Dion Costas's Story

High above Gaia, in high orbit...

Space and reality bent and gave way, with a tear rent in the fabric of space as a wormhole opened up for the briefest of moments.

The single one-man Prowler emerged, it's sleek black hull reflecting the faintest of light from the dead star within the system, and the light from the moons as the cockpit darkened to compensate for the light within this strange and fantastical world that lay below.

Captain Costas, a seasoned Apollo pilot, Aurora Bomber Pilot, and Commander of the Wrath's Fighter group. Was seated within the cockpit, at the controls of the Aschen Empire's newest, and most advanced reconnaissance craft. His mission was simple, to scout the planet, document it's lifeforms with a thorough yet brief flyover, and then determine if the planet was worth visiting further.

Costas took a deep breath, his face obscured by the dark visor as he glanced down to the Three-dimensional holographic projection of the planet, and the Anquietas text that scrolled up and over it.

"Recon Log; I've jumped to the generated coordinates for my reconnaissance run. This star system seems to have one class M planet, and is trinary in nature." Costa said into his audio log, before he heard the sound of brief static, one of the displays flickering in his periphery.

"Initiating atmospheric insertion and activation of the scout package.." Reaching out, Costa flipped several switches, engaging a high-definition camera that swiveled on a small ball mount in the nose of the craft. Angling it down, the light of Gaia was in full view, bathing the interior of the cockpit in a dull blue light.

Another glitch, this time in throttle control. "Unidentied error; flight systems." Scrolled across his main display in Anquietas, and he furrowed his brow. "What is going on, gods damn expensive piece of crap, Aerospace can't build a solid fighter to save their lives." He hit the display, but as he approached the planet, more and more seemed to go wrong.

The controls stopped responding, and everything suddenly went dark, as the Prowler slipped into an decaying orbit, and eventually into an uncontrolled tailspin over Gaia, streaking across the sky across almost the whole of Si'ven.

Warning alarms blared, and G-forces crept up as the Prowler was engulfed in white hot plasma, as atmospheric friction built up, threatening to tear the craft asunder as it soared over the surface.

---

To those on the ground, two deafening booms preceded the arrival of the doomed prowler, several brilliant streaks of white in the daytime sky, along with trails of thick inky black smoke as the Prowler broke apart. Dion, in his final moments of consciousness pulled the ejection lever, sending the entire cockpit assembly shooting several feet into the air, a parachute deployed to slow the fall while the Prowler itself careened into a nearby tree, impacting with a deafening bang and sending up a plume of flame, scattering debris across the woods.

The whole ordeal left the lone pilot out cold, as even the auxiliary systems failed, computer regulated navigation simply shut down, plagued with magical influenced glitches and errors. The only thing keeping the cockpit pressurized was a simple mechanical regulatory system, designed for durability in hostile environments.

Blackness gave way to light as the escape capsule's parachute became entangled in the branches of the towering trees. Emergency releases broke, and the Capsule fell several feet, jarring it's previously unconscious occupant awake.

Sparks erupted all around Dion as he felt warm blood trickle down his face, the cockpit was totally trashed, he looked up at the parachute wafting in the breeze, it's brilliant orange color making it easily locate-able to anyone who was watching.

In a normal situation, an electronic beacon would then activate, on a subspace frequency that would ensure help's arrival. But this time the beacon did not activate.

Dion groaned, and looked to his arm. A special device designed to test if the atmosphere was breathable by reacting with oxygen showed green, he had ten hours of oxygen in the emergency cockpit capsule. Reaching up, he attempted to unfasten his restraints, nothing worked, not his helmet's HUD, not the cockpit's systems, nothing seemed to function except a few indicator lights, which were on systems so simple, they would be the last to be influenced by whatever doomed his craft.

Lord Gareif called his name so blue crystal goggles went back down as Malad suffered enough of the blinding elf architecture for now. He could see a tide of light illuminating the air somewhere inside. He nodded firmly at Lord Gareif and if his latest luck held the elves would be leading his Lord there.

Quick to hup to Malad moved forward to just behind his lord. An unusual off-silver hilt wobbled on his belt not quite platinum or steel but an edge below the guard that looked painted with metal. Malar carried a hammer more often and didn't have the harness to anchor such things proper. An expensive new alloy however incomplete yet certainly wasn't getting out of his sight but for the will of the Lord.

At close range Malad looked to the magic eye a dwarven statue hewn from taut flesh. Filamentous layers of artistry from dwarves of research like himself but of the arcane. He'd let them run or revise with the ample time for an art to their craft. Both Runes and inert stories of the clan curl symmetrically from underneath his gloves onto the rest of his body.

Malad raised an eyebrow at the notion of alliances with the light-drunk elves but said nothing. Politics were the Lord's concern though he hoped he didn't have to be blinded here often. While walking on through the capital Malad sometimes still had to block out the blinding trees. Even the dust conspired give him a headache until he noticed the tiny flap of appendages. His thoughts went to more soothing topics then the slimy trees gave him an idea. While making a shorthand note he absently mutters from behind Lord Gareif while eying a tree, "Get sample of glowing tree sap. Analyze for lighting. See if it can be made into rum. Remember to get black bottles for the besotted stuff." He did a quick trace of the general shape of the trees onto a mental canvas with one finger.

The boom of a meteor then grabbed his attention. It wasn't hard to find with the shockwave pulsing over them but the black smoke made him second guess his first assessment. He directed some thought to finding other pictures of meteors and while pieces broke off the object came to a conclusion of compared illustrations. The light was uniform among meteors and they did not burn with black smoke behind them. Still if the air burned in front of the object it must be going as fast and from above. A curious thing. He wasn't taking off his goggles in here to see the objects coming off.

Malad's rough voice had the tint of curious amusement after a moment, "M'lord. Over there. It's come from above but meteors don't burn. It's come too fast too high for artillery."

Jorn was about to enter before noting what Malad had muttered and then the loud bang from something flying to fast. His initial thoughts had been the same until he realized that the falling star was something more. The older dwarf had traveled to many strange locales and traversed the deepest reaches of space before returning home and it was clearly obvious that the crashing object was a ship of some kind.

"So, another has fallen, I wonder what will come of this?" Jorn suddenly turned to the two elves who had accompanied them and gave a gruff sigh. "I expect your company would like to deal with the mess. Perhaps I can send a few of my men to accompany them." Regardless of the answer there was more important things to discuss.

A few of the dwarven soldiers would gather a few chests to carry behind Jorn as he entered into the building to await for the one he was sent to speak with. Strange as it would be he figured it best to allow the elves to act first in this manner.

"Feyrun," Tarrik called out in a commanding tone. All of the elves had stopped to watch the vessel break into pieces above the clearing of the trees. Their sharp eyes picked out a human sitting inside some metal contraption. Strange arrivals were rare on the planet, but not unheard of even for the tree-folk.

"Yes my Lord?" Feyrun's voice was deep but smooth as an aged honeyed mead.

"Take some scouts and find our visitor from the skies. Bring him to me in one piece and alive. I want to see where this person is from and if it is related to certain events," said Tarrik. He eyed the dwarf in front of him with some uncertainty.

"Very well," said Feyrun with a bow to the Elven Lord.

"Jorn of House Havelshield, you may have men accompany Feyrun, or not. It is your choice but I will not bear the consequences of them being unfamiliar with our woods. They are quite perilous and filled with fey, as I am sure you understand," said Tarrik to the Dwarven Lord.

Feyrun left the company gathered at the inner gates inside Elwendil, a few of his men following behind the dark-haired elven man.

"I would like to go as well," a gentle voice spoke up to Tarrik. He frowned down at her and crossed his arms across his broad chest. After a moment of thought, Tarrik nodded to Sybbil. She smiled gracefully, lifted onto her tiptoes and gave her brother a kiss to his smooth cheek. She, too, left the gathering.

"Your men will be shown where they may stay. Bring whomever you will to speak with Feyleth," Tarrik said to Jorn. He made a motion with his hand and several other elven men began to help the dwarves with whatever they may have needed. They headed west toward a large tree with a burl cut at the lower roots for entrance into an underground hollow. It would be more than accommodating.

---

An hour passed.

---

Tarrik sat upon his throne made out of a massive elm. It still bloomed and shed leaves on the earthen floor of the throne room. Tiny motes of fey lingered amoung the living branches. No other elves were present aside from a strange creature that resembled more fey than elf.

She was stunningly beautiful, almost too much so to be looked upon with desire. Her skin was iridescent and glimmered with the lights of the fey surrounding her. The woman's hair was amaranth and laced with soft downy feathers. Her eyes like two glittering jewels inlaid in her wondrous face.

A smile graced upon the woman's glossy lips and she stared at the dwarves.

"Dwarven... Lord... Jorn...Welcome..." spoke Feyleth, sending a shiver even down Tarrik's spine.

"What you have found... I fear... for us all..." Feyleth's speech was oddly broken. Tarrik did not seem to be surprise by this behavior. She had always spoken thus due to her making. Feyleth was a creature half in the world and half in another at all times. She walked between the worlds in spirit barely anchored by her physical embodiment.

The silence around the lone Prowler pilot was almost deafening; but he couldn't sit in one place since he knew that help wasn't coming. He took a quick assessment of his injuries, but he figured his Nanites would take care of him.

He let his eyes drift about, taking in his surroundings; as alien as they could be. He made the deduction that he was in a forest of some kind, where there was vegetation, there was a animal life, and it was likely that the planet's atmosphere could support human life.

He pulled his visor over his face, and checked the pressurization. The oxygen gauge showed that his suit had three hours of emergency oxygen, so he made the decision to try and go for help.

A gloved hand reached up, and clenched the emergency cockpit release, he pulled the lever back and the canopy was blown from the capsule, hurling several feet and landing nearby atop knurled roots with a thud.

He checked the oxygen reader once more, it was still green; so he lifted his visor and took the first breaths of alien air. However something seemed off as he tried to stand up; his legs shook and he winced in pain.

Was this world's gravity heavier?

Joints popped as he stood up, unfastening the last of his restraints, he looked around once more.

"I'm three kinds of frakked." He muttered.

Pulling out of the cockpit, he threw his legs over the side of the capsule, and landed on the ground with a crunch of leaves and undergrowth. He then reached forward, and undid the emergency cargo latch to get at the supplies inside.

Inside was a green rucksack, emergency heat blanket made out of gold reflective foiling, three days of bagged emergency purified water, two ration bars that held a whopping 5,000 calories, along with complete nutrition, and an assortment of emergency tools, such as a wick lighter, basic first aid kit, and a multitude of other supplies.

He grabbed the rucksack and threw it over his shoulder, before reaching out and grabbing the machete and tomahawk/shovel tool that was loaded in the emergency hatch, as well as a simple magnetic compass.

The last and most vital survival tool was a field manual composed by the Imperial Navy, which was a guide for survival in several different situations.

He slid the guide in his front pocket, before he took his helmet off, with an audible hiss and then he tossed it into the cockpit. With everything he could carry he looked around, and then he frowned.

"I suppose i Pick a direction and walk." He said, attatching the tomahawk and machete to his belt, before checking his weapon, which he figured probably didn't work.

His eyes moved to the parachute, which was tangled on the trees, and the cord dangling from the fabric. He decided he would try and salvage the parachute next, as it would come in handy for a temporary shelter.

Malad followed Jorn along with the elves deeper into the migraine capital of elfdom. He rubbed his head pondering an idea to solve some of his problems. Could the damned light from the trees be repurposed? Then he needed somewhere to distribute it. He looked about at the construction and wondered how all the energy moved about to be secured from tampering. The task at hand caught his attention at the view of the wooden throne and tabled his thoughts for now.

The goggles came off as Malad caught sight of Feyleth. It wasn't a frown as much as a discerning impulse one who'd spent too long in a lab. Shaking off the unusual impulse of contemplating the dissection of the hybrid Malad rubbed his pale eyes.

Something dangerous just found? Quite. Malad made a slight smile, "Hmmph."

"Torggrim!" Jorn barked to the dwarves in his company before entering to meet with the elvish lords who he wished could have been entirely avoided. "Take a small company of my men and accompany the elves to that event. Don't return empty handed."

"Will do. I'll make sure to bring something back..." Torggrim quickly offered his response only to wave over a few armed dwarves and began to march towards the direction of the fallen vessel. Jorn simply looked at the other elves present before turning away from them and enter into the meeting room.

Torggrim had traversed similar terrain before back during the war but he would not loose sight of the elves they would accompany. Jorn's man knew what must be done if things seemed to go south and had his Great Houses trust.

As for Jorn, Malad, and the few dwarves who carried a couple of chests it was nothing but short work that they presented their goods. An old heirloom stolen from the elves long ago was a simple looking hour glass that was housed in a silver cage of sorts. The sands within the hour glass were replaced with sparkling ground gemstones that seemed to reflect the light around it. There was also a silver dirk whose ebony hilt and grip bared gilded crafted leaves that decorated the blade. Along with a few other goodies and several chests of mithril and platinum coins pressed in the dwarven likeness of their currency.

"A pleasure I'm sure. Our gifts are of items once thought lost from war only to be returned and with a bit of incentive. As for what I've found it would only be pressing to say that the object of your concerns is a mystery to even our old scholars who've searched their grand archives. I have even pressed several powerful wizards and sorcerers, both natural blooded and otherwise, and still have not heard from them." Jorn took his place behind those chests of treasure and lost history only to grimace. "You know full well that coming to ask for help in understanding such a thing was not my first choice. But sadly this strange cube is somewhat beyond me."

Jorn muttered his words only to know fully that not all he said was true. "A force not of this realm lay within the box and its material seems to hold many possibilities. I would imagine that such a thing is very powerful.....but I also fear that from this discovery something else has captured the hearts and lives of the people who call this realm home."

Elwendil Throne Room
Tarrik sat upright upon his throne and down his nose at the dwarf. His crystalline nail-tipped fingers dug into the bark of his high seat. Foolish creatures always pushing for more expansion and discovery within the Mother's bosom. It appeared they had dug too far and unearthed something dangerous.

The Elven King must needs take it from those irresponsible creatures and keep it contained. Power could not be trusted with the other races of Gaia.

"I have felt this... otherworldly presence... your people have unearthed..." Feyleth said, raising from her chair seated close to the King's. The woman's silver robes pooled at her naked feet as she stood. Feyleth's jewel-like eyes bored into Jorn's face, searching. Across the earthen floor the faerie-elf glided to the dwarf. Not a single sound did her footfalls make as she approached.

When Feyleth reached Jorn Havelshield, she knelt down upon her knees as no elven creature had done before a dwarf in the history of Siv'en. Those deep pools of amaranth stared unblinking into Jorn's, attempting to capture his gaze with her own. But, it was not his eyes that the faerie-elf searched. It was beyond those organic orbs and into what he had seen, what his people had seen, and further...

"I see..." Feyleth's corporeal form disappeared from the court.

---

Deep beneath the Exalted Mountains in the Kingdom of Mahark did Feyleth appear. Before her eyes laid a box. The powerful woman circled around the construct and finally approached.

A single, silken, and long finger touched the pointed edge.

Instantly her mind became awash with the unseen fingers of another mind, a mind expansive and powerful- a mind that encompassed an entirety of its own dimension.

Who are you?

"A being that belongs to this world while you do not", Feyleth answered the voice. Her palm graced the smooth sides of the cube structure.

I belong to all things, just as all things belong to me. The grasping tendrils of thought latched onto Feyleth's mind. It was a feeling like cold water filling one's skull, and with it, it seeped into her very thoughts.

A shiver ran down Feyleth's spine. Her other delicate hand latched onto the box, needing to feel the object beneath her flesh. A vast wealth of knowledge was nestled in the elven woman's mind; mysteries that had long been forgotten, arcane arts that no longer were practiced, views into the worlds that were attached to Gaia, places that were and no longer were.

And tucked away in the deepest recesses of Feyleth's mind, a malevolence patiently waiting to be unleashed.

---

The silence around the Aschen man broke as a bow string drew. An arrow pointed at the nape of his neck while stern eyes regarded the man. The woman was dressed in leather armor from heel to foot, a mask was drawn up over her jaw, and thick braid of red hair thrown over her shoulder. Mylor appeared human but for one detail; a slightly pointed ear peeking between wisps of hair.

"Lost?" Mylor asked the man. There was a touch of dark humor in the tone of the female's voice. A crooked smile quirked the edge of her mouth upward.

A Terran, she thought to herself, or one of the other bastard human races that infected the once beautiful planet.

"So far from home..." Mylor loosened the bow string and let her aim fall to the earthy ground. The bow was a curious weapon to have on a planet with such low technology and advancements. It was a compound bow made from carbon fiber. Hardly a weapon that was fashioned on Gaia.

Her eyes slide past the man before her and into the woods.

"They're coming for you. Stay here and become their prisoner or ..." A wicked smile spread across the woman's face.

Dion made his way quietly through the woods, he didn't want to stray too far from the crash site for fear that he would get lost, but his concentration was broken by the sound of a drawing bow, his hand immediately went to the disruptor pistol at his hip, but then he slowly raised both his hands upon realizing that his weapon likely was overcome by whatever seemed to cause his other devices to malfunction, and whoever had drawn down upon him already held the advantage.

Unlike Mylor's leather, Dion was still in his flight suit, the black vinyl like material encased him from his neck to his boots, which were the standard EVA grade all purpose boots, sealed to the suit, as were his gloves.

Worn over his flight suit was a harness, which held an oxygen tank, power source, and the rucksack which was thrown over his shoulder. His uniform also bore the patches and insignia of the Aschen Empire, specifically it's 45th Custos Pantharae prowler squadron. Which bore an image of a black panther lurking over a planet, with an Aschen prowler circling the panther.

His rank insignia, that of captain was denoted by small collar pips, where the helmet sealed to the flight suit, of course all of this was only likely recognizable by those intimately familiar with the Aschen Empire.

Slowly he turned, his hands still raised as to not appear a threat, until his eyes fell upon the woman before her.

"I made a wrong turn at the Pleiades cluster." He said, still keeping his hands raised, but began to lower them as she loosened the tension on the bow.

"They're coming for me? I don't plan on exactly becoming anyone's prisoner." He called out. "You got something better?"

Malad was deep in considering conduction rates of theoretical construct networks and barely noted the hybrid feyelf's assessment of what they already knew. However when she came close a free hand quietly dismissed his view of the journal spire. Were the elves not going to say anything of note? It suited them he supposed. Then the lady fey-elf vanished. His pose straightened as he thought of where she'd gone.

Malad leaned forward to whisper in his Lord's ear, "If this Feyleth has gone in freely to where I think then it may be prudent to investigate gating such paths outward from the box."

Torggrim continued to push forward with the dwarven guard right behind him. When he would dip and duck under low hanging branches the rest of his company would attempt to keep their fearless ranger in sight. The Dwarf had a knack for adventuring in strange lands, even though this place was not all that unfamiliar. Wars fought in a distant past left fresh memories and wounds alike.

"Keep up lads. Jorn tasked me to guide your sorry lot here and back." Torggrim bellowed back to the rest of his small platoon.

Many of the dwarves seemed to groan and a few had their jollies satisfied as another took a branch to the face. It was a miracle that Torggrim was even able to keep them in check as he continued to push through the underbrush.

Meanwhile back at the place of meeting Jorn simply frowned as the amalgamation of elf and fea suddenly vanished before the dwarven lords eyes. He simply offered a moody sigh as Malad made the obvious seem ever more so than it already was. Jorn wanted to do just that but his fellow Councilors refused to agree on all terms with him.

"You and I once again agree." Jorn muttered his words silently towards his companion only to shake his head and glance up at the elf upon the throne. "I wouldn't have needed to come here at all if I'd just had my way. A shame really to have to share things when you know best....."

Wing City, nothing ever seemed to change for this hive of scum and villainy, nothing certainly changed for Captain Costas, of the Custos Pantharae Prowler squad.

He was laying prone, atop a shanty watching a narrow approach, behind a small corrugated steel and concrete outcropping that provided just the barest of cover.

His eyes were watching the zoomed in holographic sights of his Type 53 disruptor pistol, the standard issue weapon for soldiers within the United Aschen Empire. The sights of the weapon were tuned to thermal, enhancing the scope of vision for the lone sentry. Bright orange hues over dark blue flickered on the scope as he watched a team approach from his position.

Licking his lips he flicked the arm switch of the rifle, the audible whine signaling the weapon was powered and ready to fire.

Weapons fire echoed in the distance, but Dion didn't move from his position to inspect, rather he was watching as the team approached.

"They're getting too close for comfort." He whispered into his comm link, which was linked to an IIA position the next building over. "Whoever these guys are I don't want them blowing our position, or looting our stash; how do you want me to proceed?" He asked.

"Draw them away from our position, neutralize them if you have too."

Dion nodded softly, before he shifted his weight, his eyes moving to a few gangbangers on an adjacent street. He'd have to engage them too if they got too close for comfort.

His finger twitched, and the disruptor rifle barked it's report, like a close by thunder clap, it belched a gout of brilliant green plasma, culminating into a cohesive bolt of energy that careened downwards at the approaching team. It was aimed at Dusk, but Dion's prone position in addition to the humid air distorted the bolt of energy, whatever it impacted, it would leave a plume of steam and a jet of white hot molten concrete or metal.

Distinct incoming Aschen weapons fire, a staple of events on Terra.

Gunfire?

Dusk halted and signaled for Athens to do the same.

"You two okay?" A worried voice chimed in on the radio, it was Hermes.

"Yeah we are fine, someone nearby probab_"

The shot hit before she even heard the Disruptor Rifle. Fortunately someone had miscalculated or it was just a warning shot. Dusk had experience enough to know that was an Aschen weapon when she heard it, her mind told her it was best to disengage and hastily as they were probably somewhere they were not welcomed. However her less experienced Specialist allowed training and instinct to kick in and that was what dictated the next action.

"I'M SET, RETURNING FIRE!" She shouted to Dusk, Athens had already planted herself behind ample cover, her trained eyes finding the location of the shooter and placing accurate shots down range to suppress the target and allow Dusk to move. Dusk couldn't play it passively anymore. Athens' actions made them committed to this fight at the moment but they could still move away.

"Hermes, Anubis, get here. Follow the sound of gunfire, we are going to be on the street." She shouted into her comms, Athens emptying the magazine and announcing that she was reloading.

"I'm set!", Dusk replied after taking cover behind some rubble and taking a kneeling firing stance, her cross hairs fell on where the location that Athens had fired upon, she trusted her to have spotted their shooter. Killing them would leave to more trouble no doubt, something Dusk would avoid if possible but disabling them would allow her to disengage, the more favorable of the two. She would attempt an ambush shot, when he peeped back out to return fire he would be in her cross hairs and a slight adjustment would mean the shot would hit but it wouldn't kill. If she missed, she hoped this wasn't some Rambo character who wouldn't even flinch and continue to fire. Falling back was the plan she had in mind here.

The clap of a disruptor stopped everyone, gang-banger and Soldier alike. There were certain sounds every Terran knew by heart, and this one chilled them all to the core. The Aschen were here, and opening fire. Ivan and Gotthard had turned their heads towards the direction of the shot, catching the tail end of the green bolt. Normally a death sentence to do in an active firefight, but the thugs had done the same. What Terran wouldn't?

Ivan recovered his wits before the others though, and released a well-placed shot into the skull of the punk that shot him.

His crumpled corpse hit the ground with a wet thud, bringing everyone's attention back to the battle. Gotthard fired twice on instinct, taking another punk down. There were three visible combatants left, and they all opened fire recklessly. The Bulwark team dived behind their desk before the bullets hit, hoping the old piece of crap would provide some protection.

Of course Ivan caught another bullet as his dove, this time in his leg.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" His howl of pain was primarily drowned out by gunfire, but it was still audible. "I JUST WANTED TO FEED SIR-CHEESER!" He cried, standing up despite the incoming fire to return it. Bullets flew all directions, ricocheting off walls, and breaking apart shacks. Splinters and shouts drowned out the entire Slums. "I just wanted to make my stupid rats happy!" Gotthard sighed at Ivan's antics, pulled him back down pretty quickly, but not fast enough.

Ivan was graced with a third bullet, this one dead-center in the chest. His armor was getting quite the work out, and while it staved off the bulk of the old Invictus SMG's, Ivan was still starting to bleed pretty heavily.

He knelt down beside his patrol partner, groaning and looking to Gotthard, who simply nodded in return. The thugs stopped firing for a moment, likely reloading. The desk they dove behind was kindling, and it was pure magic that they hadn't been tagged more, this was not a defensible position. This was pure shit. Springing up Gotthard unleashed his pent up anger with fully automatic fire. His aim was awful, but the thugs scattered, one of them crying out before hitting the ground.

Both of The Bulwark soldiers went rigid.

They strained, listening, waiting, reloading while anticipating more violence. It didn't come though. Gotthard helped his partner up, glancing over Ivan's armor as his did. "Fuck, man. You have the worst luck when it comes to this shit." The man was about to respond with sass when a high pitched whistle cut through the air. The two soldier's looked at each other for a splint second before running wildly down the little side street.

Whistles were how gangs communicated in the Slums. Every sound meant something. That high pitched whine of a whistle? That meant reinforcements.

The soldiers barreled down the street, not even caring that it was in the direction of whatever the hell the Aschen had shot at. Hell, for once they'd be happy to be in an Aschen's line of fire. Dozens and dozens of blood-thirsty, reckless thugs with fully automatics were about to come pouring out every house, corner, and crack in the damn street.

Somehow, this was a warzone. Both of the soldiers were internally dismayed, if only because of all the damn paperwork this meant.

Dion grit his teeth at the snaps of bullets passing overhead, and impacting where he had taken cover behind. He had been effectively pinned down by Athens, as round after round impacted the small concrete wall that he had been hiding behind.

Concrete dust peppered the Prowler pilot as he considered his next move.

"I saw two." He said, remembering the thermals as he detached a plasma grenade from a bandoleer.

He planned his next move, he had to get out from this position and gain traction against the unidentified assailants, he could run and gun it, move down the rooftop with personal aegis and pin down their positions. He checked the personal aegis device and activated it with a squeeze of his fist, Holding it close to his chest like a shield, the shimmering hexagonal hard light barrier cast a soft azure glow where the Aschen's position was at.

He armed the Plasma grenade and tossed it over his cover, the grenade seared in a wide arc towards Athens and Dusk, it wasn't particularly aimed, but would hopefully disorient them enough to take cover and allow Dion to move.

A moment later the grenade detonated in a blinding flash of blue, sending searing hot plasma in all directions. With a 15m kill zone, and a 25m Maim zone, the close quarters street was liable to become a death trap to anyone not adequately behind cover.

Immediately after the grenade detonated, Dion moved from cover, crouched low and behind his personal aegis, which was a shimmering whitish hard-light shield typical of Aschen special forces.

It was clear by the shield this wasn't a normal grunt, moving across the rooftops he opened fire, trading the Type 53 rifle for a fully automatic Type 03 PDW.

Running across the rooftops, he opted for a spray and pray strategy, the singular crack of Aschen weapons fire was now a blinding staccato as he ran across the rooftops, spraying brilliant green disruptor bolts in a sweeping motion from behind the portable aegis as he moved for better cover, Should Dusk and Athens return fire, their incoming rounds would impact the hard light shield with an audible 'Twang'

The shield turned redder with each impact until Dion dove back into cover, trading his original position for a more open position, a semicircle flash of white light appeared next, a deployable cover. Dion remained crouched behind it, as he ejected a fusion cell from his rifle, and moved to load a fresh one.

That clever fucker...

"GRENADE!" Dusk hollered, and threw herself on the ground. She placed the rifle beneath her as she fell, to protect it with her body and then crossed her legs and place her hands over her neck. Athens followed suit. Explosions went up and outwards, so by having such low postures and minimized the chance of death and protect against serious injury, as well as they could at least. Being within the kill-range of a grenade would normally mean just that but fortunately this individual was not given the opportunity to put out a well placed throw. The detonation shook the earth around them and caused more rubble to fall and dust to pick up. However the two females of Prima Donna were fine. They were disoriented, being within range of sophisticated explosives did had that kind of effect. Green disruptor bolts hit nearby, the two women composed themselves and returned to their previous affair.

The shots on the Hardlight shield were all courtesy of Dusk. Her little way of saying, You'd be dead if it wasn't for that shield so fuck off. However she was very conscious of their situation. That equipment is Aschen Special Forces. He isn't some chump who stumbled upon the toys and decided to play with them. This is a trained professional...Aschen SF don't do solo ops...

"Athens, that guy is Aschen Special Forces and they don't work solo, I've had the displeasure of fucking with them before and It wasn't fun. We are leaving, hooah?!".

Athens replied with a hearty "Hooah!" Of her own and returned fire with the same intensity as before.

"Lessen the tempo, Athens, keep him behind that deployable cover for a bit while I fall back. I'll try the same thing when I'm set!".

"You got it Chief!"

Dusk darted down the street, away from their shooter and turned the corner into a alleyway, a dead end one. It seemed safe enough for her to be there and so she planted herself to the wall and peeked around the corner at the target. "SET! I'm covering you, Move!".

Athens then made her own dart down the street away from the Aschen SF. She would continue a little ways past Dusk so that the Warrant Officer was now the closer target. Dusk didn't want to kill the bastard, but she wasn't going to afford him the opportunity to kill herself or her Marksmen. If it came to it, her shots would end his life but right now she was hoping this guy was getting the message she was sending with her bullets. I could kill you if I wanted to but I don't. We are falling back, don't follow. "Watchout any other contacts, Athens. I'm moving!".

"Roger that maim, I've got you covered!". Dusk commenced another run down the street, reloading her rifle as she went.

Hermes and Anubis

Hermes and Anubis seemed to have arrived just in the nick time. It seemed like Athens and Dusk had gotten themselves into a real clusterfuck, there were baddies all over. They turned the corner with purpose and their rifles let out a wall of well placed shots to down a 3, maybe four of their intended targets. If their friends were smart they would abandon that piece of shit desk they were hiding behind and seek something more suitable.

They both darted to separated pieces of cover peeked over.

"Bro...those fuckers there ain't Dusk and Athens...". Hermes said blankly to his comrade.

"Bulwark officers...Figures we'd run into these fuckers man." He replied.

"We should ditch em...".

The two thought on this for a bit. Previous encounters with the Bulwark came to mind...who the fuck makes it so you need documents to drink? That is plainly evil and sadistic to enforce. However the two decided to be good Samaritans and assist, hoping their good deeds would mean later encounters with the Bulwark were not so....soul sucking.

"Hey, fucksticks! Find better cover, we got your backs!" Anubis shouted as he laid out more fire.

"And yes, we do have the proper documents, ID, Zodiac Signs, to wield these guns!" Hermes followed up half jokingly.

Ivan and Gotthard were halfway down the street when they actually noticed Hermes and Anubis. The whistle had put them off their game, and the job down the street was their only focus. When they called out with the charming greeting of "fucksticks" though, they both stopped dead in their tracks. Prima Donna. Of course those morons would be prancing around the Slums fully armed. Still, more firepower was a lifesaver right now, seeing as how thirty-plus armed thugs were about to come storming through.

"We'll have to verify that in triplicate, civilian!" Ivan shouted as he jogged over to the two as best he could, his partner in toe.

Gotthard snickered, a funny sound as it echoed around his helmet. "Yeah, we also need to see your Slums migrations visas, documentation of every individual piece of ammunition you have, and of course complete colonic maps." He patted Hermes on the back with a chuckle, clearly joking. Of course the moment of levity was cut short by a bleeding, and grumbling Ivan.

"Look you prissy-named bastards..I dunno why the fuck you're here, but I imagine it's to shoot at the Aschen, or harass us, too bad you stepped in it though." He let his rifle fall from his hand as he spoke, the shot in his shoulder making it too painful to properly grip. "I don't know why, but seems like the Slums have decided to push us out.." He was panting at this stage without realizing it. "I don't know about you boys, but we have no back up, no chance of evac, and I can't hold anything heavier than a pistol, and I don't even own a pistol. This is bad."

Gotthard moved from Hermes and put Ivan's arm over his shoulders, helping the man stand, and sighing.

"It's still better than an invasion though, right?" Ivan chuckled for a moment at his comrade's joke, but that was soon replaced with swearing. "Well fuck, blood's oozing out my mouth. I'm gunna drown in my fucking helmet." Gotthard just sighed, looking to Anubis. "We've got about half a minute before at least thirty hostiles pop out from who-knows-where. Running is pointless, they'll just use the roof tops if we do. We need to make a stand, somewhere defensible if we can. And we're gunna need some better firepower.."

It wasn't long before the two strange alien vessels began to show up as anomalous readings on long-range scanners, through the carefully watched regions of the Aurora Nebula. Since the Avaeon attack against the Aschen in Isiria, the entire region of space has always been relatively carefully monitored, though not as extensively as the Imperial Core.

It was through these circumstances that this exchange hadn't gone unnoticed, but it had taken some time for the Imperial authorities on Arastel to determine a course of action, which task force to divert and scout out the area.

The Hastati Class Cruiser 'Mercurial Strike', commanded by Commander Dion Costas was the one to draw the short straw that day, along with her escorts, the Athena Class Cruisers 'Fairway' and 'Pelops." These Athena class cruisers were supported by a single Astras class robotics cruiser, and a quintet of Picon class frigates, along with their support vessels their support ships, making for roughly fifteen vessels in total, warships and their support craft, these fifteen ships made up the Cruiser Strike Group 10 of the Classis IX Provincia Arastel, out of Arastel, Isiria.

The Strike Group had just completed it's jump, roughly 800,000 Kilometers abaft from the meeting ships, settling into a staggered claw formation, with the larger ships holding center position, specifically the Astras and the Mercurial Strike

The Mercurial Strike, at two and a half kilometers in length was the largest of the vessels, and the Astras was second, though the Mercurial Strike sported heavy firepower, the Astras was far more dangerous, feeding precise targeting information to the pair of Athena class missile cruisers, as well as providing potent Electronic Warfare suites which were capable of taking down a planet's internet and communications should the need arise.

With the jump completed, Costas had prepared his men, and the ships were all battle ready. The Mercurial Strike's massive deck mounted Turbo-disruptors, armored missile tubes, and spinal mounted frag cannon, she was a fairly capable vessel, with heavy stormbringer pulse laser batteries to provide point defense.

Once they were in position shields were raised on all vessels, and the claw formation quickly turned into a staggered frigate line defensive formation, while the Astras began working quickly to decipher the ship's communications and perform intensive point-scans to analyze metallurgical composition, power plant, and weapons capabilities while feeding this information in real time to the rest of the Strike group.

Aside from these defensive actions in anticipation of a coming attack, the Aschen flotilla did not move, or engage the ships before them.

The Grand Admiral held his head high to his other guest, Vrosh of the Crimson Slaughter. Ackyas listened, intrigued by him. He watched the way he moved, the way he acted...he was more of a warrior than a diplomat for sure. Not that the Grand Admiral would mind, they were all cogs in one great machine and they needed folks of all sorts to make that dream true. "Trophies? Unless our men have been taking them without my knowledge, we have none. However, our goals upon success do include salvaging all technology we can and applying it in new ways...experimenting. Making newer and better weapons."

Ackyas met Vrosh with a wide grin as he heard the offer, and taking note of the clenching fist...something was certainly off about this man, but that's alright for now. He wasn't causing any trouble quite yet. "Carnage and destruction upon the Imperium? I see no reason not to." With a slight chuckle, he placed his hands behind his back.

The beeping of one of the consoles sparked to life, causing him to turn his head with a perked eyebrow. The technician stationed at the console spoke up as he cleared his throat. "Sir. Unknowns have made themselves visible. They're not approaching...and they're most certainly not any of these people's ships." As they began doing their scans, the same technician piped up. "Aschen, sir!"

Those working at their stations became very tense, wondering what this meant for them. Were they about to get into an engagement? The Grand Admiral had lost his grin, yet he kept his composure about him. "Men, get yourselves ready. Prepare the pilots, make sure our men are able to fight." His eyes shifted around the room before meeting Cally and Vrosh. "I doubt this will be pretty, however if you wish to see some action then this is the time to do so."

In the midst of the Astras trying to decipher the ships' communication frequency as well as the safety measures they've taken in order to encrypt it, The Punisher sent out its own comm broadcast under orders of Grand Admiral Ackyas who now took the position at the command deck, seeing if the vessel would take their transmission to speak before the inevitable happened.

Cally began to document Vrosh's words into her datapad, noting some form of interest in the man. Of all of her studies of Chaos and Warp, his warband was by far one of the most fearsome in the order of the Unaligned. She found it fascinating how primitive he was yet he took great pride to show his strength. Admirable, if undesirable. They would not make great candidates for the Consulate. However her thoughts soon turned towards the viewports and the reports of a small fleet of ships that just transported into the area. Her eyes looked out towards them and nodded twice

"Fascinating...who knew the arrogance of the Aschen would go so far as to interrupt a negotiation such as this. Typical"

Cally's head turned towards the Admiral and offered him a small smile "If we did not offer our allies some assistance on the eve of battle, what sort of allies would we be at all?" She asked then turned her head towards Vrosh.

"Ill see you on the field" She said and levitated off of the deck and phased through the hull of the ship. A bright light appeared before their port as Cally herself disappeared.

After several seconds, another larger, brighter light erupted in space. Nearly twice as large as the 6th Order's ship, the portal soon grew a long, thick piece of black crystal. The same kind of crystal that Cally appeared to be made of that soon broke off into two smaller halves. The portal soon shut and the "ships" moved into an attack formation towards the Aschen fleet. These crystals measured at a length of 6 kilometers long and nearly 5 kilometers wide, these ships soon began to twist and contort their image to that of a diamond tip with a point that could barely be seen. Cally's ships soon moved to prepare for battle.