. She would even punch them, if she wasn't 'hiding'; and she didn't like violence, to begin with.
Shortly after, Stella grew bored of the silly stories the two men told each other, and she decided to stand up and walk around the whole place, trying to understand as much as possible the way this place was built. She looked up, and realized it was probably the high ceiling, that gave her the impression that the room was very big, when in fact, it was not that big.
The next conversation Stella listened to was between a woman and a man. Apparently, they had some kind of business together. While business was an important part of belonging to a noble family, Stella found that stuff to be way too boring, and refused to learn about that in depth while she could avoid it. Therefore, she quickly moved on, and kept looking around the room, rather bored. She laughed to herself, as she thought that her bored face probably looked very much like that of the typical noblewoman.
"Excuse me, young lady, may I have this dance?" A mature man, a noble, Stella would say, was extending his hand towards her. What did he think this was, a ball? Stella eyed him, not smiling, for a second. She decided to change her approach, however strange she thought this proposal was, given that the music was too calm to dance, and no one was really dancing anywhere. "I am very much flattered by you, but I will have to refuse, for I am waiting for the arrival of someone who is to meet with me, here." Without giving the man time to answer, she turned around and walked back to where she was sitting before.
It was then, that Stella spotted a man from the militant guild inside the room. She had been waiting for this moment, ever since she had talked to Micháele! She stood up and walked quickly towards him, and was surprised to see he was walking towards her as well. "Lady Oceane! I have been searching for you!!" The man seemed to have been rushing for her. She decided to allow him to speak first. "I have been asked to confirm you survived the last attack. Are you healthy and fine?" The man asked, obviously because it was his duty, but he could already see she was fine.
"Obviously, as you can see, I am perfectly fine, and the battle was won. But be quick, listen to me. You have to make a favour for me. You will go straight away to the highest Militant guild officer we have nearby, and you will request the guild's help to protect the city. It is imperative we do this, as we know it might get attacked again soon. You hear me?" The man nodded, and quickly left the room, rushing once again.
((Ymber))
Ymber was actually quite surprised to see the size of the ship, on the inner side, too. He had thought the walls would be so thick that the useful space inside the ship would be too small. He decided, at first, to walk around a bit, and explore the place. It was a magnificent vessel, that was beyond any doubt. After walking around for a while, and seeing that the place was still rather emtpy -which meant he was one of the first people to get in there-, he decided to go seek his room.
While Ymber walked towards the VIP cabin zone, he walked past some noblemen. A few had recognized him, as the youngest child of the Ocmare family, because he was always flashy, which meant his face was recognized more often than her sister's. Of that he was certainly proud. Why did she like to keep a low profile, anyway? Before finding his place in this ship, he was almost bumped by a man who was running, apparently on a rush. "Be careful, you idiot!" In the end, he found his cabin, in a rather nice zone of the ship, and as soon as he opened the door with the key he had, he was greeted by a really fancy room.
What he saw inside the room made him smile. Just as he wanted it, of course; the room had two windows, from which he could look outside, a very comfortable-looking cot, a rather big armoire, and two armchairs. Ymber regretted not having brought more things, as he now had all that much place. What a shame, indeed, but he had to admit the room was a lot better than he had expected it to be. And it had a washtub and a dressing table, too. It almost seemed like a room that could be found in a noble house. The decoration was not perfect for his tastes, but at least there were some cushions, curtains and especially, carpets.
At first, Ymber thought it was a good idea to get rid of some of the dust he had collected while being outside, taking care of Chanson. Hm, that girl... there was a certain something about her, that made him think of her, even now. He was certainly willing to see her again. Soon, after washing himself up, Ymber decided to go back outside, making sure his clothes were without dust, as well. He then decided to go to the commons, where he expected to meet some interesting people to chat with.
The first thing that could be heard was the music tone of someone who was playing a calm song, but as Ymber approached the place, he started hearing people's voices, as they talked. It wasn't particularly crowded, and he felt relaxed. For some reason, he had been rather annoyed, for a while, but seeing all those noble people here made him feel at ease. He was finally back to where he belonged. He closed his eyes and laughed softly for a moment, as an idea crossed his mind. Why not find a good looking girl to spend some time with? He was not planning on doing anything strange, but, if he could choose a young good looking girl or an old geezer, to talk with, Ymber would always choose the first option. After all, any sane man should do the same, right?
Ymber walked slowly towards the place where the drinks were being served, trying to find a nice looking girl. He could not see anyone, and he began to be pissed off. It was then, that he spotted a a glimpse of a girl with long light brown hair, and pretty expensive-looking clothes. He wanted to get her attention, but she was hurriedly walking away from where he was standing, so he decided against it. She was not worth his time, if she hadn't noticed him. Then, he noticed a man, dressed in an apparently militant guild outfit, approaching the girl, and talking to her. The conversation was short, and the man rushed, afterwards. He only heard something about "Lady Oceane", so that was the young woman he had seen before entering the ship...
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: Military Quarters
Sol frowned angrily, flicking a lock of hair away from her face and raising her gaze to the ship’s map again. Tracing a finger along her route, she remembered bitterly how her brother had always been better at puzzles as a child. Once, she had been given a wooden labyrinth by her paternal grandfather – hand carved, with a small Erythoril ball rolling inside – and it had taken her hours of frustrated concentration to figure it out. In a spate of unusual generosity – though it could be said, Leor always had had a way with words that made you feel obliged to do things – she had passed the toy to her brother. And within less than a minute, he had handed it back again; completed. In a fit of jealous rage, the young Solstice had thrown the wooden box from the window, smashing it to pieces while Leor just looked on in that calm, irritating manner of his. She had never shown how much it had upset her.
It was in the middle of her silent scrutiny that a familiar voice hailed her. Brow wrinkling once more in irritation, Sol sighed and turned, tucking her key back into her leather purse, allowing Jean a wry smile as he approached. “Do you genuinely see a lady, sir, or is that just your breeding?” He ignored her and she grinned further: the ex-commander was likeable enough, though it was far easier and more satisfying to bait Micháele. “Hercule seemed to be enjoying his rest,” she said in conversation, raising an eyebrow, “Though I have to say the speed of the enemy surrender does nothing for Crya’s temper. Nor mine,” she added, glaring at the map posted to the wall.
“We have fought well.” Jean agreed. “We suffered no more than minor losses. The town and mission are no longer in danger. The mission is no longer endangered.”
Sol snorted. “Just as well. Micháele would probably have a fit if his precious plans were put out by ‘savages’ of all things. Not that he would know, lounging in that abominable tent of his...”
“A reason we fought well was greatly because of unity,” the man replied and Sol’s smile dropped slightly, suspicious of where the conversation was headed. She did not need another chastising, let alone one from one of the few people she was beginning to trust. She listened silently, her fixed smile gradually becoming a frown as he continued with his diatribe; sure, it was polite enough with its flowery words but there was no mistaking the insinuation. “Do you understand where I am going, lady Solstice?”
“There you go with the ‘lady’ again.” Sol responded tartly, folding her arms. “It seems to me, sir, that trust is integral to this thing you call unity, and I would trust certain members of this ship no further than I could throw them. And I would say the same for some members of my own Guild. There are times when you are better off trusting your own instincts over the words of others.”
It wasn’t, it seemed, the response Jean wanted. “I want you to leave lord Micháele to me.” He concluded bluntly and Sol almost laughed at his efforts. In truth, she would like nothing more than to let the blonde noble rot in his meeting room, and the idea of a sympathiser knowing his ‘advances’ was almost as satisfying as beating the sap in open battle. Sure a part of her still bridled (she thought she had handled Micháele quite well, considering...) but that was quickly pushed aside by not having to see the man’s stupid spotted head anytime soon. Still, she felt Jean deserved a bit of warning.
“Let me tell you something about Micháele,” she began, unable to help a sour smile creeping across her lips, “He was considered for a field post, once; in fact, I even fought alongside him during his first command. It was a skirmish on Galvos – nothing big – but there was blood and screaming and death all the same. Some of us had seen it before, but most of us were as green as moss; Micháele, despite his lack of experience, was deemed the all-knowing oracle owing to his historical knowledge of the ancient wars. And when the last few of the green boys were on their knees – bleeding and screaming and dying like all the rest – our great Lord Tacita gave himself to the enemy, in an act he called mercy, bargaining our lives like hogs at a market for his own skinny arse.”
Turning to spit, she thought better of herself, and curled her nose up instead with a frown. “Yet who would believe the word of a lowly soldier against a noble’s? As the bastard was about to seal the deal, we were rescued by the Citadel’s Sky-fighters. The enemy believed it had been Micháele’s plan all along – to stall long enough for backup to arrive – and the story certainly suited him well enough. But I know what I saw. There was no way Micháele had expected to be saved: his face showed clear enough his surprise when the birds soared out from behind the mountains. More than half of the Rocs and their riders died; a hundred men and a hundred birds threw their lives away to save the scrawny hide of a nobleman’s precious first-born son. And when the battle was done, it was the turncoat that received the praise – for his quick thinking, it was said.”
“I know what unity is,” she told him softly, trying to keep the anger from her tone (after all, it wasn’t his fault the noble bastard had convinced him), “Unity is trusting someone to watch your back for the next arrow, and giving your own precious water to your dying Citadel brother because it might be that one drop that saves his life. Unity is knowing that not one of the men around you would put his life before yours.”
Unfolding her arms, Sol pointed at the ex-commander with eyebrows raised. “You ask those green boys about unity. Them that’s dead and buried. They’ll tell you all about men like Micháele and what they do to unity.” Sol smiled wryly, wrapping her fingers around the baldric of her crossbow. “So long as I don’t see Micháele, you can keep your unity, but I will not treat him any more than the coward and traitor he is. I’m sorry if that upsets you, sir, but it is only the way it has to be. And if I suffer for it; well, it’s no more than those green boys suffered when he betrayed them.”
Tilting her head slightly in acknowledgement, she gave Jean a sympathetic frown. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an urge to get myself a rather strong drink. Sleep is for the dead, anyway.” About to turn back in the opposite direction, Sol paused, fixing the sky-fighter with her bright gaze. “Micháele never did come to the funeral like he said he would,” she said and, without waiting for a response, headed off towards the commons muttering under her breath. “Prick.”
Time set: PM
Location set: Military Quarters
Sol frowned angrily, flicking a lock of hair away from her face and raising her gaze to the ship’s map again. Tracing a finger along her route, she remembered bitterly how her brother had always been better at puzzles as a child. Once, she had been given a wooden labyrinth by her paternal grandfather – hand carved, with a small Erythoril ball rolling inside – and it had taken her hours of frustrated concentration to figure it out. In a spate of unusual generosity – though it could be said, Leor always had had a way with words that made you feel obliged to do things – she had passed the toy to her brother. And within less than a minute, he had handed it back again; completed. In a fit of jealous rage, the young Solstice had thrown the wooden box from the window, smashing it to pieces while Leor just looked on in that calm, irritating manner of his. She had never shown how much it had upset her.
It was in the middle of her silent scrutiny that a familiar voice hailed her. Brow wrinkling once more in irritation, Sol sighed and turned, tucking her key back into her leather purse, allowing Jean a wry smile as he approached. “Do you genuinely see a lady, sir, or is that just your breeding?” He ignored her and she grinned further: the ex-commander was likeable enough, though it was far easier and more satisfying to bait Micháele. “Hercule seemed to be enjoying his rest,” she said in conversation, raising an eyebrow, “Though I have to say the speed of the enemy surrender does nothing for Crya’s temper. Nor mine,” she added, glaring at the map posted to the wall.
“We have fought well.” Jean agreed. “We suffered no more than minor losses. The town and mission are no longer in danger. The mission is no longer endangered.”
Sol snorted. “Just as well. Micháele would probably have a fit if his precious plans were put out by ‘savages’ of all things. Not that he would know, lounging in that abominable tent of his...”
“A reason we fought well was greatly because of unity,” the man replied and Sol’s smile dropped slightly, suspicious of where the conversation was headed. She did not need another chastising, let alone one from one of the few people she was beginning to trust. She listened silently, her fixed smile gradually becoming a frown as he continued with his diatribe; sure, it was polite enough with its flowery words but there was no mistaking the insinuation. “Do you understand where I am going, lady Solstice?”
“There you go with the ‘lady’ again.” Sol responded tartly, folding her arms. “It seems to me, sir, that trust is integral to this thing you call unity, and I would trust certain members of this ship no further than I could throw them. And I would say the same for some members of my own Guild. There are times when you are better off trusting your own instincts over the words of others.”
It wasn’t, it seemed, the response Jean wanted. “I want you to leave lord Micháele to me.” He concluded bluntly and Sol almost laughed at his efforts. In truth, she would like nothing more than to let the blonde noble rot in his meeting room, and the idea of a sympathiser knowing his ‘advances’ was almost as satisfying as beating the sap in open battle. Sure a part of her still bridled (she thought she had handled Micháele quite well, considering...) but that was quickly pushed aside by not having to see the man’s stupid spotted head anytime soon. Still, she felt Jean deserved a bit of warning.
“Let me tell you something about Micháele,” she began, unable to help a sour smile creeping across her lips, “He was considered for a field post, once; in fact, I even fought alongside him during his first command. It was a skirmish on Galvos – nothing big – but there was blood and screaming and death all the same. Some of us had seen it before, but most of us were as green as moss; Micháele, despite his lack of experience, was deemed the all-knowing oracle owing to his historical knowledge of the ancient wars. And when the last few of the green boys were on their knees – bleeding and screaming and dying like all the rest – our great Lord Tacita gave himself to the enemy, in an act he called mercy, bargaining our lives like hogs at a market for his own skinny arse.”
Turning to spit, she thought better of herself, and curled her nose up instead with a frown. “Yet who would believe the word of a lowly soldier against a noble’s? As the bastard was about to seal the deal, we were rescued by the Citadel’s Sky-fighters. The enemy believed it had been Micháele’s plan all along – to stall long enough for backup to arrive – and the story certainly suited him well enough. But I know what I saw. There was no way Micháele had expected to be saved: his face showed clear enough his surprise when the birds soared out from behind the mountains. More than half of the Rocs and their riders died; a hundred men and a hundred birds threw their lives away to save the scrawny hide of a nobleman’s precious first-born son. And when the battle was done, it was the turncoat that received the praise – for his quick thinking, it was said.”
“I know what unity is,” she told him softly, trying to keep the anger from her tone (after all, it wasn’t his fault the noble bastard had convinced him), “Unity is trusting someone to watch your back for the next arrow, and giving your own precious water to your dying Citadel brother because it might be that one drop that saves his life. Unity is knowing that not one of the men around you would put his life before yours.”
Unfolding her arms, Sol pointed at the ex-commander with eyebrows raised. “You ask those green boys about unity. Them that’s dead and buried. They’ll tell you all about men like Micháele and what they do to unity.” Sol smiled wryly, wrapping her fingers around the baldric of her crossbow. “So long as I don’t see Micháele, you can keep your unity, but I will not treat him any more than the coward and traitor he is. I’m sorry if that upsets you, sir, but it is only the way it has to be. And if I suffer for it; well, it’s no more than those green boys suffered when he betrayed them.”
Tilting her head slightly in acknowledgement, she gave Jean a sympathetic frown. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an urge to get myself a rather strong drink. Sleep is for the dead, anyway.” About to turn back in the opposite direction, Sol paused, fixing the sky-fighter with her bright gaze. “Micháele never did come to the funeral like he said he would,” she said and, without waiting for a response, headed off towards the commons muttering under her breath. “Prick.”
OOC Notes
The bed, dressers, mirrors and everything else Isa had ordered removed from his quarters. All he had in there was a thick rug on which to sleep, a small coffee table that substituted as a desk, a wooden chest in the right corner of the room for all his belongings and a few miscellaneous office supplies laying on the table. Sitting cross-legged in his military compartment, Isa contemplates the events of the past. He recalls his conversation with his superior officer prior to taking part in this assignment.
Isa was sitting on a chair in a dark room illuminated only by the light of a solitary candle. The office had no windows and only one way in, and that was the only way out too.
“You do know that technically you should be stripped of all rank and medals” stated the woman. Isa responded with a curt nod to indicate his understanding. From the woman’s perspective it seemed clear to her that Isa was ready to accept the consequences of his actions. The woman grimaced. “We could have you put up for execution.”
“Don’t expect me.. to be present,” Isa retorted. “I can’t die. Not yet.” His brows were furrowed and he stared intensely at the woman.
“Since we’re on the subject of death,” the woman said “how long did the healers say you have?” A grin came to her lips “Ten years at most, I last heard.”
Isa said nothing; his expression unflinching and finally, “You play a dangerous game with me, Sir.”
The woman chuckled then said “There’s the Isa I know, but more importantly, I want to know how much your training has degenerated in these past four years.”
Isa swiftly stood up, kicked his chair back, his head tiled a little to his left. He grabbed an outstretched arm with a knife in hand, flipped the large aggressor over his back and onto the table in front of him, followed by an open hand technique with the left arm that used the edge of the hand to strike under the nose, taking care in the execution to position the thumb so that it would not be injured. Isa felt the impact of the strike crumble the cartilage in his aggressor’s nose, whom had tilted his head back from the shock and pain of the blow, exposing his neck for Isa to slit the throat with his aggressor’s own knife.
All this took place in a fraction of a second.
Isa’s bloodied left hand was now tight over the dying man’s mouth and nose, quelling the verbal elements of his death throes. Crimson ochre liquid steadily pored out across the woman’s honey oak desk. The dying man showed little sign of struggle, knowing it was over for him.
Silence.
“Outstanding!” The woman had cried out with elation; clapped her hands together. “We trained him specifically to extract you. If he had succeeded, we would have sent him in your stead. Pity.”
“Standards must be.. slipping,” Isa hissed through gritted teeth. He abruptly stabbed the bloodied knife into the table then proceeded to sit back down into the wooden chair, asking “Did this man have family?”
“He’s with the Special Forces, my boy,” the woman said it very matter-of-factly, again with the grinning. She had spoken a maxim, a simple and undeniable truth of truths. Isa realized it was a question that didn’t need to be asked.
“One can never leave the Special Forces, not when they’re as deep in as we are, Isa. Not with their lives,” said the woman “...Now, let’s get to the heart of the matter. But first, come with me.” She sat up, signaling with her arm for Isa to stand, “We’re going to take a walk.”
Isa obliged. He followed the woman’s pace out of the dark recess of the death defiled office and into the dimly lit hallway. “We have an assignment for you Isa. You will be placed on a ship, not just any ship, a ship that will take you into the sky and possibly to other worlds.”
He didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in his mannerisms, though what the woman had said brought about memories of his youth. Isa remembered drawing such things as flying ships travelling the cosmos. It seemed farfetched to him, but not impossible. Isa simply nodded.
“Your primary role is to gather information on other worlders -should they exist- in terms of their numbers, resources, military strength, technology, and if necessary, the appropriation of their technology through clandestine methods. You will report to Mikáele Tacita.”
“When.. do I leave?”
“Good boy” she said, “You remind of so very much of your father, just.. smaller.”
And now I am here, he thought.
Isa was dressed in a short ivory silk bathrobe, feminine in design. It was a sort of going away present from that infernal woman along with every other damned thing in that wooden chest. It was obviously a gesture meant to agitate him. It worked. Isa was wearing it because he desired to take a bath. He wore his hair down, customarily making sure the right ear and the majority of the right side of his face was obscured from view before he departed his room for the baths.
The journey was an uncomfortable one to say the least. There were many awkward glances and uncomely staring. Isa could feel the intensity of it boring into the back of his skull. It was a feeling which had saved him from certain death on the battlefield on numerous occasions, compelling him to drop to the ground or run for cover.
Run for cover. Run for cover. Run for cover. Isa had to fight his urge to do just that.
When Isa arrived at the baths, he wasn’t pleased. The public nature of the place had otherwise dissuaded him. Pondering, he stood back-against-wall in the antechamber to the baths. The idea of taking a bath in his robe came to him, but that would attract unwanted attention. Isa knew he would have to find a time of day when this place was empty, then he would have to find a way to keep anyone from entering.
Too much hassle involved, and to be caught behaving thus is unprofessional. It looks as if I will not be bathing any time soon, but there is more than one way to clean oneself, Isa.
And so, Isa warily worked his way back to the military quarters.
…
Isa was sitting on a chair in a dark room illuminated only by the light of a solitary candle. The office had no windows and only one way in, and that was the only way out too.
“You do know that technically you should be stripped of all rank and medals” stated the woman. Isa responded with a curt nod to indicate his understanding. From the woman’s perspective it seemed clear to her that Isa was ready to accept the consequences of his actions. The woman grimaced. “We could have you put up for execution.”
“Don’t expect me.. to be present,” Isa retorted. “I can’t die. Not yet.” His brows were furrowed and he stared intensely at the woman.
“Since we’re on the subject of death,” the woman said “how long did the healers say you have?” A grin came to her lips “Ten years at most, I last heard.”
Isa said nothing; his expression unflinching and finally, “You play a dangerous game with me, Sir.”
The woman chuckled then said “There’s the Isa I know, but more importantly, I want to know how much your training has degenerated in these past four years.”
Isa swiftly stood up, kicked his chair back, his head tiled a little to his left. He grabbed an outstretched arm with a knife in hand, flipped the large aggressor over his back and onto the table in front of him, followed by an open hand technique with the left arm that used the edge of the hand to strike under the nose, taking care in the execution to position the thumb so that it would not be injured. Isa felt the impact of the strike crumble the cartilage in his aggressor’s nose, whom had tilted his head back from the shock and pain of the blow, exposing his neck for Isa to slit the throat with his aggressor’s own knife.
All this took place in a fraction of a second.
Isa’s bloodied left hand was now tight over the dying man’s mouth and nose, quelling the verbal elements of his death throes. Crimson ochre liquid steadily pored out across the woman’s honey oak desk. The dying man showed little sign of struggle, knowing it was over for him.
Silence.
“Outstanding!” The woman had cried out with elation; clapped her hands together. “We trained him specifically to extract you. If he had succeeded, we would have sent him in your stead. Pity.”
“Standards must be.. slipping,” Isa hissed through gritted teeth. He abruptly stabbed the bloodied knife into the table then proceeded to sit back down into the wooden chair, asking “Did this man have family?”
“He’s with the Special Forces, my boy,” the woman said it very matter-of-factly, again with the grinning. She had spoken a maxim, a simple and undeniable truth of truths. Isa realized it was a question that didn’t need to be asked.
“One can never leave the Special Forces, not when they’re as deep in as we are, Isa. Not with their lives,” said the woman “...Now, let’s get to the heart of the matter. But first, come with me.” She sat up, signaling with her arm for Isa to stand, “We’re going to take a walk.”
Isa obliged. He followed the woman’s pace out of the dark recess of the death defiled office and into the dimly lit hallway. “We have an assignment for you Isa. You will be placed on a ship, not just any ship, a ship that will take you into the sky and possibly to other worlds.”
He didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in his mannerisms, though what the woman had said brought about memories of his youth. Isa remembered drawing such things as flying ships travelling the cosmos. It seemed farfetched to him, but not impossible. Isa simply nodded.
“Your primary role is to gather information on other worlders -should they exist- in terms of their numbers, resources, military strength, technology, and if necessary, the appropriation of their technology through clandestine methods. You will report to Mikáele Tacita.”
“When.. do I leave?”
“Good boy” she said, “You remind of so very much of your father, just.. smaller.”
…
And now I am here, he thought.
Isa was dressed in a short ivory silk bathrobe, feminine in design. It was a sort of going away present from that infernal woman along with every other damned thing in that wooden chest. It was obviously a gesture meant to agitate him. It worked. Isa was wearing it because he desired to take a bath. He wore his hair down, customarily making sure the right ear and the majority of the right side of his face was obscured from view before he departed his room for the baths.
The journey was an uncomfortable one to say the least. There were many awkward glances and uncomely staring. Isa could feel the intensity of it boring into the back of his skull. It was a feeling which had saved him from certain death on the battlefield on numerous occasions, compelling him to drop to the ground or run for cover.
Run for cover. Run for cover. Run for cover. Isa had to fight his urge to do just that.
When Isa arrived at the baths, he wasn’t pleased. The public nature of the place had otherwise dissuaded him. Pondering, he stood back-against-wall in the antechamber to the baths. The idea of taking a bath in his robe came to him, but that would attract unwanted attention. Isa knew he would have to find a time of day when this place was empty, then he would have to find a way to keep anyone from entering.
Too much hassle involved, and to be caught behaving thus is unprofessional. It looks as if I will not be bathing any time soon, but there is more than one way to clean oneself, Isa.
And so, Isa warily worked his way back to the military quarters.
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Stella))
Stella did not even have time to think, after the man from the militant guild had rushed out of the room, when someone she knew appeared in front of her. It was none other than Jean-Baptiste Montague. She smiled warmly as the man approached her. He was polite as ever, and despite rushing to know all the information she had to give, he always kept his manners. Stella laughed softly, and waited for a moment, considering what she had to tell him. Would it be okay for her to explain everything she knew?
"To begin with, rest assured, everything went well." She could see how the man felt calmer now, after knowing things had gone according to the plan. She tried to behave more casually than she would have in a formal meeting with Jean. After all, they weren't in a meeting now, and anyone could listen to them, especially if their meeting seemd formal. She moved closer to Jean, and while she hugged him as if she hadn't seen him in some time, softly, she whispered into his ear. "Do not act formal. There could be spies, we do not want to be suspicious."
The young woman smiled nonchalantly. "Ah, it's always a pleasure to see you, Jean-Baptiste..." she said these words in a loud enough voice, so that they would not raise any suspicion, and continued with her explanation. "It took a bit more time than I wanted to, and to be honest I thought I would not be able to guarantee the town's safety, but I was able to meet with a man from the guild, who will make sure the place is safe. He seemed like a reliable soldier, so he should rely the message safely." She looked around, still a bit paranoid about the whole place. She had not been spied here, as far as she could tell, and she was just being cautious, so far, but even so, Stella had this strange feeling about something.
"As for... our lord... I talked to him, and I believe I have some interesting information to give you..." Stella wondered whether she should tell Jean everything or not. It was not out of loyalty towards the lord, that was for sure, but information was power, and knowing things no one else knew could be useful in the future. Stella was not a manipulative person, but she had to wonder how good would it be for Jean to know all that information. She wasn't sure about getting in trouble, actually. In the end, she began to talk.
"There have been many opposing the flight, just as the Bellanese have opposed it, and Micháele is saying there will be even more who will oppose it. But even so... it was not our military skills and background that made them choose us for this mission. Our particular skills, such as you being a diplomat..." Stella did not want to state she had received the role of spy. "... or Solstice being a warrior, were what made them select us. In fact..." Stella hesitated now. She was about to drop the bomb.
The spy lowered her voice. "We are not the only beings in the heavens. Astrologers have succeeded in communicating with what they call 'aeliens', beings from other worlds. And, as far as I could tell from what he told me, they are interested in the minerals found in these unknown worlds. Micháele said they only want to study them and analyse them, which I do not doubt they will. But I know there is something else. I suppose you can imagine it; unknown minerals that do not exist in our land... must be worth a fortune; and I fear they want those for themselves."
That was pretty much everything she had been told, and she had decided to give all that information to Jean, who seemed to be sort of their leader. Stella was fine with that, as long as she was not told what to do too often. "And that is everything I can tell you about my meeting. I think I got nice small pieces of information, although I admit I could not push him for more. It would have been better if I had done it, but I felt it could compromise our mission." Why was she justifying herself, anyway? Did she feel she had failed?
Stella then looked around, stood up, and walked a few steps away from Jean, then she turned around, and laughed warmly "Oh! And he asked me to keep an eye on Solstice!!" and made a quick 360 degree turn, as if she was some young noble girl. Being able to act more like a noble and less like a soldier was entertaining, sometimes. It had been quite a long time, now, anyway, since the last time she had done so.
((Ymber))
So if that woman was talking to a soldier, that probably meant she was a soldier herself... while Ymber thought she could be an interesting opponent, he stopped being interested in her the way he had been, before. Why couldn't he find any other nice looking girl, anyway? He always wanted to live his life to the fullest, and getting girls was sure something he liked, so he was feeling quite frustrated.
It was so the case that Ymber decided he'd wander around the ship for a while. Didn't stories say you can always meet the nicest girl in the strangest place? Well, if that was the case, he already knew what to do. He didn't go that far, but before he realised, he was already walking around the military quarters. Strangely enough, nobody would tell him to leave that place, so he enjoyed seeing that place, which looked certainly worse than the VIP quarters. Ymber was genuinely amused, and he was really feeling better than those low-life soldiers. Who'd want to be a soldier, anyway?
Being the nobleman he was, he could direct armies, which was not only much more enjoyable, but also much more dignified. "Receiving orders is for pansies!" he thought. It was then, while Ymber was lost in his thought, when he saw someone, dressed in a dress... no, more like a bathrobe, ivory-colored, and silk-looking. He could tell the cloth had good quality, and the person who was wearing it... long black hair, covering half of the face. Ymber would have thought it was a woman, because of the height and general complexion, but he had a sixth sense for those things... and if this was a woman, it was certainly no ordinary woman.
"Excuse me..." the young nobleman spoke to the short person in the ivory robe. He had to think of something to say, trying not to look like an idiot. As he got near the person, all his senses felt like an alarm going off. Whoever was this person, it was a dangerous person!! He needed a way out of this... and he found the perfect excuse, as his quick mind found an idea.
"I am sorry to bother you, but I believe you look like a great fighter... I wish to learn the art of combat from an expert master".
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Stella))
Stella did not even have time to think, after the man from the militant guild had rushed out of the room, when someone she knew appeared in front of her. It was none other than Jean-Baptiste Montague. She smiled warmly as the man approached her. He was polite as ever, and despite rushing to know all the information she had to give, he always kept his manners. Stella laughed softly, and waited for a moment, considering what she had to tell him. Would it be okay for her to explain everything she knew?
"To begin with, rest assured, everything went well." She could see how the man felt calmer now, after knowing things had gone according to the plan. She tried to behave more casually than she would have in a formal meeting with Jean. After all, they weren't in a meeting now, and anyone could listen to them, especially if their meeting seemd formal. She moved closer to Jean, and while she hugged him as if she hadn't seen him in some time, softly, she whispered into his ear. "Do not act formal. There could be spies, we do not want to be suspicious."
The young woman smiled nonchalantly. "Ah, it's always a pleasure to see you, Jean-Baptiste..." she said these words in a loud enough voice, so that they would not raise any suspicion, and continued with her explanation. "It took a bit more time than I wanted to, and to be honest I thought I would not be able to guarantee the town's safety, but I was able to meet with a man from the guild, who will make sure the place is safe. He seemed like a reliable soldier, so he should rely the message safely." She looked around, still a bit paranoid about the whole place. She had not been spied here, as far as she could tell, and she was just being cautious, so far, but even so, Stella had this strange feeling about something.
"As for... our lord... I talked to him, and I believe I have some interesting information to give you..." Stella wondered whether she should tell Jean everything or not. It was not out of loyalty towards the lord, that was for sure, but information was power, and knowing things no one else knew could be useful in the future. Stella was not a manipulative person, but she had to wonder how good would it be for Jean to know all that information. She wasn't sure about getting in trouble, actually. In the end, she began to talk.
"There have been many opposing the flight, just as the Bellanese have opposed it, and Micháele is saying there will be even more who will oppose it. But even so... it was not our military skills and background that made them choose us for this mission. Our particular skills, such as you being a diplomat..." Stella did not want to state she had received the role of spy. "... or Solstice being a warrior, were what made them select us. In fact..." Stella hesitated now. She was about to drop the bomb.
The spy lowered her voice. "We are not the only beings in the heavens. Astrologers have succeeded in communicating with what they call 'aeliens', beings from other worlds. And, as far as I could tell from what he told me, they are interested in the minerals found in these unknown worlds. Micháele said they only want to study them and analyse them, which I do not doubt they will. But I know there is something else. I suppose you can imagine it; unknown minerals that do not exist in our land... must be worth a fortune; and I fear they want those for themselves."
That was pretty much everything she had been told, and she had decided to give all that information to Jean, who seemed to be sort of their leader. Stella was fine with that, as long as she was not told what to do too often. "And that is everything I can tell you about my meeting. I think I got nice small pieces of information, although I admit I could not push him for more. It would have been better if I had done it, but I felt it could compromise our mission." Why was she justifying herself, anyway? Did she feel she had failed?
Stella then looked around, stood up, and walked a few steps away from Jean, then she turned around, and laughed warmly "Oh! And he asked me to keep an eye on Solstice!!" and made a quick 360 degree turn, as if she was some young noble girl. Being able to act more like a noble and less like a soldier was entertaining, sometimes. It had been quite a long time, now, anyway, since the last time she had done so.
((Ymber))
So if that woman was talking to a soldier, that probably meant she was a soldier herself... while Ymber thought she could be an interesting opponent, he stopped being interested in her the way he had been, before. Why couldn't he find any other nice looking girl, anyway? He always wanted to live his life to the fullest, and getting girls was sure something he liked, so he was feeling quite frustrated.
It was so the case that Ymber decided he'd wander around the ship for a while. Didn't stories say you can always meet the nicest girl in the strangest place? Well, if that was the case, he already knew what to do. He didn't go that far, but before he realised, he was already walking around the military quarters. Strangely enough, nobody would tell him to leave that place, so he enjoyed seeing that place, which looked certainly worse than the VIP quarters. Ymber was genuinely amused, and he was really feeling better than those low-life soldiers. Who'd want to be a soldier, anyway?
Being the nobleman he was, he could direct armies, which was not only much more enjoyable, but also much more dignified. "Receiving orders is for pansies!" he thought. It was then, while Ymber was lost in his thought, when he saw someone, dressed in a dress... no, more like a bathrobe, ivory-colored, and silk-looking. He could tell the cloth had good quality, and the person who was wearing it... long black hair, covering half of the face. Ymber would have thought it was a woman, because of the height and general complexion, but he had a sixth sense for those things... and if this was a woman, it was certainly no ordinary woman.
"Excuse me..." the young nobleman spoke to the short person in the ivory robe. He had to think of something to say, trying not to look like an idiot. As he got near the person, all his senses felt like an alarm going off. Whoever was this person, it was a dangerous person!! He needed a way out of this... and he found the perfect excuse, as his quick mind found an idea.
"I am sorry to bother you, but I believe you look like a great fighter... I wish to learn the art of combat from an expert master".
OOC Notes
Is he coming my way? He does not have the appearance of a soldier. So why is he in the military quarters? Does he want to talk? Why would anyone want to talk with me? He is coming my way. Does he wish to do me violence? Should I kill him?
Isa stopped walking then turned to face the approaching boy, his back a short distant from the wall. The boy was tall, so Isa had to look up. A small segment of the scar which started at the edge of Isa's right lip was briefly visible before he raised his right hand over it. His fingers were splayed in a manner which partly obscured the vision of his right eye. The stance alongside his characteristic melancholic expression made the small man appear rather ominous.
The right sleeve of Isa’s robe had slid down to his elbow when he raised his arm. It had revealed several old scars that were clearly produced by slash wounds to the outside of his thin hairless muscle corded forearm.
Now that Isa was viewing with focus, not his peripherals, the resemblance of this boy was a thing Isa couldn’t help but perceive. Again, he gathered the minutiae of information that was present before him and that which he had observed in the not so distant past. It was there for a surety. There was no mistaking it in Isa’s mind. This wasn’t all Isa gathered. He noticed the mark of an exceptional soldier within this boy. Isa’s inner-conscious conveyed to him that the boy had it, else how would he have been able to single Isa out. With the right training the boy could amount to greatness in the likes of murder and destruction.
Nonetheless, the boy’s request came to him as an awkward one. Never before had anyone asked Isa to teach them to kill. But why? Isa wondered.
For Isa, it eventually became a combination of many things. The sensations that made him think that his existence was on the brink of annihilation; undergoing intense physical pain and strain. The times when Isa had to do without sleep for weeks, knowing that if had fallen asleep it would mean that he would never wake. The blood and sweat of the enemy intermingled with his own. Then there was the satisfaction of the near escape, the duel with an exceptional adversary and the thrill of the kill. Only when confronted with these dire circumstances did Isa truly feel alive.
The violence in his life was akin to some sort of forbidden aphrodisiac, so incredibly addictive but equally hazardous if not more. Without these things life to Isa was lifeless; fake; hollow. Isa knew he had a sickness of the mind, far from being sane or what people would term normal.
I will never... I will never do that to anyone, Isa thought.
Within moments of the boy’s request, in a hushed voice, Isa said with explicit candor: “I am sorry but.. I am no fighter. I am.. a murderer, an expert murderer. And to be an expert murderer means to show.. no hesitation. An expert murderer will kill even a defenseless women or child if need be. Do you wish to be a murderer? If so, I may.. consider teaching you thus.”
Isa stopped walking then turned to face the approaching boy, his back a short distant from the wall. The boy was tall, so Isa had to look up. A small segment of the scar which started at the edge of Isa's right lip was briefly visible before he raised his right hand over it. His fingers were splayed in a manner which partly obscured the vision of his right eye. The stance alongside his characteristic melancholic expression made the small man appear rather ominous.
The right sleeve of Isa’s robe had slid down to his elbow when he raised his arm. It had revealed several old scars that were clearly produced by slash wounds to the outside of his thin hairless muscle corded forearm.
Now that Isa was viewing with focus, not his peripherals, the resemblance of this boy was a thing Isa couldn’t help but perceive. Again, he gathered the minutiae of information that was present before him and that which he had observed in the not so distant past. It was there for a surety. There was no mistaking it in Isa’s mind. This wasn’t all Isa gathered. He noticed the mark of an exceptional soldier within this boy. Isa’s inner-conscious conveyed to him that the boy had it, else how would he have been able to single Isa out. With the right training the boy could amount to greatness in the likes of murder and destruction.
Nonetheless, the boy’s request came to him as an awkward one. Never before had anyone asked Isa to teach them to kill. But why? Isa wondered.
For Isa, it eventually became a combination of many things. The sensations that made him think that his existence was on the brink of annihilation; undergoing intense physical pain and strain. The times when Isa had to do without sleep for weeks, knowing that if had fallen asleep it would mean that he would never wake. The blood and sweat of the enemy intermingled with his own. Then there was the satisfaction of the near escape, the duel with an exceptional adversary and the thrill of the kill. Only when confronted with these dire circumstances did Isa truly feel alive.
The violence in his life was akin to some sort of forbidden aphrodisiac, so incredibly addictive but equally hazardous if not more. Without these things life to Isa was lifeless; fake; hollow. Isa knew he had a sickness of the mind, far from being sane or what people would term normal.
I will never... I will never do that to anyone, Isa thought.
Within moments of the boy’s request, in a hushed voice, Isa said with explicit candor: “I am sorry but.. I am no fighter. I am.. a murderer, an expert murderer. And to be an expert murderer means to show.. no hesitation. An expert murderer will kill even a defenseless women or child if need be. Do you wish to be a murderer? If so, I may.. consider teaching you thus.”
OOC Notes
Isa remained stolid as he watched the young noble take a step back from him. It was perhaps the most basic form of defensive action in close-quarters combat; simple and effective. Isa noted that this young noble was just outside of his “killing range” or what some would call the “circle of influence”. Whether the young noble moved back out of fear or instinct remained in question, though Isa was aware that fear too can often be an instinctual reaction.
How did it come to this?
This was not at all anticipated by Isa -the young noble’s actions, that is. Isa understood that the situation was turning into something other than it needed to be, heedful of potential consequences. Isa was being sincere in his words, nothing more. This was a quality of his that most people came to despise. Did Isa need to work on subtlety? Maybe a little would be his thoughts. Isa was aware that this current situation was partly his own fault as well. He hadn’t been in proximity to this many people for a long, long time, that and his strict military upbringing coupled with his life experiences made it difficult for him to deal with and approach people in a non-confrontational atmosphere.
The best sword-play, you say? Isa made a clear separation of the two words in his thoughts. Memories of a time long past flooded into Isa’s thoughts. That is what most nobles do. They play with swords, nothing more, thought Isa.
This young noble said he wanted the best sword-play, but in Isa’s mind, he had killed the greatest swordsman that ever lived and she was his greatest adversary. Isa on the other hand was not fond of the sword. A weapon of its size was generally unwieldy for man of his figure. He preferred the knife over all other instruments of murder. Small, easily concealed and there were a great many objects that are practically synonymous with the knife e.g. fountain pen, hairpin, broken glass, piton, etc.
“Murder… is another word for killing, Young Noble, and murder coincides with the occupation of a soldier. I am a soldier… I have killed. Sometimes a soldier is ordered to do things that would go against his or her own… personal code.” It was a flat statement. “…Believe me when I say, I meant no offense. You do have my sincere apology… I believe you can become a great swordsman one day… with proper guidance.”
It was not a show of nicety. Isa’s words and his apology were sincere regardless of his raspy juvenile voice -often acknowledged as callous- betraying little to no feeling from behind his melancholic mask.
Since the young noble had raised his voice, there were presently onlookers. Isa wished the young noble hadn’t done that. He suddenly began to feel exposed. It came to him that wearing this short bathrobe was a horrible idea. It barely covered the knees, only just concealing the scar going up the back his left thigh. And the colour of his legs weren’t exactly a solid light brown in complexion -owed to minor scaring which consisted of some scrapes, scratches and cuts, although it was hardly noticeable from a distance.
They think me a monster; ugly, and they are right.
Isa took a step back and to the side, placing his back an inch away from the wall of the corridor he was in. From his new position the young noble would view only the left side of Isa’s face. Then Isa put his right arm back to his side, the robe sliding back down to hide the scars on his forearms, some of which crossed over one another. Not even the tips of his fingers could be seen beyond the void that was his sleeve. He tugged down at the robe with his left hand to little effect. Isa was no longer looking directly at the noble, but where the wall and the floor met in front of him, his gaze down-turned.
“If you’ll excuse me now… I’ll be on my way,” said Isa, for it would be rude to simply walk away from this noble or anyone without a proper leave-taking.
How did it come to this?
This was not at all anticipated by Isa -the young noble’s actions, that is. Isa understood that the situation was turning into something other than it needed to be, heedful of potential consequences. Isa was being sincere in his words, nothing more. This was a quality of his that most people came to despise. Did Isa need to work on subtlety? Maybe a little would be his thoughts. Isa was aware that this current situation was partly his own fault as well. He hadn’t been in proximity to this many people for a long, long time, that and his strict military upbringing coupled with his life experiences made it difficult for him to deal with and approach people in a non-confrontational atmosphere.
The best sword-play, you say? Isa made a clear separation of the two words in his thoughts. Memories of a time long past flooded into Isa’s thoughts. That is what most nobles do. They play with swords, nothing more, thought Isa.
This young noble said he wanted the best sword-play, but in Isa’s mind, he had killed the greatest swordsman that ever lived and she was his greatest adversary. Isa on the other hand was not fond of the sword. A weapon of its size was generally unwieldy for man of his figure. He preferred the knife over all other instruments of murder. Small, easily concealed and there were a great many objects that are practically synonymous with the knife e.g. fountain pen, hairpin, broken glass, piton, etc.
“Murder… is another word for killing, Young Noble, and murder coincides with the occupation of a soldier. I am a soldier… I have killed. Sometimes a soldier is ordered to do things that would go against his or her own… personal code.” It was a flat statement. “…Believe me when I say, I meant no offense. You do have my sincere apology… I believe you can become a great swordsman one day… with proper guidance.”
It was not a show of nicety. Isa’s words and his apology were sincere regardless of his raspy juvenile voice -often acknowledged as callous- betraying little to no feeling from behind his melancholic mask.
Since the young noble had raised his voice, there were presently onlookers. Isa wished the young noble hadn’t done that. He suddenly began to feel exposed. It came to him that wearing this short bathrobe was a horrible idea. It barely covered the knees, only just concealing the scar going up the back his left thigh. And the colour of his legs weren’t exactly a solid light brown in complexion -owed to minor scaring which consisted of some scrapes, scratches and cuts, although it was hardly noticeable from a distance.
They think me a monster; ugly, and they are right.
Isa took a step back and to the side, placing his back an inch away from the wall of the corridor he was in. From his new position the young noble would view only the left side of Isa’s face. Then Isa put his right arm back to his side, the robe sliding back down to hide the scars on his forearms, some of which crossed over one another. Not even the tips of his fingers could be seen beyond the void that was his sleeve. He tugged down at the robe with his left hand to little effect. Isa was no longer looking directly at the noble, but where the wall and the floor met in front of him, his gaze down-turned.
“If you’ll excuse me now… I’ll be on my way,” said Isa, for it would be rude to simply walk away from this noble or anyone without a proper leave-taking.
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Sol))
“Ha!” Balancing a knife on the tip of her finger, Sol watched the game on the table opposite her play out, the victor turning over his cards to display a clear win as the defeated growled in irritation, pushing away from his seat to leave the Commons. Noting her exclamation, the winner looked up as he gathered his spoils, flashing a grin at her. The sky-fighter raised an eyebrow as he swept up his cards, waving them at her.
“Think you can do better, darling?”
Smile dropping, Sol flipped her knife in subtle threat before tucking it smoothly out of sight and standing, eyebrow still raised at the arrogant slimeball. “Better than an impotent old greenhorn, certainly,” she said sweetly, not letting her slow smile reach her eyes as she watched the man surge from his seat in anger, “Ooh, I’m sorry darling – did I hit a nerve?”
The man lunged for a knife, but Sol already had one of her swords in her hand. “Oh, you really don’t want to do that, my friend.” His lips parted in a snarl, no doubt about to come up with some oh-so-cutting remark, when a shouting upon the mezzanine caught his attention. Keeping half an eye on him, in case he was bluffing, the sky-fighter looked up to where previously the minstrel had been.
“My Lords and Ladies,” the dark-haired woman in guard livery said again as her gaze scanned the room perfunctorily, “In a few moments time our Alchemists will begin the launch of this vessel into the heavens. Any passengers without a duty, please return to your cabins. To those who have expressed a concern about sickness in our first minutes of travel, our suggestion is for you to take this opportunity to get some sleep. Those who have been employed in this venture, you are required to gather in your recon groups and gather in your allocated Academy chamber.”
Hooking her falchion back into its place, Sol turned fully to look at the herald, half envying her. Once, it had been the young redhead in this woman’s place and there wasn’t a day that went past that she didn’t miss the job’s knowledge and solitude. If it hadn’t have been for Crya, Sol would probably have given up the soldier’s life long ago to be a messenger again. Though with people like Mikáele controlling the couriers of the Citadel, there was no chance she could ever make her dream of being an aerial envoy. She smirked in satisfaction; luck must’ve really been on her side with the offer of this mission.
“I will now read out a list of companies and your corresponding room at the Academy. Know that your groups may be expanded or minimised by your superiors depending on what’s necessary for the mission. I will repeat this on every major deck before the launch, but please pass the message on.” Sol zoned out slightly, checking her baldric and belt straps as the woman began to roll out a list of names, until she heard somewhat she recognised.
“Sir Jean-Baptiste Montague will command Recon One, his party comprising of the following permanent members: Stella Oceane, Isa Sabiha and Solstice Aibhilín. Invitations have also been extended to Regeira Læman and Mahler, and a request has been made by an Ymber Ocmare, and it is hoped all will join you at some point. If this isn’t the case, Montague will press on with his three permanent crew. All will report to Lord Mikáele Tacita promptly upon lights-up tomorrow morning at Academy Room Three. Until then, please use this time to get some rest.”
Sol sighed in irritation. The man was like a bad penny. Still, she thought as she turned to make her way out of the room, at least it was starting to get interesting.
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Sol))
“Ha!” Balancing a knife on the tip of her finger, Sol watched the game on the table opposite her play out, the victor turning over his cards to display a clear win as the defeated growled in irritation, pushing away from his seat to leave the Commons. Noting her exclamation, the winner looked up as he gathered his spoils, flashing a grin at her. The sky-fighter raised an eyebrow as he swept up his cards, waving them at her.
“Think you can do better, darling?”
Smile dropping, Sol flipped her knife in subtle threat before tucking it smoothly out of sight and standing, eyebrow still raised at the arrogant slimeball. “Better than an impotent old greenhorn, certainly,” she said sweetly, not letting her slow smile reach her eyes as she watched the man surge from his seat in anger, “Ooh, I’m sorry darling – did I hit a nerve?”
The man lunged for a knife, but Sol already had one of her swords in her hand. “Oh, you really don’t want to do that, my friend.” His lips parted in a snarl, no doubt about to come up with some oh-so-cutting remark, when a shouting upon the mezzanine caught his attention. Keeping half an eye on him, in case he was bluffing, the sky-fighter looked up to where previously the minstrel had been.
“My Lords and Ladies,” the dark-haired woman in guard livery said again as her gaze scanned the room perfunctorily, “In a few moments time our Alchemists will begin the launch of this vessel into the heavens. Any passengers without a duty, please return to your cabins. To those who have expressed a concern about sickness in our first minutes of travel, our suggestion is for you to take this opportunity to get some sleep. Those who have been employed in this venture, you are required to gather in your recon groups and gather in your allocated Academy chamber.”
Hooking her falchion back into its place, Sol turned fully to look at the herald, half envying her. Once, it had been the young redhead in this woman’s place and there wasn’t a day that went past that she didn’t miss the job’s knowledge and solitude. If it hadn’t have been for Crya, Sol would probably have given up the soldier’s life long ago to be a messenger again. Though with people like Mikáele controlling the couriers of the Citadel, there was no chance she could ever make her dream of being an aerial envoy. She smirked in satisfaction; luck must’ve really been on her side with the offer of this mission.
“I will now read out a list of companies and your corresponding room at the Academy. Know that your groups may be expanded or minimised by your superiors depending on what’s necessary for the mission. I will repeat this on every major deck before the launch, but please pass the message on.” Sol zoned out slightly, checking her baldric and belt straps as the woman began to roll out a list of names, until she heard somewhat she recognised.
“Sir Jean-Baptiste Montague will command Recon One, his party comprising of the following permanent members: Stella Oceane, Isa Sabiha and Solstice Aibhilín. Invitations have also been extended to Regeira Læman and Mahler, and a request has been made by an Ymber Ocmare, and it is hoped all will join you at some point. If this isn’t the case, Montague will press on with his three permanent crew. All will report to Lord Mikáele Tacita promptly upon lights-up tomorrow morning at Academy Room Three. Until then, please use this time to get some rest.”
Sol sighed in irritation. The man was like a bad penny. Still, she thought as she turned to make her way out of the room, at least it was starting to get interesting.
OOC Notes
Daller Friedal was not a small man. It would be hard to miss him in a crowded place, and even harder in an empty one. In the tight corridors of the Leviathon, he would have taken up a hall to himself, so anyone who'd needed to get anywhere would have to go around. This had happened a few times already, when he'd encountered crew trying to prepare for takeoff, and after some apologies and directions he'd found himself on what they called the Supply Deck, where he presumed he'd be working.
But where were the kitchens, he wondered, wandering the cavernous space, or what would have been a cavernous space if it was not, in fact, occupied by supplies. There had to be some place where food was prepared, right? After all, you couldn't store a hot roast, at least if you wanted it to remain hot, or indeed recognizable as a roast (ha, there were stories he could tell about fuzzy meat). You had to salt it and dry it, and you couldn't actually eat that unprepared, without a stomach and jaw of meteoric iron.
Logically, or at least as logic went at sea, you'd stick the mess as close to the storage as possible, in order to keep hauling and such down to a minimum. But either logic hadn't much gone into the construction of this vessel (always a possibility when the military was concerned) or Daller had missed some vital step.
"Excuse me, friend!" he said to a moving shape in the shadowy area between a pile of crates. "Do you happen to know where the kitchens are?"
"Moo." The bovine was tethered to one of the boxes, presumably temporarily.
Daller nodded, deciding that talking to a cow wasn't the strangest thing that could have happened. "Thank you greatly, friend!" He then turned and tried to retrace his steps, heading for the stairwell. He'd head for his room, he decided, to rest while the ship launched or whatever it was planning to do. Then he'd ask for directions, this time from a Teela and not livestock.
Finding himself on the colossal spiral that dominated the center of the ship, Daller began to make his way up, apologizing to everyone who had to get out of his way. "Do not worry, I am no bear!" he said, laughing, "only a cook in lieu of a kitchen!"
But where were the kitchens, he wondered, wandering the cavernous space, or what would have been a cavernous space if it was not, in fact, occupied by supplies. There had to be some place where food was prepared, right? After all, you couldn't store a hot roast, at least if you wanted it to remain hot, or indeed recognizable as a roast (ha, there were stories he could tell about fuzzy meat). You had to salt it and dry it, and you couldn't actually eat that unprepared, without a stomach and jaw of meteoric iron.
Logically, or at least as logic went at sea, you'd stick the mess as close to the storage as possible, in order to keep hauling and such down to a minimum. But either logic hadn't much gone into the construction of this vessel (always a possibility when the military was concerned) or Daller had missed some vital step.
"Excuse me, friend!" he said to a moving shape in the shadowy area between a pile of crates. "Do you happen to know where the kitchens are?"
"Moo." The bovine was tethered to one of the boxes, presumably temporarily.
Daller nodded, deciding that talking to a cow wasn't the strangest thing that could have happened. "Thank you greatly, friend!" He then turned and tried to retrace his steps, heading for the stairwell. He'd head for his room, he decided, to rest while the ship launched or whatever it was planning to do. Then he'd ask for directions, this time from a Teela and not livestock.
Finding himself on the colossal spiral that dominated the center of the ship, Daller began to make his way up, apologizing to everyone who had to get out of his way. "Do not worry, I am no bear!" he said, laughing, "only a cook in lieu of a kitchen!"
OOC Notes
((Sol))
"Do not worry, I am no bear!" came the chirpy bellow from the end of the corridor as Sol let the door of the Commons swing to behind her. Smirking, the sky-fighter picked up the pace, rounding the corner to find herself face to face with a man who could’ve rivalled a Kraken. "Only a cook in lieu of a kitchen!" he finished, his massive bulk shaking with his humour, and Sol grinned fully, recognising the same jolly attitude as her paternal grandfather.
“Shame,” she returned, wrinkling her nose and tucking her thumbs into her belt, “We could do with a bear around here; it would certainly be more interesting than watching the nobles brown-nose each other.” Laughing, she held out a hand, appreciating the cook’s strong grip as he clasped her hand in return. “I’m Sol – or Aibhilín, depending on where your loyalties lie.
“Hey-“ Clapping the man on the shoulder, Sol swivelled on her heel, drawing the cook down the corridor back towards the Commons as she talked, “You don’t happen to know the traditional recipe for spiced soup, do you? My gramps used to do one he called the ‘Inferno’ – never used to eat anything else. I put some in my brother’s porridge once: ha! Didn’t he squirm afterwards! Everyone’s been called to pre-launch meetings – apart from me and my group, of course: we’re tomorrow morning, after this great thing gets up in the air. At least they named it aptly.”
“Anyways,” she concluded, “I figured your meetings will probably be in here.” As they reached the Commons doors, Sol shouldered them open, grinning at him and winking, “And seeing as I’ve got nothing else to do for the time being – except avoid my superior – I figured I might as well come along too. After all, you might need a taster for this evening’s meal.”
With a laugh and the big man trailing, the sky-fighter shouldered her way through the throng of people leaving, heading towards the bar. Nodding to the girl with the dishcloth and partly opened mouth – almost as if she was trying to say something – Sol strode past the bar and through the kitchen door. Stopping, she took a deep breath of air already pungent with savoury aromas and turned to the cook with a satisfied smirk. “There you go; what do we do now?”
"Do not worry, I am no bear!" came the chirpy bellow from the end of the corridor as Sol let the door of the Commons swing to behind her. Smirking, the sky-fighter picked up the pace, rounding the corner to find herself face to face with a man who could’ve rivalled a Kraken. "Only a cook in lieu of a kitchen!" he finished, his massive bulk shaking with his humour, and Sol grinned fully, recognising the same jolly attitude as her paternal grandfather.
“Shame,” she returned, wrinkling her nose and tucking her thumbs into her belt, “We could do with a bear around here; it would certainly be more interesting than watching the nobles brown-nose each other.” Laughing, she held out a hand, appreciating the cook’s strong grip as he clasped her hand in return. “I’m Sol – or Aibhilín, depending on where your loyalties lie.
“Hey-“ Clapping the man on the shoulder, Sol swivelled on her heel, drawing the cook down the corridor back towards the Commons as she talked, “You don’t happen to know the traditional recipe for spiced soup, do you? My gramps used to do one he called the ‘Inferno’ – never used to eat anything else. I put some in my brother’s porridge once: ha! Didn’t he squirm afterwards! Everyone’s been called to pre-launch meetings – apart from me and my group, of course: we’re tomorrow morning, after this great thing gets up in the air. At least they named it aptly.”
“Anyways,” she concluded, “I figured your meetings will probably be in here.” As they reached the Commons doors, Sol shouldered them open, grinning at him and winking, “And seeing as I’ve got nothing else to do for the time being – except avoid my superior – I figured I might as well come along too. After all, you might need a taster for this evening’s meal.”
With a laugh and the big man trailing, the sky-fighter shouldered her way through the throng of people leaving, heading towards the bar. Nodding to the girl with the dishcloth and partly opened mouth – almost as if she was trying to say something – Sol strode past the bar and through the kitchen door. Stopping, she took a deep breath of air already pungent with savoury aromas and turned to the cook with a satisfied smirk. “There you go; what do we do now?”
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: Military Quarters
((Ymber))
Obviously, the best decision Ymber could take was to listen carefully to the man in front of him, to show him respect, to behave accordinly, and everything should be alright. However, as frightened as Ymber could be –somehow, not completely frightened, he would never allow that–, he thought that Isa did not seem the kind of person to lie. Either that, or he was a master of deceiving.
“Do not misunderstand me; I believe it is very unfortunate that the word used to describe the art of using a sword is the same as the word used to describe what little children do. Perhaps it is because men want to downplay the dangerous nature of swords; or maybe it’s just that they like to look like little children with dangerous tools. But what I want is skills, nothing less.”
And again, Ymber cursed himself. Why should he be so cocky? However, he felt a bit more at ease when Isa spoke. Despite seeming dangerous, he didn’t look like he meant any harm to Ymber. Was it because he was a noble? Was it because the man was just not interested in him? Whatever the reason was, this allowed him to relax, for the first time since meeting the man.
“Thank you for your words. They do show the truth of the battlefield, and I realise you know about what you’re speaking of. I can sense it. This is the reason why... I would love to know the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Even if swords were not to be your area of expertise, I am convinced someone like you would know how to defense themselves in close quarters combat. And I believe it is a tremendously useful skill, for anyone to know”.
Without an answer, the man turned around and announced he would be taking leave. For some reason, Ymber felt he could trust the man. Perhaps not trust him with his life, but he could definitely trust his words. Ymber felt if the man said something, he would not lie, and that was definitely something good. “I hope I did not bother you. I will meet you again and... I hope you can teach me some useful things”.
With that, the young nobleman turned around as well and walked back to the commons. “There’s nothing to see here!” he told the people around the place. He did not want people to look at him too much, now, for some reason. He arrived to the commons just in time to hear someone shouting above the rest. Someone who was stating the ship would be launched soon. That sure was something interesting.
They were also calling for those who had work to do... so Ymber thought he would probably be forced to go back to his chamber. Therefore, he decided to walk away from the big room he was in, still quite crowded. However, as he was about to disappear from there, he heard something that surprised him quite a bit. He heard a female voice mentioning the members of a certain party, Recon One; which would have none other than Sir Montague as its’ commander. And while that was interesting to know, as Ymber definitely wanted to meet both him and Chanson again, the surprising statement was yet to come.
They took into account his request! And as he heard, he was expected to join, at some point. That was great news, actually. Suddenly everything gained color and became a lot more interesting. With his head up and looking quite proud, he turned around and walked to the center of the room, where he expected to meet someone on his team. “Excuse me, let me pass, I’m Ymber Ocmare; thank you” he would say as he made his way towards his destination.
Ymber had to privately admit he was sort of excited; as he was going to be part of the mission, truly. His family would be proud. He would do something not even his sister was able to do. What was the name of the person he was to report? It didn’t mind; he was sure someone would tell him again. He was not seeing Montague anywhere, and he certainly did not know what the other members of the team looked like, so he asked around. “I’m Ymber Ocmare; do you know if any of the people belonging to the Recon One squad are here?”
He really hoped he could find someone. If not, he might have trouble when going to the room the following morning.
Time set: PM
Location set: Military Quarters
((Ymber))
Obviously, the best decision Ymber could take was to listen carefully to the man in front of him, to show him respect, to behave accordinly, and everything should be alright. However, as frightened as Ymber could be –somehow, not completely frightened, he would never allow that–, he thought that Isa did not seem the kind of person to lie. Either that, or he was a master of deceiving.
“Do not misunderstand me; I believe it is very unfortunate that the word used to describe the art of using a sword is the same as the word used to describe what little children do. Perhaps it is because men want to downplay the dangerous nature of swords; or maybe it’s just that they like to look like little children with dangerous tools. But what I want is skills, nothing less.”
And again, Ymber cursed himself. Why should he be so cocky? However, he felt a bit more at ease when Isa spoke. Despite seeming dangerous, he didn’t look like he meant any harm to Ymber. Was it because he was a noble? Was it because the man was just not interested in him? Whatever the reason was, this allowed him to relax, for the first time since meeting the man.
“Thank you for your words. They do show the truth of the battlefield, and I realise you know about what you’re speaking of. I can sense it. This is the reason why... I would love to know the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Even if swords were not to be your area of expertise, I am convinced someone like you would know how to defense themselves in close quarters combat. And I believe it is a tremendously useful skill, for anyone to know”.
Without an answer, the man turned around and announced he would be taking leave. For some reason, Ymber felt he could trust the man. Perhaps not trust him with his life, but he could definitely trust his words. Ymber felt if the man said something, he would not lie, and that was definitely something good. “I hope I did not bother you. I will meet you again and... I hope you can teach me some useful things”.
With that, the young nobleman turned around as well and walked back to the commons. “There’s nothing to see here!” he told the people around the place. He did not want people to look at him too much, now, for some reason. He arrived to the commons just in time to hear someone shouting above the rest. Someone who was stating the ship would be launched soon. That sure was something interesting.
They were also calling for those who had work to do... so Ymber thought he would probably be forced to go back to his chamber. Therefore, he decided to walk away from the big room he was in, still quite crowded. However, as he was about to disappear from there, he heard something that surprised him quite a bit. He heard a female voice mentioning the members of a certain party, Recon One; which would have none other than Sir Montague as its’ commander. And while that was interesting to know, as Ymber definitely wanted to meet both him and Chanson again, the surprising statement was yet to come.
They took into account his request! And as he heard, he was expected to join, at some point. That was great news, actually. Suddenly everything gained color and became a lot more interesting. With his head up and looking quite proud, he turned around and walked to the center of the room, where he expected to meet someone on his team. “Excuse me, let me pass, I’m Ymber Ocmare; thank you” he would say as he made his way towards his destination.
Ymber had to privately admit he was sort of excited; as he was going to be part of the mission, truly. His family would be proud. He would do something not even his sister was able to do. What was the name of the person he was to report? It didn’t mind; he was sure someone would tell him again. He was not seeing Montague anywhere, and he certainly did not know what the other members of the team looked like, so he asked around. “I’m Ymber Ocmare; do you know if any of the people belonging to the Recon One squad are here?”
He really hoped he could find someone. If not, he might have trouble when going to the room the following morning.
OOC Notes
"Eh?" Daller found himself suddenly met with a talkative young lady who apparently went by the name of Sol except when she didn't. Led off by the arm, he found himself dragged to the kitchens, so far from the supplies. "Ah, spiced soup? Yes, I know many recipes for that. Sailors and soldiers all love the spices. And Inferno was a pinnacle of marching meals! They say it is better than a needle or bugle for waking the oversleeping! Just give them a spoonful and..." He laughed again, causing a slight pause in the bustle around. "Watch them squirm, like you said!"
He looked around then, at the kitchen filled with smoke and aromas. Nothing like the smelly, cramped galley of a galleon or the tense, sterilized danger of a nobleman's mess. This place had class, the kind of sense of pride and dignity afforded to people who can know for certain that what they make will be enjoyed. It was the kind of place Friedal had dreamed of.
"Now I must get to know this place," he said with relish. Food pun removed for the sake of humanity. "What is the main meal of the night?" he asked a passing cook.
He looked around then, at the kitchen filled with smoke and aromas. Nothing like the smelly, cramped galley of a galleon or the tense, sterilized danger of a nobleman's mess. This place had class, the kind of sense of pride and dignity afforded to people who can know for certain that what they make will be enjoyed. It was the kind of place Friedal had dreamed of.
"Now I must get to know this place," he said with relish. Food pun removed for the sake of humanity. "What is the main meal of the night?" he asked a passing cook.
OOC Notes
Isa suddenly realized that he had overlooked introducing himself; however, in Isa's reality a name on the battlefield meant nothing unless the owner of that name had fell a great many men or beast, but he was not on the battlefield -a thing whereof he invariably reminded himself.
"I am Sa..." Isa hesitated for a second. "Isa... is my name. Isa." When he mouthed this it was in a faint whisper, so faint that even he hardly heard it himself, but the young noble was gone anyhow, so there was no sense in the action. A part of Isa wanted to chase after him to apologize.
How puerile that would seem.
Isa strongly settled against this course of action, but his mind still remained open to the prospect of taking the young noble as his pupil. Isa estimated his age amid fifteen to eighteen. This meant he still had some growing left in him -both physically and mentally- and what a fine specimen of a man he was in his present state.
Tall, but well proportioned in body, not to slender; perhaps a little on the bulky side; will presumably need to train on flexibility; honest seeming; brave, for standing up to me -I value that; definitely ambitious; cocksure; handsome; young. What was it like, to be young?
Isa's mind began to wander, dwelling on the past for a while then to thoughts of lewdness, but he quickly barricaded that portion of his consciousness whereat he silently cursed himself for it too.
Twenty or so minutes had passed and Isa hadn't yet moved. Oh, Isa was well aware of the passing time; in fact, he was marking time in expectation of the young noble, waiting for him to pass-by so he may inform the young one of his decision. In apprehension, with the index finger of his right hand, Isa started to trace up upon the scar on his cheek, moving farther up to feel his mutilated ear, the hand hidden behind a veil of pitch black hair.
This body will turn to dust. Do not not linger on vain thoughts, Sageer'Naab.
No young nobles, but Isa descried a herald walking down the hallway. The herald stopped not too far from where Isa was standing then she evoked her recitation for everyone there to hear. Upon completion, the herald turned around and departed from whence she entered.
Jean-Baptiste Montague; Solstice Aibhilín; Stella Oceane; Ymber Ocmare. Isa committed the names to memory and departed as well -to his quarters which wasn't far from where he stood.
When Isa arrived within his room the first thing he did was dress out of that debasing prurient robe.
"I am Sa..." Isa hesitated for a second. "Isa... is my name. Isa." When he mouthed this it was in a faint whisper, so faint that even he hardly heard it himself, but the young noble was gone anyhow, so there was no sense in the action. A part of Isa wanted to chase after him to apologize.
How puerile that would seem.
Isa strongly settled against this course of action, but his mind still remained open to the prospect of taking the young noble as his pupil. Isa estimated his age amid fifteen to eighteen. This meant he still had some growing left in him -both physically and mentally- and what a fine specimen of a man he was in his present state.
Tall, but well proportioned in body, not to slender; perhaps a little on the bulky side; will presumably need to train on flexibility; honest seeming; brave, for standing up to me -I value that; definitely ambitious; cocksure; handsome; young. What was it like, to be young?
Isa's mind began to wander, dwelling on the past for a while then to thoughts of lewdness, but he quickly barricaded that portion of his consciousness whereat he silently cursed himself for it too.
Twenty or so minutes had passed and Isa hadn't yet moved. Oh, Isa was well aware of the passing time; in fact, he was marking time in expectation of the young noble, waiting for him to pass-by so he may inform the young one of his decision. In apprehension, with the index finger of his right hand, Isa started to trace up upon the scar on his cheek, moving farther up to feel his mutilated ear, the hand hidden behind a veil of pitch black hair.
This body will turn to dust. Do not not linger on vain thoughts, Sageer'Naab.
No young nobles, but Isa descried a herald walking down the hallway. The herald stopped not too far from where Isa was standing then she evoked her recitation for everyone there to hear. Upon completion, the herald turned around and departed from whence she entered.
Jean-Baptiste Montague; Solstice Aibhilín; Stella Oceane; Ymber Ocmare. Isa committed the names to memory and departed as well -to his quarters which wasn't far from where he stood.
When Isa arrived within his room the first thing he did was dress out of that debasing prurient robe.
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Jean))
Concentrate, remember and breathe; it had been a while since Jean-Baptiste had last danced. His father's – now brother's - manor; it felt like a previous life in a different body. Truth to have been told, though, Jean never did enjoy this, in spite of its close relation to music.
Stella was remarkably lite-footed for a common soldier. She asked if her name rang a bell. Naturally, she was a spy - her dancing and way of questioning could be explained, but there was something off about why she would ask here and now. “I'm afraid not, lady Oceane.” Jean replied, showing a concerned expression. He wanted to ask if it was of importance, but the memory of her role as a spy suddenly had Jean alert and careful. She had gathered precious information from Micháele, not an unimpressive feat unless the nobleman had the intention to leak, but she also seemed to have figured out very well which parts to give prize...
It was an odd sight in the commons, to see two persons treat it as a dancefloor. Jean gestured towards the musicians and shortly after the eyes that had been on Stella and him had been diverted elsewhere. These sounds reminded but very little of the noble parties, but they sufficed.
However, Stella and Jean did not get much time to think or dance, as Jean his daughter's voice demanded his attention. “Jean. Jean!”
Chanson stood in front of them, she tapped her foot and looked up at Jean from under her brow, somehow not noticing all the eyes that were set on her. “Jean, there are bugs in our room.” She said, her voice raised. “I cannot sleep. You must-”
“Very well.” Jean sighed, as he let go of Stella and knelled before Chanson. “Come, show me the spider. Don't make a scene in front of everyone.”
Chanson looked around and suddenly turned red. Her upfront demeanor from seconds ago slipped away. Jean shook his head.
“I apologise, lady Oceane.” Jean said as he got up, “You must believe me, this is the best course of action. You would be fortunate not to discover the reason why.” He smiled. “Perhaps you should sleep as well, there is much to be done, tomorrow. I bid you goodnight.”
As Chanson pulled his hand, much like he had pulled hers this afternoon (not that it had the same effect,) Jean felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. This sudden question had him riddled, could he trust Stella Oceane? A mysterious spy, with mysterious methods. Could she trust him? After all, he was a nobleman; well equipped to lie and he had used her to gather secrets... In order to keep secret. Many doubts echoed through Jean's head, of which one was whether would be able to sleep, tonight...
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Jean))
Concentrate, remember and breathe; it had been a while since Jean-Baptiste had last danced. His father's – now brother's - manor; it felt like a previous life in a different body. Truth to have been told, though, Jean never did enjoy this, in spite of its close relation to music.
Stella was remarkably lite-footed for a common soldier. She asked if her name rang a bell. Naturally, she was a spy - her dancing and way of questioning could be explained, but there was something off about why she would ask here and now. “I'm afraid not, lady Oceane.” Jean replied, showing a concerned expression. He wanted to ask if it was of importance, but the memory of her role as a spy suddenly had Jean alert and careful. She had gathered precious information from Micháele, not an unimpressive feat unless the nobleman had the intention to leak, but she also seemed to have figured out very well which parts to give prize...
It was an odd sight in the commons, to see two persons treat it as a dancefloor. Jean gestured towards the musicians and shortly after the eyes that had been on Stella and him had been diverted elsewhere. These sounds reminded but very little of the noble parties, but they sufficed.
However, Stella and Jean did not get much time to think or dance, as Jean his daughter's voice demanded his attention. “Jean. Jean!”
Chanson stood in front of them, she tapped her foot and looked up at Jean from under her brow, somehow not noticing all the eyes that were set on her. “Jean, there are bugs in our room.” She said, her voice raised. “I cannot sleep. You must-”
“Very well.” Jean sighed, as he let go of Stella and knelled before Chanson. “Come, show me the spider. Don't make a scene in front of everyone.”
Chanson looked around and suddenly turned red. Her upfront demeanor from seconds ago slipped away. Jean shook his head.
“I apologise, lady Oceane.” Jean said as he got up, “You must believe me, this is the best course of action. You would be fortunate not to discover the reason why.” He smiled. “Perhaps you should sleep as well, there is much to be done, tomorrow. I bid you goodnight.”
As Chanson pulled his hand, much like he had pulled hers this afternoon (not that it had the same effect,) Jean felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. This sudden question had him riddled, could he trust Stella Oceane? A mysterious spy, with mysterious methods. Could she trust him? After all, he was a nobleman; well equipped to lie and he had used her to gather secrets... In order to keep secret. Many doubts echoed through Jean's head, of which one was whether would be able to sleep, tonight...
OOC Notes
Day set: Pre-launch
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Stella))
For the first time in many moons, Stella was able to dance. It was definitely her favourite way to pass her time, but she had to admit that doing it every now and then was certainly welcome. She was amused about the fact she was not recognised by Jean. It made sense, after all. Why should he know who she was anyway? The name she was using was not her real name, so that was to be expected. After a while of dancing, she wondered if she should have tried to be a bit clumsier. A soldier, even if it was a spy, would usually not be used to dancing, so it could be suspicious, if she seemed too comfortable with it.
"Don't worry about it, really." Stella spoke as she saw Jean making a concerned face. She then realised they were being watched. After all, dancing in such a place was strange, no matter how, and people were curious, perhaps even wary of those two people who were treating the commons as a dancefloor. Fortunately, soon, Jean had solved the whole issue with a single gesture towards the musicians. It was definitely the move of a master. He knew what he had to do at all times, or so it seemed, at least.
Soon after that, however, the voice of a little girl sounded near them. Stella turned around, and saw Chanson, Jean-Baptiste's girl, tapping her foot and looking up at her 'father'. Such a girl, talking straightforward at the man who was dancing with a lady; Chanson was the focus of everyone's eyes, now, yet she failed to realise it. The girl explained what the problem was, clearly complaining about there being bugs in her room, which caused a problem when trying to sleep. Stella laughed softly, and genuinely. Chanson was so honest to herself and to the world in general. That was a trait she valued so much. The girl had a good heart; she could see that much.
Even more amused was Stella when Chanson turned red after realising she was the focus of everyone's eyes right then. Soon, Jean was apologising to her. Stella smiled kindly. "Oh, do not apologise at all! A lady should never have to deal with bugs... isn't that right, Chanson?" The spy smiled at the girl, trying to seem as honestly gentle as possible. She was, however, a bit confused by the choice of words of Jean. What did he mean by 'the best course of action'? And why would she be fortunate not to discover the reason why? But he was right in that one thing. She should go to sleep, as tomorrow would be quite a long day... "I bid you two goodnight, as well... make sure Chanson is comfortable, okay?"
Stella watched the two walk away, and after a couple of minutes, she did the same thing, and walked to her own cabin, where she would sleep. For a moment, she began thinking whether there was anyone on this ship that she could trust with her life, and while she thought that Jean and Sol were people she had met only recently, Stella had the feeling they were people to be trusted. The question was whether they would feel the same towards her... After all, she was hiding quite an important part of herself, so they would do well in being careful with her. Even if she didn't mean any harm to them.
_____
((Ymber))
After searching for a while, and seeing that no one from Recon One was there anymore, and seeing it was quite late already, Ymber decided to call it a day (should it be a night?) and go back to his own room. On his way back to the cabin, he thought of the long day that lay ahead of him. He would have to rest properly if he was to give a good impression.
Time set: PM
Location set: The Commons
((Stella))
For the first time in many moons, Stella was able to dance. It was definitely her favourite way to pass her time, but she had to admit that doing it every now and then was certainly welcome. She was amused about the fact she was not recognised by Jean. It made sense, after all. Why should he know who she was anyway? The name she was using was not her real name, so that was to be expected. After a while of dancing, she wondered if she should have tried to be a bit clumsier. A soldier, even if it was a spy, would usually not be used to dancing, so it could be suspicious, if she seemed too comfortable with it.
"Don't worry about it, really." Stella spoke as she saw Jean making a concerned face. She then realised they were being watched. After all, dancing in such a place was strange, no matter how, and people were curious, perhaps even wary of those two people who were treating the commons as a dancefloor. Fortunately, soon, Jean had solved the whole issue with a single gesture towards the musicians. It was definitely the move of a master. He knew what he had to do at all times, or so it seemed, at least.
Soon after that, however, the voice of a little girl sounded near them. Stella turned around, and saw Chanson, Jean-Baptiste's girl, tapping her foot and looking up at her 'father'. Such a girl, talking straightforward at the man who was dancing with a lady; Chanson was the focus of everyone's eyes, now, yet she failed to realise it. The girl explained what the problem was, clearly complaining about there being bugs in her room, which caused a problem when trying to sleep. Stella laughed softly, and genuinely. Chanson was so honest to herself and to the world in general. That was a trait she valued so much. The girl had a good heart; she could see that much.
Even more amused was Stella when Chanson turned red after realising she was the focus of everyone's eyes right then. Soon, Jean was apologising to her. Stella smiled kindly. "Oh, do not apologise at all! A lady should never have to deal with bugs... isn't that right, Chanson?" The spy smiled at the girl, trying to seem as honestly gentle as possible. She was, however, a bit confused by the choice of words of Jean. What did he mean by 'the best course of action'? And why would she be fortunate not to discover the reason why? But he was right in that one thing. She should go to sleep, as tomorrow would be quite a long day... "I bid you two goodnight, as well... make sure Chanson is comfortable, okay?"
Stella watched the two walk away, and after a couple of minutes, she did the same thing, and walked to her own cabin, where she would sleep. For a moment, she began thinking whether there was anyone on this ship that she could trust with her life, and while she thought that Jean and Sol were people she had met only recently, Stella had the feeling they were people to be trusted. The question was whether they would feel the same towards her... After all, she was hiding quite an important part of herself, so they would do well in being careful with her. Even if she didn't mean any harm to them.
_____
((Ymber))
After searching for a while, and seeing that no one from Recon One was there anymore, and seeing it was quite late already, Ymber decided to call it a day (should it be a night?) and go back to his own room. On his way back to the cabin, he thought of the long day that lay ahead of him. He would have to rest properly if he was to give a good impression.
OOC Notes
((Sol))
Sol simply stood next to big cook, thumbs tucked into her belt in satisfaction. There would be no way she could hover so curiously in a kitchen at such busy times without her new found friend there and she was damned if she would give up the opportunity so quickly. She liked kitchens. Her paternal grandfather had been one of the few people who not only suffered her mood swings but didn’t try constantly to understand them. But then, as a cook in the Citadel, he didn’t exactly have a calm persona himself most of the time.
The big chef already seemed to be slotting himself in, enquiring with one of the many bustling cooks as to the day’s dinner. The young man who passed – who sported such an impressive moustache that Sol had to laugh – paused to give his response: some form of fowl for the nobility and pig, it seemed, for the masses. Moustache smiled as Big-Chef gave his response and, swiping a small savoury tart from the younger’s tray as he left, Sol grinned too.
“Hey, Chef,” she said happily, nudging the man’s girth with her elbow, “Fancy a drink later? You can tell me all about dinner. And breakfast – and brunch.” Munching on her pilfered dainty, she waved the remains at him with another grin. “And you know, if you need another taster for the toffs, I doubt I’ll be doing much outside the missions...”
Her gaze narrowed as it picked out Moustache, murmuring something in a woman’s ear. Squinting her sharp features, the grey-haired kitchen mistress nodded once, sparing a brief glance and twitch of the lips for Big Chef before glaring at Sol once more.
“Huh,” the sky-fighter muttered with a wry smirk, finishing her last bite, “I guess I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Saving one last nudge for the man, Sol grinned again and winked. “See you later then, Big Chef.”
Sparing a wave, she made a hasty exit, dipping her finger curiously into a pot to taste the gravy-looking liquid on her way out the door. Sighing in contentment, Sol finally located her quarters and settled down, feet up on the cot. Tomorrow was going to be another day; she might as well enjoy it.
Sol simply stood next to big cook, thumbs tucked into her belt in satisfaction. There would be no way she could hover so curiously in a kitchen at such busy times without her new found friend there and she was damned if she would give up the opportunity so quickly. She liked kitchens. Her paternal grandfather had been one of the few people who not only suffered her mood swings but didn’t try constantly to understand them. But then, as a cook in the Citadel, he didn’t exactly have a calm persona himself most of the time.
The big chef already seemed to be slotting himself in, enquiring with one of the many bustling cooks as to the day’s dinner. The young man who passed – who sported such an impressive moustache that Sol had to laugh – paused to give his response: some form of fowl for the nobility and pig, it seemed, for the masses. Moustache smiled as Big-Chef gave his response and, swiping a small savoury tart from the younger’s tray as he left, Sol grinned too.
“Hey, Chef,” she said happily, nudging the man’s girth with her elbow, “Fancy a drink later? You can tell me all about dinner. And breakfast – and brunch.” Munching on her pilfered dainty, she waved the remains at him with another grin. “And you know, if you need another taster for the toffs, I doubt I’ll be doing much outside the missions...”
Her gaze narrowed as it picked out Moustache, murmuring something in a woman’s ear. Squinting her sharp features, the grey-haired kitchen mistress nodded once, sparing a brief glance and twitch of the lips for Big Chef before glaring at Sol once more.
“Huh,” the sky-fighter muttered with a wry smirk, finishing her last bite, “I guess I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Saving one last nudge for the man, Sol grinned again and winked. “See you later then, Big Chef.”
Sparing a wave, she made a hasty exit, dipping her finger curiously into a pot to taste the gravy-looking liquid on her way out the door. Sighing in contentment, Sol finally located her quarters and settled down, feet up on the cot. Tomorrow was going to be another day; she might as well enjoy it.
OOC Notes
Day set: Launch
Time set: PM
Location set: S.S.Leviathon
As the sun finally began to sink below the horizon – the last vestiges of summer sunlight chased away – orange fire gleamed across the hull of the Leviathon as the Ritualists finished sealing the windows with a glitter of alchemial magic. Inside the ship, the very walls seemed to shudder with the force of power building; those situated closer to the rear would, if they placed their ears against the cool metal, be able to hear a faint rumble emanating throughout the vessel.
In the organised chaos of the propulsion deck, Alchemists wrapped in Erythoril suits like golden knights carefully fed more acid into their respective chambers, flinching away from the flare of power that sought to escape through the funnel – each remembering that any mistake could be fatal. Sealing the jets with seconds to spare, the accompanying Ritualists took up their watches: standing guard over the volatile energy with a featureless calm that somehow managed to only make the tension more palpable.
Criers scuttled across the decks, their duty of warning the passengers made superfluous, seeking the safety of the nearest chamber as the floor beneath them began to shake. In the Academy, circled mages began chanting steadily, the ritual symbols before them glowing softly with a cool blue light that seemed to sooth the tremors almost completely for a moment. Within seconds however, it was clear that the force was building swiftly, and sweat began to bead upon the wrinkled brows of the Ritualists as they struggled to maintain the balance of the craft beneath them at a gentle shudder.
Outside, the most sensible fled for the protection of the buildings, leaving the few brave or younger citizens to clap their hands over their ears as a colossal roar ripped through the cooling air. Birds that had just settled to roost – or those still skimming over the lake for grubs – fled squalling in a flurry of feathers and droppings, and behind the Leviathon, waves the size of adult Morgar lapped across the still water propelled by a shimmering wall of otherwise invisible heat. The world seemed to hold its breath for an instant and then, with a crack like the earth itself was splitting, the great Star-Ship exploded fire from jets below and behind, launching itself into the sky with a gathering momentum that seemed terrifying.
Aboard the Leviathon, windows pulsed with a flare of energy, the heat igniting a chemical in the ritual glass that made it shimmer like liquid, instantly adding an additional cooling layer to the craft. Breaking away from their chant, Academy Ritualists breathed a collective sigh of relief as Alchemists stepped forward, tracing the glowing pattern with powers and oils and embedding it into the exposed metal. Their first task complete, the mages fled swiftly out of the room to check the rest of the ship as servants began to filter past to lay back the floorboards and carpet carefully over the glittering runes.
--------------------------------------
Day set: Launch
Time set: PM
Location set: Observation Deck
Half breathless with fear and excitement, Sol sprinted the last few feet, skidding past the startled Ritualists to stop dead centre in the room. Though you couldn’t really call it a room, could you. A semi-opaque dome sparkled overhead like fireflies caught in snow, so beautiful that even the blunt Sky-fighter was lost for words. But it wasn’t just that. Despite the fact that several guards were making their way towards her, Sol just couldn’t stop staring. Time seemed to slow as the opaque nature of the window began to fade as though the snow was melting, leaving the fireflies to glitter on their own against a backdrop that was just as magnificent. White faded to red and orange, then blue, and suddenly the sky was black – so black that it seemed to drink your soul – until with a final flare, the last layer fell away and the heavens opened up around them.
Feeling a strong grip rest on her arm, Sol turned to the guard who had hold of her and grinned. “Look!” she breathed, face as alight and innocent as a child’s, “Look at the stars!” Returning her turquoise gaze to the sky, she hardly felt the man let go of her arm, turning to stare at the view companionably beside her.
Beyond the shimmering windows of the S.S. Leviathon, stars winked and glittered in white and blue, dotting the heavens like mythical faeries. Gradually, the jets harsh fires died, giving way to raw unseen power and the ship turned, pointing itself towards one of the distant spheres that served as a moon: Ortel. Like a sinister twin, Isiah glimmered with red embers, another unknown that served a reminder of the trials to come.
Time set: PM
Location set: S.S.Leviathon
As the sun finally began to sink below the horizon – the last vestiges of summer sunlight chased away – orange fire gleamed across the hull of the Leviathon as the Ritualists finished sealing the windows with a glitter of alchemial magic. Inside the ship, the very walls seemed to shudder with the force of power building; those situated closer to the rear would, if they placed their ears against the cool metal, be able to hear a faint rumble emanating throughout the vessel.
In the organised chaos of the propulsion deck, Alchemists wrapped in Erythoril suits like golden knights carefully fed more acid into their respective chambers, flinching away from the flare of power that sought to escape through the funnel – each remembering that any mistake could be fatal. Sealing the jets with seconds to spare, the accompanying Ritualists took up their watches: standing guard over the volatile energy with a featureless calm that somehow managed to only make the tension more palpable.
Criers scuttled across the decks, their duty of warning the passengers made superfluous, seeking the safety of the nearest chamber as the floor beneath them began to shake. In the Academy, circled mages began chanting steadily, the ritual symbols before them glowing softly with a cool blue light that seemed to sooth the tremors almost completely for a moment. Within seconds however, it was clear that the force was building swiftly, and sweat began to bead upon the wrinkled brows of the Ritualists as they struggled to maintain the balance of the craft beneath them at a gentle shudder.
Outside, the most sensible fled for the protection of the buildings, leaving the few brave or younger citizens to clap their hands over their ears as a colossal roar ripped through the cooling air. Birds that had just settled to roost – or those still skimming over the lake for grubs – fled squalling in a flurry of feathers and droppings, and behind the Leviathon, waves the size of adult Morgar lapped across the still water propelled by a shimmering wall of otherwise invisible heat. The world seemed to hold its breath for an instant and then, with a crack like the earth itself was splitting, the great Star-Ship exploded fire from jets below and behind, launching itself into the sky with a gathering momentum that seemed terrifying.
Aboard the Leviathon, windows pulsed with a flare of energy, the heat igniting a chemical in the ritual glass that made it shimmer like liquid, instantly adding an additional cooling layer to the craft. Breaking away from their chant, Academy Ritualists breathed a collective sigh of relief as Alchemists stepped forward, tracing the glowing pattern with powers and oils and embedding it into the exposed metal. Their first task complete, the mages fled swiftly out of the room to check the rest of the ship as servants began to filter past to lay back the floorboards and carpet carefully over the glittering runes.
--------------------------------------
Day set: Launch
Time set: PM
Location set: Observation Deck
Half breathless with fear and excitement, Sol sprinted the last few feet, skidding past the startled Ritualists to stop dead centre in the room. Though you couldn’t really call it a room, could you. A semi-opaque dome sparkled overhead like fireflies caught in snow, so beautiful that even the blunt Sky-fighter was lost for words. But it wasn’t just that. Despite the fact that several guards were making their way towards her, Sol just couldn’t stop staring. Time seemed to slow as the opaque nature of the window began to fade as though the snow was melting, leaving the fireflies to glitter on their own against a backdrop that was just as magnificent. White faded to red and orange, then blue, and suddenly the sky was black – so black that it seemed to drink your soul – until with a final flare, the last layer fell away and the heavens opened up around them.
Feeling a strong grip rest on her arm, Sol turned to the guard who had hold of her and grinned. “Look!” she breathed, face as alight and innocent as a child’s, “Look at the stars!” Returning her turquoise gaze to the sky, she hardly felt the man let go of her arm, turning to stare at the view companionably beside her.
Beyond the shimmering windows of the S.S. Leviathon, stars winked and glittered in white and blue, dotting the heavens like mythical faeries. Gradually, the jets harsh fires died, giving way to raw unseen power and the ship turned, pointing itself towards one of the distant spheres that served as a moon: Ortel. Like a sinister twin, Isiah glimmered with red embers, another unknown that served a reminder of the trials to come.
OOC Notes
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: Academy Room 3
((Micháele))
Well, he couldn’t fault them for their punctuality at least. As he cast his blue gaze around the richly appointed Academy room, Micháele scowled at the sight of Aibhilín, the insolent girl’s legs slung over the arm rest as she slouched in a high-backed leather chair as far from him as she could. Even the way she tested the edge of her knife, running her thumb along the tip of the blade with a haughty air of nonchalance irritated him beyond belief. With an inaudible sound of disgust, the nobleman dragged his eyes away, though not before he caught the sky-fighter’s smirk as she flashed a glance in his direction. Doubtless she thought herself very clever to conceive of this position; however Micháele was simply just glad to be rid of her for a time.
Beautiful Stella had settled herself on one of the couches, the space next to her amply filled by man almost four times her small size – Daller Friedal, he presumed, having only met the man once briefly. He acceded the dark man a bare nod of acknowledgement – after all, he thought as he eyed the cook’s splotchy facial marking, you had to give them something – but found his gaze returning to the spy’s bright blue. Such a more vibrant tone than his own pale cornflower hue! He gave her a quick smile in private greeting before returning to assess the rest of the company.
A lively, smartly-dressed nobleman with an easy grin was leaning with crossed legs against a low bookcase. Ymmer – no Ymber Ocmare – he managed to dredge from his memory of the noble families; a confident, skilled – and not always in boast – young lad as far as he had read, and a good-looking one too. He felt a pang of jealousy as the boy frowned slightly upon the sight of Stella, but the youth quickly returned his attentions to a sombre young man with hair as jet as raven feathers who stood slightly off to one side, and Micháele relaxed, following his gaze.
Isa, he called himself, and Micháele knew beyond a doubt that this was a man who held many names; though he also knew that the most common – Sagheer’Naab – was one that made even the most powerful of men nervous. He thought briefly of the irony: as soon as he was sure of Stella’s innocence, another came to fill the place of suspicion in his mind. Not that it wasn’t already amply filled by the presence of the female sky-fighter, but it was just another member of this strangle Recon group that he would have to be careful around.
And finally, his eyes landed on solid, russet-haired Jean-Baptiste, who had settled himself in the chair opposite the sky-fighter. Trust was a high-placed thing and while Micháele believed in trusting no one beyond himself, he at least thought the ex-commander the most dependable of all. Sure, he would have to be careful of Aibhilín’s influence on him – they had, after all, been comrades-in-arms previously and nothing was stronger than a soldier’s pact – but at least the nobleman had someone he could rely on in a pinch.
Allowing the silence to settle for a moment longer – and revelling in Aibhilín’s obvious impatience though she remained torturously close-mouthed – the Lord Tacita cleared his throat and begun with a serene smile.
“Recon One,” he started, smiling further at the resonant sound of his voice in the grand little chamber, “I will get straight to the point. Take a good look around you, for these will be the people you will depend on every time you step your dirty boots outside of this big tin bathtub. I will summarise your roles in brief and for the majority of you, this will be no different to your normal day jobs. Others of you-” he spared the female sky-fighter a barely disguised look of scorn as she glared, “-will need to adapt, and must learn adopt the duty as though you’d been born to it. Some of you will even have more than one duty, unless we find another to fill the place in the meantime. I will not lie to you: your missions will be the most dangerous on this trip.”
Pausing for a moment to let his words sink in, Micháele raised a smooth hand to forestall any forthcoming questions, meeting each person’s gaze. “While there will be a quarter of the Citadel’s garrison behind you, they will be exactly that: behind you. We do not want to show any force to creatures whom we have never met before and have no knowledge of behaviours or customs, therefore they will stay with the Leviathon until their aid is absolutely necessary.”
Standing, Micháele reached ceremoniously into the chest behind the desk, drawing out a long curved hunting horn, the dark-coloured bone polished to look like wood and decorative brass capping glittering in the lamplight. Turning, he placed it into Jean-Baptiste’s large hands, the long chain attached to the instrument clacking gently against the sides as he stepped back, settling down into his seat behind the desk once more. “A small contingent of soldiers will follow you to the nearest settlement or, failing that, will track you as you travel across the terrain at a discrete distance,” he said, meeting the man’s deep brown gaze, “It is most likely you will never come into contact with them. They will have runners with them who – at the sound of that horn – will return to the ship to bring aid in mass force. I would therefore recommend, Sir Montague, that you only ever look to use it in the more dire situations, when there is nothing else you can rely on.
“In addition to that commanding role, you will have the authorisation equivalent to that of a General. As the senior-most member of the contingent, you will be able to make decisions in the field that will affect not just your Recon group, but the whole of the Teela race. Any consequences that may occur of your actions will be assessed and dealt with at a later date, so until then you have the full freedom of our trust when dealing with the natives.” It sounded like a disclaimer and it was, although there was nothing that the ex-commander could do about it. Micháele knew that all present in the room had already committed themselves beyond the point that they could back out. Still, it wasn’t something that the lord minded saying – it meant that at the end of the day, any out-of-line decisions would not be ignored. Indeed, the command had come even higher than him, and it gave him a strange sense of pride to pass the message of retribution on.
Standing suddenly, the Lord Tacita turned fully to the older sky-fighter. “Jean-Baptise Montague. Your responsibilities will be as follows. Diplomacy: you will be first contact among the indigenous peoples and our emissary of Indri’Enis. You will get to know them, negotiate alliances and discuss future trade. You will also take responsibility for every man under your command and ensure that our mission is not jeopardised by any of them in any way. And,” Micháele slid open the desk drawer, drawing out a large leather-bound book of parchment, “you will report on your progress and any interesting findings.”
Pulling out another identical journal, Micháele stepped around his desk and passed it to Stella with a warm smile. “Stella Oceane. You will do the same. But you will study the creatures’ society and customs. I want to know about their habits, their likes and dislikes as a nation, their ruling system, their beliefs, their technology and their architecture.” Leaning closer, he gave the spy a significant look that reminded her of their earlier private conversation. “I want to know anything of note,” he finished. “As the most proficient healer in the group, you will obviously fulfil those duties as well.”
Turning again, he fixed his eyes on the raven-haired man, handing over yet another book. “Isa Sabhia. Due to your tracking experience, you will study the environment: the weather, landscape, animals, plants and minerals. We want to know as much about these new worlds as we can: who knows? In our travels we may stumble across a cure for disease, or a plant that will feed millions for months. There may even be useful precious materials that we can barter for in future trade negotiations. If necessary, you will also oversee any hunting or gathering that may be necessary. Your first few missions will not go further than a day’s march away from the ship, but you may spend weeks on further excursions once we know enough of the land and you will need to provision for yourselves to a certain extent.”
“In that,” Micháele continued, turning to Daller with a small smile, “You are to help, Daller Friedal. Most of your duties will be based back here in the Leviathon’s kitchens but Mr Sabhia will bring back various samples of animal and plant-life that you will assess and use however you deem fit. In your own way you will study these things as hard as him, for if we are to travel to different planets, we will soon consume our stored resources. At that point we will need to rely on your ingenuity with these new food sources to see us on to further exploration. If we happen upon any civilisation, we may also request that you travel with Recon One occasionally to gain experience and ingredients from the indigenous people.”
Spinning on his heel, the lordling grinned at the young nobleman and spread his hands. “Ymber Ocmare. You, my friend, have the best job of all. You will essentially be supporting Sir Montague in meeting the local people, but your role is much more enjoyable. You will speak to the aeliens, sample their culture and their lives. Make friends with them and experience the world through their eyes. In short, you will dazzle them all with your charm, wit and lively intelligence, allowing the others in your group to do their jobs without any restriction.”
“And finally, Aibhilín,” Micháele sighed, resigning himself to meet the girl’s impudent glower with a mild frown that only barely showed his intense distaste for the situation, “You have been assigned as guardian for your fellows. It’s the most important position in some ways and calls for a lot more tact than some of your previous... tasks.” Raising a finger to make his point, Micháele deepened his frown, furrowed blonde brows tugging at his plait. “It may seem an easy task for a solider, however, make no mistake that this will be harder than any battle you have fought in. Your life is insignificant in this mission: the lives of your charges are worth far more than your own.” Aibhilín opened her mouth furiously to protest, but seemed to catch Jean-Baptiste’s gaze and pressed her lips closed once more. Lord Tacita nodded firmly, smoothing the creases in his brow. Good; this arrangement might actually work better than he thought. “Each one of the people in this room could be carrying in their minds the most precious thing to the future of the Teela race. If you fail them, you could unknowingly be putting our whole existence on the line.
“Mind you,” he said, straightening with a short laugh and sweeping his gaze around the room, “I get the feeling that not a one of you is in the least bit vulnerable by nature. You’re a formidable looking bunch, I’ll say that!” Smiling broadly, Micháele settled himself behind the desk once more. “To the mission itself. Within the next twelve hours, it is predicted we will pass close enough by Isiah to see details on the planet’s surface. I’ve been told by many of the Academics that this will be a sight no one should miss out on. I want you all to practice your observation skills before we reach our next destination: the twin moon Ortel, which we believe will be quite habitable enough for us to explore. Isiah is still very much unknown: it has no humanoid life that we are aware of and we know nothing of the behaviour of the suspected animal life. Stella and Isa: study the environment from an academic point of view. Learn everything you can through observation of the landscape, the creatures and their habits. Aibhilín and Jean-Baptiste.” There was no way he was letting that girl wander loose while important preparations were being made. “You will observe as well, but I want you both to assess the security risk and dangers the moon and its inhabitants may pose.
“Ymber, I want you to help Daller collect provisions for your first trip onto Ortel. Daller, you have full use of the kitchens and Ymber, do what you can to help him. In a small room off to the side of the kitchen there are tens, bedrolls, cooking equipment and other useful items. I want you both to make sure that there is one of everything in each pack. You will not need some of it at first, but you’d best get used to carrying heavy packs from day one: you’ll need it all eventually and you don’t want to be hampered by lack of muscle. Once you are done, use the Academy library to find a few relevant or useful texts everyone can read before you leave. While you’re there, I’d also like you to speak to Deena, one of the apprentice Ritualists; the Head Ritualist has expressed an interest in her joining some of your missions and I’m sure she’d have some helpful ideas.”
“Now,” Micháele sighed finally, relaxing into the chair a bit more, “Are there any questions? In regards to Ortel, you will be summoned by the heralds at some point in the next couple of days. Until then, begin your duties as best you can, and if you cannot, make some time to get to know your company. You will, after all, be spending a lot of time with them.”
Jean-Baptiste’s Hunting Horn:
Location set: Academy Room 3
((Micháele))
Well, he couldn’t fault them for their punctuality at least. As he cast his blue gaze around the richly appointed Academy room, Micháele scowled at the sight of Aibhilín, the insolent girl’s legs slung over the arm rest as she slouched in a high-backed leather chair as far from him as she could. Even the way she tested the edge of her knife, running her thumb along the tip of the blade with a haughty air of nonchalance irritated him beyond belief. With an inaudible sound of disgust, the nobleman dragged his eyes away, though not before he caught the sky-fighter’s smirk as she flashed a glance in his direction. Doubtless she thought herself very clever to conceive of this position; however Micháele was simply just glad to be rid of her for a time.
Beautiful Stella had settled herself on one of the couches, the space next to her amply filled by man almost four times her small size – Daller Friedal, he presumed, having only met the man once briefly. He acceded the dark man a bare nod of acknowledgement – after all, he thought as he eyed the cook’s splotchy facial marking, you had to give them something – but found his gaze returning to the spy’s bright blue. Such a more vibrant tone than his own pale cornflower hue! He gave her a quick smile in private greeting before returning to assess the rest of the company.
A lively, smartly-dressed nobleman with an easy grin was leaning with crossed legs against a low bookcase. Ymmer – no Ymber Ocmare – he managed to dredge from his memory of the noble families; a confident, skilled – and not always in boast – young lad as far as he had read, and a good-looking one too. He felt a pang of jealousy as the boy frowned slightly upon the sight of Stella, but the youth quickly returned his attentions to a sombre young man with hair as jet as raven feathers who stood slightly off to one side, and Micháele relaxed, following his gaze.
Isa, he called himself, and Micháele knew beyond a doubt that this was a man who held many names; though he also knew that the most common – Sagheer’Naab – was one that made even the most powerful of men nervous. He thought briefly of the irony: as soon as he was sure of Stella’s innocence, another came to fill the place of suspicion in his mind. Not that it wasn’t already amply filled by the presence of the female sky-fighter, but it was just another member of this strangle Recon group that he would have to be careful around.
And finally, his eyes landed on solid, russet-haired Jean-Baptiste, who had settled himself in the chair opposite the sky-fighter. Trust was a high-placed thing and while Micháele believed in trusting no one beyond himself, he at least thought the ex-commander the most dependable of all. Sure, he would have to be careful of Aibhilín’s influence on him – they had, after all, been comrades-in-arms previously and nothing was stronger than a soldier’s pact – but at least the nobleman had someone he could rely on in a pinch.
Allowing the silence to settle for a moment longer – and revelling in Aibhilín’s obvious impatience though she remained torturously close-mouthed – the Lord Tacita cleared his throat and begun with a serene smile.
“Recon One,” he started, smiling further at the resonant sound of his voice in the grand little chamber, “I will get straight to the point. Take a good look around you, for these will be the people you will depend on every time you step your dirty boots outside of this big tin bathtub. I will summarise your roles in brief and for the majority of you, this will be no different to your normal day jobs. Others of you-” he spared the female sky-fighter a barely disguised look of scorn as she glared, “-will need to adapt, and must learn adopt the duty as though you’d been born to it. Some of you will even have more than one duty, unless we find another to fill the place in the meantime. I will not lie to you: your missions will be the most dangerous on this trip.”
Pausing for a moment to let his words sink in, Micháele raised a smooth hand to forestall any forthcoming questions, meeting each person’s gaze. “While there will be a quarter of the Citadel’s garrison behind you, they will be exactly that: behind you. We do not want to show any force to creatures whom we have never met before and have no knowledge of behaviours or customs, therefore they will stay with the Leviathon until their aid is absolutely necessary.”
Standing, Micháele reached ceremoniously into the chest behind the desk, drawing out a long curved hunting horn, the dark-coloured bone polished to look like wood and decorative brass capping glittering in the lamplight. Turning, he placed it into Jean-Baptiste’s large hands, the long chain attached to the instrument clacking gently against the sides as he stepped back, settling down into his seat behind the desk once more. “A small contingent of soldiers will follow you to the nearest settlement or, failing that, will track you as you travel across the terrain at a discrete distance,” he said, meeting the man’s deep brown gaze, “It is most likely you will never come into contact with them. They will have runners with them who – at the sound of that horn – will return to the ship to bring aid in mass force. I would therefore recommend, Sir Montague, that you only ever look to use it in the more dire situations, when there is nothing else you can rely on.
“In addition to that commanding role, you will have the authorisation equivalent to that of a General. As the senior-most member of the contingent, you will be able to make decisions in the field that will affect not just your Recon group, but the whole of the Teela race. Any consequences that may occur of your actions will be assessed and dealt with at a later date, so until then you have the full freedom of our trust when dealing with the natives.” It sounded like a disclaimer and it was, although there was nothing that the ex-commander could do about it. Micháele knew that all present in the room had already committed themselves beyond the point that they could back out. Still, it wasn’t something that the lord minded saying – it meant that at the end of the day, any out-of-line decisions would not be ignored. Indeed, the command had come even higher than him, and it gave him a strange sense of pride to pass the message of retribution on.
Standing suddenly, the Lord Tacita turned fully to the older sky-fighter. “Jean-Baptise Montague. Your responsibilities will be as follows. Diplomacy: you will be first contact among the indigenous peoples and our emissary of Indri’Enis. You will get to know them, negotiate alliances and discuss future trade. You will also take responsibility for every man under your command and ensure that our mission is not jeopardised by any of them in any way. And,” Micháele slid open the desk drawer, drawing out a large leather-bound book of parchment, “you will report on your progress and any interesting findings.”
Pulling out another identical journal, Micháele stepped around his desk and passed it to Stella with a warm smile. “Stella Oceane. You will do the same. But you will study the creatures’ society and customs. I want to know about their habits, their likes and dislikes as a nation, their ruling system, their beliefs, their technology and their architecture.” Leaning closer, he gave the spy a significant look that reminded her of their earlier private conversation. “I want to know anything of note,” he finished. “As the most proficient healer in the group, you will obviously fulfil those duties as well.”
Turning again, he fixed his eyes on the raven-haired man, handing over yet another book. “Isa Sabhia. Due to your tracking experience, you will study the environment: the weather, landscape, animals, plants and minerals. We want to know as much about these new worlds as we can: who knows? In our travels we may stumble across a cure for disease, or a plant that will feed millions for months. There may even be useful precious materials that we can barter for in future trade negotiations. If necessary, you will also oversee any hunting or gathering that may be necessary. Your first few missions will not go further than a day’s march away from the ship, but you may spend weeks on further excursions once we know enough of the land and you will need to provision for yourselves to a certain extent.”
“In that,” Micháele continued, turning to Daller with a small smile, “You are to help, Daller Friedal. Most of your duties will be based back here in the Leviathon’s kitchens but Mr Sabhia will bring back various samples of animal and plant-life that you will assess and use however you deem fit. In your own way you will study these things as hard as him, for if we are to travel to different planets, we will soon consume our stored resources. At that point we will need to rely on your ingenuity with these new food sources to see us on to further exploration. If we happen upon any civilisation, we may also request that you travel with Recon One occasionally to gain experience and ingredients from the indigenous people.”
Spinning on his heel, the lordling grinned at the young nobleman and spread his hands. “Ymber Ocmare. You, my friend, have the best job of all. You will essentially be supporting Sir Montague in meeting the local people, but your role is much more enjoyable. You will speak to the aeliens, sample their culture and their lives. Make friends with them and experience the world through their eyes. In short, you will dazzle them all with your charm, wit and lively intelligence, allowing the others in your group to do their jobs without any restriction.”
“And finally, Aibhilín,” Micháele sighed, resigning himself to meet the girl’s impudent glower with a mild frown that only barely showed his intense distaste for the situation, “You have been assigned as guardian for your fellows. It’s the most important position in some ways and calls for a lot more tact than some of your previous... tasks.” Raising a finger to make his point, Micháele deepened his frown, furrowed blonde brows tugging at his plait. “It may seem an easy task for a solider, however, make no mistake that this will be harder than any battle you have fought in. Your life is insignificant in this mission: the lives of your charges are worth far more than your own.” Aibhilín opened her mouth furiously to protest, but seemed to catch Jean-Baptiste’s gaze and pressed her lips closed once more. Lord Tacita nodded firmly, smoothing the creases in his brow. Good; this arrangement might actually work better than he thought. “Each one of the people in this room could be carrying in their minds the most precious thing to the future of the Teela race. If you fail them, you could unknowingly be putting our whole existence on the line.
“Mind you,” he said, straightening with a short laugh and sweeping his gaze around the room, “I get the feeling that not a one of you is in the least bit vulnerable by nature. You’re a formidable looking bunch, I’ll say that!” Smiling broadly, Micháele settled himself behind the desk once more. “To the mission itself. Within the next twelve hours, it is predicted we will pass close enough by Isiah to see details on the planet’s surface. I’ve been told by many of the Academics that this will be a sight no one should miss out on. I want you all to practice your observation skills before we reach our next destination: the twin moon Ortel, which we believe will be quite habitable enough for us to explore. Isiah is still very much unknown: it has no humanoid life that we are aware of and we know nothing of the behaviour of the suspected animal life. Stella and Isa: study the environment from an academic point of view. Learn everything you can through observation of the landscape, the creatures and their habits. Aibhilín and Jean-Baptiste.” There was no way he was letting that girl wander loose while important preparations were being made. “You will observe as well, but I want you both to assess the security risk and dangers the moon and its inhabitants may pose.
“Ymber, I want you to help Daller collect provisions for your first trip onto Ortel. Daller, you have full use of the kitchens and Ymber, do what you can to help him. In a small room off to the side of the kitchen there are tens, bedrolls, cooking equipment and other useful items. I want you both to make sure that there is one of everything in each pack. You will not need some of it at first, but you’d best get used to carrying heavy packs from day one: you’ll need it all eventually and you don’t want to be hampered by lack of muscle. Once you are done, use the Academy library to find a few relevant or useful texts everyone can read before you leave. While you’re there, I’d also like you to speak to Deena, one of the apprentice Ritualists; the Head Ritualist has expressed an interest in her joining some of your missions and I’m sure she’d have some helpful ideas.”
“Now,” Micháele sighed finally, relaxing into the chair a bit more, “Are there any questions? In regards to Ortel, you will be summoned by the heralds at some point in the next couple of days. Until then, begin your duties as best you can, and if you cannot, make some time to get to know your company. You will, after all, be spending a lot of time with them.”
Jean-Baptiste’s Hunting Horn:
OOC Notes
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: Academy Room 3
((Jean))
His grimace was grim, especially so for a man who had just received a promotion.
Jean had been excited like a little boy as the ship had lifted off. It had been hard for him to tear his eyes from the skies when he was called in and even then, he had barely slept; fascinated with the prospect of space. Jean was barely acknowledged as a scholar, but their interests he shared... They theorised this space was infinite...
However, Jean had not the time to be amazed for so long as one of Micháele's men had come for him. Now he sat in a room, listening to the lord. As if a bucket of ice cold water was thrown into his face, Jean remembered the conversation he had with Stella and noticed Solstice sharpening her knife, knowing very well sharpening was not what she wanted to do with it.
Not only Solstice and Stella were in the room, however; also a man he had met yesterday. Ymber Ocmare, was his name. Jean was not unfamiliar with the Ocmare family, but his duties in the military and guardianship over Chanson had left him with ample opportunities to meet with the newer generations of nobility. It would be wise to reconcile with Ymber Ocmare, before the mission ended. Jean did not want to cause friction between their families.
More worrying than Ymber Ocmare, however, was Sagheer’Naab. Withdrawn for years for mysterious reasons, his reputation was well-known to Jean-Baptiste. Jean did not trust what he did not know and aside his reputation, he knew next to nothing about the tiny fang.
Lastly there was Daller, the cook. He seemed a pleasant fellow and Jean would try to engage conversation later.
Lord Micháele then began explaining the missions; their purposes and orders. Jean-Baptiste was discontent. An army behind them and Jean taking not only a leading role at the mission, which was already more than he had applied for, but was also given authorisation and responsibility for the force. Stella's words resounded in his head again... They must have had this planned since the beginning. Jean-Baptiste could not help but feel tricked; was it not him that had manipulated lord Micháele to let him join?
An army for a mission... Micháele seemed not to intend to leave the planet even if they were unwelcome. Jean did not know how to feel about this; it angered him and yet. He feared having to bear responsibility for hostile actions, intruding grounds they were not welcome, but what Jean also feared time was what would happen if he did not accept this responsibility? Would Micháele take his place as commander?
“Now,” Micháele sighed finally, relaxing into the chair a bit more, “Are there any questions?”
Jean-Baptiste took a breathe before collecting his thoughts. Before he decide upon anything, he had to learn more... Much as he disliked being powerless to act against the intents and decisions of the lord.
“My lord, you must excuse my rudeness, my daughter is unwell.” Jean lied, “I wish to discuss matters with you in private soon, I hope we can make an arrangement today. However I must attend to her now.”
He then turned to Stella, “Lady Oceane, if you would please come with me. Perhaps your expertise could be of help. If our lord allows our leave, at least.”
Location set: Academy Room 3
((Jean))
His grimace was grim, especially so for a man who had just received a promotion.
Jean had been excited like a little boy as the ship had lifted off. It had been hard for him to tear his eyes from the skies when he was called in and even then, he had barely slept; fascinated with the prospect of space. Jean was barely acknowledged as a scholar, but their interests he shared... They theorised this space was infinite...
However, Jean had not the time to be amazed for so long as one of Micháele's men had come for him. Now he sat in a room, listening to the lord. As if a bucket of ice cold water was thrown into his face, Jean remembered the conversation he had with Stella and noticed Solstice sharpening her knife, knowing very well sharpening was not what she wanted to do with it.
Not only Solstice and Stella were in the room, however; also a man he had met yesterday. Ymber Ocmare, was his name. Jean was not unfamiliar with the Ocmare family, but his duties in the military and guardianship over Chanson had left him with ample opportunities to meet with the newer generations of nobility. It would be wise to reconcile with Ymber Ocmare, before the mission ended. Jean did not want to cause friction between their families.
More worrying than Ymber Ocmare, however, was Sagheer’Naab. Withdrawn for years for mysterious reasons, his reputation was well-known to Jean-Baptiste. Jean did not trust what he did not know and aside his reputation, he knew next to nothing about the tiny fang.
Lastly there was Daller, the cook. He seemed a pleasant fellow and Jean would try to engage conversation later.
Lord Micháele then began explaining the missions; their purposes and orders. Jean-Baptiste was discontent. An army behind them and Jean taking not only a leading role at the mission, which was already more than he had applied for, but was also given authorisation and responsibility for the force. Stella's words resounded in his head again... They must have had this planned since the beginning. Jean-Baptiste could not help but feel tricked; was it not him that had manipulated lord Micháele to let him join?
An army for a mission... Micháele seemed not to intend to leave the planet even if they were unwelcome. Jean did not know how to feel about this; it angered him and yet. He feared having to bear responsibility for hostile actions, intruding grounds they were not welcome, but what Jean also feared time was what would happen if he did not accept this responsibility? Would Micháele take his place as commander?
“Now,” Micháele sighed finally, relaxing into the chair a bit more, “Are there any questions?”
Jean-Baptiste took a breathe before collecting his thoughts. Before he decide upon anything, he had to learn more... Much as he disliked being powerless to act against the intents and decisions of the lord.
“My lord, you must excuse my rudeness, my daughter is unwell.” Jean lied, “I wish to discuss matters with you in private soon, I hope we can make an arrangement today. However I must attend to her now.”
He then turned to Stella, “Lady Oceane, if you would please come with me. Perhaps your expertise could be of help. If our lord allows our leave, at least.”
OOC Notes
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: Towards Academy Room 3
((Stella))
The launch was amazing. Definitely something else, something nobody had ever experienced before. Stella felt the pride of being in that ship the strongest she had felt up to that point. She even took the chance to go and watch outside as they moved at such a high speed. Although they insisted in calling this a ship, the movement didn't really ressemble that of your average vessel, or so she thought. After that special moment, she decided to call it a day and go back to sleep.
The following morning was rather interesting. Stella woke up early and quickly got dressed with her work clothes. They look good but they're still a military attire, even if female clothes. Making sure she had every important thing with her, she left the cabin and walked towards the Academy Room 3, where the meeting was going to take place. She was one of the first to arrive there, so she just went in and waited. Soon, the others began to arrive. Jean-Baptiste was first, and she smiled at him, kindly, and a big man came later on. Was he a cook? She had that impression on him.
After a while, as they silently waited, a short person with dark hair entered the room, and Sol after that, looking quite amused. Perhaps because she knew how much Micháele hated her presence in the room? The door opened once again, and what Stella saw made her open her eyes wide, although she repressed any sound. It was none other than her own brother, entering the room. What was he doing there? At first he didn't seem to notice her, but as the boy scanned through the faces of everyone inside the room, Stella saw the exact moment he saw her, as his reaction was basically the same reaction she had. But he still managed to remain silent as well.
She didn't even have time to stand up and talk to him, for soon the Lord entered the room and started his explanation. He meet Stella's eyes for a moment and had a kind smile for her. Surely this meant he still trusts her? She may end up being able to use that trust for her own good, at some point... or rather, the mission's.
Soon, Micháele had explained everyone's mission. The duty that each and every one of them would have to fulfill. Of course probably everyone had their own agenda, but for the time being, following those orders was probably the most sensible course of action. Her own mission would be to fill a diary that Micháele gave ger with another warm smile. She noticed, before that, Ymber's eyes on her, but decided not to do or say anything.
Stella got lost in her own thoughts as Micháele's voice kept speaking in the background. She could hear him talking to her brother. Her brother... in that ship... this could only mean trouble. As much as Stella cared for her brother, she knew he was not the most mature person in the world, and his temperamental behaviour could bring problems to the whole crew. She only hoped he had changed in the last few months... When she heard the lord again, he was basically praising the group. Empty words, no question about that.
She was also given the task to observe Isiah's surface from an academic point of view. Well she was no academic, but during her time as a healer, she had read a bit about this and that, and she was interested in Isiah, particularly. Probably because of the mysteries it hid. Still, if it was really not habitable, there was not much they could see. Without landing there, at least. Stella found her mind was more concerned about Ortel, and she was looking forward to it. Was there any chance she could be the first to go outside? At that point, she blushed, for she felt she had an -Ymber moment- there.
She looked around to see if anyone would have any question. Stella knew she didn't. And if she did, asking here would not be the best idea anyway. However, Jean asked to go back to his cabin, stating his daughter was feeling unwell. He then turned towards her, asking for her to accompany him. She was to help her... that was a clear signal. She smiled kindly at Jean and then at Lord Micháele. "If you will excuse me, I should go to her side. We do not want her to spread a disease around the ship. It would turn this mission into a failure before we even start!" She laughed silently, as she was given permission to leave the room. It was always so amusing to see the lord's face changing whenever a possible failure was brought up in a conversation.
Closing the door behind her, she rushed after Jean, who was walking away. "I'm assuming Chanson's not feeling unwell. What is it?"
((Ymber))
Incredible! Such movement, such speed, so thrilling! Those are the feelings Ymber had during the launch. But even more thrilled he was to be part of something important. He was to meet Lord Tacita on the next morning. He had to calm down enough so that he would sleep and give a good impression the following day.
On the next morning, Ymber took some time to get ready, and was therefore the last person to arrive to the Academy Room 3, before Lord Micháele, that is. The surprise that awaited him inside that room was beyond what he could have expected. None other than his own sister, Stella, was there. And apparently she was a member of some kind of group, as she was treated as an expert. He was absolutely shocked to find out that she was there. His biggest rival, the person he strives to overcome in every aspect of life.
He chose not to say anything, but he'd have a word with her after the meeting. He should at least know what she was doing her, and maybe even explain how she had gotten a passage into this ship... she'd be surprised to find out he was so capable of managing that kind of thing. But there were still some surprises to come, such as hearing the lord calling her "Stella Oceane". Ymber eyed her with a suspicious glare. What the hell was that, Oceane? Ridiculous name, anyway, and it was not even her true name. At first he thought the lord had mistakenly read the name, but after a while he finally realised.
So that's what Stella was doing... going undercover, using a fake family name and living a strange life. She didn't look so different, though. He could still say she had the air of someone who belongs to nobility. Maybe it was because he knew. Or maybe it was the ornaments she wore, but it was clear to him. Did those people not know? But his thought process was interrupted when he heard his name. Ymber smiled nonchalantly as he was told his job was the best job. Supporting Jean was great. After all, he wanted to meet him again, and specially Chanson, so this was a great way of achieveing his goal.
He would also be the link between the Teela and the aeliens... he'd be known as a famous peace maker... the one who created friendship between two worlds. There was no better work for him, that was clear. However, the most immediate job was not as good as he would have wanted. He was to help to collect provisions for the first trip onto Ortel. He would have protested. However, the mention of this Deena was interesting. An apprentice Ritualist. If he was lucky, this girl would be young and good looking, so he could have a go at it. And also, even though collecting provisions was not of his liking, Ymber secretly enjoyed the art of cooking. Perhaps he would be able to learn a thing or two from this Daller person.
At that point, the lord offered to answer questions. That was the chance he had been awaiting. He could finally ask about her sister's presence in the ship. He stood up. "Excuse me, Micháele", the young man spoke without showing any specific respect to the man in charge of the mission. But Jean-Baptiste Montague interrupted him, stating Chanson was not feeling well, and asking to leave. He would also take Stella with him. As much as Ymber hated to admit it, if she was going with the little girl, they should be fine. Stella was not exactly stupid, and she had been skilled at a number of things.
Pondering whether he should ask the lord or not, in the end Ymber decided to go for it. "Micháele, what the hell is all this -Stella Oceane- nonsense? She is my older sister, the first child of the Ocmare family! Why were we not informed of her presence aboard? I would hope you have a solid reason for these actions? I want to know why is she here."
The young man was standing up in the middle of the room, speaking with a loud voice, and demanding information from a lord. This was not exactly what someone of his position should be doing. However... he was enraged. He was supposed to be the first person from his family to travel to the skies, and there she was. Just as always.
Location set: Towards Academy Room 3
((Stella))
The launch was amazing. Definitely something else, something nobody had ever experienced before. Stella felt the pride of being in that ship the strongest she had felt up to that point. She even took the chance to go and watch outside as they moved at such a high speed. Although they insisted in calling this a ship, the movement didn't really ressemble that of your average vessel, or so she thought. After that special moment, she decided to call it a day and go back to sleep.
The following morning was rather interesting. Stella woke up early and quickly got dressed with her work clothes. They look good but they're still a military attire, even if female clothes. Making sure she had every important thing with her, she left the cabin and walked towards the Academy Room 3, where the meeting was going to take place. She was one of the first to arrive there, so she just went in and waited. Soon, the others began to arrive. Jean-Baptiste was first, and she smiled at him, kindly, and a big man came later on. Was he a cook? She had that impression on him.
After a while, as they silently waited, a short person with dark hair entered the room, and Sol after that, looking quite amused. Perhaps because she knew how much Micháele hated her presence in the room? The door opened once again, and what Stella saw made her open her eyes wide, although she repressed any sound. It was none other than her own brother, entering the room. What was he doing there? At first he didn't seem to notice her, but as the boy scanned through the faces of everyone inside the room, Stella saw the exact moment he saw her, as his reaction was basically the same reaction she had. But he still managed to remain silent as well.
She didn't even have time to stand up and talk to him, for soon the Lord entered the room and started his explanation. He meet Stella's eyes for a moment and had a kind smile for her. Surely this meant he still trusts her? She may end up being able to use that trust for her own good, at some point... or rather, the mission's.
Soon, Micháele had explained everyone's mission. The duty that each and every one of them would have to fulfill. Of course probably everyone had their own agenda, but for the time being, following those orders was probably the most sensible course of action. Her own mission would be to fill a diary that Micháele gave ger with another warm smile. She noticed, before that, Ymber's eyes on her, but decided not to do or say anything.
Stella got lost in her own thoughts as Micháele's voice kept speaking in the background. She could hear him talking to her brother. Her brother... in that ship... this could only mean trouble. As much as Stella cared for her brother, she knew he was not the most mature person in the world, and his temperamental behaviour could bring problems to the whole crew. She only hoped he had changed in the last few months... When she heard the lord again, he was basically praising the group. Empty words, no question about that.
She was also given the task to observe Isiah's surface from an academic point of view. Well she was no academic, but during her time as a healer, she had read a bit about this and that, and she was interested in Isiah, particularly. Probably because of the mysteries it hid. Still, if it was really not habitable, there was not much they could see. Without landing there, at least. Stella found her mind was more concerned about Ortel, and she was looking forward to it. Was there any chance she could be the first to go outside? At that point, she blushed, for she felt she had an -Ymber moment- there.
She looked around to see if anyone would have any question. Stella knew she didn't. And if she did, asking here would not be the best idea anyway. However, Jean asked to go back to his cabin, stating his daughter was feeling unwell. He then turned towards her, asking for her to accompany him. She was to help her... that was a clear signal. She smiled kindly at Jean and then at Lord Micháele. "If you will excuse me, I should go to her side. We do not want her to spread a disease around the ship. It would turn this mission into a failure before we even start!" She laughed silently, as she was given permission to leave the room. It was always so amusing to see the lord's face changing whenever a possible failure was brought up in a conversation.
Closing the door behind her, she rushed after Jean, who was walking away. "I'm assuming Chanson's not feeling unwell. What is it?"
((Ymber))
Incredible! Such movement, such speed, so thrilling! Those are the feelings Ymber had during the launch. But even more thrilled he was to be part of something important. He was to meet Lord Tacita on the next morning. He had to calm down enough so that he would sleep and give a good impression the following day.
On the next morning, Ymber took some time to get ready, and was therefore the last person to arrive to the Academy Room 3, before Lord Micháele, that is. The surprise that awaited him inside that room was beyond what he could have expected. None other than his own sister, Stella, was there. And apparently she was a member of some kind of group, as she was treated as an expert. He was absolutely shocked to find out that she was there. His biggest rival, the person he strives to overcome in every aspect of life.
He chose not to say anything, but he'd have a word with her after the meeting. He should at least know what she was doing her, and maybe even explain how she had gotten a passage into this ship... she'd be surprised to find out he was so capable of managing that kind of thing. But there were still some surprises to come, such as hearing the lord calling her "Stella Oceane". Ymber eyed her with a suspicious glare. What the hell was that, Oceane? Ridiculous name, anyway, and it was not even her true name. At first he thought the lord had mistakenly read the name, but after a while he finally realised.
So that's what Stella was doing... going undercover, using a fake family name and living a strange life. She didn't look so different, though. He could still say she had the air of someone who belongs to nobility. Maybe it was because he knew. Or maybe it was the ornaments she wore, but it was clear to him. Did those people not know? But his thought process was interrupted when he heard his name. Ymber smiled nonchalantly as he was told his job was the best job. Supporting Jean was great. After all, he wanted to meet him again, and specially Chanson, so this was a great way of achieveing his goal.
He would also be the link between the Teela and the aeliens... he'd be known as a famous peace maker... the one who created friendship between two worlds. There was no better work for him, that was clear. However, the most immediate job was not as good as he would have wanted. He was to help to collect provisions for the first trip onto Ortel. He would have protested. However, the mention of this Deena was interesting. An apprentice Ritualist. If he was lucky, this girl would be young and good looking, so he could have a go at it. And also, even though collecting provisions was not of his liking, Ymber secretly enjoyed the art of cooking. Perhaps he would be able to learn a thing or two from this Daller person.
At that point, the lord offered to answer questions. That was the chance he had been awaiting. He could finally ask about her sister's presence in the ship. He stood up. "Excuse me, Micháele", the young man spoke without showing any specific respect to the man in charge of the mission. But Jean-Baptiste Montague interrupted him, stating Chanson was not feeling well, and asking to leave. He would also take Stella with him. As much as Ymber hated to admit it, if she was going with the little girl, they should be fine. Stella was not exactly stupid, and she had been skilled at a number of things.
Pondering whether he should ask the lord or not, in the end Ymber decided to go for it. "Micháele, what the hell is all this -Stella Oceane- nonsense? She is my older sister, the first child of the Ocmare family! Why were we not informed of her presence aboard? I would hope you have a solid reason for these actions? I want to know why is she here."
The young man was standing up in the middle of the room, speaking with a loud voice, and demanding information from a lord. This was not exactly what someone of his position should be doing. However... he was enraged. He was supposed to be the first person from his family to travel to the skies, and there she was. Just as always.
OOC Notes
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: Near Academy Room 3
((Jean))
"I am worried and enraged." Jean stated under his breath. Stella and he had walked out of hearing distance and headed towards Jean's cabin, where Chanson was still asleep. They did not speak much until they arrived in the cabin. Cautious as Jean was, he had already made sure there was no easy way to hear what was being said within the room the night before. Although the walls did not isolate all sound well from the rooms next to his, Jean knew the quarters next to his were empty.
Chanson was still sleeping and so Jean gestured Stella to remain silent. He offered her a chair on the other side of the room, but remained standing himself. "The purpose of this mission; what is it?" Jean spoke softly, trying not to disturb and wake the girl, "You told me about the minerals, lady Oceane, and I have no objections to trade. What greatly troubles me is my... Promotion." His eyes met Stella's and Jean wondered if the young spy had placed the pieces of the puzzle yet. "A contignent of soldiers; a ship of this calibre. I understand the investments made in this mission were made with... Great expectations. To what ends the lord is to go, theft, force or even colonisation, I do not know." Jean paused and looked at Chanson, remembering the reason he ever applied.
"Lady Oceane, I apologise for asking this of you. We have barely been acquintanced. However, lord Micháele has played this situation in his favour. I have been made responsible for diplomacy as well as our safety; I am the fool who the blame shall be placed on for any mistakes made by those below me as well as those above me. I must know everything... Before I speak with Micháele."
Location set: Near Academy Room 3
((Jean))
"I am worried and enraged." Jean stated under his breath. Stella and he had walked out of hearing distance and headed towards Jean's cabin, where Chanson was still asleep. They did not speak much until they arrived in the cabin. Cautious as Jean was, he had already made sure there was no easy way to hear what was being said within the room the night before. Although the walls did not isolate all sound well from the rooms next to his, Jean knew the quarters next to his were empty.
Chanson was still sleeping and so Jean gestured Stella to remain silent. He offered her a chair on the other side of the room, but remained standing himself. "The purpose of this mission; what is it?" Jean spoke softly, trying not to disturb and wake the girl, "You told me about the minerals, lady Oceane, and I have no objections to trade. What greatly troubles me is my... Promotion." His eyes met Stella's and Jean wondered if the young spy had placed the pieces of the puzzle yet. "A contignent of soldiers; a ship of this calibre. I understand the investments made in this mission were made with... Great expectations. To what ends the lord is to go, theft, force or even colonisation, I do not know." Jean paused and looked at Chanson, remembering the reason he ever applied.
"Lady Oceane, I apologise for asking this of you. We have barely been acquintanced. However, lord Micháele has played this situation in his favour. I have been made responsible for diplomacy as well as our safety; I am the fool who the blame shall be placed on for any mistakes made by those below me as well as those above me. I must know everything... Before I speak with Micháele."
OOC Notes
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (pre-6am)
Location set: VIP Quarterdeck
((Mastrame))
Mastrame rolled out of his somewhat lavish bed he had paid extra for, it did not help him get to sleep, the VIP quarterdeck had many room like his only he had a specific customization to his. In the center of the room lie a square table about a foot off the ground. On the table was a raised edge in the shape of a square about 6 inches by 6 inches in size, here he would perform his morning ritual. He opened his armoire and pulled out the large jar of multicolored sand. Kneeling in front of the table facing out towards the windows of his room he set the jar next to him and took a deep breath.
He opened the jar and atop the miniature desert was a small funnel shaped bowl, he gripped the bowl and scooped a small amount of the blackened sand. Another deep breath as he raised the bowl to eye level and gave it a tap. A grain fell, straight down to where he wished it into the area of the table with the raised edge. Every grain fell and he watched it fall, the background the stars and space. The blackened sand had filled the corners of the area as he had planned; he dumped the remaining sand into the bowl and scooped up the whitest color of sand. He took another deep breath, raised the bowl to eye level and… Tap.
Dumping out the remaining sand he hadn't used he bowed his head to examine the sand painting. A 4-armed star lay in the center of the table. An appropriate painting for his first day among the stars. A look of delight filled his eyes as he observed his flawless art. One last glance and he knew he had finished, he rose to his feet and headed towards his washtub.
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: VIP Quarterdeck
Bathed and dressed he gave himself a looking over in the mirror, he approved of himself. Grabbing a bit of money and throwing it into a small purse and tossing it into a shoulder bag he had grown accustom to wearing, the purse lay next to a book of rhymes and songs he enjoyed, a personal journal he kept, a smaller jar of reddish sand, and the key to his room. He then turned to his armoire and retrieved his Baglama, it was a fine piece of work if he'd ever seen one. The wood was a rich brown color and has the appearance of age and whither. Many designs are etched into the face of the instrument similar to Teela markings. He slung it over his shoulder and onto his back; rarely would he be caught without it. Across his other shoulder his bag is placed.
Exiting his room looking down the hallway in both directions he headed for the commons area. The guitarist he had heard the day before was good, but he planned to do her one better. The commons were beginning to fill as mid-morning approached. He procured a glass of juice a paid the man a crimson shilling and headed towards the performance area. Drinking the rest of his juice he set the cup down as he listened to the same woman who was playing the guitar but a day earlier play. He even recognized the song and began to sing along softly amidst the small crowd of listeners.
'Gonna build that city on a hill, gonna build that city on a hill, someday those tears are gonna spill.'
A good song he even enjoyed singing himself time to time. He assumed this woman was going to continue playing for some time so he drew away; perhaps he wasn't going to be able to show off today. If he couldn't play music then perhaps some sort of physical activation would be better. Perhaps a sword fight with a soldier who would immediately underestimate him, or maybe a game of chess with an old man who would surely tell him quite a story from 'back in his day' while they played. No... that all seemed so mundane now, he is in the stars, he must aim higher. Perhaps finding his way onto an exciting mission would be the most exciting thing he could do.
After asking for directions he headed towards the Military Quarters. His eyes peeking into every room he passed by trying to get a grasp of the absolute magnitude of what he is a part of. A left turn here, then a right.. 4th door. Aha! Academy room 3, he listened intently through the door of a meeting about ‘Recon One’ or something, now that sounded exciting. A pause then footsteps approached the door. He slid so when the door opened it would conceal him. A man and woman began walking and talking thankfully in the opposite direction he was hiding, he picked up someone was sick or something like that, but now the matter at hand. Then a loud and bold man began talking of someone being his sister but using a different last name. This is already quite exciting. He peered into the room now observing the remaining people of what he assumed to be Recon One, and then Micháele himself. The one he was told to talk to if he wanted to get on the mission.
He decided to observe from there as to not have anger of the blonde man redirected at him, nor Micháele himself be angry for intruding, he was, after all, about to ask a favor.
Location set: VIP Quarterdeck
((Mastrame))
Mastrame rolled out of his somewhat lavish bed he had paid extra for, it did not help him get to sleep, the VIP quarterdeck had many room like his only he had a specific customization to his. In the center of the room lie a square table about a foot off the ground. On the table was a raised edge in the shape of a square about 6 inches by 6 inches in size, here he would perform his morning ritual. He opened his armoire and pulled out the large jar of multicolored sand. Kneeling in front of the table facing out towards the windows of his room he set the jar next to him and took a deep breath.
He opened the jar and atop the miniature desert was a small funnel shaped bowl, he gripped the bowl and scooped a small amount of the blackened sand. Another deep breath as he raised the bowl to eye level and gave it a tap. A grain fell, straight down to where he wished it into the area of the table with the raised edge. Every grain fell and he watched it fall, the background the stars and space. The blackened sand had filled the corners of the area as he had planned; he dumped the remaining sand into the bowl and scooped up the whitest color of sand. He took another deep breath, raised the bowl to eye level and… Tap.
Dumping out the remaining sand he hadn't used he bowed his head to examine the sand painting. A 4-armed star lay in the center of the table. An appropriate painting for his first day among the stars. A look of delight filled his eyes as he observed his flawless art. One last glance and he knew he had finished, he rose to his feet and headed towards his washtub.
Day/Time set: Day 1, LU (6am)
Location set: VIP Quarterdeck
Bathed and dressed he gave himself a looking over in the mirror, he approved of himself. Grabbing a bit of money and throwing it into a small purse and tossing it into a shoulder bag he had grown accustom to wearing, the purse lay next to a book of rhymes and songs he enjoyed, a personal journal he kept, a smaller jar of reddish sand, and the key to his room. He then turned to his armoire and retrieved his Baglama, it was a fine piece of work if he'd ever seen one. The wood was a rich brown color and has the appearance of age and whither. Many designs are etched into the face of the instrument similar to Teela markings. He slung it over his shoulder and onto his back; rarely would he be caught without it. Across his other shoulder his bag is placed.
Exiting his room looking down the hallway in both directions he headed for the commons area. The guitarist he had heard the day before was good, but he planned to do her one better. The commons were beginning to fill as mid-morning approached. He procured a glass of juice a paid the man a crimson shilling and headed towards the performance area. Drinking the rest of his juice he set the cup down as he listened to the same woman who was playing the guitar but a day earlier play. He even recognized the song and began to sing along softly amidst the small crowd of listeners.
'Gonna build that city on a hill, gonna build that city on a hill, someday those tears are gonna spill.'
A good song he even enjoyed singing himself time to time. He assumed this woman was going to continue playing for some time so he drew away; perhaps he wasn't going to be able to show off today. If he couldn't play music then perhaps some sort of physical activation would be better. Perhaps a sword fight with a soldier who would immediately underestimate him, or maybe a game of chess with an old man who would surely tell him quite a story from 'back in his day' while they played. No... that all seemed so mundane now, he is in the stars, he must aim higher. Perhaps finding his way onto an exciting mission would be the most exciting thing he could do.
After asking for directions he headed towards the Military Quarters. His eyes peeking into every room he passed by trying to get a grasp of the absolute magnitude of what he is a part of. A left turn here, then a right.. 4th door. Aha! Academy room 3, he listened intently through the door of a meeting about ‘Recon One’ or something, now that sounded exciting. A pause then footsteps approached the door. He slid so when the door opened it would conceal him. A man and woman began walking and talking thankfully in the opposite direction he was hiding, he picked up someone was sick or something like that, but now the matter at hand. Then a loud and bold man began talking of someone being his sister but using a different last name. This is already quite exciting. He peered into the room now observing the remaining people of what he assumed to be Recon One, and then Micháele himself. The one he was told to talk to if he wanted to get on the mission.
He decided to observe from there as to not have anger of the blonde man redirected at him, nor Micháele himself be angry for intruding, he was, after all, about to ask a favor.
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At The Edge of the World: Out Of Character (OOC)
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At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
1 ... 13, 14, 15by ShadowWake on Tue May 18, 2010 2:43 pm
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on Wed Apr 04, 2012 12:23 pm
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At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Most recent OOC posts in At The Edge of the World
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
I will go read now. Apologies for my absence recently. We're getting ready for our next show with CODS and this year has required me a lot more than last year!
I will have to post after next week as it's show week next week, so I'm basically out all evening rehearsing until 10.30/11pm every night and will obviously be on stage in the eves next week. I may be able to get one in during the day, but just to give you a heads up if I can't! :)
I will have to post after next week as it's show week next week, so I'm basically out all evening rehearsing until 10.30/11pm every night and will obviously be on stage in the eves next week. I may be able to get one in during the day, but just to give you a heads up if I can't! :)
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Well, I've had my own post, late but ready. Now I hope our beloved GM overlord will guide is through! :D
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
And there we go; March's post been covered. See ya'll in May :P
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Holy crap, I posted too! Woaaaaaaaaaaaaah. And we're going to the volcano planet, right?
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
We're going on. It's just we do it at our pace! :)
Welcome, Oflonglife!
Also, I posted... and *gasp* on the right tab, too!!
Welcome, Oflonglife!
Also, I posted... and *gasp* on the right tab, too!!
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Nice to see I'm keeping my promises...
On a plus side, we have a new RPer - Oflonglife - who has prompted me to be a bit more vigilant with the RP (or at least my posting in it) simply by showing an interest! I doubt I'll get chance during the week but I definitely will post at the weekend, so we can get this kick-started again and at least give Oflonglife a chance to get into the story.
And last (but by no means least), Welcome Oflonglife! Firstly, may I ask your gender (lol) simply so I don't keep mistaking whether you are he/she! Secondly, you are welcome to pop up an introductory post for Mastrame: it doesn't really matter where you are, but you can interact with Dee if you wish to. She will be in the Academy at a desk somewhere scribbling in her memoir and surrounded by books! Or you can wait 'til the weekend when I will post both Sol/Michaele and Dee. :)
On a plus side, we have a new RPer - Oflonglife - who has prompted me to be a bit more vigilant with the RP (or at least my posting in it) simply by showing an interest! I doubt I'll get chance during the week but I definitely will post at the weekend, so we can get this kick-started again and at least give Oflonglife a chance to get into the story.
And last (but by no means least), Welcome Oflonglife! Firstly, may I ask your gender (lol) simply so I don't keep mistaking whether you are he/she! Secondly, you are welcome to pop up an introductory post for Mastrame: it doesn't really matter where you are, but you can interact with Dee if you wish to. She will be in the Academy at a desk somewhere scribbling in her memoir and surrounded by books! Or you can wait 'til the weekend when I will post both Sol/Michaele and Dee. :)
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Busy, busy, busy!! Like, seriously. Family all over the place. Lots of studying Japanese. Lots of scheduling my tutoring of the kids, and starting a bit of a job as a reporter. And of course, I continue with my small Internet job, which doesn't take a lot of time, but it does take a little.
And hear me, my friends! Lots of small amounts of time = a big amount of time! :)
Glad to see you're all doing fine!
And hear me, my friends! Lots of small amounts of time = a big amount of time! :)
Glad to see you're all doing fine!
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
I'm still here and alive, though I've mostly been distracted with end of senior year stuffs.
... I still haven't posted, though. D: Sorry!
... I still haven't posted, though. D: Sorry!
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Busy. College been a bitch last month. Got more to do over the weekend and I'm semi-desperately practicing escapism 'cause it's driving me mad. Don't wanna hear about it, trust me. Other than that the holiday season was pretty good, albeit a bit quiet, when school slows down I'm gonna pick up swimming and a couple friends and I are considering putting up a small company. My own RP has been pretty solid, too. So yeah that's about it.
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Lol, sorry guys. Will be back into the swing of things this weekend. Fraz is out for nearly the whole day so I can take the quiet moment to post.
And my month's been fine - though a little less of the family for a bit would be great, lol. No, it was lovely to see them all but I'm looking forward to some more 'us' time. And I got me a Warhammer Dreadfleet for crimbo so painting that's been taking up a lot of my time! But I don't really mind that of course... ;)
And y'all?
And my month's been fine - though a little less of the family for a bit would be great, lol. No, it was lovely to see them all but I'm looking forward to some more 'us' time. And I got me a Warhammer Dreadfleet for crimbo so painting that's been taking up a lot of my time! But I don't really mind that of course... ;)
And y'all?
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
So, how was your month, people? :P Thought I'd liven things up a bit with a post.
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Hullo Iggi! Yes, I'm still taking on passengers, lol. Pop up your character sheet and I'll take a look. I only ask that you read the intro post and QA section before you write to make sure that you've got all the context. :) Give me a shout if there's any character in particular that you think would be good to find you or whether you want your 'stowaway' secret hidden and we'll sort something out.
In regards to posting Hydrall, we are in an inbetweeny bit at the moment, so I totally understand. I will respond as Michaele to Ymber this weekend and then to save the boring writing of collecting supplies, you both can go and collect Deena.
In regards to posting Hydrall, we are in an inbetweeny bit at the moment, so I totally understand. I will respond as Michaele to Ymber this weekend and then to save the boring writing of collecting supplies, you both can go and collect Deena.
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
That'd be interesting. Stowin' away on a spaceship- pretty much the crowning moment of vagrancy. You would be the Uberhobo, the Homeless Jesus.
Also, I'm still here, just a bit stuck on what to post. >_>
Also, I'm still here, just a bit stuck on what to post. >_>
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Is this roleplay still open to characters? =x I recognize that it's on the launch date currently, so I can adjust to that if you'd allow: i.e. stowaway, etc.
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Oh, Jean WILL question them but he won't pass them. While he will hate being responsible for any hostile military actions, this way he will also have the power to prevent such things. As a general he has authority that can overrule Micháele's when it comes to military decisions and that's not something he's going to pass up.
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
No...no... that's Michaele, Kestrel; ShadowWake would wrap Jean up in a warm fuzzy blanket and feed him hot coco for hours on end. :D
But honestly, if you feel it's not in his personality or skills to do any or some of the things requested, you are welcome to pass them on or question it. Michaele feels quite proud that he's managed to situate someone 'trustworthy' into that role (and it means his dirty boots never leave the bathtub - at least until the red carpet has been laid), lol. Jean is essentially doing what Michaele would've been asked to do, except the lordling in question has obviously gone to his superiors and said: "I have a man for just the job" to make it look like it was his idea all along, which - as Jean quite rightly points out - it was. Or at least the plan was to promote whomever he believed most competent (i.e. so as not to blacken his name with any mistakes).
And good posts guys! Love Ymber's reaction: Michaele's been given a bit of a shock methinks! And it'll be fun to see how him and Deena work together, lol.
I'll save posting yet, to give everyone else a chance first. :)
But honestly, if you feel it's not in his personality or skills to do any or some of the things requested, you are welcome to pass them on or question it. Michaele feels quite proud that he's managed to situate someone 'trustworthy' into that role (and it means his dirty boots never leave the bathtub - at least until the red carpet has been laid), lol. Jean is essentially doing what Michaele would've been asked to do, except the lordling in question has obviously gone to his superiors and said: "I have a man for just the job" to make it look like it was his idea all along, which - as Jean quite rightly points out - it was. Or at least the plan was to promote whomever he believed most competent (i.e. so as not to blacken his name with any mistakes).
And good posts guys! Love Ymber's reaction: Michaele's been given a bit of a shock methinks! And it'll be fun to see how him and Deena work together, lol.
I'll save posting yet, to give everyone else a chance first. :)
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
I'm such an idiooooot!! Just as I was clicking the button, I was realising I had done it in the wrong place. Curse me.
*Sigh*, I've posted!
*Sigh*, I've posted!
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
Right, right, posted. Sorry guys, for the lack of interaction with the people I haven't interacted with yet... But Shadowwake keeps dumping so much problems on poor, poor Jean ;p I'll get to it as soon as storytelling allows me to ;p
Re: [OOC] At The Edge of the World [Fantasy/Sci-Fi]
I'm glad the problems are solved, even if "only" sort of? :) That's the most important!
The post's great, and I enjoyed the read! Will write about Stella and Ymber's bit before they got to the room. They won't have much interaction before the meeting. We'll see about after!
I feel Stella will want to get along with Deena, since she has magic notions (mainly healing) and wants to learn more. She's a nice addition I feel.
Will be posting soon, as it's late now.
The post's great, and I enjoyed the read! Will write about Stella and Ymber's bit before they got to the room. They won't have much interaction before the meeting. We'll see about after!
I feel Stella will want to get along with Deena, since she has magic notions (mainly healing) and wants to learn more. She's a nice addition I feel.
Will be posting soon, as it's late now.
