There’s ‘Using art’, and there’s ‘crediting artists’, then there’s ‘drawing your own art’. You’re a king/queen, keep up the efforts. Mad kudos to anyone who has the inclination for visual arts. As someone with an inability to visualize images in my mind, I respect it.
I have fulfilled my obligation to the lords of this land and regretfully must now go fulfill my obligations to the lady of my own manor. I must do chores. Huzzah.
With the collective strength of the party, as well as the awareness of custom endowed by Dag'Tyr's religious knowledge, the required haste to avoid detection by the River pirates is met. The capstone reacts to Dag'tyr's hymn and trembles, and with the assistance of the party's physically powerful companions is removed. A ramp of dry earth descends down into the stale air and darkness of the tomb. As if drawing the first breath in time untold, the warm air of the day is sucked into that dark tunnel. The descent is dim, but the Noctem eyes in the group see a clear path that soon gives way to carved stone steps. Whether guided in the dark by their dark-vision possessing companions, or by way of producing a light source, the way is safe.
The earthen ramp gives way to the sureness of stone steps, the steps lead down into a widening, circular, room. The darkness of this place is heavy and thick- but presuming a light source is produced, the party sees the antechamber of the tomb;
The walls and floor are a smoothed stone. Alcoves are carved into the walls at regular intervals, housing statues preserved by the tomb against the elements and time. The statues are complex depictions of humanoid figures, man and woman, all kneeling with outstretched hands. The statue opposite the entrance is a lordly figure, depicted in chain armor and holding a Warhammer aloft whilst leaning upon a shield to his front. The shield is cracked, a deliberate bit of artistry from the carver rather than the wear and tear of elements, but is held together by a growth of vines. These same vines coil about the Lordly Figure's boots, and rise up his armored legs as if the stone vines are climbing his personage.
The statue to the left of the Entrance is a robed woman, hands clasped as if in prayer. Nothing stands out about her, her hood is drawn over her head and she has no facial features whatsoever. The silhouette within the hood is blank and featureless, and the only thing that assures the party this statue is not unfinished is the immense detail in the clasped hands; her nails curl into the backs of her own hands, where they dig deep scores into her 'flesh' and the stone fingers are even detailed to depict, in frozen macabre, dripping blood from this tightly gripped prayer.
The statue between the Robed Woman and the Lordly Figure is a man whose gaze focuses upon the ground in front of him, a farming hoe leaned upon one shoulder while his other hand lies empty and angled towards the ground. {Passive Investigation: I'Rajith} The hand is clearly meant to be grasping something- but whatever tool or object is supposed to be in his grasp is missing.
The statue to the right of the entrance is a woman with ropes bound about her arms, depicted in the uniform of a lord's yeoman. It is clear the intention of the statue is to depict someone at work on a boat. {Passive Perception: Iris, Amaryllis} The statue appears gripped by sorrow, even in its stony features. The ropes of the ship are shackles. The uniform is prisoner's garb. The detailed work of this statue rivals that of the Lordly Figure, but is far more subtle and focused on capturing this understated and soft eminence of sadness. Smile lines give way to wrinkles of worry; calloused hands grip the ropes tightly as they descend into the stone floor at the front of the statue; is she raising anchor, or fighting with her bonds? Someone cared for this woman greatly.
Between the Sailor Woman and the Lordly Figure is a youthful man. He is garbed in finery, and is poised in the midst of a poetic recital. His outstretched hand offers up a singular rose, stem adorned in thorns. His other hand touches upon his own breast in a display of tenderness. {Passive Investigation: I'Rajith} The rose is stone, but is a separate piece of craftmanship; it can be removed from the Prince's hand.
Four paths [Five, counting the Entrance] extend outwards from this circular antechamber between the statues. Each descends downwards at identical angles. They each end in stone doors, hiding whatever lies beyond. For the sake of ease, these paths will be called Paths 1-4, radiating left from the entrance starting with Path 1 [Between the Robed Woman and the Farmer] and ending with Path 4 [between the Sailor and the Prince].
A silence grips this place. Your own footsteps and breathing fill this place. Stir it. And with the stirrings of your own lives, a gently rising wrongness seems to stir as well. Something about this place is off.
I'm going to try and catch up over the next few days. I've fallen behind a bit in my recent frazzled state, and if I was holding up forward momentum of any capacity I apologize. Zavakri's kinda taken up the niche of quirky glass cannon so far and my slower pacing has backburnered my initial intentions to be a much more chatty and up front character- which isn't a bad thing, I thought I'd be able to post much more frequently (at least at first back when I first made her) but with the sheer volume of dialogue I need to write for her maybe my infrequency is a saving grace for everyone else's sanity.
That ramble is my way of saying 'if I get slow like this again, just ping me or something and let me know the intention to move the scene forward so I can try to keep up OOC with what's going on'. We have plenty of strong personalities so Zavakri not chiming in personally in every scene isn't necessarily a bad thing, anyways.
There's probably room! Excluding the Captain, we so far have three accepted characters, and given the shocking amount of interest, I'm aiming for around an 8-sized roster. You're welcome to take a shot if ya want! First come first serve right now.
Alrighty, update time: The fiance and I got much more involved in discussing the beginnings of our wedding plans in an impromptu discussion today and frankly I'm knackered. After rereading the last set of posts, my next one is going to be pretty 'short' and just establishing the scene of the tomb and will be up tomorrow evening after I get home from work. I now get to begin working out the 'new to DMing D&D on a forum' pains as I try to figure out the best way to balance player post-time with 'setting the scene time'.
Alright, moved it over and filled in the key equipment notes. If anything needs clarification or adjustment just let me know, I was trying to capture a vibe and may have gotten too wordy.
"Oh, come on... Everyone wants to see inside the suit. You know you do. I know you do. Let's skip to the part where you ask about it and I talk about how fast I've seen people boil alive in the atmosphere of Thetos."
Art by SATURDAY (@Koyamamichiru) on Twitter.
"I'm sorry, are you disappointed? What did you expect, two heads?… It’s not worth getting all choked up over, quit that."
Full Name: Tel'Larel of the Great House Darnirrah of the Uzzhi-Attan of Thetos
Nicknames/Titles: Banshee - Current mercenary callsign and preferred name. Formerly... Uzzhi-Attan - Title reserved for the upper echelons of her homeworld, Thetos. Used as a blanket term for the upper caste in informal conversation. Roughly equivalent to the human 'Princess' when used for Banshee, due to the context-based meanings of the language.
Tella - Informal nickname given to her by her younger siblings and father.
Ea-Retta - 'The Great Betrayer' in the Thetos tongue; a significant title of exile.
Age: Physiological Stage: Adulthood Human Equivalent age: Approximately thirty two. Thetos age: Five.
Gender: Female [She/Her] by choice.
Ship Role: Member - Combat oriented role, formally a 'Mercenary' before joining the crew.
Race:
Classification: Gas Giant
Star Type: Binary System in Steady Degradation: A lesser blue star being slowly pulled towards its orbiting companion, a super-luminous Green Giant. Estimated collision and resultant destruction of the Thetos Home System in 1.2 million years.
Rotation and Yearly Cycle: Exceptionally slow planetary rotation, with its yearly cycle being roughly six times that of Earth. Those born at the Dawn of a Thetos Day will not see Sunset until they are considered elderly, and only those of the highest ranks in the Caste System [called the Uzzhi-Seros] could hope to extend their lives to see the Night without traveling around the planet.
It is worth noting that the atmosphere and gases required by the People of Thetos to naturally breathe and tangibly interact with their surroundings are hyper-toxic to most species, and being fully submerged in the atmosphere of Thetos or a room adapted to its gases results in suffocation, burning/boiling, and death for those who cannot handle its properties.
Thetos is home to the People of Thetos, a gas-based people who are solid and very much so tangible while in the atmosphere of their home planet- but require the use of specialized Pressure-Suits to interact meaningfully with the universe outside their planetary borders. This has not held the People of Thetos back in more than a negligible capacity; their military might extends to a dominion of one hundred star systems that they claim as Imperial Territory, with dozens of planets and a proportionate amount of subservient species residing within. The primary means of expansion for the People of Thetos themselves are super-massive station-fortresses pressurized and built to house the gases of Thetos' atmosphere, which form the core of their military defense structure as well as act as the governing bodies of their Star Systems.
Aside from Thetos, only two other planetary bodies have been terraformed for the People of Thetos to inhabit personally;
The Paradise Habitation of Hanoli-Minor, a moon of the Gas Giant Hanoli-Major, which was originally created for ecological study of Thetos Fauna in a foreign atmosphere and has evolved into an oft-revered paradise whose residencies are used as Imperial Reward.
The Colony World of Farhome, a recent effort by the People of Thetos to create a staging ground to exert further influence over the Galactic Core. Unlike Hanoli-Minor, Farhome is the first effort the People of Thetos have unveiled in the concept of 'cannibalizing' a foreign Gas Giant; the terraforming efforts are successfully altering atmospheric conditions on Farhome to match those of Thetos itself, which bodes well for the future of the Empire.
Subservient species within the Empire are considered second class citizens and the only upward mobility available to them is as Auxilia in the Imperial Army. That is not to say they are necessarily ill-treated, for they are a vital necessity to The Dominion's expansions and livelihood, but that they are distinctly kept out of the Thetos Caste System itself. In some ways this is a blessing, their cultural autonomy permitted within certain parameters, and allowing them the natural hierarchies and social structures of their species so long as their appointed representatives continue to meet Dominion expectations.
The Dominion's military might lies uniquely in its Space Force; Star-Fortresses of The Dominion are the envy of the galaxy in terms of Mega-Structure technology, and the Dominion Fleet is a feared entity in all the bordering star-sectors. The weakness of The Dominion's military comes in its planetary invasion and ground forces; they are reliant on the Auxilia of subservient species, with a relatively small amount of highly trained squads of the People themselves acting as command squads and special operations forces for the Auxilia forces.
Though few in number by comparison, the People of Thetos' specialized military units are seen as Spec-Ops boogeymen by the greater galaxy and their methods and tools are the topic of speculation and fear.
'Gender' is a choice for these people, their 'mating' with outside species is exceptionally rare due to the requirements for their bodies to take tangible form. Most choose to identify in Galactic Binary, but it isn't uncommon to find neuter or otherwise personal identifications within their society.
The bodies of the People of Thetos are malleable within the confines of their personal Mass; most choose an identifiable form and stick with it, and those who make use of Pressure Suits often modify the suit to their chosen body types and gender identity. This means that should an individual choose, they could theoretically operate very strangely shaped suits indeed- and there are stories of more bestial or exotic forms within the Dominion Military
Their form, when not solidified by the atmospheric gases of their Pressure Suits or Habitats, is gaseous naturally and will dissipate upon death. If their pressure suits break or they are forced outside of their habitable atmosphere, it is equivalent to suffocation or drowning to them- in slow-form. Their gaseous bodies are typically just as toxic to other species as their atmospheric conditions, and ending up outside a Pressure Suit or Habitat is often a slow and painful process of death due to the unique tools required for other species to interact with them. In short, they're floating balls of toxic gas that only become tangible bodies in certain environments.
The People of Thetos rely on a diet primarily of the intake of Gases, and can only interact with or consume physical food while in suitable Habitats- and even then, their requirements are so unique that they can typically only handle meals imported from The Dominion anyway.
The People of Thetos inherit based on Youth, meaning that the ruling class (outside the military) are headed by a radical youth cycle with elder siblings and family members taking advisory roles in the political spectrum. This can be a bloodthirsty affair if older siblings want their inheritance.
Personality: Banshee is a jovial sort, sociable to a fault. Her demeanor is that of a mask, using her social inclinations and comedic nature to keep distance and dilute intimacy- a topic she has great issues with, and a topic she struggles with meaningfully connecting to others with. There is a certain haughtiness to her that she has never been able to quite shake that manifests in a smugness. Her upbringing as the highest class of Dominion society has instilled her with this unshakable identity as a superior person that has come into extreme conflict with her greater travels. There is certainly room for growth here, as she reconciles her own mortality and existence with that of others in the galaxy. She's fallen from a life of never knowing want into the darkness of 'Killer for hire', and that perspective change has brought with it philosophical identity crisis.
"In the end, we all bleed and die... That has to mean something, right?"
Biography:
Born into the Great House Darnirrah during Sunset, Banshee was the First Daughter. Inheritance into the illustrious Head of House Darnirrah was forever unattainable for her, but her education and choices widened with the birth of each sibling. The eldest of five, she eventually was granted autonomy over her destiny and chose a life of Glory.
Forgoing the initial political aspirations of her upbringing, she received personal tutelage from weapons masters and retired Dominion instructors to get a leg up on her admittance tests into The Dominion. She excelled, and in her young adult life achieved a high placement into the Special Forces. Hundreds of VR missions and skirmishing operations with the Auxilia later, Operative Banshee was born.
Her first major military operation was quelling an uprising within the Dominion, where she achieved renown within the Dominion for acts of heroism on the field of battle. Her squad spearheaded and commanded the Vanguard of the planetary assault; her boots were one of the first pair to hit the ground, and were one of the last sets to leave the planet's surface. The conflict was short and bittersweet, lasting only one local week, and her squad was accredited with the capture of the Rebel Leader after a blitz-assault of their reinforced Capital.
This success lead to the beginnings of an illustrious military career. She was a part of three more major military operations within the Dominion before she was assigned to the Expansion Effort. For the first time, she had to engage with truly foreign hostiles who were highly trained and well equipped. A far cry from the surgical strikes against localized uprisings, the horrors of true galactic warfare birthed the distant and comedic demeanor she is known for now.
This initial conflict against a Core Species resulted in the first major defeat of her career. Three of the seven squad mates she had come to trust and love had been killed, and she herself had sustained a crippling injury. 'The Bloody Defense of Farhome', as the battle has come to be called, is a stain on the Dominion military history. There was not yet a functional Star-Fortress in the system, and a cease-fire and truce were established with the destruction of the original Terraforming Pumps. The recovery and rebuilding of the system has been a political issue ever since, and radical parties within the Dominion cite it as a cause for both isolationism and military jingoism.
Temporarily crippled by the conflict, a traumatized Banshee was returned home. While in convalescence, she was approached by the Second Son of the family who attempted to recruit her into a plot to 'Cull the weakness from the family'. In short, her younger brother propositioned her with a plan to assassinate their three lesser siblings to assert The House Darnirrah as the dominant political force with 'His Allies'.
Shaken by her time at war, hardened by the conflicts she'd faced, and mentally unstable from her injuries and losses, this proposition shattered her mind. In a brief struggle, she killed her brother and contacted her convalescing squad mates. Within one standard solar week, she and the other three members of her squad enacted a series of strike operations within Thetos' atmosphere and decapitated the subtle stirrings of bloody coup that had been revealed by Banshee's brother. The four surviving special operations faced trial as Traitors, and were launched into galactic exile. A lessened sentence in light of their service to the Dominion, but a required one due to the vigilante nature of their 'justice'.
Thus the four banded together in Exile as mercenaries. Their cohesion and bond made them an efficient and lethal force for hire; their trauma and experiences in the wider galaxy pushed them apart. Eventually Banshee was alone as her companions pursued their own ambitions and goals in the galaxy...
And Banshee was approached to be hired on to a crew called 'The Star-Breakers'. Some day she hopes to encounter her former companions and regain their friendship, but for now she has to make ends meet.
"Tel'Larel." Lo'Laya spoke softly. "An old name. It will serve her well. It will serve the House well. It will serve Thetos well." Her words carried calmly, an evenness of tone that hushed the quiet mewlings of the babe in her arms. "A good name, my husband."
"It was my mother's." By comparison, Drunst's voice was a bold and deep thing. A heavy hand, whose size dwarfed the infant's head, extended outwards to cup the gaseous tendrils of the babe's body and corral them back into a manageable shape. Lo'Laya adjusted her embrace, holding the intermittently solid and gaseous child more tentatively. Her lips formed a tight line at this revelation;
"Ah. Truly? For the First? This reeks of sentiment."
The incubation tank is ready.
The nearby holo-terminal brightened to display the text, accompanied by a sterile-sounding effeminate voice. The artificial words drew the attention of the Father. Drunst did not answer his wife's question. Instead, silence weighed upon his broad and powerful shoulders. His next gaze upon the child was filled with the significance and insinuation of the future; perhaps it was unfair to pin such a lofty aspiration on the newborn, but he could not help it.
The silence persisted as he crossed the room in his impossible stride and, with a vigorous gesture, commanded the wall panel to slide open. The mother could remain silent no longer;
"The child may blow away, you fool, shut that damned thing!" Her voice snapped like a vice and the behemoth of a man leaned upon the frame, seeming at first as if unawares of her interjection. The gradient of sunset, with its green rays cascading a brilliance of neon color fading into the depths and darkness of a sea green, filled the sky. Interposed against this splendor were the Sky Lanes and their suspensor-bound transponder beacons; contrails from the civilian skimmers and Dominion aircraft traffic turning the gradient of the sunset into an abstract motif; the horizon, above the broiling Depths of Thetos, filled with the crawling Sky Habs and the ponderous palaces of the Great Houses...
"The sunset is beautiful..." He said at last. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he waved his hand and the wall panel slid shut. "It is a good omen."
"You're a romantic fool." Her words were soft, bordering on tender. Her eyes shut in her exhaustion even as her arms finally held the baby secure in her grip. "And if you don't hurry up that incubation tank, I'll throw you out that window myself."
Her eyes widened in the darkness of the room. Wisps of her hair flowed off of her, dissipating into the air- only for more to coil down from her scalp and flow out as short waves of thick hair. Her hand outstretched slowly towards the solitary source of light; the incubation tank. Her young brother, the Second Son. When her hand touched its cool display surface, she gasped.
"Bo." She murmured quietly. "Hello, Bo."
The display screen shifted at her unintentional input. Medical charts flew off the screen and the projector flared into existence with a briefly blinding flash of light. Tel'Larel staggered back in the oafish manner of toddlers the galaxy over. She fell back, landing with a soft thud and a gentle cry of surprise. When next she opened her eyes, the sight before her chased the beginnings of tears away and widened her eyes.
The incubation tank's observational scanner had been triggered by her touch, and she was treated to the sight of her little brother's infancy incubation. The holographic projection showed the gaseous cocoon within the pressurized incubation tank, where little Bo was swaddled in a whirling vortex of vapors and fumes. Tel'Larel staggered to her feet and waved a hand clumsily through the air, trying to grasp at the flickering and writhing form of the infant in futility.
"Bo! It's me, Tel'Larel! I'm your big sister!" She laughed hysterically as she dropped to her knees and gazed up at the fantastical display of colors and movement- the gently shifting physical form of her brother outlined in the silhouette of growth-assisting chemicals. "Papa says I'm supposed to take care of you and mama!"
"And mama says you're not supposed to be in here alone. The incubation tank is a complex machine, Tel'Larel. You could have hurt Botar."
The voice had a profound impact on the young girl. She leapt to her feet and achieved a posture best described as 'rigid'. For a few quiet moments, the only movement in the room was the holographic display of Botar's infantile wiggling and the perpetually shifting wisps of Tel'Larel's hair.
"Come here. You're late for your lessons."
Tel'Larel swiveled in place and looked up at her mother. Lo'Laya was a waifish tower of angular features and pale flesh. Aquiline was an apt descriptor; Tel'Larel shared the woman's pronounced jawline and chin. She approached in the deliberate and cautious steps of the damned. Her hand was swiftly snatched, but gently held- and Tel'Larel was thusly pulled out of the nursery with great haste.
"Your father exerted a great deal of influence at the Dominion Council to get you this tutor. This means that your lessons are thus a duty to this Great House. Can you spell the House Name yet?" Swelling with childish pride, Tel'Larel anxiously burst out her answer;
"Yes, ma'am. D-A-R-N-I-R-R-A-H. Darnirrah."
"At least you've got that going for you." Lo'Laya murmured, her attention already stolen from Tel'Larel's response and focused on the infinitely shifting display in the lenses of her glasses. "You must do better about doing as you're told."
Incapable of fully comprehending anything except the rising panic in her chest, Tel'Larel pressed on with what she hoped would please her mother.
"House Darnirrah is a fin...Fin...Fin-an-chi-al. Financial. Insti...too...shun...Institution! of Thetos." She looked upwards, hope daring to peak through the shadows of doubt in her eyes. Lo'Laya glanced down at the girl and dropped to one knee, suddenly grasping her in both hands by the shoulders.
"Yes, my daughter. That is very good. Can you do as you're told?" Even as she spoke, her eyes trailed the ceaseless scroll of data rather than gazing through the screen at Tel'Larel's face. "You need to focus on these lessons. We have enemies. Your father has a dangerous job. He's relying on us to do well-" Lo'Laya suddenly flicked a wrist, the data-stream halting on a flashing alert depicting a series of numbers. With a series of complex hand gestures, the numbers expanded and revealed details within details. She let out a hot sigh, clicking her tongue quietly before her eyes focused through the lenses onto Tel'Larel. "-Say, you're doing well today."
Tel'Larel beamed up at her mother.
"Can you remember what happened to the first of House Darnirrah's great enemies? Has your tutor gotten that far into your history lessons yet?"
"Ancestor Drunst, first of Father's name, declared Uzzhi-Orthod on House Trelyo." The young girl's voice was a quiet tremble, the severity of such a thing apparent to her even if the specific nuances eluded her. "We destroyed them. Because they refused to pay their debt."
"Mhm. Good." Lo'Laya ruffled Tel'Larel's hair gently, before leaning down to kiss her forehead softly. "Keep paying attention. Father is in council now and needs mama to do her job too. Promise me you'll pay attention in your lessons."
"I promise."
"Good, now get in there; Tutor Fushtok is waiting on you. Mama has to help Father, because some very naughty people are trying to do what House Trelyo tried to do. And that would be very very rude."
Tel'Larel watched as her mother's back receded down the hall away from her. She swayed as if the absence of her mother's hands upon her shoulders resulted in the loss of all stability. Her eyes were wide and amazed.
"...Uzzhi-Orthod..." She whispered reverently, at last turning to enter the study hall.
"...Thetos has always been defined by Air Power. Early conflicts between the Great Houses hinged on ship superiority, loyalty of the lower castes, and veterancy of the troops. House Alandrio pioneered the first Dominator Class Fighter Craft, capable of exiting the upper atmosphere and partaking in true space flight. House Darnirrah extended a line of credit to House Alandrio and formed an alliance, which is known as The Uzzhi Attan-Ta- named after the dueling weapon. The innovations of House Alandrio changed the way war was waged, and House Darnirrah's economic sanctions alongside the Alandrio war machine brought the era of civil conflict to an end. House Alandrio was granted a position on the Great Council, and with the assistance of House Darnirrah established a vote to unite the Great Houses into the Dominion-"
Tel'Larel's recitation was cut short by the venerable Fushtok, whose taut skin and gaunt eyes gave him a haunted, skeletal, visage. His words sliced through her dialogue like a laser through margarine.
"Someone's been doing her reading. More than can be said for masters Botar and Illyr. Botar, how many years did the vote to establish the Dominion last?"
"Two years, Tutor." Botar's demeanor was that of the rake, even in this adolescent state he had a charming air and a relaxed attitude that had made him popular with their peers. "The vote concluded shortly before Dawn broke. Concessions had to be made to House Reyvahn by House Alandrio in terms of personal territorial expansion, and House Darnirrah had to forgive many of the lesser houses' debts in order to gain the necessary votes to unify the governing body."
"Hm. Is this your knowledge, or are you using a holo, young master?"
"A holo." Botar admitted freely, tapping at the side of his head and adjusting his glasses. The lenses shifted, dismissing the privacy filter, and revealed the data streaming across the young man's gaze. Before he could speak again, Fushtok let out another series of clucking sounds.
"Disappointing, but these are the times, eh?"
"They've been the times for a few generations, Tutor." Botar laughed heartily. "Your methods are outdated beyond even your years." These roguish words warranted a laugh from the young Illyr- the Third Son of House Darnirrah- who immediately came to regret his break in composure.
"Ah, young Illyr finally joins the lessons. At last. Since Tel'Larel and Botar are so keen on sharing their raw knowledge, let me posit to you-" Illyr winced preemptively. "-A hypothetical-" Tel'Lara offered a sympathetic smile to Illyr as she enjoyed no longer being in the spotlight, her hand rising to brush a wisp of waving hair from her face and tucking it over her ear as she winked encouragement to Illyr. "-conundrum. I won't bother asking you how many castes are within the Uzzhi-Soros, or how many worlds the Dominion has taken under its influence since our expansion into the stars- No, those are too easy for you to rely on the holo for."
Fushtok crossed the study hall in two steps to Illyr's desk, his long legs cracking with each step as his knee joints resisted even this basic movement.
"Master Illyr, presuming the enemies of House Darnirrah choose to act openly, who would be the first to declare Uzzhi-Orthod?"
To his credit, the youth needed only a few seconds to formulate his response.
"The Great House Reyvahn, Tutor Fushtok!" He declared in a hurried tone. "They've never forgiven us for our involvement with the Great House Alandrio."
"That may be true, but they're also spineless wisplings. Try again, little one, that guess is academic but not realistic."
Tel'Larel gasped quietly and shifted her attention to the entrance of the study hall, where the booming voice of her father had come. His imposing bulk filled the doorway nearly as full as a wall would have. Botar chuckled and waved at their father- but Illyr paled at having given an incorrect answer before the patriarch of their family and cleared his throat and choked on any further words.
"More realistic, but we fund their research and subsidize the construction of the Dominion Fleet. Without us, Alandrio is nothing. Any other guesses?" His eyes fell upon Tel'Larel, and once again she felt that weight of expectation upon her. She shifted, her free hand gripping the long skirt of her dress as she weighed the question. Uzzhi-Orthod always brought a tremble to her spine. The answer slipped from her lips before she truly thought about it;
"The Great House Ogavessan."
Drunst wiped sweat from his brow and swallowed a measure of pride. The ceremonial tunic he wore was drenched with his exertion and more than one bruise was forming on his calloused arms. Sometimes being so large was a hindrance- and in this moment, it certainly was. He had to readjust his grip on the long cable he wielded with haste. Tel'Larel was beginning her assault once again.
Drunst ducked low, the weighted orb of his daughter's Attan-Ta striking viciously over his shoulder. He swung outwards in a sweeping motion, twisting with the movement to build momentum as Tel'Larel jumped over the highly broadcast swing. With a sharp twist of his arm and the utilization of his leg as a fulcrum, he swung the length of rope downwards and redirected the momentum of his weapon into a sudden and brutal thrusting attack with his orb. Even as his attack sailed towards the slight frame of Tel'Larel he was aware of her own retaliating strike. His size and experience had awarded him a measure of endurance against the stunning blows of these training Attan-Ta, and thus he could afford to trade with the young woman in these exchanges.
Tel'Larel, however, surprised him this time. He watched as she canceled her attack and deadened her momentum. He saw her movements as she yanked back harshly on her cord and fell backwards. He watched his attack nearly connect with her forehead before she snapped her head back. He saw as she hit the ground flat on her back- but twisted her legs and coiled the rope of her Attan-Ta between them. Realization at her unorthodox retaliation came moments too late- by the time Drunst regained control of his weapon and tried to bring it to bear in an executing strike against the prone girl, she had propelled herself up onto her hands and sent her body into a dervish whirl, the bend of her legs guiding her Attan-Ta into the side of Drunst's neck with a paralyzing shockwave of the training weapon's instruments.
Drunst's approval surged even as his body toppled to the ground. Tel'Larel joined him moments later, her body heaving with the efforts of their duel as she embraced him and awaited the end of the paralysis effect.
"Tella." He groaned. "That was new."
"You like to do those thrusting maneuvers, papa." she responded. "I had to come up with a counter attack, otherwise you'd play keep-away like always."
Drunst sat up, appreciative of her help, and rolled his neck. It was still mostly numb, and he couldn't feel anything in his left shoulder or arm. He was thankful for training equipment and the lack of serious injuries that came with it. He heaved a deep breath and held it, his wide chest filling up- only to exhale in a choked laugh as Tel'Larel hugged hum tightly.
"House Ogavessen," He began, shifting his bulk to pry the girl away from him and hold her at arm's length. "That was an interesting answer earlier. Why?"
"Well... Honestly, mother." She said quietly.
"Lo'Laya? She's a Darnirrah through and through- the work comes more naturally to her than it ever did to me." He said with equal parts caution, intrigue, and expectation. She was close to the truth of it! So close! He had to see if she had intuited the quick of it. The way her eyes were simultaneously so expressive yet so shielded reminded him of her mother- but what they did show was so much like his mother that it pained him at times. He could see the gears turning in her mind, the hesitation to speak, the emboldening influence of adrenaline and the duel, and finally conviction- but not the truth of her feelings beneath them, she was particularly guarded in regards to this topic- all take their turn in the shadows of her eyes.
"Yes, but that's just it; you stole her from House Ogavessen." Tel'Larel said with a slow deliberance. "She was Third Daughter, and after you... Er... Arranged-"
"Bought. I bought your mother. A significant dowry, too. She was willing in the arrangement, no mistake, but Ogavessen made it a transaction."
"-Er...Yes, that's just the thing. Third daughter with two older sisters. Ogavessen's succession was secure, but mother was the prize. Everyone still talks about her as if she's the real head of house Darnirrah-"
"A good ploy, that one. She's a good distraction for the Council to chew on." Drunst chuckled and ruffled Tel'Larel's hair. "She works them up, and I lay them down." Tel'Larel couldn't help but smirk playfully at his words and lackadaisical nature. She swats at his hand, her hair flowing wisplike again in her relaxed state.
"And from what Fushtok has told me, before your marriage she was the most sought after bride in all of the Dominion. She had her pick of all the Great Houses and she chose you. I know Alandrio offered her a commission with the admiralty board, and Reyvahn tried to blackmail her." Anticipating his interruption this time, she dutifully stopped and fixed her smirk on Drunst.
"Stupid idea that one. Nothing screams 'romance' like trying to reveal family secrets. She'd have eaten them alive from the inside."
"Mhm." Tel'Larel giggled now. "I can see that. What I never understood is...Er... Don't take this the wrong way..."
"Noted." Drunst said with a cocked eyebrow, now rising to his feet alongside his daughter as sensation returned to his extremities.
"...What did you offer her that nobody else could?"
"I offered her the future. Everyone else was playing with their cards too close to their chest; smartest woman in the Dominion and they tried to be crafty with her. Tried to corner and cage her like some feral Zwuthop in the Depths. I sat down with her, Tella, and told her that if she married me I would do everything in my power to give her the future."
"And she bought that line? Really?"
Her response made him stumble and bark out a deep laugh; "Luckily she did. Otherwise I'd never have gotten you, or Botar, or Illyr, or Se'Ras, or little Virsh."
"...Nobody could have anticipated the accident." She continued quietly. "Both daughters in a skimmer explosion... And you had Lo'Laya. Ogavessen was crippled because of it. If they don't blame you for the decline of their house, then I just... I just don't know, papa."
He brokered a silence by turning to face her fully, staring down into her face. "...You're too damned clever; are you sure you still wish to pursue the Path of Glory? You have other options. Virsh will need you when the time comes."
"I'm sure." She said immediately. "Botar is already better with the politics than I ever will be, and Illyr is as smart as mother is- just too shy to let it show. Se'Ras is already planning her wedding, too- I shall have to pray for the courtship scene when she finally comes of age, she's going to have half of Thetos dancing to her tune... Which leaves me." She looks to the side, that thoughtful expression which made Drunst think equally of his wife and mother appearing again. "Little me. The First. No, I'm sure. I choose the Dominion. I choose the Path of Glory." She met his eyes at last, a fierceness there that Drunst had never seen before. He nodded once- it was settled then.
"Very well. I have one final gift for you then, to prepare you for your examinations. If you're to represent House Darnirrah, you're to do a damn fine job of it. Fushtok!" He yelled the name so loudly it startled Tel'Larel, and rendered her wide-eyed to see the elderly and skeletal figure of her tutor click-clack his way into the room on his arthritic joints.
"Fushtok?" She was perplexed.
"I may be old, young mistress, but I once walked the path that you have chosen." He fixed his gaunt, haunted, eyes onto Tel'Larel. Drunst nodded to the tutor and left without a word, leaving Tel'Larel in the room with the oldest friend Drunst had ever known. The whirr of a military grade Attan-Ta filled the air, released from its concealed housing in Fushtok's cloak...
"You have some cleverness about you, but it needs discipline and temperance." Fushtok's voice was like iron. His eyes stoked like the engines of a Scrape-Skim burning in atmosphere. "Let us see how well your hubris holds up against proper Dominion mettle. D'rush-Voh! Dodge... If you can."
Powers/Skills: Highly trained combat specialist, capable in all forms of combat- but specialized in the 'Traditional' weapons of the Thetos Dominion and focused in close quarters combat scenarios. She fulfills the role of a 'Juggernaut' handily.
Socially trained, politically inured; she is a savvy talker and is resistant to mental influences. Unfortunately this means she has 'opinions'.
Fleet-Based Operations: She has a keen mind for the complex topic of ship movements and gunnery, and has specialized training in Zero-G combat.
Equipment: Dominion Military Pressure Suit - Banshee's advanced combat pressure suit, customized to her preferences and specifications. Features all the necessities for maneuvering in a Zero-G/Vacuum environment, as well as the pressure-sealed necessities to facilitate a People of Thetos to exist. Her suit is a military design, featuring heavy armor plating as well as a sophisticated personal shield generator. This personal shield encapsulates the armor in its protective field, and is designed to severely impede energy based attacks; mundane strikes or more retro weaponry such as ballistics would more easily bypass the shielding and require her armor to suffer damage directly- but in all honesty she is essentially a walking tank. A sophisticated, small, tank. Breaches in the suit can be sealed to minimize damage to her body, but typically result in heavily reduced mobility and functionality for her until proper field repairs can be made.
Her Suit also possesses a wide suite of utilitarian functionality such as radio/visual transmission and linkup, and a universal translator and a biometric scanner. All the things you'd expect a science fiction power armor suit to be capable of. It is a highly modular suit, capable of donning/doffing the extreme weight of its half-ton armor and slimming down to a more casual suit that Banshee can relax in whilst still maintaining its Zero-G and shielding capabilities.
Dominion Attan-ta - A traditional weapon of Thetos modernized by the Dominion military. It is, traditionally, a heavy orb wielded on a long rope which facilitates complex maneuvers. The modern variant is much improved, but still captures the essence of the traditional culture icon; the one wielded by Banshee, and many other Dominion Soldiers, is instead a complex drone synced to her suit's Heads Up Display, and controlled by subvocalized commands. Basically, she whispers orders to the orb and it smashes into things with immense force. It is astoundingly dangerous despite its simplistic design, and serves as the primary weapon that Banshee prefers. The energy exerted by an impact of this orb far exceeds what one would expect by its size, and despite its limited range it can strike with dizzying speeds.
Should the need arise, the orb can release a cable to permit traditional and mundane wielding.
Dominion Laser Pistol - The standard issue sidearm of the Dominion special forces. This weapon functions both in atmosphere and in vacuum, firing a precision laser with variable strengths and beam widths. Can be toned down to 'stun' settings, or increased into a powerful and short ranged breaching cutter that can be used to cut into the hulls of tanks or ships.
Banshee's Howl - The Pressure Suit modification that earned Banshee her namesake. A potent, short ranged, sonic weapon prototype. Sound from her microphone is amplified and projected outward, directionally, from her helmet. In short, it turns her words or screams into disorienting blasts of sonic force. Generally this will disorient and cause disarray, but prolonged and directed application of the Howl could cause severe damage or deafness in a nearby target.
Force Amplification Field - the gauntlets, forearm plates, boots, and leg armor of Banshee's Pressure Suit are potent bludgeoning tools built using the same technology as her Attan-ta, which empower her physical strikes. While not as potent as the Attan-ta itself, this modification to her suit permits her to use her body as a weapon when the need arises.
In a mundane sense, she keeps a survival kit on her at all times. This kit contains appropriate ration-stuffs for her physiology, as well as emergency repair tools for her suit and supplemental atmospheric cannisters to replenish her suit's gases for when conventional means of repair or replenishment aren't possible.
Other: I've drawn inspiration from a myriad sources for this one, with the heaviest being the Volus or Quarians of Mass Effect and the secondary being various episodes of Star Trek where they encountered truly 'alien' beings with different core makeups than the carbon-based human type. As for my 'favorites' in Science Fiction, for literature that would be Dune by Frank Herbert [though I've only made time to read the first in its illustrious series at this time] and the Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons [which has an excellent audio book adaptation series that I'm able to steadily consume]. In Video Games, that would be Mass Effect if I'm discounting the subgenre of 'punk'- if I included it, I'd have to quietly shill for Cyberpunk 2077 as an experience I legitimately enjoyed quite a bit despite its glaring flaws.
Oh, and I’d be absolutely remiss not to mention Firefly. You can’t take the sky from me!
Banshee’s Height Out of Suit: five foot eight inches [Three and a half Venko] Quite tall for her Species. In Suit: six foot Eight inches [Four and one quarter Venko]
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