[b]The Radioactive Center of Ancient Knowledge, Sul Vopal[/b]

Sartot as a opal colored Fosskemian with yellow eyes looks upon the ruins of some unknown ancient societies loosely connected to her species with some sense of disillusionment.  She perches one of her hands  on the railings of an exhibit showing the fossilized remnants of ancient fosskemians engraved into a metallic structure with looks of shock on their faces.  Sartot has no clue what this is, but is just so taken back by just the… static nature of it.  Just reduced to that crystallized state for millennia and likely millions of years to come.  Sartot looks feverishly around for someone to explain this to her and raises her right flipper leg to get the attention of another Fosskemian, a short vibrant blue male fosskemian sulking about the place likely as some custodian.  Said Fosskemian looks at Sartot and asks “Curious about this one?”

Sartot replies “Yes.”

“This here is from the Opulent era.  It was extremely long ago, nearly a thousand years ago.  That was way back when fosskemians nearly died out due to the excesses of the plutocrats causing multiple radioactive wars.  The fosskemians are profoundly lucky to have had the machines descend from the skies to get us to the stars- in a way our existence is a freak coincidence.  Those ancients when they were visited by the machines were very lucky they didn’t euthanize fosskemianians and instead got them back on their flippers and into spacecraft.  Still the legacy of the Opulent era haunts us- why just look outside.  You will see we learn nothing.”

Sartot is a bit irritated by this fosskemian, pushing itself away from it and rants “Your negative outlook makes me wonder how you haven’t provoked any lootings!  We always are learning!  We are the burning fire of the galaxy, the world of the imperials and the regime of silence, stability and stagnation crumbles as ours expands.”

“And every fire burns out.” It retorts, before dismissively leaving Sartot to herself.  Sartot decides to just go elsewhere instead.

So she moves her way out of the center, looking at the lobby area to make sure none of the security turrets are about to fire on her.  For if there is anything Sartot knows, it is that the owners of properties love their defense systems.  Leaving out the front door, she sees some loitering Urgzehu nakedly slumming about with worms and engravings on their bodies while making her way to a personal transport.  

Sartot as she enters the transport finds that there is something on the ground that wasn’t there before.  It is a data pad.  Sartot curiosly pecks the data pad on and a series of humms and screeches play before a message from the auditor itself is heard.

“Want adventure?” It says before the transport suddenly is enclosed by something.  Panicked, Sartot bashes the windows with her limbs to not much effect.  

“You have adventure!” It says again.  

Sartot than shouts at the pad, “I don’t adventure!”

The pad doesn’t seem to care and just continues its message.

“You will have adventure!  Just remain calm as we take you to your adventure.  The Red Cross has been very naughty you see.”

“I am just a city boss, why do you want me to deal with this?” Sartot asks the data pad.

“You are the city boss of Old Vatat, the Red Cross has been naughty.  That is your adventure!”

The sense of movement Sartot realizes to be somewhat akin to being placed into a spaceship.  This is a kidnapping, it dawns to Sartot.  

“I hate that!  Let me have my break!” She shouts in frustration at the data pad.

“We voted for you.  You will have your adventure.  The red cross is and will be naughty.” The Data pad re-iterates.

“I won’t.” Sartot defiantly tells the data pad before flinging it around the cabin of the transport.  

“You will.  You requested this a day before.  You want adventure!”

Sartot than realizes she may have forgotten something important she had to do back at Old Vatat.  Was this what it was?  The Red Cross has been a bit of a nuisance in Old Vatat.  They promised to help with some public works and then proceed to not even do that and just blather on with their stupid mindless flesh idols.  

Still, Sartot isn’t sure.

“I had other important things I was doing on Sul Vopal and you, whoever you are need to just stop this and put me back on that planet!”

The data pad starts just inexplicably laughing in a modulated pitch, than says “Drug fueled coastal running contests are not an ‘important business’!  Adventure is more important.”

“Yes they are!” Sartot insists.

“We are headed to Old Vatat now, be prepared.” The data pad tells Sartot.

Dismayed, Sartot shrugs and proceeds to go get the official’s cloak from the back of the Cabin.  Back to work sooner than hoped.

“Also Nutok called, she is currently not available due to selling drugs to outsiders again.” 


[b]The Central Amphitheatre Complex, Void Prison[/b]

Within the scope of a small trade craft of metasyndicate origin, a Fosskemian identifying as Nutok makes her landing at a port in orbit of the somewhat disturbing named ‘void prison’.  The insides of the ship have her in a circular pilot’s room and a passage way for climbing to the storage area.  By and large, Nutok pilots a superficially civilian vessel with plating that makes it hard to discern what is inside.   As for Nutok herself, her is very standard by the accounts of any biological female Fosskemian.  Being seven feet in height, having curved, broad antennae and   As with all Fosskemians not starving to death or injured, she has two incredibly large, flipper-like appendages filled with air that get used as legs that surround the sides of her body.  Indeed the upright position she finds highly discomforting, but it is the position to which looking eye to eye with most other species like her clients is possible.  

Looking at large stores of the drug she is here to give- on explicit demands from the client to be discreet she double checks to make sure none of the worms have escaped.  For these are no normal worms- they are worms, they are worms sourced from the depths of Tradlos and its biomineral rich soils whose enzymes cause all matter of uplifting, stimulating effects to those who have them leeching off of you.  They also are what Nutok knows are in high demand and the Central Amphitheatre Complex, beyond having ancient imperial dramas is also a hive of proxy black market sells.  

Nutok collects a lot of the worlds from the luggage, hiding them in the inner side of her two large flippers while being draped with a standard Hargonian robe filled with many arrow-like symbols.  Nutok is fluster in embarrassment wearing Hargonian attire and pink eye covers, but it is to throw off identification.  Nutok leaves the ship with the contraband and begins to use her neck pad to contact her client informing them she is here.