Bingelly

Graveyard Orbit

Ruvulla aep Rarvaum and Vaehach aep Samla

Cowritten by Enmuni and Bingelly

---

At the first sign of shade, Ruvulla was quick to muscle her way in, making no particular effort to invite others to join her. Save for Vaehach. She waved to get his attention, then struck her hip with her fist and raised an open palm in a common Command greeting.

"Come, join me," she beckoned, "We haven't been properly introduced."

Vaheach nodded, then returned her greeting in turn. He quickly struck his own hip and raised his open palm.

"No, we haven't," he answered curtly as he approached. "Vaehach aep Samla."

“Ruvulla aep Rarvaum,” she replied. “It’s some luck we’re having, isn’t it? Released, yet on a desolate world, and with a Ragon, among other things.”

She sighed, “And there’s cooperation…for the time being. Good, all things considered, but by what you’ve said, I gather you share my concerns about organization. I take it you’ve seen your share of war as well?”

"Do the Gods quarrel?" He sighed. "Yes, I fought. I've been fighting for almost my entire life."

“Right,” she grimly agreed, “So we’re in similar positions. I’ve seen enough to know that we’re not in an ideal manpower situation. With the Ragon, yes, but I’m sure you’ve noticed we’ve got other problems too. Which will impact our chances negatively.”

She tilted her head expectantly, clearly hoping for some particular sort of answer.

"Chances of what?" He cocked an eyebrow. "There are three choices ahead of all of us. Die, stay on this dustbowl, or get off-world somehow. Most of the lot will want to take the third option."

“Yes, and to get there, of course, we’ll have to survive. Let me put it to you this way. I’m not just a soldier. I’m a doctor. I’ve seen a lot of different sorts during and since the War,” she explained quietly, “And I’ve never seen anything like that thing that ran off. Or the skeleton in the spacesuit. We don’t know what they’re going to do. And these humans? They still don’t know what they’re facing here. So about half of this group is unpredictable. Then you factor in the Ragon, who may be tame, for now, but who could very well change its mind. And the Dhasath, the Dhasath look out for the Dhasath first, Vaehach. You know that. Which leaves us. We need to be aware of our position. I, for one, have been an adult longer than most of these people will ever live. If you’re the same, we both have experience. We both know better than most here what we need to do in order to get off this rock. And so on. We need to make sure we’re heard, and that we back each other up. You know?”

"Naturally Ruvulla," he nodded. "But I will feel far more comfortable once I have a blaster, a bayonet or, better yet, both in my hand. Until then, I don't expect to outfight either the locals or our travelling companions should they be provoked. I also don't favor my chances breaking off alone here, nor should you. Cohesion is built over time, and a squad needs to work together to survive the enemy."

“Correct. I just want you to be aware that I intend to watch your back. We can’t know what these others might think is a good idea,” she affirmed, “I just already heard one of the human soldiers—” She said the word with a hint of derision. “Whinging about what we’ve got to do. There’s no telling if they’ll go rogue, you know. As I understand it, they’ve got a lot of media that glorifies lone actors going rogue. Something to keep an eye out for.”

"Duly noted," Vaehach chuckled lowly.

“But that’s just my assessment. I’m sure you have your own,” she added, “If you’re willing to share, of course.”

"They'll adapt or they'll die." He answered bluntly. "Just as we have to the latest situations. I believe them to be an adaptable people, just as the Dhasath. Aging and dying as early as they do, it shifts the perspective."

“Let’s hope they leave those planetary mindsets behind promptly,” Ruvulla affirmed.

Paradise Lost

Vitiafa of Endiohon

---

"Sol is a beacon." The priestess began before Ren once more inserted herself. She let herself be interrupted

Vitiafa watched as the two other women interacted. A maelstrom of emotions flowed from the the younger Kiel, but the elder remained silent. It was better to let the infection drain from the agonizingly fresh wounds than to let Ren's concerns turn septic. Vitiafa expected the outburst, of course, now the crew had moments to stop and breath. She had to let them do so.

The clinking of glasses, however, covered a quick glance down at one of the rings on her hands. A simple silver band, a rosy crystal sat entombed in its setting in the center of of the band. The light caught it and it refracted through the cuts in a mirror of the emotions in the room. Her heartbeat quickened with all the intensity of a child jolting back from a shock. With a blink and a breath, however, the water was calmed and the ship was steadied.

"May traveler guide you to your pool, Reenneesuash, though preferably before he guides us to Sol." She stifled a laugh after a sip of her tea. "Though I used to swim in rivers and lakes when I was younger. It was calming, in the water. I'd walk out just far enough to where I could float and I would meditate. To listen to the birds, and the fish, and the amphibians was renewing. I never did care for the rush of Eden, or the cities on the colonies."

Empire of the Clouds

Back-alley Bickering

Cowritten by Bingelly and InfamousGuy101

Port District – Airship Docks

By the time Itzi reached the docks, the situation had drastically changed. The port had been overtaken by soldiers standing guard in clusters along the piers, rifles slung and glares vigilant. The airship remained where it had been moored, but it was no longer their responsibility. The impromptu crew had been pulled off the ship and now lingered nearby.

Itzi slowed her pace as she approached, her eyes scanning the scene. A tightness settled in her chest and for a moment, she just stood there taking it in. Maybe Carter had been right.

Maybe they weren’t getting paid or worse, maybe whatever they did get would be a pathetic sum compared to what they had hauled out of that damned place. Risking their lives only to get a dismissal dressed as compensation, her jaw tightened at the thought.

“…Figures,” she muttered under her breath.

Her gaze lingered on the ship again in continued thought, that was when she noticed the movement of someone approaching.

Itzi’s eyes shifted, narrowing slightly as she focused.

Mitunbaal.

"Salutations, Miss Ku," the Shariq woman said once she was close enough. She immediately stifled a yawn, hiding it delicately with her hand.

Mitunbaal was in fresh clothing, and was clearly more comfortable for it. She had found a reasonably quality heavy dark dress, though she wore a cream jacket over top of it. Her usual light-weight cover was replaced a red-head scarf. The woman's gait, however, was sluggish. Her eyes were slow as she looked towards the scene in front of her, bouncing between the uniformed men and the scattered crew and Mittelandische detachment present.

"Something must have happened for all those soldiers to be here," she thought aloud, "I hope nothing grave happened while I was out."

Itzi pursed her lips at Mitunbaal’s words, her eyes briefly drifting back toward the airship and the soldiers surrounding it.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then she exhaled lightly through her nose.

“…Looks like things finally went to blows over that gold,” she said, voice flat.

Her arms crossed loosely as she shifted her weight to one leg, gaze still scanning the scene rather than settling fully on Mitunbaal.

“Next to war,” she continued, “greed and pride make men do the worst kinds of things it seems...”

She paused, “I’d like to think a world run by us would be better,” she added, almost as an aside, “but…” she gave a small shake of her head, “…I doubt it.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Truth be told,” Itzi went on, “I can’t really blame Carter for what he did.”

"Pardon my ignorance, " Mitunbaal quietly admitted, "What exactly happened with Mister Carter?"

Itzi glanced at her briefly, then back toward the ship.

“…Carter tried to take some of the gold,” she said, keeping it simple.

“He talked to me about it before,” she continued, “Said it was about taking a fair share for the people aboard... and for the families of the crew he lost before all this.”

Itzi’s jaw tightened slightly, “I already had a feeling we weren’t going to see much out of this,” she admitted. “Not anything close to what we pulled out of there.”

“Now?” she added quietly, “I’m pretty sure of it.”

"It wasn't our gold, Ms. Ku," Mitunbaal replied bluntly. Her voice was tired, but the disappointment dripped through it. Patronizing, like a mother speaking to a child. "Nor was it Ms. Spyroe's gold to promise or imply that we should have sequestered some away for ourselves. Custospada was not a bank. Every bar and every bullion coin that we rescued from that fort has a crest stamped on them that denotes who owned them."

Itzi’s expression hardened almost immediately. She let out a quiet breath through her nose.

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” she said, tone somber at first "but it doesn’t mean much to the people who actually had to go in there and drag it out.”

Her arms crossed tighter and her tone of voice started to edge.

“Most of us didn’t have to be there,” Itzi continued, “No oath, banner, or grand loyalty to your continent or anyone on it. I sure as hell don’t. I’ve got people back home and that’s where my concerns starts and end!”

“And if it wasn’t for us,” she went on, pointing toward the ship, “that gold wouldn’t have made it out at all. It would’ve stayed buried in that fortress, and taken by someone else.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the Shariq, she didn't back down.

“By the time we got our hands on it, it wasn’t sitting neatly in some vault under lock and key,” she said, “It was in the middle of a damn war zone. No guards, no ledger, no one keeping count. Just whoever had the nerve to take it and live long enough to carry it. And don’t tell me someone would’ve noticed,” Itzi added. “One crate gone? Out of everything we hauled? Who’s checking that? Who’s going to prove it, and to who?”

Her tone softened a bit, recomposing herself but her font turned to a scowl.

“So forgive me if I don’t buy that line about what we’re supposed to deserve,” she finished, "Because from where I’m standing, the only reason any of that gold is here at all… is because we decided to risk our necks for it."

"It did matter, or should matter, to most of us, are you and Mister Carter so blind to the people around you that you failed to see that?" Mitunbaal retorted, "I am Imburian, Miss Spyroe is Imburian, Lord Naesandoral is Imburian, Captain Andreaou and Lieutenant Kasros are Imburian. Private Robertson and Miss Ferriari are in service of Imbur. Need I go on?"

Despite it all, her tone remained calm as she glared at the Iktani. The foreigner from another continent profiteering from Mitunbaal's country suffering

"And it may not have mattered who would check it or who would prove criminality because we'd know we stole it, you damned fool. Whatever God or Gods your people worship would know as well. Could you live with that?"

Her hand twitched closer to her belt as she glared at the woman, but moved to put her back against the wall behind her. The texture of the brickwork rubbed against the softness of her coat as she closed an angle of approach.

"Were you not raised decently enough to believe that stealing is a sin? Or is your and that Mainer's entire continent so godless, so waylaid by avarice, that neither of you care? That gold was not some treasure cache left by some long-dead pirate whose victims were lost to time like in some childish pulp novel. It was a portion of the Imperial Treasury of my nation; a nation fighting a war not yet lost."

It is not about what is believed to be fair, or what one believes they deserved as compensation for their labor. It is about legality and morality, Miss Ku. It is unfortunate that we could not have settled the matter of compensation before landing, but my government is indisposed at the moment. A clerk does not steal from his employer's till while negotiating his salary."

Itzi just stared at her at first it, like she was weighing whether any of it was even worth answering. But as Mitunbaal went on, that restraint wore thinner and thinner, until what remained was something colder.

“You’re talking about nations,” Itzi said, “Service, duty, gods. I didn’t grow up with any of that.”

“I grew up with nothing,” she continued. “You worked, or you didn’t eat. You took what chances you got, or someone else did. That’s the world I come from.”

“So no,” she added, “I don’t have the luxury of standing there and talking about sin like it’s something that fills a stomach.”

“We pulled that gold out of a grave,” she continued, “A fortress that would’ve swallowed it along with everyone inside. Whatever it meant before that doesn’t change what it became when it was just sitting there waiting for whoever was desperate enough to take it.”

“We risked everything for that. Every one of us. And somehow the answer is that we get told to be grateful for whatever scraps get handed down?”

A quiet scoff slipped out, "Yeah. Right.”

She took a step forward, “You can keep your national pride and your 'morality',” Itzi said flatly, “And your lectures. I’m not the one who needs convincing.”

She didn’t wait for a reply as she walked past Mitunbaal with quick pace, shoulders tense, leaving the Shariq where she stood.

Graveyard Orbit

Vaehach

The Kiellar's expression shifted in surprise as the robot mustered a speed none of them could hope to match while stuck on foot.

Useful, he noted, at least when aimed at the right target. The impulsiveness, if one could call it that, left him less than impressed at the decision.

---

"So, uh... How's that figure into our plans, hoss?"

@GeminiChaos

"If the machine comes back with something useful," he replied as he followed the deep ruts in the sand left in Bandit's wake, "We'll call it reconnaissance. If we pass its shot-up chassis on our way to the town, we'll call it stupidity and it won't be our problem any longer."

Graveyard Orbit

Vaehach

"To add on to what my fellow kiellar has said," Vaehach interjected, his angry eyes carefully settled on the Ragon though he had no other visable reaction. "I settled down in the republic that nominally claims this world, and I saw some of the advertisements to try to improve colonization efforts. We're dealing with a dhasath world here with a large kiellar minority. And, if I were a betting man, I'd wager most of the kiellar here are either veterans of the War or the children of veterans. The Dhasath alone also have more than enough reason to kill that thing. Useful for us, sure, but not until we need heavy lifting."

He looked back to the crew broadly before he continued, give a gesture to remind them to keep moving. "We're on a frontier world as well, so I'd also bet on us not receiving the warmest welcome even if we didn't have the ragon with us. Most of us look like convicts because we are convicts, and I haven't made it this far to be hanged from a street-lamp by some backwater colonists because some of you let petty morals outweigh good sense. There's a time to make a stand, but this isn't it. I don't like it, you don't have to like it, but that's the reality of the situation."

He sighed for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he trudged forward. Frustration now bluntly shown through with every word. "And the best lies aren't the crazy bullshit audacious ones either. They're the ones with a grain of truth to them, the ones with less moving parts and less stories to keep straight. If we steal enough clothes for two or three people from homesteaders along the way, they can go into town with the story that they're survivors from a crash, collect donations of clothes, food, and water for the group and find us some honest work to do."

"Now lets keep moving, you godsdamned fools!" His shouted. His voice carried over the crowd, evoking the image of of a particularly tired sergeant despite his currently unkept, scruffy appearance.

Graveyard Orbit

Vaehach of Samla

Name: Vaehach of Samla
Species: Kiellar
Sex: Male
Age: 103
Reason for being on the ship: Seditionist Behavior, Anarchist Sympathies, Pacifism, Cowardice, Defeatism
Appearance:(Feel free to describe with text or put pictures in here)

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills: Vaehach has lived a life of war. Not as an officer, but as a poor bloody enlistedman fighting through the mud and the guts. He is not squeamish and will not cower from a fight if he believes it worth fighting. Unsurprisingly, this also means he’s quite familiar with the blaster and the bayonet.

He’s also familiar with a good bit of field craft, camp-building, and foraging as a result. He’s a surprisingly decent cook, despite having lived off military food for most of his life, and skilled at stretching out ingredients.

The conditions of the Command’s Warlord period, however, has also instilled him with a better sense of valor: Avoiding a fight that isn’t worth fighting is often better for survival.

Weaknesses: Academia is not the man’s strong suit. The finer points of political theory, mechanical engineering, and many other subjects all elude him.

Lingering romantic ideas, fool-hardy as they are, might lead him to believe that a fight might be worth fighting when really it ought to be avoided.

Background:

Backstory: For the old Command, the Second Ragon War was meant to be a triumph. Yet another triumph of the legions of soldiers and armada of ships at a Marshal’s call. Instead, it cracked the foundation of the state, and eventually doomed it once the veneer of victory vanished. For much of the urban poor of Relenar, there was never any real glory to be had. Merely another propagandized meat-gringer with the false promise of prestige and advancement.

Vaehach of Samla embodies this story. Born to a low-class family in the densely populated urban centers of the Kiellar homeworld, there were four paths ahead of him. To grind away in the underclass until he died, perhaps eeking out a life worth living? To join a gang, and live in a corrupt luxury or die trying? To join a colonial effort and toil to build a new home? To enlist in the Command’s Legions and Armadas, and find glory and honor against the enemies of the state? The latter promised advancement, honest respect, and a steady paycheck. He took Marshal’s Credit, and resolved to make something of himself in the infantry.

The luster wore off quickly. Boot-camp was hellish, designed to break and remake the young, diverse men and women who signed up into a functioning cohort of soldiers. Killers. Specialists in their roles perhaps, but ultimately killers. Vaehach’s initial posting was garrison duty. It was months of boredom. Routine patrols and parades and paperwork that was punctuated by the occasional raid. One against an insurgent group there, another against a criminal gang there. No glory, no promotions. Then the war started. Garrisons on planets deemed safe were stripped down to skeleton crews and Vaehach was sent to the front, and into the Meat Grinder.
To say the average Command infantry was outclassed by his Ragon counterpart is the understatement of the millennia, and the casualty figures proved that. To Vaehach and everyone else on the ground, that academic fact was personal. It meant men getting burst from energy shots. Vaporized by bombardment. Disembowled in the melee. Eaten alive. Crushed. And yet the men and women fought on, for survival, and not strictly ideologically.

The eventual peace was a welcome change for the population of the Command. For Vaehach, there was very little change. He had little contacts outside of the military, and little skills to make his way, even with the money he had. For him, peace was a return to garrison duty, to crushing revolts.

As the Command collapsed inward, Vaehach became something of a mercenary. Those less charitable would call him a serial defector. As the shooting between the cliques in the core started, he bounced between warlords. Fighting and bleeding as he did under the Command in search of a cause worth fighting for, until he couldn’t any longer. What cause was there fighting for Commandists looking to repeat the sins of the past? Or sectional separatists looking to reclaim their worlds and nothing else.

So he wandered for a while, and settled on one of the worlds that would comprise the Mazdhul Republic as a laborer. Colonial life suited him well, and perhaps he should have signed on with the Colonial Office all those years ago. Once more, however, war found him. He refused the call this time, and found himself arrested for it.

Have an app. I'll find an image or type out a description later.

Graveyard Orbit

<Snipped quote by Bingelly>

I'd love to get into this! I was a little unsure of some details when writing him out. Feedback/criticism is gladly accepted.

IDK if there's a discord or some such but I'm only available for contact on here.

@JFK

The main issue is that the Command only started irreparably falling apart maybe about 20ish years ago. I got dates mixed up when I said 30ish earlier. But Kiellar raiders and freebooters would have been active well before 200 years. They'd be under the AKR or the Command, or just those of a piratical persuasion.

As I said, its merely minor continuity issues.

Graveyard Orbit

Righto. Sounds good to me. I was just afraid you'd be plugging an AI into this guy's brain.

With neural cybernetic, the concept of it is like a sort of assistant implant in his head to help overcome brain damage, so to speak. The idea was that he got into a terrible accident at one point that left him damaged enough that he had to get an implant in his mind to act as a replacement for the part of his brain that was damaged. It's also why he has a mechanical leg, because the accident also left him needing amputation in his right leg. It doesn't give him anything that's more of an advantage over anyone purely organic, but rather simply exists for flavour.

@Lord Frostecs

Graveyard Orbit

Ohh, this looks neat! Was Farscape an inspiration or is it just a co-incidence? You certainly have my interest! I do have a question for making a character. Are minor cybernetics allowed? I have an idea for a character, and it involves him having a neural assistant cybernetic and a mechanical leg.

@Lord Frostecs

Farscape was an inspiration for the original thread back in the day, as a matter of fact. (:

I don't have an issue with minor cybernetics, but I'm more concerned about what a neural assistant cybernetic entails. We can talk on the discord if you would like, or we can stick to the forum.

Paradise Lost

Reenneesuash (Ren to humans) daughter of veanamdarr

Ren did notice the priestess enter, her head turning to see the older woman's approach, scarred and much more like the one of her kin people expected. However Ren had valued her help in the hydro labs, it was too much work to get things running from scratch for one alone in reasonable time, knew at least the basics of lab work and knew enough that Ren rarely had to explain anything twice.

She just got on with it and had found comfort in the others' companionship, it helped fill the silence, when alone Ren had taken to distracting herself with music or other things played through the consoles.

“Hello Vitiafa, greetings. I already checked the seedlings, I got up early and . Yeah.” She took a more respectful tone to the elder of her kin than the Doctor though and her thoughts dropped off a cliff glad for the distraction and cut to talk of a gym.

“Il take a look..” Her words said with a small yawn and thanked them, eating some of her meal with a small smile and enjoying the spicy kick. “Somthing different would be … nice.”

@PrinceAlexus

"Ah. Thank you for volunteering, Reenneesuash," Vitiafa turned her head to look towards the fellow kiellar as the scientist ate her chili.

It was part polite gesture, part lingering impulse as a half-dead eye blindly looked towards the voice over her shoulder. A well-practiced closed-mouth smile tugged at the corners of the woman's mouth, and she took a soft tone as she continued speaking.

"As important as the work is, do be sure to take some time for yourself. We keep us all fed and we keep help keep the air clean. It is the foundation of everything here, and it cannot crack from strain."

She turned her attention back to the Dhasath with a wave to Ren, but the hint of a smile faded as Velia spoke.

<Snipped quote by Bingelly>

"Slightly different liquid," Velia smiled a little uncertainly, seemingly not sure if she should be embarrassed or boastful about her early 'morning' alcohol consumption.

She took a restrained sip, "I suspect I'm doing better than most," she gave a sigh before deciding to confess, "Most of my close family, my parents, my siblings, managed to evacuate and are now in cryogenic sleep, waiting for us to find somewhere to defrost them. It's not pure chance - they knew where I was and were aware that I had access to an escape route. I didn't lose everything. I imagine the best portion of this ad-hoc crew did. I have a responsibility, but I am Blessed to be in this position and it means my feet are, metaphorically speaking, on firm ground, not on shifting sand. It will help me weather the storms this voyage will throw at us."

"So more importantly, how, are you doing?" she asked, flipping the question around, genuine concern in her dark, dhasath, eyes.

@Dyelli Beybi

"We shall see this voyage through, child. With the Maker's favor, they shall see you again." Vitiafa evenly replied. She sighed, though.

But her gaze didn't waver as she shifted in the hard chair. She sat silently for a moment, pondering the Dhasath in front of her. She wore a symbol of the Maker, that far-flung God from Doona'tay, and her mind went back to the bust on the station. This other God was no stranger to travel either.

"Our ancestors made many exoduses too. This is hardly the first for either our peoples." She continued after a quiet sip of her tea. "From Andromeda, to Sol, to Eden, and now, it seems, back to Sol. We'll honor them and the dead, by seeing this through and building a new life. We both pray for that, but we both have obligations. We will remain sturdy, for the others."