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Wings of Steel: Explorers of Thule (Open RP)

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Post by oneforthemoney

It appeared to be a coffin. In that all were agreed, though in little else. Long as a tauren was tall; it was made of a black, nearly glossy material, unmarred as though it had formed naturally of a single bar of onyx. There were thought to be lettering, but whenever one of those surrounding the box endeavoured to shine a lamp upon them they skittered away like spiders.

Muttered conversation reached the very heights of the domed metal chamber before reverberating back down to those who crowded about the lonely table. Peering, studying, but never touching the object of their devotion. All had the appearance of the intellectual, and since all were from different schools of thought they were assured everyone else only had the appearance. People with eyes hidden by glasses, goggles, and magnifiers jostled those at their elbows in order to better peer at the box.

Professor Horace Billius, archmage and headmaster of the Azerothian Arcane Academy, whose robustness afforded him the greatest respect as well as a whole corner to himself, fitted his fingers in the lapels of his coat and nodded affirmatively.

“Hrm. Yes. It’s a box.”

The salient murmur took on a note of agreement. Ah yes! A box! Splendid. The voices then fell silent as though shocked they had been agreed with. It should be noted here that there was a peculiar air in the room. Yes, a most peculiar one. It was the air of many men of many schools and of a surfeit of knowledge who, nevertheless, have no idea what to say.

All peered at the box.

“Yes,” Talltee, a troll whose collar surrounded his head like a bowl spoke next. “A box.”

“Quite the box,” the lecturer or arcane arithmetic expressed, several cords crawling from beneath his robes and rearranging themselves amongst the myriad of holes in the back of his skull, like the heads of a hydra searching a cliff of caves for some elusive snack. “Yes. Most remarkable.”

“Old Deuteron wouldn’t have bequeathed it if it were not,” Sir Scarrow professor of economics put in (though what he was doing there was some mystery, the prevailing theory being he snuck in thinking there would be food).

“Yes,” Horace intoned again while shifting his girth earning him many a nervous look from his neighbours. “A most remarkable box indeed.”

“Oh! Is it a box? Well thank Light we sorted that out. And here I was worried the last five hours had been wasted.” Gollagus of xenoarchaelogy snapped.

“Quiet Neckbeard!” Talltee proclaimed.

“I told you not to call me that!”

“Then stifle your tongue, rock duster.”

“You shut up shelf stocker!”

The babble of voices promptly rose in argument as those who believed they were either a rock duster or shelf stocker promptly railed that they were in fact not. A fist fight was averted by Horace clearing his throat thickly and subjugating all other noise. It also helped that in the event of a fist fight, few wanted to be within swinging distance of the headmaster’s shovel sized hands.

“Harmph! Gentlemen! Please! Are we not men of science and sorcery? Please! Conduct yourself accordingly!” There were some scattered muttering from those of the opinion they had been, an opinion which promptly ceased when arms the size cannons were crossed before a chest the girth of a barrel. “Hrm! That’s better. This cannot be taken lightly,” Horace continued in the belief it was his oratory skills had won the day, he being one of those individuals who had enough power not to be disagreed with, and more importantly had it for so long that he had forgotten it was the reason he went unchallenged. “According to Dr. Deuteron’s notes it came from the hoard of Captain Kurtzen himself. Who knows what that pirate found in those dim fringes of known space?”

“True. True.” Dr. Oxus scratched out of his respirator. The old draenai tapped an empty pipe against his leg. “Krshk…and we do know more. That we cannot krshk…” Adjusting several knobs near his neck he quelled the static. “We cannot penetrate it with even our most acute or obtuse of scans or probes. Its surface is made of an unknown and seemingly impregnable material, and has vexed our most powerful cutting beams and drills.”

“Any word on the sledgehammer?”

“Docter Bluddis hasn’t come back yet,” Horace replied. “But while we wait, I have decided to invite one who might be able to offer a different perspective to our work. The Temple of Life was most accommodating.”

The oxygen level promptly plummeted as everyone inhaled sharply.

“What!” Talltee gasped. “Surely you jest, Doctor. One of those religious fanatics? My good Horace! That’s absurd. No offence meant to Doctor Geist of the Azerothian school of the absurd.”

“None taken,” an impeccably dressed gentleman replied. “Quack,” went the duck on his head, which everyone tried their best to ignore.

“Hr-hrm! Nevertheless,” Horace proclaimed with a hand raised for silence, “I believe firmly that one such as they will be able to afford us ahem, an insight with which we may be lacking. Mmhrmph.”

“But they’re not…” Dr.Oxus peered about and leaned in close. “Quantifiable.” A shudder went through the room, except for the duck and Horace, the latter of whom glared.

“Ah-hr-hrmph! I’m surprised at you Oxus! Surely as men of science and magic we should be open to all new ideas that come our way. At least, until we prove them wrong and ridicule them out of the profession. Like Professor Custo and his unified theory of Cheese Balls.”

“Well…we didn’t technically laugh him out of the profession before he tried to prove it.”

A second and this time completely universal shudder ensued as all recalled the unfortunate fate of their associate.

“They never did find the head,” someone murmured.

Horace cleared his throat loudly to dispel the sudden chill that even he had been afflicted with. “At…Hr-hrm. At any rate, I believe that we should try some unorthodox methods in this experiment. Ah! And here they are now.”

All eyes, be they bespectacled or robotic, turned as the door slid open to admit two figures. The first, a woman dressed in prim attire of skirt and blouse with an expression of studious indifference escorted in the second, who was cowled in heavy tan robes with a hood hung over a meditative expression.

“Ah! Master Rephyx, so good to see you. Thank you Jenny, you may leave us.” Dismissed, the woman turned and departed with the light click of her heels echoing down the hall, silenced as the door slid shut. Master Rephyx strode into the room unhurried, heedless of the mood until it was too late whereupon he paused.

Horace, who did not so much sense the mood as step on it causing the only impact to be one in the ground, at once jovially swept forward, sending several scientists fleeing lest they be bowled over by the great man.

“Hrhrmph! Thank you so much for joining us master Rephyx. We were most anxious for your arrival.”

“Is that s-” Turning his head left to right, the Templar took in the looks levelled against him. They were the sort of looks one generally sees from groups of people wielding torches, pitchforks, and in the mood for a bonfire. He took an involuntary step back. “…You said you had something to show me?”

Enveloping the Templar in a broad arm Horace swung his presence back towards the table sending intellectuals once more scrambling to clear a path. “Hrhrmph! Why yes my good sir! As a matter of fact we’ve been rather stumped you see, and hoped you could do some of your light shows to help in a little something.”

“You mean use the divine power of the holy Light?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

Retort or rejoinder vanished along with the rest of the room as Rephyx beheld the box. Stopping at the table, the Templar stared, his meditative composure fading into disquietude. This change was noted with some interest by the others in the room, even though they were careful not to show they were interested in the slightest.

“Hmm. Yes,” Horace butted. “Given to us by an old colleague who recently passed away, but buggered if we can figure it out. Scanners can’t penetrate it and the fellow we sent to grab a hammer hasn’t come back yet. Hr-hrmm. So, yes, we were rather wondering if you might be able to tell us something.”

Rephyx narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “There…is something. Something inside. I’m not sure what it is but-“ Here, as though compelled through forces not his own, the Templar touched the black surface with a hand.

The very instant the Templar laid a finger upon the box a deep sound like the dying gasp of a titan spilled forth. Scientists at once dove for cover. Someone said “Nice going!” another “Oh Light it’s the cheeseballs all over again!” as a seam no wider than a fingernail became evident running the circumference of the box. Only those of either sounder constitution or unsounder minds than the others – Rephyx and Horace among them – remained standing as the lid rose soundlessly and revealed its precious cargo.

Lying reposed inside was a figure. He had an unmistakeably draenic features, yet of a strangely atavistic turn, almost prototypical nature smoothed as he lay reposed as though merely asleep. Garbed in a glossy green material over which was a set of what could only be armour, but of no design anyone present could place. A sharp intake of breath and step back followed the figure’s eyes snapping open.

“Thule,” he breathed. Then, before the horrified onlookers, the grasp of time at last reasserted itself upon the man, and in an instant reduced him to nothing but dust. All save a sharply pyramidal structure he had been grasping, whose peridot insets on all four sides in reaction to its owner’s death, flashed to life. Someone shrieked as a dome of darkness ballooned outward unresisted, and once it filled the room there was only the silence of awe once more. Inside the shadowed dome was filled with the pinpoints of stars.

“It’s a map,” the lecturer of astral bodies proclaimed, the lights shining in his goggles as he spun in place to try and see them all at once.

“A ley line route,” the lecturer in arcane arithmetic declared, tracing one of several silver veins branching out in the middle of the air. “A new ley line route. And it ends,” his finger came to stop and tremble upon a solitary orb of light, shining like a pearl in this miniature sky. “A new world.”

As though his words had ended the spell the map swirled away. The gems upon the pyramid grew dark, and the room returned to its normal lighting, now seeming so terribly dim.

Coughing heavily, Horace harrumphed and knit his features into one of extreme concentration. “Right! Well then gentlemen! Hrmph! I believe we have all solved one mystery. Good show all around. Aherm, now, recognizing the import of this discovery, I think we may all agree we should be discreet. And this kept to a need to know basis concerning the public. Am I understood?”

All in the room solemnly nodded.

The next morning, Horace turned on his television, and found that everyone in the galaxy apparently needed to know.

Post by oneforthemoney

I welcome you to this revival of On Wings of Steel, the futuristic Warcraft RP. Much of the general information can be found on the prior RP linked, but I have come up with a few alterations which I hope no one will find cause for concern with. The first has to do, naturally, with the creation of this new world, dubbed Thule by the fellow who just died, so I should begin with what that means for the universe itself. A week has passed since the news and the map to the world is freely available for anyone who wanted it.

First of all, here are the politics of the factions in reaction to this discovery:

Global Governments: No government force is moving in on Thule. As soon as the discovery was made, the issue of sovereignty was raised, and an emergency meeting of the various discovered worlds has been called. This takes time, however, and between the meeting arriving and taking place, no one is willing to try and make a grab for it, lest they upset all the others.

Naturally, there are those not belonging to these government bodies who are more than willing to essay into this unknown. They include the dispossessed, would be settlers, pirates, explorers, or adventurers who, thanks to the map before mentioned, have the ability to find their way there. But the road is long and hard to arrive at the planet, let alone do anything there, which will be explained later.

Templars: The Templars, though curious about this world, see no need to send in anything substantial to observe it, and are unwilling to lest they upset the various global governments. Therefore anything they send will be small, not in force.

The Cabal: Dar’kal, leader of the Cabal, understanding the grave situation should one of his competitors gain something as valuable as a planet, has forbidden any of the Cabal’s members from travelling to the world until he has thoroughly considered the matter. However, his resources have their limits, and this merely means those who venture forth need be more elusive or daring.

Additional Points:

Arcane Engine: As travel to this new world will be a major plot point, I decided it might be a good idea to outline the interplanetary system that most ships would be using. This is primarily based on the assumption of the direction which technology took on Azeroth, as well as the idea of how ley lines work.

First of all, interplanetary travel can only be accomplished with any degree of speed thanks to something called an Arcane Engine. An arcane engine is essentially a massive store of magic, filled by a mage or from certain fueling depots designed to ‘catch’ arcane power. They are then placed within the ship, and the ship uses this to travel along ley lines.

Ley lines, in this setting at least, are basically massive veins of arcane power crisscrossing the entire galaxy. There are large ones and small ones, and depending on how large one is that intersects a planet determines how much arcane power is available on that world.

What an arcane engine does is basically pull the ship into these ley lines, and allowing it to travel along it far faster than the speed of light, and later be spit out at a different point in space. However, in order to keep a ship inside a ley line, it takes up the power of the arcane engine, and if the arcane engine runs out of power, they are immediately pulled out of the ley line and left floating in space.

Travelling through a ley line is not without risk. When doing so, one is practically blind to the outside world, and due to the way ley lines branch off one another like a massive web, unless someone actually knows the point of departure and the turns of the ley line they may miss their stop and be spat out into unknown space. At that point they would have to re-enter the ley line and try to find their route once again. Of course, if the arcane engine is too low, they will be stranded.

This is where the pilot comes in. A pilot’s job is essentially to navigate the ley lines, taking the proper turns and knowing where to exit and when. A navigational computer can show a person the route which they are taking, but the pilot needs to steer the ship through it without taking a wrong turn and thus running down their engine. The more complex or unknown the route, the more skilled a pilot must be in order to navigate it safely.

Communication: There are two ways of communicating between worlds. The first is through a transceiver, a large construction which is basically half in and half out of a ley line and which sends information down it using their receivers. It takes massive infrastructure to maintain these, so they are generally relegated to major planets only.

The other way is a ‘Messenger bottle’. They are essentially small probes that one records a message in, then shoots it through the ley lines to the intended planet. When it arrives, it communicated the message to the planet. Obviously, this method of communication is not hugely reliable.

I have also expanded a little on the original planets themselves:

Planet(oid)s:

Elune: One of Azeroth’s two moons, neither of which were damaged by the old god’s corruption. Elune itself has always played a major role in Night Elven mythology and that has not changed. Immediately claiming sovereignty and threatening war on any who disputed it, the Night Elves have turned the moon into a massive temple to the goddess. The moon, whose atmosphere was found to be breathable, plays host to massive gardens, vistas and temples to the goddess, along with the training ground for the Kaldorei’s soldiery better known as the Maidens of the Moon. They protect this planetoid with fanatical devotion, and any ship not cleared is immediately shot down if drawing too close.

Xoroth: Water being a valuable commodity on Xoroth, population centers immediately sprang up about these life giving wells. From such metropolis do most of the citizenry of the planet dwell, and react with extreme hostility to the presence of the Templars. Due to playing host to the Cabal’s temple, the planet has endured several wars when the Templar arrive to crush their ancient enemy, earning the wielder’s of the Light little favour from the populace which must pick up the pieces afterwards. This in turn has enabled certain members of the Cabal to become high ranking citizens, albeit covertly though only just, a post somewhere between warlord and governor as their city states are often in conflict. Such a politics make finding the Cabal in Xoroth highly difficult, apprehending them on the planet itself nearly suicidal. However, this means that most members of the Cabal cannot spread their power easily outside of the planet, though many try and some even succeed, though ever in secret and beneath the nose of the vigilant Templar.

Draenor: Draenor, that massive hodgepodge of floating cities and nations, has an unusual sort of aristocracy. Technically they are all elected officials of Shattrath. Truth being commonly quite different from intention is that most are the Smuggler Barons who have managed to entrench a lineage in the planet and claim pieces of the shattered world. Though most have since become legitimate, harbouring other Barons or even having one child pursue the role of governance and another of smuggling empire is commonplace, with some even making it the point of a tradition.

Due to the destruction of the planet, Draenor is split into many different islands, better known as Shards or Provinces. Their elevation varies greatly, and it is not uncommon to see the larger ones sporting interstellar hangers, though smaller ones need to make do with mere shuttles. It has been discovered that a magnetic sphere surrounds these shards, enabling an atmosphere along with gravity. However, many need to have atmospheric factories present in order to maintain them if their shard is not large enough to suffice independently.

Post by oneforthemoney

Now that is out of the way, I will describe Thule itself.

Thule: The recently discovered planet. It has so far only been observed through means of several expeditionary probes, which have reported back general information and topographical facts. Surface temperatures are mild and resplendently lush with heavy forests. The atmosphere is breathable to most sentient races. It has a single ocean which runs like a massive trench in a circuit about the equator.

Outside of the planet has been observed a single ring of debris like Jupiter’s, mirroring the placement of the ocean about the equator. Aside from that, it has two moons, one large and one small. The former is made mostly of ice and orbits in a retrograde pattern, while the latter appears to be made of stone along with several lakes composed of heavy, viscous liquids of materials similar to oil and commonly experiences methane rain falls. Neither have breathable atmospheres or habitable without extensive construction.

That was all the information the initial probes managed. But for we RPer’s, here is additional information.

Topography: The planet is dotted by several large ruins. Made of thick, blocky structures of the same seamless black material as the coffin from the intro, they rise out of pits in the earth and are formed of interlocking bridges and lattices like a massive puzzle. There is no evidence these additional links seem to have acted as roads however, but more supports for their sister buildings. The black stone is the predominant material in all construction. Everything else either never existed in use for the city, or has been effaced by time. The greatest of these cities are in the poles, and from them and running the length of the whole planet are six massive structures like aqueducts, which mountains appear to buttress as they connect the two poles and water flows over them from massive lakes at the poles. From these are many other similar structures in various states of disrepair which once connected all of the smaller, subsidiary cities to the main aqueducts in a massive grid format. Nearly all the cities are in some state of being nearly buried, already underground, or completely collapsed.

The surface crust of the planet has the trappings of boreal forests and mountains filled with springs, rivers and the like most akin to say Hillsbrad. It is not uncommon to find some areas of arid desert or flatlands where the canals appear to no longer run. Following most of the planet’s rivers will generally lead to a ruined canal or a spout whose purpose appeared to be distributing the cast off. The planet as a whole almost looks to have been once cultivated.

Species: There are several species common over the surface of the planet.

Wanderers (Friars): A large creature slightly taller than a tauren. They are bipedal and hunched forward covering their heads and vulnerable bodies. Over their backs and sides is a large set of interlocking brown plates forming a shell like an insect’s carapace. Beneath their shell are three eyes and two arms ending in long scythe-like blades which they use to cut the grass they eat. They move ponderously and are never seen in large numbers with herds consisting of a dozen or less. Fairly docile, they will only attack if one tries to either look under their shell or trap them, and prefer to merely move around obstacles. Living off of grass, they can subsist on a very small diet, and are the only creatures that appear to make a regular journey across the more arid areas. They are nicknamed so because of the resemblance of their shells to a friar’s habits.

Lercux: The apparent predators of the planet, unlike the wanderers they are very widespread and territorial. All six limbs are long and end in a trio of digging claws which they can alternately use to dig, run with, or rip into prey. They have two mouths in a short squat head over a pair of narrow red eyes set in a long trunk from which their six limbs and a small, stubbed tail protrude from. Several spines course down their backs which can be laid flat while digging and stand upright, as they apparently use them to sense vibrations in the earth and air. Fiercely territorial, they have sharp eyesight and tend to hunt during the night, lurking amongst rocks and carving out caves. However, they are very susceptible to psychic emanations. They are slightly smaller than an average human and very agile.

Passerdins: A small avian creature, they have membranous wings and a long tail ending in several small, sharp nailed fingers which they use to cling to trees and hang from branches during the night. Lightly furred, they have sharp beaks they use to find insects in the trees and ground. A favourite of the Lercux for food.

Phantands: Large as a deer with cloven hooves and narrow muzzled head, this animal has red scales and a curious internal body temperature, able to raise it and lower it depending on its mood. When agitated or startled it can heat its scales to a high temperature, creating an almost shimmering mirage about itself that can help it escape. However, this sudden change in body temperature is very tiring, and can only be used temporarily, the animal usually taking advantage of the situation to flee. A herd animal, they are usually found in groups.

Kayphalos: A degenerate, obstinate species which inhabits the ocean ring. Numerous and violent, they have the capabilities of using simple tools and organization but little else. Bipedal with a hunched gait like a Neanderthal, they are anthropoid with hunched long spines, round bulbous eyes ill accustomed to the bright sun, and low slung jaws filled with many sharp teeth. Webbed of feet and hands, they make frequent forays out of the waters and attack anything they can, whether they are hungry or no. They appear to have a tribal system which is the best they can organize themselves, and are almost suicidal in their fearlessness or stupidity.

Shimmers: No one is actually sure whether these are animals or merely hallucinations. They tend to appear during the night as vague ethereal outlines of anthropoid natures, moving about and vanishing in the shade. In order to be seen the sky needs to be filled with polar lights. They tend to be most often seen in or near the ruins, and their presence usually denotes some form of the structures as nearby.

If anyone has additional questions, ideas or otherwise feel free to message me and ask, or pose them in the open Q&A. And of course, one does not have to explore Thule. That's merely a jumping off point for the revival for those who want it. There's a great many planets already written up by Hyper so feel free to explore them and create plots and characters branching off from there.

Post by oneforthemoney

Character: Lady Amora
Location: Draenor, Aellis Shard

Eyes like two pieces of coal glared from their perch in the tower at the people who filled the square before the governor’s palace. How did they always seem to know? He grimaced. They had been arriving for hours, swarming the ground like addicts expecting a fix. A sea of faces upturned in rapt adoration. The eyes looked skyward as the crowd swelled and roared with exultation, spotting a small transport visible against the myriad coloured sky of Outland. Like a red bird of steel the ship dipped towards the landing pad projecting from the palace. The mob was so close to the pad many risked incineration from the backwash of the engines as the ship delicately perched itself upon the dais. They cared not. Such was the passion of the fanatic.

The figure in the window clenched the sill. He peered as guards in faceless masks and scarlet livery positioned themselves as honour guard along the red carpet connecting pad from palace. One, and they would invariably need to be a stranger to this region of Draenor, might ask who was it who drew this multitude from their homes en masse?

The reply would be as instantaneous as it would be full of rapt adoration. Tall and statuesque with hair long and red like a flashing flame. Impossibly beautiful, ravishingly alluring, skin as pale and untouchable as moonlight, with eyes so sharp they cut to the soul. Regal in bearing, she carried herself a queen with a smile that rivalled the sun in its beauty. Her eyebrows were long and sharp. Her figure, moving with grace and uniformity unmatched beneath the form fitting armour made of a thousand linked plates of steel, red as blood and seamed with fabric black as shadow. Attire that left little to the imagination, were it not for an ermine cape draped over her and covering much of her form, open at the front and rustling in the breeze of the ship’s dying engines. Diamonds sparkled from her fingers like stars. The tip of a sheathed sword every now and then could be discerned from beneath her cape. Those who described her so were far beyond rational description when they came to whisper her name, as if savoring every word they spoke.

Amora.

How many, the figure at the window wondered, would cry so happily if they knew their idol was a member of the cabal?

If one were to look from above, they would notice a curious phenomenon. With the woman’s appearance, the whole crowd seemed to bend towards her, as though she attracted them magnetically. Every gesture, be it wave or thrown kiss would send those in a direct path into ecstasies, while those at the periphery seemed no more affected than before. Those closest to the pad, whose view of their idol was blocked, seemed thrown into even greater passions at their proximity.

Taking a moment, Amora paused on the carpet, basking as the people roared themselves hoarse in their praises. She raised a palm. So simple a gesture and all were silent.

“People of Aeilis,” she cried, her voice an intoxicating melody. “I thank you. Ah!” she cried, pressing her gauntlets to her breast. “How I love you all for coming here to see my return. And you!” she trilled, throwing her arms out to them. “Do you not love me for returning?”

There was no individual voice, merely a sudden roar of ardent approval from the multitude.

“Would you praise me?”

Amora was the crowd’s cry.

“Would you fight for me?”

Amora!

“Would you die for me?”

Amora smiled darkly as her name thundered back in a maddened shout. “Of course you would.” Such faith in them whipped the crowd into frenzy. Some poor souls driven nearly mad with desire tried to scale the smooth brick work. One came close. He was shot promptly by a black visored guard, body tumbling unheeded into the press below. It was never a proper return for Amoras unless a few people died.

“But now!” Throwing her arms wide, baring her figure to the crowd as her mantle flew about her like the wings of some divine bird. “But now! I must go. For doubtless your governor has missed my presence as well. I go to him now! Please! Return to your homes! Your husbands. Your wives. And know that, forever, you are in my heart.” She pressed her gloves to her chest once more. “Just as I, too, know I am in yours.”

Casting a last hypnotizing smile to the crowd she swept down the carpet and into the palace. Once the door was closed, the watcher at the window vanished back amongst the shadows, eyes seething with dark emotion.

The praises of the throng followed her for some time, even through the bald and heavy stones of the palace. The hall hung with tapestries (her idea) rang from her heels on the floor, filling the void within with their rhythmic tapping. All work stopped wherever she passed by, eyes straining to follow the vision in their midst. Every now and then she would bestow a smile upon a servant, who would gasp at the sight and quiver until long after she was gone.

At last she arrived before the grand doors which opened noiselessly to receive her. Striding unhesitant into the vast throne room, she swept up the white stone stairs of the dais and to the throne proper. Tall and peaked in a triangle, the arms resembled the two heads of dragons made of white stone. On the back of the necks rested a key pad and control panel from which one might control certain parts of the palace and communicate. It was the core of the palace. Sumptuous and grand, it was the sort of seat from which generations were meant to rule from.

A young woman had been anxiously pacing before the throne. Jumping she turned eyes like a frightened doe’s to Amora’s entrance. The girl stood, rooted to the floor as the bewitching woman approached, a tantalizing smile upon the red woman’s lips. Blood rushed to the girl’s cheeks.

“Ah! Seras,” Amora cried happily as she swiftly crossed the floor. Statuesque before, she seemed to tower over the girl now as her presence filled the room. The metal of the gauntlets were cold against the maid’s burning cheeks as Amora grasped Seras and tilted the girl’s head back, forcing a meeting of their unequal gaze. “I’m so glad I caught you.”

“M-my lady, I-“

Amora shushed her with a smile. Her breath ghosted against the girl’s face as she spoke. “No need for that. I was merely hoping to learn of the governor’s condition. And who better to ask than his dear nurse? So please,” she breathed, “how is the dear?”

Seras shuddered though she didn’t know at what. “Th-the governor’s not doing too…too well,” the nurse gasped, her eyes riveted and wide as they stared into the unfathomable orbs of the older woman. “He…he would like to see you…if…if that’s well with you…I mean…”

Amora smiled indulgently. “I’m sure he would, my dear girl. The poor dear.” With a final affectionate pat of the cheek, she released her young thrall. Seras gasped as Amoras turned away and approached the throne, the young girl nearly falling to her knees so great did her legs quake. Seras pressed her hand to her burning cheeks, as though to compare her touch to that of the woman before.

Mounting the steps, Amora turned to recline upon the throne. “Tell the poor dear I’ll be to see him when I can,” she instructed, her words snapping Seras to her feet.

The maid curtsied deeply. “O-of course, my lady.” Seras turned and fled down the steps.

Pressing her chin into a palm, Amora tapped a button on the arm of the throne. With a crackle the eyes of the dragons flashed. In the center of the room an orb was carved into existence, a crude rendering of a planet. Amora pressed a finger to her chin. “Oh,” she added in a distracted tone, “and be so good as to summon the twins.”

The departing footsteps stumbled at that, but quickly recovered with several muted but affirmative words.

Amoras ignored both them and the boom of the closing doors. She tapped a perfect nail against the arm of the chair, her lip curling in a lazy smile.

“Thule, hmm?”

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

She had been waiting at the cab station for some hours. Every arrival as they stepped out of their cabs immediately fell under her eye, prompting them to hurry away, though none the one she waited for. Her topknot whipped like a pennon in the afterburn as the cabs departed once more. All who arrived were at once wary of her, as were those who worked the station though none summoned the courage to ask the orc’s business. No one dared speak to a bounty hunter.

Her attire attested the vocation, her stance dissuading approach. She had the look of the savage, but the modern was inextricably wound about her as well. Heavy armour parted at the joints to offer freer mobility was painted a variety of barbarous designs and etchings. A jet pack peaked over her shoulders carrying she alone knew what other hidden functions, and a pair of blasters holding to the hips though she could only wield one at a time. Her entire left side seemed to have suffered some horrific injury in the past, an explosion were one to draw the obvious conclusion from the burn scars which had ravaged that side of her green skin, their depth explaining the red lens of an augmented eye and why the arm on that same side was clearly mechanical, ending in a three fingered claw.

Mishka was tense with unease though all that betrayed it was the slight clench of her tusked jaw and the way one hand rested on the butt of her pistol. She did not like the upper lands of Azeroth, where the sun reached in its golden rays to set alight sparkling silver towers and domes which shone like a soldier’s shield. She was more accustomed to the lower levels, where her quarry typically endeavoured to shelter in, rarely with success. Where the only light one might find came from the glow of neon billboards and the occasional undamaged street lamp. A place where she might find bars whose furniture was made to withstand blaster bolts, and the eyes of the occupants on beholding her always betrayed the question has she come for me today?

Thinking on it, she felt her lip curl when comparing it to the memory of the restaurant she had met her fellow in yesterday. Cutlery looking to be more expensive than some homes and which were doubtless counted when she left, and diners who paused on her entering and behind her back whispered questions to one another at her presence.

Something flashed a green light on her. The blaster pistol was half drawn before she recognized the metal orb floating before her face. Finishing it’s scan, the remote droid pinged excitedly thrice before drifting away, leading her eyes to two more which orbited like moons about a frock of brown hair she well recognized.

Taxi pulling away, it left behind Jack Pytheas Carter whose bright, open face filled with naivety and optimism was turned towards Mishka. Dressed in bright colours with a more conservatively brown weather proofed coat that had yet to bear any weather thrown over his shoulders, he smiled and trotted towards the orc.

“Ah! Mishka, there you are,” Jack, though he went by his middle name, Pytheas, called. “Been waiting long?”

“No,” she lied while starting away and into the terminal, gratified when the boy fell into step at her side. She knew he would shortly begin chattering away, things without consequence or particular meaning to her. She didn’t mind. It helped orient on him.

Mishka was adept at reading others. At breaking them too, both often being synonymous for her, and in her time with the young human she had come to realize he had barely any presence at all. He had an almost supernatural ability to fade into the background, become a non-entity. More than a few times she had forgotten he was even at her side and had been rather embarrassed when she recalled. She felt sure he was aware of this tendency, resulting in his garrulous personality and tendency to dress noticeably. Not that it did him very much good.

“Oh good!” he piped as they entered the terminal proper. “I was almost afraid you’d skip out. Cartography isn’t exactly the most interesting profession, but how often do you have a whole new world to discover!”

“Not often,” she replied, casting her eyes about the multi-tiered chamber filled with arrival boards and people of all races. Unease was an uncommon feeling for the orc, the intangible sensation of threat pervasive and causing her to react to the unseen menace with a grim scrutiny of all who caught her eye, augmented or otherwise.

Placing a hand on Pytheas’ shoulder so she wouldn’t lose him, she guided him across the sparkling floors and parting crowds to the outgoing portals, and only relaxing marginally when they had passed through the shimmering blue field and found themselves on Azeroth’s orbiting dock.

Through great glass windows the shining surface of Azeroth could be seen over the heads of the thousands of travellers milling about. Due Azeroth’s nature, most landing strips on the surface could hold only a finite amount of weight lest they collapse into the levels below, meaning the far heavier craft such as battleships or ore transports needed the station, which resulted in an ad hoc third moon of Azeroth. It was practically a miniature city here, filled with cafes, shops, and even a few hotels squeezed in the center of the station and between the docking bays. Everything was a worn brown and metal colour, settling some of Mishka’s unease now that she was gone from the silver city below.

The hubbub of voices cut above the drone of plasma shields glowing blue near empty docks, and she at once turned Pytheas down a set of metal stairs that clanged with each step, tuning herself back into her companion’s voice.

“So of course the cargo is ready to load and the ship being fueled but a ah…complication cropped up. Yeah. Seems the pilot – did you know he had a gambling problem – anyway, seems he’s ah, indisposed. So it looks like he won’t, actually, be coming along.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He came down with a sudden case of, well, dead.”

“Oh.”

“Did you know anybody who might be able to fill that spot?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Pytheas grimaced. “Pity. Suppose we’ll need to find a pilot then.”

Mishka grunted and, guessing his next request, turned the boy towards one of the many bars which lined this level of the station.

Post by Atik

Perk
Azeroth, Departure Zone

The Kig'Yar were an avian race. Light-boned and generally lacking in muscle mass, they were agile and nimble, the only thing preventing them from flying was most likely just their lack of wings. Their natural qualities, combined with hailing from a planet dominated by vast oceans, had created a splintered, nomadic civilization.

A civilization who, upon meeting with the rest of the galaxy, found their lifestyle quickly found synonymous with pirates. Not all Kig'Yar were pirates, many adjusted and adopted the rest of the universe as their new home, and others had avoided civilization; becoming adventurers at worst.

But others, such as the one who currently sat in the bar-watching those outside scramble about-had embraced the label of pirate. Smoke hung heavy around the alien, a red ambient light filling the room, only offset by the bright glow of several TVs behind the counter.

Perk's long, toothy maw pointed upwards, bright orange eyes never leaving their targets outside the windows. Removing a long cigar from his mouth, he exhaled; making his own contribution to the persistent fog drifting through the bar.

What may have labeled him as a pirate wasn't necessarily his attire, but rather his lack of it. From the neck down, the bird-man hid himself beneath a dark brown cloth, wrapped into a collar around his neck and falling completely over his left side, his right shoulder poking up on the other.

Large purple spikes jutted up from said shoulder; transparent and glistening with every movement he made. The tip of each spike became a solid black handle quite suddenly; revealing each spike as the small blades they were.

Post by 470415

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Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

With a hiss of hydraulics the door to the bar slid open admitting the orc and her charge. Mishka slowly rolled her neck, the deep bass pounding into her blood like jungle drums. Lights flashed against her bionic as she turned her head about. Her grip on Pytheas's shoulder tightened sharply when she felt the youth try and move towards the crowd. If she let him run free in this crowd, she'd never find him.

"You check the slates for a pilot," she instructed, moving a head towards a row of screens with names and faces skimming down. "I'll ask the bartender." Grip abruptly tightening she glared into his eyes to impress the weight of her next instructions. "Stay. There."

Throwing a mock salute Pytheas nodded. "Yes ma'am! Roger wilko. Transmission received."

Rolling her one good eye she released the human who practically evaporated into the room immediately. The bounty hunter struck out towards the bar. Blue light shimmered from behind bottles lined up upon the curving wall, dimly illuminating the figure preparing drinks behind a tall metal counter. Slipping into a stool, Mishka's prehensile metal arm snaked up and tapped her metal claws upon the bar to grab its tenders attention.

"I need a pilot."

Pytheas ghosted across the floor, his three remote droids ducking and weaving about arms and heads that failed to notice them or their owner, so entrapped within the ecstasies of the music. At last, breaking free of the dance floor he came upon the projecting systems.

Bars were all but required to have such units somewhere in their depths. Port stations such as these were notorious for ship jumpers or working shipmen out of a job. Unsurprisingly, many captains too therefore needed to reinforce their numbers after arriving. The crew slates were the result, providing a convenient registry for those on the station looking for work highlighting their skills, names, and prior work history as told by them. A captain could easily restock their crew from one of these, just as a crew member dissatisfied with their previous employer might advertise themselves. All one needed to is make a selection, and send a message to the crewman requesting a meeting to discuss the possibility of they being hired.

The unit Pytheas stood before was an older model. Unsurprising considering the bar. Black screens angled towards him with glowing green letters tracing down alongside pictures, Pytheas flicked his finger on a touch screen greased by a hundred other people and began scanning the documents for potential pilots.

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Post by Atik

Perk
Azeroth, Departure Zone

A pirate was little without a ship, and so was Perk's fate.

Left to rot on a planet ruled by law and governments, and more immediately, left as easy pray for bounty hunters. One such professional had caught the Kig'Yar's eye; now seated at the bar. He planted his cigar into the table; snuffing it with a light sizzle.

For a moment he waited, ready for anything. But soon enough, it became apparent the hunter was not aware of his presence.

Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

Flicking a finger, Jack flipped through the names, words and pictures illuminated in his darting eyes. As was his want, he spoke throughout.

"Pilots...pilots...Ah, here. Nope. Nope. Oh! I-oh, wait, wait. Why's he here? He's dead. Nope. Nadda. Nein. Nyet. Crushten. Ecling. No. Nice hat, but no. Not actually on the station. Nicer hat but still no. Actually an engineer. Wait, I could use an engineer if, dammit! Snatched up. Actually a rabbit. I saw him before, but without the eyepatch. Hatless. Can't live unless in water. Crossed out. No experience. I think I know him. He's terrible. Maybe, but pretty sure he's wanted for regicide. She's already hired. Subsists on brains..."

As he scanned the screen his other hand was busy jotting down names for possible consideration.

Then, an idea occurred. A terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless, and impulse control was never one of Jack's strong points. He grinned. "Damn! Why didn't I think of that earlier?" He swiped a hand across the screen and cleared it, bringing up a solitary letter. Cracking his knuckles, he grabbed a data pen and scrawled quickly across the board.

Looking for pilot and assorted crewmembers for exploration journey to Thule. Experience in field required, ability to breathe Oxygen required. Must not have issues with Templars and be willing to work for payment on return. Timetable not yet determined. Looking for skilled and serious applicants only. Please send reply to: transitoryImages, currently in Azshara's Afterlife.

:D

Jack removed his pen and grinned back at the smiling face. "Perfect!" Hitting send, the message was promptly thrown up on the Slates, where it would notify anyone who had put in Thule as a possible destination.

Turning, the bartender, a large dusky skinned specimen of man with thick braided hair and arms took one look at the orc and scowled. "I'm sure." He planted massive hands onto the bar. "Listen, I don't want anyone shooting up my place. You take your hunting outside. This is a classy joint."

Casting a look about, Mishka found that assessment highly suspect but let it pass. "I'm not bounty hunting anymore," she informed the man. "Just looking for a pilot. Large carrier. Low weapon grade."

The ogre thumbed towards the monitors Jack was busy on. "Slates are over there."

Whirring softly, the bionic eye centered on the bartender along with a tusked scowl. "I'm-" Mishak paused. She just had a feeling. A feeling something very, very stupid had been done while her back was turned. On cue, her dataslate buzzed. Whipping it out, she stared at the smiley faced message thrown up on the Slates.

"Carter!" she hissed, whirling away form the bar and storming towards the Slate monitors.

Post by 470415

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Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

"Haaaaah!" Pytheas slowly let his mouth split into a massive grin. "Yes! It worked! This calls for the crab dance wait!" He threw his arms out to forestall, turning his head away regretfully. "No. No. The crab dance is for the most special of occasions. This calls for a dance of smaller crustacean species. Like a lobster. Yes. Yeah, the lobster dance. Now I just need some spoons..."

Before the mentioned dance could be enacted someone grabbed his collar and hoisted him up.

"Oh hey Mishka! Guess what! Guess? Got a reply for-"

"Stop it," Mishka ordered and shoved the dataslate out of her face. "Erase it."

Pytheas's face suddenly fell. "But...but we already got a reply. Someone did. I have it here. Wanna see? Really curt. Bet you'd like him."

"Erase it."

"What? What? Why?" Jack whined plaintively.

"This is a terrible way to recruit people."

"We should at least meet him. He's over there. See? I can. Right over nnnn...there."

"What?" Mechanical eye whirring, the former bounty hunter turned and zoomed in on the man indicated. She glanced over him, noting he looked to be on the verge of starvation. "That. People like that is the reason why."

"It would be rude not to now, though."

Mishka bit the corner of her lip. That was a concern, admittedly. Scuttlebutt was notoriously quick at getting around. She herself had often used it when tracking targets. Were they to blow off the man, he might make things difficult for them in their ensuing efforts at recruiting.

A low growl crawled from her throat. "Fine," she hissed.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaay," Pytheas cheered in a hushed tone as the bounty hunter led the way to the table, remote droids orbiting about him as always.

Leading the way, Mishka slipped into the booth opposite the man. Her face was blank, vaguely threatening with it's one red lens glinting in the bar's light. Arms folded on the table, mechanical on the bottom where it pooled like the tail of a snake, the metal claws at rest. Her eye whirred, settling on the man.

"You are Ten?" she asked as Pytheas flounced into the seat beside her grinning brilliantly at the other man.

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Post by morginar

Characters: Mael'awyn Ithaladar
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

Mael'awyn sat in the Azshara Afterlife somewhat peacefully the brunette blood elf drank her drink untill her dataslate sent out a vibration and the elf lazily read the incoming message.

Mael then began to type a reply.
Front bar, second to the right. A blood elf in red with a hat is intrested

-Mael

True to her word the sin'dorei was dressed in a lot of red. Red gloves, red cloak, red hat and red tunic. Thankfully her belt and boots was of a dark leather brown and pants was a snowy white for some variety in colors.

Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

Mishka extended her normal hand to receive it.

Pytheas paused . Pulling forth his dataslate his eyebrows shot towards his hairline as a smile stretched his face.

Post by 470415

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Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

Mishka glanced away from the pad. "You are willing to leave your ship behind?"

Pytheas, meanwhile, had begun very slowly sidling out of the booth as though he were on rails. He quickly thumbed a reply.

Be right there ;)

-transitoryImages

Post by 470415

This post was from a user who has deleted their account.

Post by oneforthemoney

Characters: Mishka, J. Pytheas Carter
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

"It's exploratory," Mishka warned tonelessly. "It may take some time."

She did not even feel Pytheas leave.

Post by morginar

Characters: Mael'awyn Ithaladar
Location: Azeroth, Departure Zone

Looking back at the dataslate she quickly began to reply as she drank a rainbow colored drink.
Allrighty, I'll wait

-Mael

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