[right][b]DEMONS BONEYARD // THIRD MOONRISE OF SECOND SEASON[/b] [sub]All language within - [b]{ }[/b] - is translated to 'English' from Native.[/sub][/right] Cries Relentlessly closed his eyes, he allowed the weightlessness to hold him. He wore a modified version of the combat harness that the warriors wore. This one had propulsion nodes sticking out of his back, magnetic locking boots and gloves and the helmet encased his head, giving him a steady supply of air for about eight hours. Unless he carried a reserve supply or was topped off. While dismantling a demon temple on the second moon, he had fallen and broken his leg. It had never healed properly, and as such it caused him constant pain and discomfort. Except when he was enjoying the weightlessness of the void. This was why he accepted this post. The lack of gravity agreed with him. He shone his small beacon down through another open panel, his jaws twisting in frustration at the burn marks on the wall. The warriors who had taken this ship had been overzealous, to say the least. They had damaged many of the useful circuits and pathways that they required to fit their ships with communication and sensor equipment. The information left behind by the Gods, and translated by Miriam was vast and taught them much. They could grow ships and weapons. However, some systems still had a hard time understanding enough to replicate them by themselves. That is why they gathered all the unholy relics and deposited them here, deep in space and far away from the planet. This was where the Tainted spent their days trawling through the burnt hulks of demon warships, passing racks of both large and small munitions. Despite his training, many of these relics held little significance for him. He turned and shone a light passed the large, open, door behind him. In the centre of this 'safe-room' sat a large pile of what the ship's computer and historical documents had called 'currency' or 'money'. The demons didn't barter for goods, instead, they arbitrarily assigned value to little 'credit chips', which they then exchanged for goods and services. It sounded truly barbaric. Shaking his head, he pushed himself away from the wall. Closing his eyes as he drifted through the hallways of the ship. This must be how the spirits felt on their way through the void. He never got tired of this feeling, many Tainted came and spent their time here before moving on. Not him. Since he had come here twelve years ago this had been his home. No one else knew these demon relics better than he did. [color=f49ac2]{Breaker!} [/color] He opened his eyes at the call. [i]Breaker[/i] was the name that many here had taken to calling him. A sign of respect, bestowed upon him by the Shipmistress who protected these grounds from those who would hamper their work, as well as managing any combat drills that utilised the alien husks. Before him, in a plain white suit was a younger brother. [color=f7976a]{What is it, Enthusiastically Incorrect?}[/color] [color=f49ac2]{I was told to find you straight away, we were searching in the weapons array as you instructed, and we found something}[/color] The youngster didn't wait for a response and turned and fired his jets back the way he came. Cries Relentlessly sighed and fired his own. The young very often had no patience. He had seen many come through the boneyard, and they were always eager to prove themselves. There were no shortcuts to be taken here, the demons technology was tricky and often had traps built into them. The younger brother stopped before a doorway, that looked thicker than the one that held the demons currency. It was interlaced with various hatches and locks, and a large yellow circle sat in the middle of the round door. Three black blades emanated from a central black circle. The demon sign for radiation. This wasn't the reactor, Cries Relentlessly had been the one to dismantle it personally. No, this was something else. He tried to go over the floorplan of the ship in his mind, based on everything else he had ever come across. Enthusiastically Incorrect extended a palm towards the door controls. [color=f7976a]{Wait!}[/color] The younger turned to face him, flexing his jaws in contemplation, his hand hovered mere centimetres from the control panel. [color=f49ac2]{Why, what is this place?}[/color] Cries Relentlessly sighed, and with some degree of confidence looked the younger creature straight in the eyes. [color=f7976a]{The weapons battery.}[/color] [hr] [right][b]CRASH SITE ALPHA // PLASMA GORGE // DAY 302[/b][/right] The whole place stank of piss and shit. Anders crawled underneath a half-open door. A ticket on the door said that it had broken four hundred days ago. It was on his to-do list, he grunted as he reached back and pulled his toolbag underneath the door before bringing himself back to his feet. There were more important things to worry about in the meantime, such as contact day. To achieve contact day, he had to go outside and fix the antenna. He only had three days. Dragging his tools along the corridor, others grunted and nodded in greeting as he walked passed towards the end of the hallway. He felt a tug at his waist, groaning and rolling his eyes slightly he turned to see Jason. [color=f6989d]"Where you goin' boss?"[/color] Anders voice was hoarse and cracked. He pulled a cigarette out from his top pocket and put it in his mouth, the end was worn and the colour faded from the amount of times he had it in his mouth. He didn't go for his lighter, instead he just held it in his mouth. Unwillingly to lose one of his precious few last cigarettes. [color=82ca9d]"Outside."[/color] Jason nodded his head and went to grab the toolbag. Ready to fill in his usual role as apprentice. Anders just raised the bag higher out of his reach. [color=82ca9d]"No. You stay inside, I'll go."[/color] The young boy furrowed his brow. [color=f6989d]"Why?"[/color] [color=82ca9d]"Because I said."[/color] [color=f6989d]"Contact day is important."[/color] [color=82ca9d]"It is, but you're not ready-"[/color] Anders pointed towards the door that he had just had to crawl under. [color=82ca9d]"-Go fix that."[/color] Jason rolled his eyes and groaned as he threw his head back. [color=f6989d]"UGH, a door?"[/color] [color=82ca9d]"Get on with it."[/color] Anders turned and didn't pay Jason anymore notice, walking towards the airlock. Contact Day was far too important, he couldn't have a kid messing him up. They only powered up communications once every 305 days, out of fear that the aliens would find them. Not many ships remained, every time contact day came around fewer and fewer ships responded. They were a dying race, and there was nothing they could do. [hr] [right][b]HARBRINGER OF UNENDING TRUTH // FLAGSHIP // THIRD MOONRISE OF SECOND SEASON[/b] [sub]All language within - [b]{ }[/b] - is translated to 'English' from Native.[/sub][/right] [quote=@Tortoise]"[color=yellow]We... are surely god-chosen, as you say, 'Angel Miriam.' Chosen by all the gods. By Woden, by Zeus, by Vishnu, by the Mothers and Brothers. By the wind of all the spirits good and bad, by angels and demons, we have come. So always does one who has Revelation and walks with a foot in the world of spirit. But what are [i]you?[/i][/color]"[/quote] It took a frustratingly long time for Miriam to connect to the alien vessel to get some form of visual telemetry back from the ship. In reality, it was seconds, but for someone with her perception of time that may as well have been years. [i]Woden, Zeus, Vishnu.[/i] They were terms she recognised, they were on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't place them. Her holographic wings shuddered and shook as she noticed to whom she was speaking. These beings, these strange visitors to their world were [I]humans[/i]. [I]Demons[/i]. The hologram of Miriam shook, glitching out and then split into two. One half of it turned to the other and placed a hand on its chest. Seemingly cause it to freeze. [color=9370D8]”You cannot be here. You must leave.”[/color] Meanwhile back on the ship talons curled, as the Deacon watched the screen as the strange vessels continued to push into the system. [color=DAA520]{Miriam, what is going on?}[/color] A copy of the AI avatar of Miriam appeared on the holographic projector, stretching slightly. Looking up directly into the Deacons eyes, not that she had to being a holographic representation of a being without an actual physical body. [color=9370D8]{Unclear. I have made contact, however I can no longer communicate with myself.}[/color] The Deacon stood up walking closer to the dias, she tried hard to conceal her concern. In all the years she had worked with the Angel, she had never known Miriam to lose contact with herself. Especially with such a small distance between points. She couldn’t allow anyone to steal the angel away from them, but they had never encountered someone with that capability. [color=9370D8]{Shipmistress.}[/color] The Shipmistress Al’nok turned, her tall frame moving with an elegance one wouldn’t expect from a creature of that size. [color=a187be]{Yes Deacon?”}[/color] [color=DAA520]{Prepare the boarding craft}[/color] Things were now in motion, should Miriam be unable to regain contact with herself, they would go in with their holy wrath and [i]bring[/i] her back.