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Next post incoming.
Catharyn said
Just means a spot has opened to the public.
For Part Two, sure. For Part One, no. Slots are still closed for the moment. ;)
NOTE: Stitchblades has pulled out, his character will be reverted to an NPC to be controlled by the GMs.
First IC post is live. Feel free to post accordingly. Ghost is currently in the Staging Area aboard the Wanderer, where they're getting prepared for an insertion. Once some replied have been made, I'll make the next GM post moving us forward, in which Aldridge will finally brief the Detachment on their objectives for this mission.
ATTENTION: Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Jameson, Detachment Leader, Marine Special Operations Detachment Ghost
CONTENTS: Response from MARSOC Requisitions &Assignments Department
PRIORITY LEVEL: 2-Non Priority-No Special Instructions
DATED: 09:15-20-08-2550
- - -
ATTENTION: Captain Markus Ramsey, Commanding Officer, UNSC Wayward Wander
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550
- - -
ATTENTION: Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Jameson, Detachment Leader, Marine Special Operations Detachment Ghost
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550
- - - - -
UNSC Wayward Wanderer
- - -
23:20 Hours
22 August, 2550
Personal bunk room of Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson
Sitting quietly in his bunk with his back against the wall, Jameson looked up to the grated steel ceiling above him, a datapad resting beside him with the contents of a message from MARSOC still open. His requests for additional Marines with experience was declined, and he was stuck with the replacements MARSOC had assigned him after Ghost’s last operation. With a deep sigh he reached down to grasp a short steel tumbler that had been placed carefully at the foot of his bunk. He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a deep sip of the old Irish Whiskey that he’d poured himself.
“Assholes.” He said to himself in reference to the message, shaking his head.
Jameson’s bunk room was one of only four solo units that had been afforded to Ghost Detachment when they came aboard the Wayward Wanderer some six or so years earlier. Of the other three solo bunk rooms, one was afforded to Gunnery Sergeant Mullan, one to Staff Sergeant Archer, and the last to Sergeant Hendry. The rest of the Detachment shared one large common bunk room, that while spacious, offered little in terms of privacy. The only thing his bunk room offered was a place to sleep, and privacy.
Though this small closet space of a room was his, you’d have been hard pressed to notice, save for a single old photo of him and his father. He had no intention of finding comfort in this small room; to him, home was Reach, and that would be the only place he’d ever truly find comfortable. He missed his home, the old wooden cabin his father had built attached to a small lake, where he would spend long summer day’s fishing. He missed his father even. Taking another sip of his whiskey, he pushed the thoughts of home from his mind. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce.
He set the tumbler back down, and picked the small data pad up again, switching to the after action report of Ghost’s last operation. They’d been ordered to secure a remote comm relay station located on a barren world near the edge of UNSC space, and though the insertion was smooth, the rest of the operation was one big clusterfuck. The relay station was badly out of sorts, and the engineers that ONI had sent to repair it were woefully under prepared. What was supposed to be a quick two day baby sitting job, turned into a two week long ordeal that saw a dozen or so Covenant attempts to take control of the facility. In the end, ONI decided to abandon the relay station, and pulled Ghost out.
“But what the hell, right? We only lost six men.” He blurted out aloud as he read the report.
In his mind he went over the names of the six that had died; Corporal Jacob Yeager, Corporal Adam Faulk, Lance Corporal Joseph Reid, Lance Corporal Regina Watts, and Private First Class Thomas Ryan. He remembered each of their faces, their voices, and who they were. Shaking his head, he scrolled down to see the names that MARSOC had assigned as their replacements. Only Lance Corporals Sanders and Donovan had seen any real combat, the other four were all still green. They’d seen some action, but nothing like what Ghost dealt with regularly.
As he returned to the message from MARSOC, he scoffed dismissively and threw the pad against the wall in anger. He then laid down against his bunk, trying desperately to convince himself to forget his life for just a moment.
- - -
03:25 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Permeating the small bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wander was ever present light hum of electricity running through the consoles that were littered about. The small twenty six year-old Mako-Class Corvette was in mid-slipspace travel, and beyond the large viewport windows was nothing but blackness. Standing atop his podium like holo-emitter was the green glowing visage of Oberon, the ship’s AI, his image displayed atop a holo emitter just to the starboard of the Captain’s perch that overlooked the fore control stations.
“Captain, the time is 03:25. We will be dropping out of slipspace in approximately thirty minutes.” Spoke the AI as he turned about on his podium to address Captain Markus Ramsey, the commanding officer of the Wayward Wanderer, who’d just stepped onto the Bridge from the aft access corridor. “Should I raise the crew to alert status?” he continued, his ethereal voice was soft, though the trace tone of it’s digital origin was clear.
Approaching the Captain’s perch, Ramsey stopped a moment as he stared into the darkness of slipspace, then nodded firmly. “Do it.” A moment later, the alarm claxons of the ship began to sound, alerting the crew to be ready for their re-entry into normal space, and to man their stations.
The journey from the Indus Corus System to the Omega Titanius System was long, but not long enough; Solace Colony, which had been located on Omega Titanius III was an inner colony, and it’s obliteration by Covenant a year earlier had warranted the concern of everyone. It had been attacked so suddenly, that no one had managed to escape from the destruction wrought by the Covenant.
“Captain.” Announced Commander Alyssa Campbell as she entered the Bridge from the aft access corridor, fighting off the urge to yawn as she’d only just awaken from her slumber by the obnoxious sound of claxons. She stopped beside Captain Ramsey looking off into the dark void beyond the viewports as she blinked any lingering desires to sleep. She then turned her attention Oberon’s holo image. “ETA?” she asked.
“Twenty-six minutes, twelve seconds.” He replied instantaneously, his attention now entirely focused on the task of coordinating the Wayward Wanderer’s exit from slipspace. As a few crewmen began to enter from the aft of the bridge, moving about to take their stations, Oberon spoke again. “I’ve raised both Commander Aldridge and Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson, they should be here momentarily.”
Ramsey nodded curtly to the AI.
- - -
03:29 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
“No! You hev’to listen to me, mmmh?” declared the resident mad Russian of Ghost Detachment, Sergeant Mikhail Leonid. He barely spoke English, but oh how he loved to debate the finer points of Russian culture with his English speaking squad mates. He pointed accusingly at Sergeant Terry Danforth, who simply shook his head in amusement. “Vodka is as vital to sanity, as rifle is to Marine, yes?” he held out his hands, waiting for a reply.
“Sure thing Mick, whatever you say!” Danforth laughed as he reached for his combat knife, and sheathed it just over the left side of his chest plate.
The members of Ghost Detachment were all gathered in the cramped staging area that connected to the hangar bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer. About an hour earlier, they were roused from their slumber to begin preparations for insertion, and now as the claxons rang overhead, warning of their imminent re-entry into normal space, it was almost go time. Yet despite how quickly deployment approached, Master Gunner Sergeant still hadn’t met with them for briefing.
The still as yet to be revealed reason for this assignment was a popular subject among the Marines as they suited up. In the far corner of the staging area, Lance Corporal Croft began loading a few buckshot shells into his M45E, as a few of the new replacements tried to chat him up. “I just don’t get it.” Announced Private First Class Joseph April as he looked to Private First Class Thomas Truman. “Where is here? Why are we here?” he poised the questions, his attention turning to Croft, who didn’t say a word, instead he pumped his Shotgun once to load a shell into the chamber.
“Hey, relax. When we’re supposed to know, we’ll know. It’s that simple.” Replied Private First Class Wiley as he approached, his MA5C slung over his shoulder, and his helmet in his gloved hand. “Besides, it’s not like it really makes any difference. Go here, kill this group of Covies. Go there, kill that group.” He grinned a toothy grin, and looked to Croft, patting him on his shoulder. “You know what I’m talking about!”
Croft again didn’t speak, he glanced at his shoulder, then back to Wiley. Wiley’s grin disappeared, and he swallowed audibly as Croft brushed past him, leaving the replacements to themselves. He had no desire to entertain the concerns of some new guy that he neither knew, nor wanted to get to know.
“What, is there something in my teeth?” Wiley joked as he looked back to Truman and April with a grin. “So, anyway… you guys heard the one about the Priest, the Rabbi, and the Prophet?”
- - -
03:50 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
At the aft end of the bridge of the Wayward Wanderer, a small hatchway opened to the sound of a loud metallic thud through which the slender form of Commander Samantha Aldridge stepped through. She bore a of suspicion, doubt, and arrogance; all staple traits of ONI Section-III Field Operatives. Her untrusting blue eyes scanned the small bridge a moment as if she were looking for an ambush of some kind. She then carefully made her way forward, approaching Captain Ramsey and Commander Campbell as they discussed something.
“Commander.” Captain Ramsey greeted her as she approached. Commander Campbell though, simply nodded.
“Where’s Sergeant Jameson?” Aldridge asked simply, foregoing any form of repaid pleasantries.
A few strides behind the Commander was Master Gunner Sergeant Jameson, already suited into his ODST armor, save for his helmet. He knew many of the crewmembers of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer, and had grown to be somewhat friendly with them over the last six years. As he approached Ramsey, Campbell, and Aldridge, he nodded to a few of the crewmen that looked in his direction.
“Sergeant.” Captain Ramsey greeted him in a similar fashion as Aldridge, though his misdemeanor was far more pleasant for the Ghost Detachment leader. The two had shared quite a few bottles of whiskey over the last two years that he’d been assigned as commanding officer of the Wanderer. “We’re ju-“
“We’re dropping out of slipspace, are your men ready?” interrupted Aldridge.
Jameson already didn’t trust the ONI spook, and the way she showed little to no regard to Captain Ramsey only served to turn that mistrust into a dislike. He examined her a moment before answering with an amused though exhausted tone of voice “Ghost is readying as we speak, Commander.”
“Good. We brief in five minutes. That will be all.” Aldridge turned her attention back to the darkness of the viewports, noting a countdown clock on one of the monitors that read ‘ETA 0:00:35’.
To that Jameson raised an eyebrow, looking to Captain Ramsey who could only shrug. “Right…” he said simply, turning about to walk back toward the aft of the Bridge. As he climbed through the hatchway, he made for the gangway, and began climbing down the five decks that lead to the staging area, where Ghost was gearing up.
“Ten seconds.” Announced Oberon, alerting everyone aboard the bridge that normal space re-entry was just ten seconds away. The bridge crew looked on in concerned anticipation while Captain Ramsey, Commander Campbell, and Commander Aldridge all stepped over to peer down from the Captain’s perch. Everyone was wondering if the Covenant were still active in the region, despite having obliterated all of the UEG Colonies within it.
“Four… Three… Two…” counted Oberon as the ship suddenly decelerated from slipspace speeds, the universe red-shifting back into the visible spectrum beyond the view ports. In the distance, the giant twin glowing white stars of the Omega Titanius System swirled around each other in an infinite dance. At this range the stars were each roughly the size of a golf ball, but they shined with an incredible brilliance that blotted out everything else of relevance in the system. In fact, the Bridge that had been rather dimly lit was now a blaze with bright sunlight. To combat this however, Oberon polarized the viewports to their maximum setting.
Captain Ramsey squinted his eyes as he looked into the distant space of the System through the viewport, hoping there wasn’t some form of Covenant armada out there waiting for them. Commander Campbell turned about on her heel, and approached a control station, checking the shipboard LIDAR and Spectroscopes herself. “Are we clear?” Ramsey asked, turning to look to Campbell.
“It appears so, Sir.” Campbell answered, feeling her own sense of relief that the Covenant weren’t in the system.
“Good. Take us into High Orbit around Omega Titanius III.” ordered Commander Aldridge before the Captain could reply. Without so much as another sound, the ONI officer strode back toward the aft hatchway of the Bridge. She exited, then made her way down the five decks, headed for the staging area, where she would brief Ghost Detachment.
CONTENTS: Response from MARSOC Requisitions &Assignments Department
PRIORITY LEVEL: 2-Non Priority-No Special Instructions
DATED: 09:15-20-08-2550
- - -
ATTENTION: Captain Markus Ramsey, Commanding Officer, UNSC Wayward Wander
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550
- - -
ATTENTION: Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Jameson, Detachment Leader, Marine Special Operations Detachment Ghost
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550
- - - - -
UNSC Wayward Wanderer
- - -
23:20 Hours
22 August, 2550
Personal bunk room of Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson
Sitting quietly in his bunk with his back against the wall, Jameson looked up to the grated steel ceiling above him, a datapad resting beside him with the contents of a message from MARSOC still open. His requests for additional Marines with experience was declined, and he was stuck with the replacements MARSOC had assigned him after Ghost’s last operation. With a deep sigh he reached down to grasp a short steel tumbler that had been placed carefully at the foot of his bunk. He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a deep sip of the old Irish Whiskey that he’d poured himself.
“Assholes.” He said to himself in reference to the message, shaking his head.
Jameson’s bunk room was one of only four solo units that had been afforded to Ghost Detachment when they came aboard the Wayward Wanderer some six or so years earlier. Of the other three solo bunk rooms, one was afforded to Gunnery Sergeant Mullan, one to Staff Sergeant Archer, and the last to Sergeant Hendry. The rest of the Detachment shared one large common bunk room, that while spacious, offered little in terms of privacy. The only thing his bunk room offered was a place to sleep, and privacy.
Though this small closet space of a room was his, you’d have been hard pressed to notice, save for a single old photo of him and his father. He had no intention of finding comfort in this small room; to him, home was Reach, and that would be the only place he’d ever truly find comfortable. He missed his home, the old wooden cabin his father had built attached to a small lake, where he would spend long summer day’s fishing. He missed his father even. Taking another sip of his whiskey, he pushed the thoughts of home from his mind. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce.
He set the tumbler back down, and picked the small data pad up again, switching to the after action report of Ghost’s last operation. They’d been ordered to secure a remote comm relay station located on a barren world near the edge of UNSC space, and though the insertion was smooth, the rest of the operation was one big clusterfuck. The relay station was badly out of sorts, and the engineers that ONI had sent to repair it were woefully under prepared. What was supposed to be a quick two day baby sitting job, turned into a two week long ordeal that saw a dozen or so Covenant attempts to take control of the facility. In the end, ONI decided to abandon the relay station, and pulled Ghost out.
“But what the hell, right? We only lost six men.” He blurted out aloud as he read the report.
In his mind he went over the names of the six that had died; Corporal Jacob Yeager, Corporal Adam Faulk, Lance Corporal Joseph Reid, Lance Corporal Regina Watts, and Private First Class Thomas Ryan. He remembered each of their faces, their voices, and who they were. Shaking his head, he scrolled down to see the names that MARSOC had assigned as their replacements. Only Lance Corporals Sanders and Donovan had seen any real combat, the other four were all still green. They’d seen some action, but nothing like what Ghost dealt with regularly.
As he returned to the message from MARSOC, he scoffed dismissively and threw the pad against the wall in anger. He then laid down against his bunk, trying desperately to convince himself to forget his life for just a moment.
- - -
03:25 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Permeating the small bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wander was ever present light hum of electricity running through the consoles that were littered about. The small twenty six year-old Mako-Class Corvette was in mid-slipspace travel, and beyond the large viewport windows was nothing but blackness. Standing atop his podium like holo-emitter was the green glowing visage of Oberon, the ship’s AI, his image displayed atop a holo emitter just to the starboard of the Captain’s perch that overlooked the fore control stations.
“Captain, the time is 03:25. We will be dropping out of slipspace in approximately thirty minutes.” Spoke the AI as he turned about on his podium to address Captain Markus Ramsey, the commanding officer of the Wayward Wanderer, who’d just stepped onto the Bridge from the aft access corridor. “Should I raise the crew to alert status?” he continued, his ethereal voice was soft, though the trace tone of it’s digital origin was clear.
Approaching the Captain’s perch, Ramsey stopped a moment as he stared into the darkness of slipspace, then nodded firmly. “Do it.” A moment later, the alarm claxons of the ship began to sound, alerting the crew to be ready for their re-entry into normal space, and to man their stations.
The journey from the Indus Corus System to the Omega Titanius System was long, but not long enough; Solace Colony, which had been located on Omega Titanius III was an inner colony, and it’s obliteration by Covenant a year earlier had warranted the concern of everyone. It had been attacked so suddenly, that no one had managed to escape from the destruction wrought by the Covenant.
“Captain.” Announced Commander Alyssa Campbell as she entered the Bridge from the aft access corridor, fighting off the urge to yawn as she’d only just awaken from her slumber by the obnoxious sound of claxons. She stopped beside Captain Ramsey looking off into the dark void beyond the viewports as she blinked any lingering desires to sleep. She then turned her attention Oberon’s holo image. “ETA?” she asked.
“Twenty-six minutes, twelve seconds.” He replied instantaneously, his attention now entirely focused on the task of coordinating the Wayward Wanderer’s exit from slipspace. As a few crewmen began to enter from the aft of the bridge, moving about to take their stations, Oberon spoke again. “I’ve raised both Commander Aldridge and Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson, they should be here momentarily.”
Ramsey nodded curtly to the AI.
- - -
03:29 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
“No! You hev’to listen to me, mmmh?” declared the resident mad Russian of Ghost Detachment, Sergeant Mikhail Leonid. He barely spoke English, but oh how he loved to debate the finer points of Russian culture with his English speaking squad mates. He pointed accusingly at Sergeant Terry Danforth, who simply shook his head in amusement. “Vodka is as vital to sanity, as rifle is to Marine, yes?” he held out his hands, waiting for a reply.
“Sure thing Mick, whatever you say!” Danforth laughed as he reached for his combat knife, and sheathed it just over the left side of his chest plate.
The members of Ghost Detachment were all gathered in the cramped staging area that connected to the hangar bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer. About an hour earlier, they were roused from their slumber to begin preparations for insertion, and now as the claxons rang overhead, warning of their imminent re-entry into normal space, it was almost go time. Yet despite how quickly deployment approached, Master Gunner Sergeant still hadn’t met with them for briefing.
The still as yet to be revealed reason for this assignment was a popular subject among the Marines as they suited up. In the far corner of the staging area, Lance Corporal Croft began loading a few buckshot shells into his M45E, as a few of the new replacements tried to chat him up. “I just don’t get it.” Announced Private First Class Joseph April as he looked to Private First Class Thomas Truman. “Where is here? Why are we here?” he poised the questions, his attention turning to Croft, who didn’t say a word, instead he pumped his Shotgun once to load a shell into the chamber.
“Hey, relax. When we’re supposed to know, we’ll know. It’s that simple.” Replied Private First Class Wiley as he approached, his MA5C slung over his shoulder, and his helmet in his gloved hand. “Besides, it’s not like it really makes any difference. Go here, kill this group of Covies. Go there, kill that group.” He grinned a toothy grin, and looked to Croft, patting him on his shoulder. “You know what I’m talking about!”
Croft again didn’t speak, he glanced at his shoulder, then back to Wiley. Wiley’s grin disappeared, and he swallowed audibly as Croft brushed past him, leaving the replacements to themselves. He had no desire to entertain the concerns of some new guy that he neither knew, nor wanted to get to know.
“What, is there something in my teeth?” Wiley joked as he looked back to Truman and April with a grin. “So, anyway… you guys heard the one about the Priest, the Rabbi, and the Prophet?”
- - -
03:50 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
At the aft end of the bridge of the Wayward Wanderer, a small hatchway opened to the sound of a loud metallic thud through which the slender form of Commander Samantha Aldridge stepped through. She bore a of suspicion, doubt, and arrogance; all staple traits of ONI Section-III Field Operatives. Her untrusting blue eyes scanned the small bridge a moment as if she were looking for an ambush of some kind. She then carefully made her way forward, approaching Captain Ramsey and Commander Campbell as they discussed something.
“Commander.” Captain Ramsey greeted her as she approached. Commander Campbell though, simply nodded.
“Where’s Sergeant Jameson?” Aldridge asked simply, foregoing any form of repaid pleasantries.
A few strides behind the Commander was Master Gunner Sergeant Jameson, already suited into his ODST armor, save for his helmet. He knew many of the crewmembers of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer, and had grown to be somewhat friendly with them over the last six years. As he approached Ramsey, Campbell, and Aldridge, he nodded to a few of the crewmen that looked in his direction.
“Sergeant.” Captain Ramsey greeted him in a similar fashion as Aldridge, though his misdemeanor was far more pleasant for the Ghost Detachment leader. The two had shared quite a few bottles of whiskey over the last two years that he’d been assigned as commanding officer of the Wanderer. “We’re ju-“
“We’re dropping out of slipspace, are your men ready?” interrupted Aldridge.
Jameson already didn’t trust the ONI spook, and the way she showed little to no regard to Captain Ramsey only served to turn that mistrust into a dislike. He examined her a moment before answering with an amused though exhausted tone of voice “Ghost is readying as we speak, Commander.”
“Good. We brief in five minutes. That will be all.” Aldridge turned her attention back to the darkness of the viewports, noting a countdown clock on one of the monitors that read ‘ETA 0:00:35’.
To that Jameson raised an eyebrow, looking to Captain Ramsey who could only shrug. “Right…” he said simply, turning about to walk back toward the aft of the Bridge. As he climbed through the hatchway, he made for the gangway, and began climbing down the five decks that lead to the staging area, where Ghost was gearing up.
“Ten seconds.” Announced Oberon, alerting everyone aboard the bridge that normal space re-entry was just ten seconds away. The bridge crew looked on in concerned anticipation while Captain Ramsey, Commander Campbell, and Commander Aldridge all stepped over to peer down from the Captain’s perch. Everyone was wondering if the Covenant were still active in the region, despite having obliterated all of the UEG Colonies within it.
“Four… Three… Two…” counted Oberon as the ship suddenly decelerated from slipspace speeds, the universe red-shifting back into the visible spectrum beyond the view ports. In the distance, the giant twin glowing white stars of the Omega Titanius System swirled around each other in an infinite dance. At this range the stars were each roughly the size of a golf ball, but they shined with an incredible brilliance that blotted out everything else of relevance in the system. In fact, the Bridge that had been rather dimly lit was now a blaze with bright sunlight. To combat this however, Oberon polarized the viewports to their maximum setting.
Captain Ramsey squinted his eyes as he looked into the distant space of the System through the viewport, hoping there wasn’t some form of Covenant armada out there waiting for them. Commander Campbell turned about on her heel, and approached a control station, checking the shipboard LIDAR and Spectroscopes herself. “Are we clear?” Ramsey asked, turning to look to Campbell.
“It appears so, Sir.” Campbell answered, feeling her own sense of relief that the Covenant weren’t in the system.
“Good. Take us into High Orbit around Omega Titanius III.” ordered Commander Aldridge before the Captain could reply. Without so much as another sound, the ONI officer strode back toward the aft hatchway of the Bridge. She exited, then made her way down the five decks, headed for the staging area, where she would brief Ghost Detachment.
Squad Lists complete, as well as Personnel Dossiers. I'm now working on first IC post, should be up at some point today.
Nallore said
Swift and I will be playing as the npcs and they won't have much of a personality since their CS's are pretty much blank and will be the ones who are killed.
Not necessarily, some of these NPCs may be killed, others may exist through, and beyond this first episode.
Posted.
Looking to his son, Koval the Lesser, Koval the Greater imagined to himself what Norsia he might inherit if he one day ascends to the Jarldom of The Province of Arda’Njor. Would it be the Province that he has known most of his life, cold yet prosperous, or would it be the last bastion against invaders from far away lands. Invaders that should have been opposed, but were instead let to encroach upon our sacred Nordic land.
He listened to the groveling of those Jarls that had been promised gold and title in exchange for their fealty, and felt disheartened. To know that his fellows, whom he’d respected, could so easily be swayed troubled him. Koval was sure that Jarls of Ashfall and Escgor were promised gold and title in exchange for their support of Henrik.
And while he wasn’t entirely sure of the motivations behind the Jarls of Coldmarch or Hjladr’s Vale, Koval trusted only the Jarl of Amriel, Zarathustra. He, like Koval had tested the would be King early, and exposed the weakness of the old Jarl for the moot to see. Henrik’s lack of conviction, one moment declaring that war would come to Gothra, then the next declaring that it wouldn’t, spoke to his inability to lead with confidence.
But the Jarlsmoot had spoken, and the support for the Jarl of Tyr was overwhelming. Koval hadn’t expected this support to change when he offered himself as King, but he felt that he owed it to them to at least give them the chance.
Henrik, it seemed, would be King.
Now, Koval thought to himself as he sat quietly for a long time. Thinking for so great a time, he knew the others would suspect him to declare a revolt, as was tradition. In fact, Koval was contemplating the idea. If Norsia were to survive, it would need strong leadership, and that certainly wasn’t Henrik. But as much as revolt seemed an option, Koval knew that he couldn’t betray the throne.
His father, and those before him had all remained loyal to the King, and they’d no doubt seen their fair share of weak leaders. No, Koval wouldn’t stray where his ancestor’s hadn’t, no matter how much the threat of Gothra concerned him, the threat of a divided Norsia was greater. Taking a deep breath before standing, Koval looked one last time to his advisor and friend, Toral. With a simple nod, Toral knew what it meant, and returned it with a cursory nod of his own.
“Though the words may not be of genuine intent, they have been spoken by the Jarls.” Pausing to grant a reassuring glance to Otrygg, Koval then stepped around from the table to approach the place where Henrik was sat. ”If it is the will that you be my King, then you too will have the loyalty of my Province, and the people of Arda’Njor.”
With a slow and deliberate motion, Koval withdraws a simple dagger from his waistline, and sets it down before Henrik on the table. ”May this dagger represent the willingness of the armies of Arda’Njor, to march at your command, and to wage war with our enemies. It is also the trust that we place in you, to see our borders secured.”
Lowering his head to look into Henrik’s eyes, Koval continues. ”It is also my solemn promise, to personally see you to your end, if it is your inaction that leads to the desecration of our Nordic lands, by our enemies.” With that, Koval takes a single step back from Henrik. ”May your reign be just, and may our lands grow great under your leadership.”
Koval then turns and walks away from the Jarlsmoot table, joining his son and Toral as they leave the hall. Leaving behind the King, his crowning ceremony, and looking to the great journey north to Arda’Njor ahead of them. Though loyal to the new King, Koval has no desire to attend a ceremony of his crowning.
He listened to the groveling of those Jarls that had been promised gold and title in exchange for their fealty, and felt disheartened. To know that his fellows, whom he’d respected, could so easily be swayed troubled him. Koval was sure that Jarls of Ashfall and Escgor were promised gold and title in exchange for their support of Henrik.
And while he wasn’t entirely sure of the motivations behind the Jarls of Coldmarch or Hjladr’s Vale, Koval trusted only the Jarl of Amriel, Zarathustra. He, like Koval had tested the would be King early, and exposed the weakness of the old Jarl for the moot to see. Henrik’s lack of conviction, one moment declaring that war would come to Gothra, then the next declaring that it wouldn’t, spoke to his inability to lead with confidence.
But the Jarlsmoot had spoken, and the support for the Jarl of Tyr was overwhelming. Koval hadn’t expected this support to change when he offered himself as King, but he felt that he owed it to them to at least give them the chance.
Henrik, it seemed, would be King.
Now, Koval thought to himself as he sat quietly for a long time. Thinking for so great a time, he knew the others would suspect him to declare a revolt, as was tradition. In fact, Koval was contemplating the idea. If Norsia were to survive, it would need strong leadership, and that certainly wasn’t Henrik. But as much as revolt seemed an option, Koval knew that he couldn’t betray the throne.
His father, and those before him had all remained loyal to the King, and they’d no doubt seen their fair share of weak leaders. No, Koval wouldn’t stray where his ancestor’s hadn’t, no matter how much the threat of Gothra concerned him, the threat of a divided Norsia was greater. Taking a deep breath before standing, Koval looked one last time to his advisor and friend, Toral. With a simple nod, Toral knew what it meant, and returned it with a cursory nod of his own.
“Though the words may not be of genuine intent, they have been spoken by the Jarls.” Pausing to grant a reassuring glance to Otrygg, Koval then stepped around from the table to approach the place where Henrik was sat. ”If it is the will that you be my King, then you too will have the loyalty of my Province, and the people of Arda’Njor.”
With a slow and deliberate motion, Koval withdraws a simple dagger from his waistline, and sets it down before Henrik on the table. ”May this dagger represent the willingness of the armies of Arda’Njor, to march at your command, and to wage war with our enemies. It is also the trust that we place in you, to see our borders secured.”
Lowering his head to look into Henrik’s eyes, Koval continues. ”It is also my solemn promise, to personally see you to your end, if it is your inaction that leads to the desecration of our Nordic lands, by our enemies.” With that, Koval takes a single step back from Henrik. ”May your reign be just, and may our lands grow great under your leadership.”
Koval then turns and walks away from the Jarlsmoot table, joining his son and Toral as they leave the hall. Leaving behind the King, his crowning ceremony, and looking to the great journey north to Arda’Njor ahead of them. Though loyal to the new King, Koval has no desire to attend a ceremony of his crowning.
I apologize for my lack of posting yesterday; I've been hard at work prepping for my Halo RP. I'll catch up on the IC now, and post a reply just after.
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