Supermaxx

Superboy's Shitty Characters

Lucius Marco was a card shark, plain and simple.

He made his devil's money conning gamblers out of their hard-earned Thrones at any table he could squeeze in on. He robbed them all blind and then made a quick getaway before anyone figured out Marco was a dirty, stinking cheater.

It wasn't a profitable business, Lucius had to admit. He'd make thrice as much if he put down the cards and used that mind of his for more legitimate work.

Card sharking was incredibly dangerous work too. More than one cartel in Novem Mundos wanted Marco's head delivered to them on a platter for stealing from them. Lucius had gotten into more fistfights, shootouts and chases than he could count- an impressive thing, considering how good Marco'd gotten at counting in his years.

Yet for all of it's faults, Lucius would never, ever do anything else. There was no feeling in the world like the rush he got sticking someone else's Thrones in his pocket. Nothing could compare to that exhilaration that came with robbing criminals, barons and drunkards with nothing more than some sleight of hand.

He felt that same rush now as he slapped his hand of cards down on the butcher's cart in front of him. Lucius grinned his terrible grin, showing off his shark's fangs to the other eight men seated around the cart. A chorus of curses sounded, followed by several other hands slamming down on the rickety wagon in disgust.

"Thanks for playing, lads." Marco chuckled, reaching into the cooking pot to take his hard-earned Throne Gelts. He stuffed them into the pockets of his dust-covered flight jacket, his gaze slipping over his victims as they began to disperse. Only, not all of them were leaving.

Two men sat side-by-side remained, whispering to one another. Though Lucius couldn't tell what either man was saying, he could see the malice dripping from their faces. 'Uh oh.' The Shark thought, his grin growing ever wider as he started to step away from the cart.

"Fare thee well!" He waved, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he backpedaled away. He hoped he could get a fair distance away before those two finished their conversation. Before he could get too far, he heard both of the men's chairs screech against the ground as they rose up to their feet. 'Throne be damned.' The Gambler groaned, spinning around as he quickened his pace. Maybe he could disappear into the Square's crowds and lose those two.

"Oi!" One of the men barked, prancing around the cart with surprising grace given his size. "Get back 'ere!" His partner in crime was shorter, but even fast, quickly gaining on Lucius.

Any chance of escaping this without a busted lip and emptied pockets dropped away when Marco broke into a sprint in one last bid to escape. His pursuers gave quick chase, throwing themselves after Lucius. The Shark pushed and shoved his way through the square, weaving through volunteer soldier and mercenary alike.

The chase was brought to a quick end when Lucius took a wrong turn and found himself stopped by a solid wall. "Shit!" He shouted, spinning around just in time to see the two other men breaking from the crowd.

"You fookin' cheated!" The bigger, more outspoken of the pair spat, an accusatory finger thrown toward Lucius as he began to walk forward. The Gambler retreated, his back smacking up against the wall behind him as he searched for some way to talk himself out of this mess.

"Hey, man, just- just calm down." Lucius held his hands up in front of him, trying to dissuade the giant farmer with a neck twice the size of Lucius's from beating him into a pulp. "I didn't cheat, I swear. I swear by the Emperor."

That didn't seem to convince the fellow as he got right up in front of Marco, his big, meaty hands shoving him back against the wall. Pain shot up the man's back as he let out a near-silent groan. "Come on, we're on the same side! Soldiers of the Imperium! We shouldn't be fighting each oth-"

Before he could get the words out, a fist filled his mouth.

The card shark went down, his hands hitting the grass as blood poured down from his lip onto his scruff-covered chin. "We're doing this, then. Nice." Marco grumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve as his other hand reached down into his pants. For a brief moment, he considered going for the auto-pistol tucked into his pants. But after deciding against it he chose to slide his hand over until he felt the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of his long knife.

It came screaming out of the sheathe like a bat out of hell, Lucius swinging it wildly toward the farmer's belly. He caught his shirt, tearing it and leaving behind a thin line of blood as the big guy lurched backward to avoid being gutted. "You little shit!" He roared, sending his boot forward to crash against the downed gambler's ribs.

Marco slashed the extended leg, forcing it backward so he could scramble up to his feet. By this time, the second unhappy customer was moving forward with his own fists raised. "Two against one, lads? I'm touched you care so much." Bringing his own fists up, the lanky man started bouncing between his feet to keep himself on his toes.

'Alright, Emperor, now's about the time you send one'a those guardian angels of yours to keep me from getting my ass beat.'

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP

Ohh. I like the concept of learning about the character through OC posts rather than through a character sheet. Very neat stuff.

I can’t wait to die in the name of the glorious God Emperor.

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP [Seeking cannon fodder]

@BangoSkank Since the 40kverse is so big, it's not uncommon for remote human settlements (like the ones featured in this RP) to be so far removed from everything that it's citizens know little to nothing about the greater universe. There are several wikis you can read if you'd like to know more about the lore, but you certainly wouldn't need to be an expert to participate.

Pariah Online | Season One

I wanted to shoot for twenty eight before going on. Odd numbers are just the worst.

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The party rallied, tearing the initiative away from their attackers as they pressed forward for the first time since the battle begin. They had a plan of attack now; no longer were they simply reacting to the encroaching mob. Graves led the frontline forward, sweeping his halberd through the teeming mass of frozen gelatin. It's flaming ax-head made quick work of individual slimes. Yet for each one the tank cut down, it seemed like two more rose up to take it's place.

Graves felt like his muscles were on fire. He threw his strength behind every harrowing swing, his mind occupied only by the unflinching desire to get the hell out of that death trap. He knew what was at stake- they all did. Death here was no longer a simple inconvenience, but the end of everything. He could give no less than his all.

Even still, he could feel himself slowing. He made less progress with every step. His polearm swung with less and less force each time the digital warrior swept it forward. Muscles cramped and fatigue's deadly venom began to creep ever so slowly into his veins.

Luckily for the brutish tank, he was not alone in this fight.

Assistance came in a call of his name from the fiddle-wielding necrobard. Tiferet's magical music changed it's tune from the precise, elegant and swift Kronos to something...stranger. A swing band of all things began to echo from that damnable device of hers. Quick, powerful, yet utterly chaotic.

The buff hit Graves full-force like a baseball to the forehead.

Every inch of his body was shot full of a pulsating, electric energy. The strength that filled his taut muscles would've been appreciated, if not for the buckets upon buckets of itching powder he felt slipping in every pore, crack and crevice. "I do NOT like this song!" The giant howled.

He poured his irritation into every swing of his weapon that followed.

Energized hands spun the polearm about with surprising dexterity for a man of his size. He spun in his advance, dragging the ax along the sea of gushing slimes from side to side. Great, sweeping brushes preceded each forward step from the titan. Graves set the pace for the other frontliners to follow in the stead of his violent march.

All about him, the rest of the party worked to clear the path toward their chosen exit. Landon and Redsky's combined arms attack washed the enemy in searing malice, burning away a mass of gathered monsters on the ceiling as well as directly in front of them. That burning swath of dead made for an easy push for Graves, Ochre and Rael- they merely had to make sure the rest of the slimes didn't fill in the way in place of their dozens of dead.

"Move! Move!" Landon and Sky's opening wouldn't last long. They had done little to stem the overwhelming tide of creatures still filling the chamber, even with the stream of fallen they trod over; it would not be long before the frost slimes managed to overwhelm them if they did not escape in short order.

Graves reached the other end of the room, his shoulder slamming hard against the gate as he came to a sliding halt. The floor was horrifically slick from squashed slime corpses spilling their innards across the frosty stone. "Through the door, now! Fucking hurry!" From where he stood, the bloodied tank could see the ooze creatures massing at the back of the party. They were flooding forward like a singular, conjoined wave. It was a slow, sticky wave, mind you; but it wasn't something Graves would want to be caught under.

He remained outside the gate, half to keep the monsters back and half to catch anyone that might (understandably) fall thanks the messy ground.

Once the last person was through, Graves slipped in behind them, planting his feet on the stone. "Get this shit shut before they get through!" He barked, his halberd clattering to the floor as he lifted both of his palms up to the gate. Graves pushed with all of his might, forcing the creaking mass to move for likely the first time since it's creation. It took no small amount of effort, but the ooze slipping in between the two great doors was all the motivation the tank needed to continue.

Like a clap of thunder the doors were forced together, and the threshold closed off. A batch of slime attempting to wiggle through was cut in twain by the shutting of the gate, and silence fell over the creeping halls of the crypt once more.

Graves stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall as he slid down onto his rear with a loosed sigh. When he leaned back, the telltale shlick of something cool and sticky drew his eyes to the little beast still clinging unknowingly to his shoulder. "Fuckin' hate these things." He snarled, tearing it off and throwing it away. If it weren't for the stacking cold resistances thrown on him by his supporting allies, that creature might've taken an arm off if the bounty hunter's luck had continued the usual downward trend.

"Anybody dead yet?"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The party rallied, tearing the initiative away from their attackers as they pressed forward for the first time since the battle begin. They had a plan of attack now; no longer were they simply reacting to the encroaching mob. Graves led the frontline forward, sweeping his halberd through the teeming mass of frozen gelatin. It's flaming ax-head made quick work of individual slimes. Yet for each one the tank cut down, it seemed like two more rose up to take it's place.

Graves felt like his muscles were on fire. He threw his strength behind every harrowing swing, his mind occupied only by the unflinching desire to get the hell out of that death trap. He knew what was at stake- they all did. Death here was no longer a simple inconvenience, but the end of everything. He could give no less than his all.

Even still, he could feel himself slowing. He made less progress with every step. His polearm swung with less and less force each time the digital warrior swept it forward. Muscles cramped and fatigue's deadly venom began to creep ever so slowly into his veins.

Luckily for the brutish tank, he was not alone in this fight.

Assistance came in a call of his name from the fiddle-wielding necrobard. Tiferet's magical music changed it's tune from the precise, elegant and swift Kronos to something...stranger. A swing band of all things began to echo from that damnable device of hers. Quick, powerful, yet utterly chaotic.

The buff hit Graves full-force like a baseball to the forehead.

Every inch of his body was shot full of a pulsating, electric energy. The strength that filled his taut muscles would've been appreciated, if not for the buckets upon buckets of itching powder he felt slipping in every pore, crack and crevice. "I do NOT like this song!" The giant howled.

He poured his irritation into every swing of his weapon that followed.

Energized hands spun the polearm about with surprising dexterity for a man of his size. He spun in his advance, dragging the ax along the sea of gushing slimes from side to side. Great, sweeping brushes preceded each forward step from the titan. Graves set the pace for the other frontliners to follow in the stead of his violent march.

All about him, the rest of the party worked to clear the path toward their chosen exit. Landon and Redsky's combined arms attack washed the enemy in searing malice, burning away a mass of gathered monsters on the ceiling as well as directly in front of them. That burning swath of dead made for an easy push for Graves, Ochre and Rael- they merely had to make sure the rest of the slimes didn't fill in the way in place of their dozens of dead.

"Move! Move!" Landon and Sky's opening wouldn't last long. They had done little to stem the overwhelming tide of creatures still filling the chamber, even with the stream of fallen they trod over; it would not be long before the frost slimes managed to overwhelm them if they did not escape in short order.

Graves reached the other end of the room, his shoulder slamming hard against the gate as he came to a sliding halt. The floor was horrifically slick from squashed slime corpses spilling their innards across the frosty stone. "Through the door, now! Fucking hurry!" From where he stood, the bloodied tank could see the ooze creatures massing at the back of the party. They were flooding forward like a singular, conjoined wave. It was a slow, sticky wave, mind you; but it wasn't something Graves would want to be caught under.

He remained outside the gate, half to keep the monsters back and half to catch anyone that might (understandably) fall thanks the messy ground.

Once the last person was through, Graves slipped in behind them, planting his feet on the stone. "Get this shit shut before they get through!" He barked, his halberd clattering to the floor as he lifted both of his palms up to the gate. Graves pushed with all of his might, forcing the creaking mass to move for likely the first time since it's creation. It took no small amount of effort, but the ooze slipping in between the two great doors was all the motivation the tank needed to continue.

Like a clap of thunder the doors were forced together, and the threshold closed off. A batch of slime attempting to wiggle through was cut in twain by the shutting of the gate, and silence fell over the creeping halls of the crypt once more.

Graves stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall as he slid down onto his rear with a loosed sigh. When he leaned back, the telltale shlick of something cool and sticky drew his eyes to the little beast still clinging unknowingly to his shoulder. "Fuckin' hate these things." He snarled, tearing it off and throwing it away. If it weren't for the stacking cold resistances thrown on him by his supporting allies, that creature might've taken an arm off if the bounty hunter's luck had continued the usual downward trend.

"Anybody dead yet?"

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP [Seeking cannon fodder]

I’ll be putting in my interest as well.

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The procession was guided through the twisting halls of the keep by their astute guides. They were hurried along at a rather quick pace, never allowed to linger to take in the palace's many sights. The only time they ever stopped at all was when the captain moved by the kitchen and pilfered a hot cup of tea for the foreign adventurer- and anyone that wanted one for themselves. While they gathered, the captain and the guests were joined by the royal guard sergeant and the lone necromancer he escorted.

As they continued on their journey deeper into the palace, the procession was offered a glimpse of Dall's boundless coffers. Tapestries of ancient battles woven with colored silk and paintings of long dead monarchs decorated the marble walls. Incriminates of shining gold, splendorous and pure, were carved into the stone in intricate and beautiful designs. Luxury and lavishness defined the Dallish capital. No expense was spared, and the great wealth of it's merchant king was put on full display for all to see.

Passed room after room, hallway after hallway, the group finally came upon their destination. A doorway of heavy oak and iron. Much like the great gate of the keep, yet smaller and- apparent by it's worn handle- well used.

When it creaked open, the party was at once assaulted by a harsh breeze. The wind swept inside the keep like a river of ice, chilling all it encountered to the bone. They were led onto a frost covered portico just outside of the castle, where a great deal of activity could be seen.

Young boys and old men cloaked in heavy furs carried large trunks and bags upon their backs and shoulders, transporting them to and from a great storehouse adjacent to the keep. Several large horses lingered in the snow, packs being strapped down to the sides of their saddles. Each was fitted with a draping coat of padded linen; a means to keep them warm in Dall's unrelenting winter.

Standing on the portico just before the door was a short man wrapped tightly in a lavish-looking coat. His balding head was covered by a floppy cap, and his face protected under layers upon layers of thick white facial hair. The aging man turned when he turned the door opening, his thick spectacles nearly falling off his nose in the process. "Ah, there you are!" He nearly shouted. He started toward them, tucking the scroll of parchment under his arm as he gave a quick wave to the hired treasure hunters. "You have my sincerest apologies for all of this trouble. You have no idea how busy this time of year is for us. And the gods, so cruel! They brought on an early snow!" The odd fellow threw an arm out behind him, gesturing to the field of white that covered practically every inch of the outdoors, and to the flakes that seemed to never stop falling.

"I am Frederick Lethino, the king's royal steward. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." He smiled, nodding to them as he rapidly rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "You should all know why the king has summoned you here- I was quite detailed in my summons, after all. But just in case, I'll give you a brief...refresher." Lethino cleared his throat, his hands coming together in front of his chest as he straightened his back. He'd changed his usual speech a little, hoping to add an extra bit of thematic flair to his delivery.

"By order of King Astius the Second, ruler of Dall, you are hereby granted the title of Royal Artificers. This temporary seal will allow you to pass through the guard station at Contritum, and enter into the sunken city of the ancients." Lethino explained, his voice grave and his delivery far too dramatic.

"As Royal Artificers, your duty is to secure still-operational artifacts. For every treasure you bring back with you, you will be rewarded with Dall silver. It is no exaggeration to say that this mission could make you quite rich. However, be warned: it is not without risk. We all know of the Broken. The monsters that stalk the cities of old- said to devour the very flesh of those still-living captives they take. The lucky ones die quickly. Broken are fierce, unpredictable, and above all: intelligent. I make this clear to you so that you know what you're going up against is not to be taken lightly. Though you are all proven warriors in your own right...It is not uncommon for whole teams of Artificers to never return."

Lethino pulled the parchment out from underneath his arm, unrolling it. "If you're having second thoughts, I won't blame you. But this is the last time you may back down. If you're still willing, each of you will be provided with a small sum for taking the job; the rest will be given when you return with the artifacts. Your deadline is one week. Seven days to get there, collect as much as you can, and then return back here to reap your reward. I'll be sending you with a small escort and a guide to ensure that you get to the city and back safely, but only the guide will be joining you in Contritum; the rest of the escort will wait at the outpost."

The Steward had one of his aides approach each of the Artificers caring a bag of coin. They were not insignificant in size, and just the beginning sum would be worth months of a working man's wages. "I will have each of you who take the sum sign this document with your name. This binds you to complete the kingdom's contract. If you do not return in seven days to fulfill it, you will be a fugitive of the law, and this money will be considered stolen. The penalty for stealing in Dall is enslavement until the debt is paid." Frederick handed the contract and a quill to whomever took their own bag of coin first.

"Those of you who sign may choose a horse from those standing behind me. They're the strongest bred in all of Dall, and are trained not to panic- even in the face of the Broken. They'll serve you better than any horse that isn't from the Plains. You'll all need to hurry. You have perhaps five hours of sunlight left, and the journey to Contritum will take four of those."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The procession was guided through the twisting halls of the keep by their astute guides. They were hurried along at a rather quick pace, never allowed to linger to take in the palace's many sights. The only time they ever stopped at all was when the captain moved by the kitchen and pilfered a hot cup of tea for the foreign adventurer- and anyone that wanted one for themselves. While they gathered, the captain and the guests were joined by the royal guard sergeant and the lone necromancer he escorted.

As they continued on their journey deeper into the palace, the procession was offered a glimpse of Dall's boundless coffers. Tapestries of ancient battles woven with colored silk and paintings of long dead monarchs decorated the marble walls. Incriminates of shining gold, splendorous and pure, were carved into the stone in intricate and beautiful designs. Luxury and lavishness defined the Dallish capital. No expense was spared, and the great wealth of it's merchant king was put on full display for all to see.

Passed room after room, hallway after hallway, the group finally came upon their destination. A doorway of heavy oak and iron. Much like the great gate of the keep, yet smaller and- apparent by it's worn handle- well used.

When it creaked open, the party was at once assaulted by a harsh breeze. The wind swept inside the keep like a river of ice, chilling all it encountered to the bone. They were led onto a frost covered portico just outside of the castle, where a great deal of activity could be seen.

Young boys and old men cloaked in heavy furs carried large trunks and bags upon their backs and shoulders, transporting them to and from a great storehouse adjacent to the keep. Several large horses lingered in the snow, packs being strapped down to the sides of their saddles. Each was fitted with a draping coat of padded linen; a means to keep them warm in Dall's unrelenting winter.

Standing on the portico just before the door was a short man wrapped tightly in a lavish-looking coat. His balding head was covered by a floppy cap, and his face protected under layers upon layers of thick white facial hair. The aging man turned when he turned the door opening, his thick spectacles nearly falling off his nose in the process. "Ah, there you are!" He nearly shouted. He started toward them, tucking the scroll of parchment under his arm as he gave a quick wave to the hired treasure hunters. "You have my sincerest apologies for all of this trouble. You have no idea how busy this time of year is for us. And the gods, so cruel! They brought on an early snow!" The odd fellow threw an arm out behind him, gesturing to the field of white that covered practically every inch of the outdoors, and to the flakes that seemed to never stop falling.

"I am Frederick Lethino, the king's royal steward. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." He smiled, nodding to them as he rapidly rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "You should all know why the king has summoned you here- I was quite detailed in my summons, after all. But just in case, I'll give you a brief...refresher." Lethino cleared his throat, his hands coming together in front of his chest as he straightened his back. He'd changed his usual speech a little, hoping to add an extra bit of thematic flair to his delivery.

"By order of King Astius the Second, ruler of Dall, you are hereby granted the title of Royal Artificers. This temporary seal will allow you to pass through the guard station at Contritum, and enter into the sunken city of the ancients." Lethino explained, his voice grave and his delivery far too dramatic.

"As Royal Artificers, your duty is to secure still-operational artifacts. For every treasure you bring back with you, you will be rewarded with Dall silver. It is no exaggeration to say that this mission could make you quite rich. However, be warned: it is not without risk. We all know of the Broken. The monsters that stalk the cities of old- said to devour the very flesh of those still-living captives they take. The lucky ones die quickly. Broken are fierce, unpredictable, and above all: intelligent. I make this clear to you so that you know what you're going up against is not to be taken lightly. Though you are all proven warriors in your own right...It is not uncommon for whole teams of Artificers to never return."

Lethino pulled the parchment out from underneath his arm, unrolling it. "If you're having second thoughts, I won't blame you. But this is the last time you may back down. If you're still willing, each of you will be provided with a small sum for taking the job; the rest will be given when you return with the artifacts. Your deadline is one week. Seven days to get there, collect as much as you can, and then return back here to reap your reward. I'll be sending you with a small escort and a guide to ensure that you get to the city and back safely, but only the guide will be joining you in Contritum; the rest of the escort will wait at the outpost."

The Steward had one of his aides approach each of the Artificers caring a bag of coin. They were not insignificant in size, and just the beginning sum would be worth months of a working man's wages. "I will have each of you who take the sum sign this document with your name. This binds you to complete the kingdom's contract. If you do not return in seven days to fulfill it, you will be a fugitive of the law, and this money will be considered stolen. The penalty for stealing in Dall is enslavement until the debt is paid." Frederick handed the contract and a quill to whomever took their own bag of coin first.

"Those of you who sign may choose a horse from those standing behind me. They're the strongest bred in all of Dall, and are trained not to panic- even in the face of the Broken. They'll serve you better than any horse that isn't from the Plains. You'll all need to hurry. You have perhaps five hours of sunlight left, and the journey to Contritum will take four of those."

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

LAUNCH

CDR. ROSS
VITAE LOG #5
Morning, 2221
♪♪♪

---

The Nyx was abuzz with activity for the first time since the Vitae had launched. Engineers, scientists, aids and technicians were swarming the Nyx's relatively small bridge. Last minute systems checks were being run thrice over; though the Nyx was in tip-top shape as always, Command felt it necessary- she was carrying some of the most vital members of the Vitae's crew on it's most important mission yet, after all.

While Elijah couldn't exactly blame them for doing their due diligence, he very much wanted them all off of his bridge. It was too cramped to have twenty people all attempting to run analyses on it's every system, sub-system and process. The sensors were a particular source for concern for the dozen odd engineers pouring over it's mechanisms and fail-safes like their lives depended on it. Those sensors were going to give them their first close look at P4A-229. They were the machines that would determine if this planet was truly the home that humanity's last remnant sought; or if it nothing more than a forlorn attempt at ending their isolation among the stars.

He tried to block their voices out, focusing on what lay in front of him. He cast his eyes over the expanse of glass that dominated the front of the cockpit, his gaze tracing over the holographic displays that littered the window. All he saw beyond it were the titanic bay doors of the Vitae; soon, however, he would be met with the endless sea of black that they would sail upon to reach their fated destination. There were smaller consoles attached to his command chair's armrests that lay just above the Nyx's side stick controller and throttle that could be programmed to serve any number of functions. At the moment his engineering officer, Reyes, had the screens connected to Command and Control. They were waiting on the go-ahead from Locke before they could launch.

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the gargantuan gateway opening up in front of them roared out. It was joined by the moaning warning klaxons of the hangar bay, and the rasp of air being drained from the massive room. The Nyx was too large to be stored in the main hangar with all of the smaller escort vessels, so it had it's own dedicated sub-bay. While they took the final steps toward launch, Elijah's attention was drawn away from the hangar and toward Reyes.

"Incoming call from C&C." Reyes informed him.

Ross nodded, looking over toward the hologram projector just as Admiral Locke appeared. The admiral's comically small head hovered over the projector like that of a disembodied ghost. As Elijah had come to expect, the man didn't have a great deal to say; a brief reminder to stay in contact and to keep his men safe. William had never been one for grand speeches and pompous showmanship- Ross was thankful for that. He couldn't imagine how impossibly irritating it would be to be kept in this accursed hangar while the admiral droned on about 'the fate of humanity' and other such nonsense. Locke said what had to be said, and gave them the order to launch.

"Will do, sir. You can count on us." Ross briefly debated whether or not to add in a final, friendly jab, but decided against it; he had to remain professional, even if he was, admittedly, a little giddy. This was their first away mission in the five years since they'd left their home solar system behind.

Elijah wasn't the only one that was excited, either. He could practically feel the electricity in the air as the auxiliary crew finished the final checks behind him. He turned around in his seat, watching as the technicians and engineers hesitated to leave. Their eyes were cast out the bridge's main window.

Ross wasn't having any of that.

"Clear the bridge!" He snapped. "I'm trying to fly four hundred thousand tons of metal here, I don't need you distracting me." Even as the first three words left his mouth, the gaggle of workers had already started to make for the exit in record time. Ross waited until the last of them had thrown the door shut behind him before he turned back around, facing the unimpeded expanse of space for the first time in what felt like forever.

He felt an inkling of that same rush of emotion that had hit him the first time he sat down in the pilot's seat all those decades ago. Ross was overcome with eagerness and nearly crippled with terror in the same instance. Elijah had grown numb to the dark void in time, but the discovery of P4A-229 had caused them all to come rushing back to him again. His tongue lashed against his lips as he reached down and planted his respirator over his aging face. Air rushed into his lungs in the same moment he took hold of the controls, ushering the Nyx forward.

They entered space with the smoothness and ease of a paper boat gliding across the water. Almost as soon as he'd gotten them out of the Vitae, someone else wanted his attention.

"Captain Lopez in the passenger bay is calling up, sir." Reyes informed his commander dutifully. "All systems are green as well. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Thank you, Reyes." Ross flicked on his communicator. There was no holographic display this time; rather, the projector sent up a caller ID on the marine, displaying his name and rank beside a static image of his face. Lopez was eager to know when they'd arrive to P4A-229. Ross couldn't blame him. They all wanted to set their eyes on it as soon as possible.

"I'll have that information for you in a moment, captain." Elijah turned toward his navigation officer, Baines. "Do you have an ETA for us?"

Baines's fingers pranced across her console with practiced precision and grace as she uploaded their destination from the Vitae's navigation system to the Nyx's own. "We'll need to get a safe distance from the ark before we can activate our jump drive. Then we just have to wait for her to charge." Baines's voice was picked up by the commander's comm system, playing for Lopez so that he'd hear the answer as well. "Computer calculates around forty five minutes."

"Hope you brought a deck of cards, captain." Elijah grinned. "This'll take a little while."