Dead Mans Hand | TAE

[Kalyn Tal'verda]

Winter
SRV Shroud of Justice
-00:10:00 MET

This was an incredibly strange mission, brought about by incredibly strange circumstances. Under direct orders from the Lord of Shrouds himself, a small, highly skilled crew was brought together for an urgent mission. A mission that required the utmost skill and frequency, a mission that required only the best of the best.

They were to travel to the world of Centares and fulfill the dying wish of a man long dead, deliver a locket to the grave of his wife. Even among the highly skilled crew only a select few actually knew this however. The locket was within a secure container only accessible by those aware of its true purpose, unfortunately one of those people was one Lyra Sarn.

For whatever reason the people in charge of the operation thought it was ok to let her know what was really going on, and while she was somewhat disappointed by the simple point of the mission, she saw no reason that it could not be made more... interesting. The rest of the crew was assembled from various heroes and specialists from The Ancient Eye and The Shrouded Republic, and who knows who actually decided to tag along at the end of the day.

The crew would be heading out in a Chisel Head Assault Corvette, with the precious cargo held by none other than Lyra Sarn, who nominally was in charge of the operation. She had no clue why she was put in charge, they had really no good reason to put her in charge, but they did it anyway due to her contributions to the subjugation of Haven it seemed.

As the crew prepared to lift off into the unknown Lyra sat distractedly at the bridge, spinning around in her chair like a bored child. As the crew began to make their preparations for take off she stopped spinning for a moment to send a message over the intercom.

"Good evening, this is your mission commander speaking, we are about to begin our 20 hour flight to Centares, please make sure to find a nice place to sit as it can become quite turbulent as we leave the atmosphere. I must remind you that smoking is not allowed until we have reached orbit, and please do consider yourselves invited up to the bridge at any time, it gets kind of lonely up here with all the faceless goons." She said.

All of the ships crew looked at her with a sort of death glare that she got all the time, she did not mind it all that much, it was a part of the job of course.

 

[Salij-Nekt]

Salij-Nekt had joined amongst the crew of the Chisel Head Assault Corvette. He was not one to board upon ships, or one for space travel. [member="Lyra Sarn"] had asked the Anubian, and at first he had thought against it. But, this was a chance to adapt. To adapt to space travel, and the Anubian came aboard. He waited alone in a section he had found for himself, sharpening along his pole-ax. He had been told what the job was and didn't see why they needed so many on board, but he was also the type to expect the unexpected. Especially if that unexpected is combat and fighting.

He lifted his head to hear the crew captain using the speakers. The invitation, he shrugged to and decided why not. So the Anubian stood and moved to the bridge, coming through the bridge doors and just...standing there now. He had already forgotten why exactly he had decided to come up to the bridge.

 

[Ravenfire]

Dan had join the AE shortly after appearing on that mountain peak on the planet below them. It would be the only way off world and he hadn't brought any weapons or armour with him when he had randomly appeared. So now he was on board one of there ship. The Chisel head or the chisel chin something like that anyways. The first thing he had done was gone to the armoury on board the ship. He had picked up a sk-ul-armor and wendigo-4d1. Now he looked like everyone else.

Then the PA systems when off. The captain spoke about finding a good place to sit and no smoking. Dan Chuckled at that, then an invite to the bridge. Well he wouldn't say no now would he. As he got in his new armour but his now weapon on a sling with him and then walked towards the bridge whistling all the way.

[member="Lyra Sarn"], [member="Salij-Nekt"]

 

[Thraxis]

Thraxis glanced over the turbulent ship, it was blockish to say the least, few curves and looked almost stagnant as he chucked over his shoulder a yellow torn duffel bag. As he did it shook and clutter, a hodgepodge of tools clinking and clanking in an unwed unison as to his left three men stood ready. They weren't armed to the teeth or ragged clothing as tended to be his company. Instead on three uniformed forklifts, three uniformed men drove in a uniformed fashion and on the ends, sat six crates that shook and sway, inside bottles of liquid were stashed and he planned to get sloshed. These trips, after all, seemed to take far longer than they should, some days they would take a couple hours, others would feel like an eternity.

With a departed sigh he hopped onto one of the Forklifts, one of the men raising a finger, "Sir, this goes against the company-" And like that, Thraxis rolled around, a hand clutching the Mast as he rolled around like some swashbuckling pirate. A finger came to the man lips, Thraxis eyes wide as he shook his head, this would not do. Entrances were his lively hood and really his only redeemable feature. So as he got closer, he pressed a hand against the man's head, eyes wide with mania as the man grew exceedingly uncomfortable as Thraxis placed a small pouch into his pocket, pulling his finger away before twisting back to feel the air between his bloodstained, alcohol ridden hair.

As his small crew rolled up to the rear of the ship, were the docking took place he haphazardly laid the crates, one atop another, directly beneath one of the vents throughout the ship. it took some time, and quite a few back alley deals such as giving cash to everyone that pestered him about bringing all this useless cargo, and the fact they didn't like what smelt to be booze awful close to air vents. But, like said prior. Giving cash resolves all issues and Thraxis was like a charity shop.

When the last container was loaded, he climbed to the top, his hands igniting in a white straight, severing and leaving blackened pocked marks in the crate as he followed through, clipping the ventilation shaft's as he followed as he began a shaken dance, a hand rolling around, cusping the lids of liquid ambrosia and pulling it into the ventilation shaft. He grabbed maybe thirty bottles of more, pulling from his shattered duffel bag a string of tape and rolling it all up as the message was sent through to met at the Bridge. "Hmmm... I could go there or...." He looked back and forth, alcohol, or work. Alcohol.... or work? Well. One bottle of Ambrosia couldn't hurt.
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[member="Salij-Nekt"] | [member="Dan Tray"] | [member="Lyra Sarn"]