Dyelli Beybi

Paradise Lost

...
The redhead gives a quick hum in interest, letting the firewater flow through her. "Plenty of people not wanting to die, I'm sure if they're needing extra hands, they have them. Might need to barge into the office and get my ticket out of here." She says with an earnestness. She regards the man who joins them curiously, the accusation of a pilot being plenty to get her attention on John. "Well, worst comes to worst we can try mobbing the ship, right?" she offers idly.

@Pragia12

"From what I understand, there's plenty of room on the ship, they just don't have a crew," another idle shrug from Velia. Though the suggestion worried her. It was probably only a matter of time before someone decided to take the ship off her and, potentially, leave her to starve on the station.

...

“I can pilot anything….” A pause to take a swig. A slight bit of swagger coming through. “… Just give me the manual and some time and I can get anything moving.”

He went to take another swig before he realized the amount he had put down. The empty splashes sloshing very noticeably.

@Terrans

Velia rested her hand lightly on the pilot's arm, giving off the impression of flirtation while secretly fantasising about dropping a 1,000 page manual on the man's lap (there was a physical copy, just in case the electronics broke). Which would be a bit of a buzz kill but if there was a chance to get out of here alive, other recreational activities could wait...

She opened her mouth to speak, which was when Lopez appeared along with a growing number of other people,

...
“Name’s Lopez by the way,” he added, “Engineering, Eden Defense Force. I don’t do pep talks. I fix things.”

He took a seat, reaching at the other side of the bar and grabbing the first thing, a bottle of tequila, fitting.

"So, what do you all think?"

@InfamousGuy101

"Velia Larci," she replied, "Communications," she said, leaving out any other pertinent details and making her seem like an office worker, "I also don't dp pep talks. I drink things."

She took a larger swig of her whiskey, taking the bottle back off the pilot and topping her glass up before handing it back to him.

"What do I think?" she asked before answering her own question, somewhat facetiously, "I think that I was kinda both looking forward to and dreading the 'Crybaby Nebula' comeback tour but I rather suspect they're making their way through insectoid intestines at this point. Which, incidentally would be a great name for a band: 'Insectoid Intestines'."

She paused, then grinned, "Relax buddy. We're in space. Unless the Metacer can jump into orbit now, we're quite safe."

Paradise Lost

<Snipped quote by Dyelli Beybi>

Let's make the asset pre-contact. After they were recovered by their parent agency, it was decided to put them in storage with other frozen assets in a high security orbital lab - it wasn't adversely affected by power outages on the surface. When the refugee ships left, the lab got raided for fuel by the refugees and they wound up bringing a few of the assets with them, mistaking them for fuel containers. Or perhaps they brought them along as a hedge to ensure genetic diversity.

It's the same nanites, the translator nanites were build on top of an existing design - this happens a lot in electronics. But because they're labeled "translator nanites" nobody uses them for the treatment of brain trauma. The people doing the reanimation aren't aware what the nanites are doing, they're just injecting them so the revived can understand them.

As a suggestion - when people go into cryogenic suspension, it feels like they're being boiled alive because of paradoxical undressing - constriction of blood vessels on the surface, etc. Oddly enough, that memory is lost on revival, and they think they're sweating because of the rewarming process.

@Expendable

Can you define what you mean by first contact? Do you mean before humanity met aliens in general? In this setting that would be like 2 millenia ago. There is some lore in this setting regarding how this happened and that freezing prior to contact wouldn't fit into it (basically humans get uplifted from dicking around on the one planet to full FTL in the 21st century).

The cryosleep in this setting is a dark-age technology that has been developed to try to replace the stasis pods that were used in the Federation days, but it isn't as good. So I'm fine with the cryo-lobotomy concept. It's just they wouldn't have been frozen prior to about the 29th century.

As for the nanites - in setting they were developed by alien races (the Berdikons/Gorialax - but that isn't important for this thread), specifically for the purpose of communicating with each other. There may or may not have been other variants of these nanites, but they no longer exist and haven't for 1000 years so there might be a hope/expectation that the person in a cryopod would recover but nanites wouldn't be considered as a potential source of that recovery.

Paradise Lost

Velia Larci

---

...

The bar had been her last bastion of solace in a world that was rapidly collapsing. Things had an eerie stability on the station. Doom would not come for some time, but hope was running low. 3822-01 was her last ticket out of here, and the best shot was her mark at this bar. Walking to the seat next to her, she’d wave the tender down and get her own glass of straight vodka, not bothering to burden the bartender at the end of Eden. “So, any plans to survive the apocalypse?” she’d ask idly of the pilot.

@Pragia12

"One or two," the woman replied, taking a sip from her whiskey, and giving Ginny a thoughtful look, "I mean, if I were the station chief, which I am not, I'd be looking at getting everyone onto that colony ship then setting out to find a new home... can't go to the original location, the primitives have proper guns and we don't have an army to slap them down anymore. I understand they have some crew shortages though," she shrugged as if to say she didn't really know what she was talking about.

...
The unusually short Kiellar woman pushed her hair into a messy pony tail still wearing the reinforced lightweight armour they had all been given as their former station fell apart trying to keep bugs from breaking into the redoubt and keep bio security intact in deteriorating labs among the chaos clearly marked of course with company branding and “Bio station 6. Lab team.”, because they were paranoid bastards about even pens being taken and sold on any kind of post or illegal sale.

“I'm sure my bosses would find a way if I owed them student loans.” She said to the woman who seemed to be nearby, Brunette, one of humans, or this subspecies whichever they hailed from exactly. She was too tired to be exact in mind.

“Ren” She said as an introduction, falling almost into a seat with relief that her aching feet she had been on for hours now without rest had a short break before they had to try and make it to the last ships off planet.

@PrinceAlexus

"Velia," one of the women replied, offering Ren the bottle of whiskey. She was wearing a jacket and seemed unconcerned by the sauna-like conditions of the station. That along with the name, picked her as dhasath, "Well thankfully, one of the advantages of the apocalypse is there is nobody to chase you for your debts or audit your use of the company card," she gave a charming, albeit somewhat roguish grin at the last point.

"I refuse to believe," she declared, "That we aren't going to make it out of here," her hand subconsciously wandered to her chest, toying with something under her jacket - a pendant perhaps? "There are ways out of here, we just need to be a bit resourceful and we get a second chance at this with our debts wiped clean."

...
John barely registered the bar's occupants as he staggered in. Collapsing into a stool and tossing his helmet onto the bar.

"Give me a bottle. Strong stuff." A handful of hard credit chits pulled from his thigh pouch and shoved towards the tender. He was a sight; perspiration from his recent brush with death still coated his features. Blood sprayed a pattern across his chest armor, suit sleeves and gloves. His survival knife was missing and a gash adorned the back of his armor. The only part of him with any color was his squadron patch; a field of blue with six stars in a semi circle surrounding a green one.

@Terrans

"Looks like you had a close shave on the surface... Pilot?" Velia asked as the man with the helmet dropped down beside her. She recognised the uniform... sort of. This was, perhaps, her lucky day, though Velia wasn't so naive as to imagine that someone who typically flew fighters might struggle to adapt to the lumbering inertia of a colony ship, but it never hurt to check. In the morning sow your seed, and at evening do not let your hands be idle, for you do not know which will prosper, this or that, or whether both alike will be good.

Mutely she motioned at the bottle of whiskey, encouraging him to help himself (which would hopefully put him in a better mood to humour her).

"I don't suppose you're here to fly that Colony ship are you?" the question was really more of a suggestion. She knew damned well he wasn't here to fly the colony ship, but if he came back to say he could, or with some flavour of 'maybe', then the woman with the auburn hair's question about surviving the apocalypse might have just received a much more definite answer...

Paradise Lost

@PrinceAlexus Awesome!

Paradise Lost

@PrinceAlexus

Looks good... only tiny detail to bring up is you aren't using the kiellar patronymic naming system (see the OP). Which you don't necessarily need to use, but it is worth noting that not using it would be ICly odd.

Paradise Lost

@Terrans

Looks good to me.

@Expendable

How far back do you want this character to be from? Also they aren't using nanites for healing in the setting (not that that essentially changes anything). The only ones they have are the translator ones and nobody knows how they work.

Smoke and Steel

<deleted>

Paradise Lost

Theme Music

Chapter One: Eden Orbital Shipyard

"No!" Velia held up a finger to silence the grey talking toad in the scooter, "No, you can't come aboard. We'll let people on at some point but that point isn't now. I'm the communications officer," she motioned at herself. She was actually wearing an Edenite uniform for a change. The Colonial Support Fleet wasn't technically military though an alien observer might have mistaken them for a military branch. Their uniform was a soft green color with pale white trim. The fabric and her brown leather belt were pristine, which looked nice, but was, incidentally, a sign she was a fresh recruit... along with the distinct lack of any rank insignia. It did, however, make her look official.

"What exactly are you waiting for?" the frog puffed himself up, leaning forward in a gesture she assumed was meant to be menacing, "The surface is lost. This station needs the surface to supply it with food. You can at least take us somewhere where we might have a chance to survive instead of slowly starving to death up here!"

"Goodbye Divaldo," she replied, reaching up to grasp the edge of the metal shutter at the end of the boarding tunnel, bringing it down with a satisfying crash.

From the other side she could make out the outraged spluttering of the toad, "That's Gloriont Divaldo to you, you dhasath tralk!" Velia couldn't help but smirk a little out the outrage in his voice.

She crouched down, making sure the shutter was firmly sealed, then began to walk back towards the ship, loosening her collar as she did. Divaldo was repeating more or less what the Station Supervisor had been demanding she do in his office a few minutes earlier. Velia agreed - there wasn't much point hanging around, but the problem was she had never flown a Spaceship before (except in a simulator and her crash record in the simulator didn't inspire her with confidence to pilot a Colony Ship), so she intended to wait for a few more days at least, until it was abundantly clear nobody else was coming from the surface, or one of the other colonies, in the hope that someone with some actual experience with something other than a shuttle arrived.

She gave a small sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar comfort of the ESS 3822-01, pressing the button to close the door to the station, shutting out the bickering irritation that the station provided. The off-white corridors had a pleasant soft lighting installed; it was aesthetically pleasing, if a little spartan. The modest cabin for the Comms Officer had new fixtures, a comfortable mattress and (probably since nobody else was using it at the moment) good water pressure in the shower. Get changed, let your hair down then head out for the bar, she decided. While they were waiting there was precious little else to do other than drink.

---

Half an hour later...

Velia opened the shutters at the end of the boarding tunnel with a degree of trepidation, half expecting to see Divaldo or some other annoying Station dweller to try to pester their way onto the ship. But thankfully there was nobody in sight. So she quickly locked the shutter behind her, taking a few hurried steps away from the shutters.

Velia had changed into a much more casual affair; jeans, a tank top and a black leather jacket and had let her hair fall free across her shoulders. Hopefully she looked sufficiently different that in the context of the bar people weren't going to see 'that woman from the Colony Ship'. There was only one on the station, with the slightly depressing name of 'The Drink'. Ironically, it was still charging money for alcohol - Velia figured nobody was going to be left to audit what she had done with the petty cash and the Metacer apparently hadn't eaten into the bank's electronic infrastructure yet, so she was able to flash her CSF card around at will.

She pulled up a stool next to the bar, casting an eye around the establishment. A few depressed looking patrons, none of whom she recognised. Perfect. She did notice, however, that the humans and kiellar had all stripped down to their shirt sleeves and mostly looked a little uncomfortable with the heat - presumably the station's heating system was on the fritz again, not that temperature changes bothered dhasath too much.

A sleeping looking human barman shuffled in her direction, "Whiskey, on the rocks..." he opened his mouth, presumably to ask her which one, "Whatever the most expensive is," she paused as he reached up towards the top shelf, "Save yourself a job and leave the bottle," she said.

He glanced her way, his eyes alighting on the CSF bank card she was tapping on the bar, then shrugged, bringing the bottle over. Until a pilot arrived, there really wasn't much better to do with her afternoons. Or was it morning? It was hard to tell on a space station.

Paradise Lost

Yes, this thread is open!

Smoke and Steel

Theme Music

Smoke and Steel
Act Two: A World on Fire

Late summer draped itself across the countryside like a worn, golden shawl. The sun, softer now than it had been, spilled a languid light over the hills, setting the tall grasses aglow. In orchards, apple trees bent under the weight of ripening fruit, their branches sighing with the quiet burden. Every path trod by man and elgafolk was edged with tired wildflowers and the dry rustle of seed heads. Yet there was a subtle tension in the air, as if the land itself was holding its breath...

---

Ebengrenzstadt: Andronika Vestele and Kreznik

(cowritten with @Terrans)

It was a crisp morning, clouds skittered overhead, promising a day of travel that would not be quite as hot as the previous week had been. Ebengrenzstadt was a small town, walled in prior centuries, much like Trefgodwig, walls that still stood maintained against the incursions of Quinian border reivers. It was a mostly human city, mostly Mittelvolk, with a fair number of Quinian families and a small number of elgafolk. Upon entering the city, Andronika had emancipated the slaves and had set bureaucrats to forcefully redraw the guild constitutions to remove barriers that had restrained human membership and authority in the institutions, but had (to the frustration of some) otherwise protected the elgafolk. There had been no bloody revolution and a semblance of normality had settled on the town within a couple of weeks.

Then Vestele had arrived back with a detachment of Western Empire Lancers and a 'Treaty of Fellowship' with the Westerners. It was a major victory for the Whites, though, annoyingly it had come with a request for Andronika to travel to Alveby the pledge her fealty to the Emperor. Something which, against the protestations of some of her council, Andronika agreed to do. It was an important piece of theatre for the Western Empire, in exchange for an essential ally for the Whites. In the short term there would be a, potentially, dangerous trip across country. though the Lancers, a steely eyed, battle hardened body of well armoured, ancient elves, promised to give as good protection for the journey as the Westerners could offer. Andronika had insisted on forming her own bodyguard of 50 troopers from her own regiment to accompany the force.

And so, in the morning air, the group assembled to set out. Vestele and Andronika, both wearing devantieres were gossping together in a corner. Some distance away, the elga Sergeant, a blonde, moustachioed figure named Ruehnar was inspecting his detachment in readiness for the journey.

The clomp of hooves announced Kreznik's presence; his mount, Victor, sidling to halt before Vestele and Andronika. Trailing loosely behind him was two handfuls of his Hounds. The young spymaster and his charges both wore cavalry uniforms of the Whites and were equipped accordingly. Though Kreznik looked remarkably uncomfortable beneath the equipment and uniform. And annoyed, but that particular emotion was not related to his garb. "The Hounds are ready to depart for another hastily planned journey across dangerous terrain in lesser numbers then our previous march." The annoyance in the assassin turned spy turned bodyguard's voice was apparent. A slight pause as he dismounted his horse and continued speaking. Giving the barest of adjustments to his uniform while coming to a stop before the two women, "I assume my complaints will not be heeded and studiously ignored with a whimsical comment?"

"Would you prefer we try to take a whole army across country?" Andronika replied, turning away from her companion to look up at Kreznik, "That would be slow and we'd definitely need to fight. The worst we'll encounter this way are a few dragoons scouting ahead of their main force. No whimsical comments my friend... this time."

“I’d prefer if we stopped heading off last minute on hastily planned soirée’s away from your army.” Kreznik turned down his face to meet her gaze. A hand raising as if to cut her off preemptively, “I know you have to go to swear fealty. Must be done in person. A large grant to our legitimacy.” Annoyance and another emotion pulled at his features before a bitter sigh of resignation followed and a deflating of his shoulders, “But I know I will still follow your missives. Your orders?”

"This is the fruition of a long campaign of work, Kreznik," Andronika chided, gently enough, "Vestele was sent to seek this Alliance. It was negotiated. This piece of theatre to seal the alliance was unforseen, but it is necessary. I had thought sending a signed letter might suffice, but these complicated times... As for your orders. Simple: stay with me, and Vestele, and make sure nobody kills either of us."

"We are being escorted by the finest soldiers on the continent," Vestele commented, giving a sideways glance at a particularly tall, Lancer, "And we are mounted so, realistically the only real threat is of the nefarious kind you specialise in."

"One can make the argument I have a poor track record with my... specialties." Kreznik glanced over his shoulder at his Hounds raising a hand in a signal. A pair of them trotted off to meet the party a bit further down the trail. "Though I guess it has allowed me to examine other options."

'Other options' drew a mischievous smirk from Andronika, though she quickly wiped it off her face, "Just make sure nobody kills one of us," she said, "This mission, while it might seem trivial, has the potential to change the course of this Civil War."

“We will do our best. However good that might be.” The assassin turned to remount Victor; the rest of the Hounds beginning to coalesce around them. “Would you prefer picking your personal shadows now or me assigning them behind your back?”

"You make that sound so nefarious!" Andronika raised an eyebrow, though she looked amused. She usually did, "You know your people better than I, but I had imagined you were my personal shadow."

Flustered was not a word to describe Kreznik usually. But it fit him perfectly now, “I…I need to remain objective.” The stammer barely noticeable.

"Nothing unobjective with doing your job," Andronika smiled, the hint of amusement still in her expression, "Your job is to stay close. I feel safer that way."