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Adria Del Korinth

The Captain

0 · 155 views · located in Fallorn

a character in “Aboard The Jackal”, as played by Asterisk






Adria (eeh-dria) Del Korinth (Adria of the Del bloodline of the village of Korinth)


Ereba, nickname came from the greek mythos of Erebus which is deep darkness. Her infamous acts caused enemy soldiers and allies to consider her as the Iskadalian Shade.






5’ 7”


135 lbs




Adria’s skin is slightly lighter than her kinsman. She was a toned, strong body, which she keeps maintained due to her habits formed from military and rebellion life. She has deep emerald green eyes. Though slightly shorter than other women from her home country, that hasn’t stopped her from going head to head with men disputing over what she feels strongly about. Ever since she left the Iskadale army, her hairstyle — normally kept short — has grown long over the years.

Adria has a large diagonal scar on her back from shrapnel when she was a shock trooper in the Iskadalian army. Though medical technology could heal the scar, only those who resided high in the government or wealthy could access said technology. Even if he was given the choice, she wouldn’t want it treated, for it serves as a constant reminder of sins.

Though she still has her military fatigues, she opts to wear the fashion of List. Quite popular in her country, she wears a desert hydration suit underneath her brown duster, which have ethnic patterns stitched in. She wears a dark green tank on her upper body and has three necklaces that she wears regularly. One has her blood line’s sigil, List’s religion before Iskadale removed it, and her tags from her time in the military. She wears black military boots, for she hasn’t had a reason to replace them. She has a pair of List sand moving boots but is tentative to wear them.


Given her time in the military, Adria became adept at multiple types of weaponry and various ordinances. Armored vehicular operation is another skill she picked. Given the immediate need for armored drivers, with her passing of the Iskadalian aptitude test had her transfer as a armor operator/shock trooper. She’s knowledgeable in close combat, but it was never her forte. Give her a gun, and everything’s golden.

As the trait of leadership came with the role as operator, Adria grew into a competent leader as she has the ability to come up with action plans, which execute with near perfect success, with limited casualties. It’s what drew the attention of the higher ups as they gave her an armor division commission. With years of leading, she has become an excellent tactician and capable of thinking on the fly.

While she excels in normal skills, she has not been blessed by abnormal gifts.


Coming from the northeast part of List, Adria’s life had been riddled with hardships. Few merchants came to trade, arable land was scarce, water always in low supply, and aid from the capital was rare. Those who lived in that region had to adapt to the frugal life as hunting large sand creatures and protecting the few oasis and cactus wells were prioritized over anything. Eventually, the hydration suits were created, but nothing could replace the necessity for a stable water source.

From an early age, Adria, unlike most women in her village, joined the hunting parties, which many of the men objected to. The thrill of the hunt called to her far more than the mundane duties of a housewife. Her childhood was filled with hunt after hunt until the news of List forming an alliance with Iskadale, which brought on the conscription.

Her father was the first to go. The great war demanded any able bodied man to go fight. However, it hadn’t stopped there. Soon enough, when she had was in her late twenties, all were called on to serve. Forcefully taken away from her mother and youngest brother, she was on a transport bound for the indoctrination camps in Iskadale where she was expected to adore the chance of dying for a foreign land.

The first few months being on the war front flooded with atrocities. Killing a human being was far different than putting a squealing sand wolf out of its misery. Unlike an animal, she could understand what the enemy combatant was saying when he or she begged for their life. Unlike an animal, she had no need to kill another human. To survive, however, she did what she had to do. She killed another so she wouldn’t be killed herself. She participated in the slaughter of the innocent lest she faced field execution by her ranking officer. Sometimes supplies had become so scarce that she suffered from near starvation, which infected her with light madness. Cannibalism was practiced though she never dared eat the flesh of another; instead, she chose starvation and scavenging for scraps instead.

Three years into the war, never once seeing her father, her mind had become attuned to war. Her personality shifted to ruthless and cold as it was easier to desensitize oneself to what terrible things had come to pass. It was during this time she was given a chance to try and get into the armored division — a branch which had a high death rate but given better treatment. She retreated from the front as she passed the aptitude test and placed as an operator.

It wasn’t much later when high command gave her a division. Her abilities as a tactician and the ability to lead were talents that Iskadale demanded and admired in their officers. Her division was integral in the success at the battle of Uena, a large city on the Moljin border. Consequently, it was this battle that solidified her infamous call sign ‘Iskadalian Shade’ or, the more popular term, Ereba. Being a major loss for Moljin and a wondrous victory for Iskadale, she was given the order to purge the city. At her hands and her fellow officers, a population of 120,456 was quickly erased from the world. The same orders were given as she carried them out without remorse. However, when she met her, a Moljin woman, her resolve weakened as logic finally seeped inside her indoctrinated mind.

She defected with her division and began a rebellion. Initially, already existing rebels couldn’t believe Ereba (Iskadalian Shade) was spearheading a new rebellion cell. However after several successful raids, they soon joined under her banner. Though the rebellion was able to distract Iskadale long enough for Moljin to retake what had been lost, the dictatorship remained resilient. After a time, overthrowing the regime seemed impossible. Adria decided it was a lost cause and sought to disappear from the world.

At wars end, after the continent had been devastated, she founded the Jackal and remained under the radar. She still wished the death of the dictator of Iskadale while trying to find a way to repent for what she had done. The ghost of her past, every night, continued to haunt her.


First and foremost, Adria has total devotion and love for List. Though a greater part may be sand, the life style of survival of the fittest, she believes, is the only life worth living. List, unsurprisingly, creates strong sons and daughters.

For a time, due to forced conscription, she was loyal to Iskadale. After many battles and horrors that the country committed, the loyalty from Adria was lost and she with the help of others started an internal rebellion.

Presently, the only loyalty she has is to List and to anyone who pays the highest for her services.


With everything she had experienced, Adria continues to uphold her cold and sometimes rude personality, for the person she had become for the past five years was never easy to break out of. Everyday, when she talks to people, she can hear how terse and blunt her words are and how it affects others. In truth, Adria never intends to harm the other party. However, it’s hard for her to up and change her personality on whim. She’s tried to be nice, which ends up sounding unnatural. Regardless of how she acts, she always means well in the end.

As with her time in the military, Adria has a get it done or die attitude when she accepts a job or acquires a task. Like her days of hunting, it’s the thrill that drives her to devote herself to the job and her ‘high’/satisfaction resulting from a success. Conversely, failure frustrates her deeply, which causes her to bathe in the hot fire of anger.

Adria hasn’t lived through the war without scars either. Afflicted with PTSD, some events triggers episodes where she believes herself to be back on the battlefield. In her dreams, those whom she killed plagues her vision as if she were seeing them in the flesh. This sometimes leaves her deprived of sleep and makes her already brooding demeanor considerable worse. Adria knows the cure for this is to talk to someone, but she’s never been the one to open up. To her, talking and whining is a weakness.


Adria has one younger brother along with her parents. She was never able to find her father, and without her knowing, her family was executed as a consequence for her desertion and rebellion.

So begins...

Adria Del Korinth's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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A stool sat next to a table in the rear of the bridge, where Apostle spent most of his nights. He didn't have the ability to sleep and let the time pass, to gain the energy back he lost during the day, to simply feel what it's like to rest; the suit was made to provide him with everything he needed to live. He was awake, all the time, and usually spent his time in the bridge. He was confined to a thick metal Shell in which he would carry on his existence. Sometimes it proved difficult to.

Silence was always with him when no one else was. When everyone else experienced what it was to be human while he was made to be a machine, he carried with him silence as a companion. In fact, he wondered if Finn even knew he sat there.

Eventually, the darkness outside turned into a dim light as early morning came. Soon enough, the identity of an unknown entity was asked for by the Jackal's current pilot. The delayed reesponse was the explosión of bombs outside. Then the alarms went off.

It seemed that all was going south, and fast. Iskadalians were on the attack with fighters and some infantry in the surrounding area. Apostle stood from his stool in the back of the bridge with maps spread out on the table; he could do all the navigation on his suit's computer, but it seemed to him courtesy to the rest of the crew to have a copy of where they were going. The vehicle rolled along at a steady thirty miles per hour, and it was time to do some figuring.

"To attack now, as a Western Alliance ship, might be seen as an act of war by Iskadale. And I'm not led to think any of us are ready for another war so soon," he said openly.

"If we maintain a speed of thirty miles per hour..." He began shuffling papers around and checking the maps he had against his computer's; everything seemed to be in check. The distance to the border was accurate, they were on course, and nothing major seemed to be blocking their path.

"At the speed we're going at, and with the amount of damage they're doing to us, there is no hope they have of destroying or stopping us. But that means we might be heading into a trap; maybe a minefield," Apostle added to the conversation he seemed to be having only with himself. But even so, everything was said in almost the same tone, staying somtimes mundanely factual.

"Finnlay, make sure the scanners are functional. We need to make sure we're clear of any surprises for the next ninety seconds until we cross the border," the mechanical man told the pilot. "Do not proceed over any detected obstructions. Someone needs to get these fighters out of the sky before they make some serious environmental hazards."

Apostle went to take hold of a pencil; with his oversized fingers, it was a bit difficult for him to write. Sometimes, his penmanship was criticized as "chicken scratch," but he could read every word of it. He marked the road they were on, and marked where the attack began with an X.

The situation was looking up for the Jackal now, as long as everyone was able to keep their cool and do their jobs. But now what they needed was their captain, Adria. She's the one everyone on their crew invested their respect in, and she's also the one that could command it without question.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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The sky thundered with the pounding of munition shells. All around her, Iskavalian soldiers rushed forward through the broken buildings. Moljin’s front had all but collapse as the Coalition’s iron tide rolled over. Large towers frowned down upon the lone tank commander as she stared defiantly back. The were taunting her, cursing her for ordering the brilliant bombs to befall them. It was the fifth day of the Uena campaign, and Adria grew tired of waiting for victory.

“Division Commander!” Adria looked down as a stormtrooper snapped to attention. How peculiar it was for such formalities to be followed in such … uncivilized circumstances. “Mantis Brigade reports Moljin forces routed on the right flank!”

Finally Adria thought as she reached down to her headset. Division Commander Dugard’s attrition ‘strategy’ had proven ineffective thus far. What progress he made in four days, Adria had done more in one. “Wolf Brigade. Final contingency has been satisfied,” she dismissed the trooper as he rushed by to his squad, “there will be no quarter for any Moljin soldier or civilian. The Supreme Commander demands we purify the filth; let us liberate them from Moljin’s corruption.”

As a chorus of acknowledgements crackled in her headset’s receiver, her command vehicle began to move. Its gears groaning in protest due to the weight.

Her hardened gaze stared into the distance as her forces swarmed across the streets. The sweet sound of gunfire filled the air in gusto as the screams of the innocent begged for a mercy she conditioned her Division to forget. As she advanced, Mantis and Lion swept in from her flanks. Soon enough, a steel net would be cast around Uena. Nothing would get past.

A feral smile cracked across her grease smeared face. She could only imagine Dugard’s expression as she humiliated his efforts. Iskadale demanded the strongest; List, her true home, demanded the strongest. Today, she would show how the weak die before the strong. Such was the truest way to live.

Her tank rumbled forth as troopers moved around her. Some soldiers collapsed to the ground from pockets of Moljin resistance who were soon after mercilessly cut down with Iskavalian steel. Adria turned in time to see a child and her mother huddled by a broken wall. A dispute amongst the soldiers holding them at point ongoing. She ordered her tank to stop and jumped to the ground below. Dressed in armored tank fatigues, she walked over to the group.

A small band of shook troopers accompanied her, their eyes scanning the surrounding environment in earnest. The group she walked towards stiffened as they saw her approaching. Adria stood before them but looked at the little girl. “Why haven’t you disposed of them?”

“I — she’s — Ma’am, she’s just a girl. Can’t be older than my daughter.”

Adria nodded. She understood but didn’t at the same time. Everything was so clear. She unholstered her firearm. “As soldiers of the Coalition, we’ve been given explicit orders,” she said. “To disobey is to disrupt the operation of the division. I can’t allow that. A gear must be repaired or replaced.”

A soldier stepped up. Four bars lined his shoulder. A sergeant. “A recent transfer ma’am. Still getting use to our protocol.”

A dangerous glint entered Adria’s eyes. Decision, decisions she thought. How to salvage this situation. She rose her sidearm as she pointed it at the mom and daughter. “A personal demonstration then.”


Adria woke up. A sheet of sweat formed on her brow as she sucked in air. It took her a moment before realizing she was in her quarters aboard the Jackal. Christ that dream felt so real she thought to herself. She rubbed her throbbing head as she heard her name being called on the intercom. For once, she was glad for the wake up call.

She got up from her bed and pulled on a jacket over her hydration suit. She never bothered to take it off before sleeping. It was a hassle to put on in the first place. Quickly tying the laces on her boots, she was dressed and ready to go.

When she walked out of her quarters was when everything started going to hell. First, she heard the distant boom as the Jackal shuddered. Then what was far away rocked the ship altogether. She smelled the stench of sulfur.

She rushed onto the deck arriving just in time to hear Finn’s conversation with what she assumed was Jinntok, Apostle reading out navs, and Solia complaining about the damage.

Ignoring Solia for now, she moved and looked out an observation window. Those were Iskavalian fighters alright. “Evade those bombs Finn. You better not let them hit my goddamn ship anymore than they have,” she said. She nodded to Apostle. “I thought we set a course that didn’t cross the border. What the hell happened?”

Finally, turning her attention to Solia, she said, “Grab a headset and head down to engineering. Make sure that shield generator holds until we make it Jinntok. Fetch the brat if you need help.” Adria joined Apostle on navigation as she stared at his ‘chicken-scratch’. “Firing on them would send everything into a whirlpool of shit. Apostle, we need the most direct route to Jinntok. Plot it and give the heading to Finn. Do it quick.”

Adria donned the command deck’s radio headset. “Jinntok Military Outpost, this is cargo ship Jackal transit ID M0872J.”

She released the transmit as she listened to static until it cleared and a voice came through. “Go ahead Jackal.”

“I’ve got some Iska fighters really frackin' humping the bunk. Work your magic before I light ’em up and start another frackin' war— all in self defense of course. ”

The radio fell silent for a moment before the operator came back on. “Warning message sent,” the operator said. Adria could hear the barely restrained annoyance in his voice. “Border patrol should be inbound momentarily. Be advised that the Jackal will be locked down upon entry into Jinntok. The Base Commander wants a debrief on why Iska's on our side strafing a supply vehicle. Anything else you need updating on?”

Adria blinked. “Excuse me? We’ve got supplies, that you need. Check that attitude, trooper.”

She disconnected. Oh how she wanted to sock the operator in the face. Of course, the poor, poor man was just doing his job, but the last thing she wanted was to debrief. Oh how those awkward conversations could get. Hell, she didn’t even know why the damn Iskavalian military were hounding them in the first place. Served her right for sleeping in.

Adria changed her line to the Jackal’s internal radio frequency. Those on the bridge could hear her even with the bombardment. Mechanical? That was a different matter altogether. “Solia, you read me?” she said into the mic as she came to a stop by Apostle. “Border patrol’s on their way people. Finn, keep doing what you’re doing. Apostle, updates whenever they should arise.”

A bomb — barely several feet away — rocked the ship as Adria gripped the table. “For fracks sake! Those fighters aren’t messing around.”

She glanced out from the observational window again. In the distance, tiny specs were fast approaching them. She laughed to herself. In different life, she’d order her AA vehicles to tear them up; now, she felt an ounce of relief as they came to the Jackal’s aid.

What a fan-frackin-tastic way to start off another shitty day.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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Darya stared off into the distance, chin propped in palms, elbows messily splayed on the kitchen counter she was supposed to be using for preparing the crew’s meals. Ha, what a joke. Cooking was just not her thing and after she had figured it was not her thing, she had begun a bad habit of day dreaming in the galley, resulting in rushed meals and a slowed pace in developing any culinary skills.

And it's not like she had been working on those skills prior to joining The Jackal. She couldn’t remember a time she had, had to extensively interact with the galley in her father’s Storm Hunting land ship. Back then, cooking had been last on her list of things to do. Her most extensive interactions had been limited to purifying drinking water for the team and snatching scraps of food for her siblings when the chef's weren't looking.

Sighing, she quickly began assorting whatever ingredients and materials she thought would make for good meals throughout the day. Utensils clanked against each other violently as she frustratedly picked up and threw aside things in a process that had become a ritual part of her daily adventure in the galley.

What had made her join another crew after so desperately wanting to escape her father’s? Well, for starters, this was most definitely not a Phrax Hunting crew. And, secondly, they had saved her from the horrible faith of serving thieves for, likely, the rest of her life. Using her weird water purifying power, it was a huge possibility that the thieves would have never let her escape. And, while they had provided uncanny escape from her father, his crew, and their phrax obsession, she was frightened and unhappy in their prescene.

Once rescued and on the ship, she had been designated a total of two jobs. One, she could happily claim. Being the nurse of crew, while tedious in the actions of patching everyone up, was not something she had an aversion too. Being the chef on The Jackal on the other hand, was not something she liked to do. As mentioned before cooking was not her thing. But she was glad to have something to do when she wasn’t wrapping someone up. She would just have to learn how to cook, and while she did, the crew would just have to suffer with her present cooking.

As she piled together a myriad of items, she heard a more than unsettling boom, and The Jackal shook dangerously. The alarm lights brightened, flashing red in Darya’s vision. Her first instinct probably should have been to make a b-line for the bridge. Not that she had any duties there, but if the ship went down, she would have liked to be where she was sure everyone else was. Instead, she took her precious time grouping her materials back together and shoving them in the tightest corner possible in hopes that another hit would not send them sprawling.

Then, she made her way down the central hallways to the bridge just in time to hear Adria tell Solia,

“Grab a headset and head down to engineering. Make sure that shield generator holds until we make it Jinntok. Fetch the brat if you need help.”

Eh. She assumed brat referenced herself, and, being that brat, she froze at the doorway of the bridge. It didn’t make sense, going any further, if she was going to be dragged right back to the galley, down the hatch, and to the engineering room. Of course, once again assuming, that Solia was going to need her help. It was a bit distressing, knowing she had least amount of skill on the ship, though she figured it came with her age.

Pressing herself against the walls of the hallway, she waited patiently for Solia to come through, and either notice her, or rush by, in which case she would be fine sticking her neck in what was going on, on the command deck. It was always a pleasure to see the crew in action.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya
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Snagging a headset as told, Solia took a few quick steps towards the galley, ready to holler for Darya. She ended up nearly tripping over the girl, coming to an abrupt halt as she turned the corner, finding herself barely an inch from Darya’s chest. Tilting her head up to look Darya in the face, cursing her lack of height and the fact that a girl six years younger than her towered over her, she scowled and said, “You coming?” It never hurt to have an extra set of hands, especially when the pressure was on.

Hurrying down the hall and dropping through the hatch, Solia entered the engine room. The air was hotter in here than any other room on The Jackal, the light dimmer. Bulbs encased in metal cages shone on the walls, casting dark shadows and flickering with each near impact. Steam swirled in the air and the smell of engine grease and oil found its way into Solia’s nose, making her smile. Grabbing the tool belt draped over a pipe, she fastened it around her waist, pulling out a bandana to tie back her unruly hair, which was sticking up all over her head. Jamming the headset on, she threw a pair of leather gloves to Darya. “Put those on so you don’t get burned,” she ordered, neglecting to follow her own advice. Of course, Solia knew which pipes and parts would be safe to touch, but even the best mechanic forgot, and she had the burns and scars to prove it.

“Solia, you read me?” The headset crackled, and Solia winced, Adria’s voice far too loud for comfort. Of course, that wasn’t so different from talking to the woman in person. She fiddled with the headset, and swore. The damn thing’s volume control was busted, so there was nothing she could do about it.

“Loud and clear, captain,” she replied, striding down the narrow path in the center of the engine room, checking gauges and status lights as she went. The dark atmosphere and throbbing beat of the generators always made her think that this was the heart of The Jackal. Let the others fool around on the bridge- this was where the important stuff happened. She ducked off the path, under a pipe and stepping over metal boxes protecting the wiring and pumps of the engine. This was where her small stature was to her benefit- so many important parts of The Jackal were buried in hard-to-reach places. The shield generator was hidden behind a metal cylinder, where steam was heated to incredible levels. “Careful of that,” she warned Darya, and turned to survey the shield generator. It was humming, though it was hard to tell with all of the other noise, and Solia didn’t like the pitch of it. It was working too hard, no doubt, and she had to relieve some of its burden.

Solia handed a wrench to Darya, motioning to the bolts along one side of the contraption, where various pipes and wires connected to the main frame, which was basically a metal box. “Check for loose ones?” she asked. She had to check the internal structure, and the easiest way to do that whithout disassembling the whole thing was, unfortunately, from the bottom. Idiot engineers never thought about the poor mechanics that had to fix the damn pieces while they were jolting all over, being thrown halfway to Sunday.

What day is it? , Solia wondered, as she slid on her back underneath the main box, the sparking power hub at the center singing her nose. Pulling out a flashlight, she yelled to Darya, “Any clue what day it is?” and stuck her flashlight in her mouth, the only way she could hold it and do the work she needed. The shield generator was fed power by the main generator, which ran off Stormphrax. That energy was converted inside the power hub in the shield generator, which tended to get cranky. Drawing out a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, Solia got to work checking the connections and fixing anything that had gotten knocked around. “Shit!” she hissed when she brushed against a loose connection, electricity sparking out and singing her wrist. Biting her lip, she twisted it back into place and carefully wrapped it in tape, the maneuver difficult with her hands as full as they were and the jolting ride they were still enduring. She’d have to come back later and wrap it better, probably even re-solder it. But that was not a job she’d ever even think of undertaking while they were moving- probably not till they’d stopped somewhere and she could take off the protective shell. Sol did not want to get solder on her face.

Pulling the flashlight from her mouth, she spat out the taste of metal and dirt, and yelled to Darya, “See the control panel on top? With all the lights? What color is the third one from the left? Its labeled ‘Power hub!” Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she wiped it impatiently away, leaving a streak of grime across her forehead. She wiggled her shoulders a bit, trying to loosen the tension in them.

“Captain?” Solia said into the headset, while she waited for Darya to report back on the lights, “So far we’re holding together. Just don’t ramp up the power too much, and warn me ‘fore you do any of your crazy maneuvers. Don’t wanna get launched into the steam cell.”

Twisting so she could stick her head partially out from under the generator, she said to Darya, “If the bolts are all good, you might wanna get back up to the bridge- it’s probably safer up there. And more interesting,” she added with a grin. “Just don’t take my wrench.” Jinntok reinforcements should reach them soon, and hopefully, they'd be enough to chase of the Iska dogs. She'd be able to turn her attention to the main generator, then, and the drive belt, which had been worrying her for a while. This latest run could not be good for it.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya
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Darya flinched as Solia’s frame jetted out of the bridge, headset in hand and clearly in a rush. She stopped abruptly in front of Darya, head tilting up to look the taller girl in her face, a subtle scowl lighting up her own and one that Darya could only imagine was caused just by that—having to look up.

“You coming?”

“Uh huh,” Darya managed stammer out, jumping to her feet, excited and adrenaline pumped, to follow her crew mate down the hall. The pair zipped through the galley, hopping down the hatch and making a sharp turn from the crew’s quarters into the engine room.

While she was more than glad to be of some assistance to her crew, Darya could not deny the almost intolerable heat of the engine room. It was enough having to deal with, the at times, deadly heat of the climate they lived in on a daily basis. Darya couldn’t fathom how Solia took so easily to it clearly enjoying the atmosphere of the place. If the incentive to help hadn’t been buried somewhere in the back of Darya’s head, she would have turned tail and fled the sweltering temperatures of the room. As it was, it’s aesthetic appearance didn’t do much to encourage the girl, what with its maze of thick and wiry metal pipes and its eye-irritating steam.

Darya caught the leather gloves (decently she imagined) pulling them on her hands till she could feel the material tight against her fingers. It was nice to know her hands would be protected, but her head swayed back and forth doggedly, warily looking out for hot pipes tall enough to spew smoke in her face.

Darya smirked when she heard Adria’s voice booming from the headset. Or, well, as booming as a voice from a headset could get. The girl followed her crew mate slowly, more carefully, as her tall frame cautiously maneuvered after Solia. While Darya could surely tower over a great deal of women (though she wasn’t sure that ensured her dominance in any way) being so tall had its disadvantages. Unlike Solia, who was practically dancing around the engineering room, Darya was like a fish out of water. A big fish. Big and clumsy.

When they finally reached the generator, Solia handed over a wrench to Darya, indicating for the girl to fiddle with the bolts and look for loose ones. Easy work for an inexperienced person; but Darya was too glad to complain or even make a face, taking the wrench with easy and quickly getting to work. Easy work or not, at least she was doing something. There were few loose bolts here and there and she busied herself tightening them till she was sure they would never loosen again. She wondered what she looked like to Solia. Maybe an overexcited puppy eager to please? It was an amusing thought, and she repressed a smirk as she replaced the head of her imaginary puppy with her own. This was her persona on the ship.

A puppy among jackals.

“Any clue what day it is?”

“Noooope,” Darya answered instantly, popping her mouth on the p, and grinning almost peevishly, more a jab at her unawareness than at Solia. Give her a few days of no adults and complete freedom and it was a hundred percent ensured that Darya would not know what hour of the day it was. Of course, she was supposed to be acting like an adult by now. Wiser, or something like that. But at eighteen, and on The Jackal she felt more like a bumbling toddler among a bunch of unwillingly nannies. Nannies was an amusing way to think of the rest of the crew, but she felt it fit true to the description of their relationship with her. It was less familiarity and more 'better take care of this little shit before she gets hurt'. She was hoping that as she aged, and perhaps matured, she would grow into a different role. But for now, she gladly retained her place as bratty teenager.


Darya yelped at that, jumping violently, and thanking god copiously that she had not bumped her head on something metal and hard. Solia has singed her wrist, likely from something electical. Before she could react any further Solia had already wrapped herself. Darya made a mental note to check it out later, assuming Solia would concede to her help.

“See the control panel on top? With all the lights? What color is the third one from the left? Its labeled ‘Power hub!”

Darya’s eyes darted to the control panel, pleased that her height afforded her enough leverage that she didn’t have to bend her neck too badly. Fingers dancing over the control panel, just barely brushing it, she looked for the light labeled Power Hub.

“Green.” She reported, double taking once more to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.

“If the bolts are all good, you might wanna get back up to the bridge- it’s probably safer up there. And more interesting. Just don’t take my wrench.”

“Alright,” Darya said, grinning back as she handed the wrench over.

"Oh and if you want, I can check out that electric burn later." She offered before slipping away.

While she was happy to be of service, she was equally happy to escape the engine room. Catching her face in a particularly shiny pipe, she took notice of its shape, regardless of the blurriness of the image. No doubt, she had become gaunter since her father’s alcoholism and even more so since having been stolen and rescued. She remembered a time when her face had looked healthier, but that was long ago, and she could never remember being in optimal shape anyway.

Making her way back up to the central hall, she sauntered down to the bridge. Hopefully things would go well and the assistance that was being sent would stop the attack before damage became dangerous to the land ship.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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"Listen robot, if I wanted the FAQs I'd skim the manual."

Apostle took the moment to lean on the pilot's chair and look down at Finnlay.

"Now I know who to come for if we run into a trap," Apostle smoothly retorted to the sarcastic comment. The encased body then stood and turned its attention to the Adria, as she questioned why they were off course.

"At about midnight, captain, we reached Abristol bridge. The bridge was out; an alternate route staying within Moljin's borders may have delayed us two or more days. Going through contested borders would only delay us four hours," he answered Adria. He knew he was playing with fire when he went upon his own initiative to go through the borders, but they had survived far worse. This was only the tip of the iceberg.

"The present Iskadalian firepower was no match for our shields and armor to begin with. It seems friendly forces were thrown in for kicks," Apostle added in. Reasoning his decision soundly, he took a seat back on the stool he so comfortably claimed as the navigator's, the map still on the table beside him, in which he rested his arm upon. His deed was done; they were on to Jinntok with barely a hitch, so long as Finnlay's arrogance served the crew right and there were no obstructions between the ship and their destination. He watched as explosions went off overhead and in front of them.

It was interesting how Adria declared she might start another war "all in self-defense, of course." Those who studied recent history closely may have saw through the scandalous medial lies that say Moljin was just too nosy. It was civil unrest in Iskadale that had set the trigger off; with Moljin fearing war they gave arms support to the rebels, and it set off the war they had survived; these were things only those who were there firsthand say. But Apostle wondered if surviving was all that great, for they were left with the horrific memories of the war.

"We'll be there in no time," he said openly. Taking a deep, quiet breath, he let himself relax as best he could. It was difficult to shake the tensity he carried for years on since his release from the science lab. He knew he was a prisoner before test subject, but he had to wonder why he was a prisoner to begin with.

"It doesn't matter now," he forced himself to believe. "It doesn't matter now..."