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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Dec 09, 2015 9:08 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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"MARR BACRAUT!" Alfhild let out a mighty shout, launching herself over the pile of smoldering wreckage that was once part of her beautiful, magnificent space vessel. Her constant swearing was usually without purpose, but now with her ship in flames, her entire crew possibly dead, enemies to her back, and twenty meters of hallway between her and the slim chance of escape, she figured the gods would forgive her foul mouth.

Alfhild's hair swung violently from a sudden shift in body weight, as she turned down a small hallway. There was no grace in her motions; she was running from a horde of ravenous soj, not aiming to win a ballet recital. If it had been a ballet recital, Alfhild would have won, being as bull-headed as she was. When there was a prize to be won, she won it, no matter the cost.
When she wasn't mentally swearing, Alfhild maintained an inner pep talk of calming thoughts, thinking of things such as warm cocoa and not dying. It wasn't that Alfhild was afraid of dying. She had every intention of going to Valhalla upon her demise, but she would rather that it was on a better schedule than right now. Perhaps that was the irony of most deaths, with the phrase 'he left us so soon' resonating among loved ones so often. Alfhild herself was not thinking so philosophically, instead pondering why she had never stole and pawned Ber's marriage ring to a scrupulous corenan collector. The girl was pretty, but with her temper, how could she even begin to attract a guy? Alfhild was no man-catcher herself, with her constant glowering and booming voice. In fact, she was probably manlier than half the men on her ship. Kole seemed strong, but could barely hold a laser sword, let alone a traditional metal one; Fiske was thin and overall womanly, even Kri was an avid knitter though he always fiercely denied it, and the rest? If she wasn't in mortal danger, she would have laughed.

Further thoughts of her close crew mates agitated her. The mercenaries had appeared on the ship undetected, their assault sudden and brutal. The girl who had brought Alfhild a warning message had been bleeding out, organs held in only by her pale, trembling fingers. She had used her last breaths to save her captain. Each member of the crew flashed before Alfhild's eyes. Her bond with each was stronger than family. One face occupied her mind longer than the rest, a mature looking girl, with an intense, determined gaze. Isa. She was deaf. Even a warning of the assault would not have reached her ears. Unless someone had gone to her directly, or if she somehow managed to hide... Alfhild held back tears as she punched in the code for an intricately carved door. Its two halves began to retract, and through urgency she pushed herself through the crack.
Safely on the other side, Alfhild pressed the emergency close button, the door responding by slamming shut with a thunderous crash. The door was heavily reinforced with the strongest metals in the galaxy, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy. These weren't the usual mercenary fare; she regretted getting entangled with them in the first place. Alfhild turned and bolted, too busy trying to survive than to question the quality of the door further. She had the distinctive appearance of a lion in that moment, for the fierceness of her face and the wildness of her hair. Blood was running into her eye from a gash in her forehead, caused when the medical room of the ship had exploded, sending dangerous shrapnel all about the area.

Alfhild was now in the scout ship hanger, which looked empty and bleak, sooty blast marks covering the once-beautiful silver carved walls. She saw that one ship of the seven that they had remained. Each ship had two seats, guaranteeing at most twelve crew members escaped. Not enough. She climbed into the last ship, taking a deep breath as she pressed the buttons to close the air seal and open the hangar door. As she readied for take-off, a tear rolled down her cheek. The empty seat beside her was every member of the crew. Johan, Ragna, Kri. One seat, with the power to save any single member of her crew if she stayed. But she couldn't. She thought to the disaster of her own greed that had led to this horrifying moment as she engaged the scouter's thrusters, smoldering wreckage of her beloved Hrið lighting up the open skies behind. She would head to the Village, and pray to Odin that her crew members had thought to do the same.

----

Alfhild frowned, staring at the whirring tangle of wires and metal that was the engine of her eternal beloved. It wasn't often that she visited the engine room, ironically knowing little on how her ship operated, but at this moment it felt vital to inspect. She had been passing the engine room door when an unearthly screech had graced her ears, apparently coming from the slowly turning beast. She was smart enough to know it needed fixing, but not knowledgeable enough to fix it herself. Ber would take care of it. Alfhild had complete faith in her red-headed firecracker of a mechanic, having seen her talents firsthand in many a pinch before. She always had the tendency to be able to work around any problem that came her way. Alfhild remembered when they first met, how Ber followed her all about the Village, pestering her non-stop until finally Alfhild gave in and allowed the girl to be a part of her crew. As Alfhild thought about it, she realized that most of her friendships had been born that way. Did she have some sort of secret ability, or strange scent that attracted people to her? The unlikelihood of the proposition made Alfhild snort in laughter, covering a wide, toothy grin with her bracered arm.

The heat of the engine room began to get to Alfhild and she exited. Normally she would just deliver the message to Ber through the minute earpiece systems shared by all Hrið personnel (save Isa, for obvious reasons), but it was currently lunch time and Alfhild had yet to stop by the mess hall for a much needed meal. Ber, and most of the crew, would be gathered there already, without a doubt. Kole's dishes were not something commonly missed on the ship, especially when he made his renowned nässelsoppa. Mouth watering, Alfhild began to pick up the pace. Her training earlier that morning had been more rigorous than usual to make up for the lack of activity the crew had been facing for the past few weeks. They had of course performed a few raids on hostile cargo ships, using their usual technique of pretending to be abandoned and then ambushing when the unsuspecting scavengers locked on to their docking bay, but they hadn't gone on a real mission or landed on a planet for a job in quite some time. Alfhild had been encouraging the crew to join her for early morning sparring, but only Kri and Ragna had seemed at all enthused, which perhaps shouldn't have come as a surprise. Alfhild had always been intent on training their most inept, Kole, in the traditional Norse way of the sword and laser weapon, but it seemed the only way to get him interested would be to trick him, and that wasn't Alfhild's way.

Kri was already an excellent fighter, especially with a short-ranged weapon, and his sparring with Alfhild always helped hone the other party's abilities incredibly well, their fighting styles being on such opposite ends of the spectrum. If Alfhild didn't best him with her pure strength, his speed would be the downfall of her. Ragna was also a good bare-handed and grappling partner, though her small size would sometimes be her weak point if Alfhild acted quickly. Occasionally the captain would bring in various weapons to improve Ragna's skills at disarming an opponent. If neither of her crew members were available, Alfhild would use a sparring bot, or train with the variety of machines they had in the training wing.

Alfhild wandered the light gray and dark wood hallways, carved with intricate patterns of boats, warriors, horses, and other designs. Hrið truly was beautiful on the inside, kept clean by the devoted Isa and her cleaning bots. It made Alfhild feel more connected to her past ancestors, the one who had fled through the Bifröst. The sections depicting the gods made her especially inspired, reminding her of why she had begun traveling in the first place. They would find them, and Ragna would have to eat her own words.

Alfhild entered the mess hall, tying her mass of blonde hair back with a strip of leather in preparation for the feast she was about to take part in. Her eclectic mix of leather, traditional Norse, and Valdoonian clothes and armour gave the already beastly woman a fierce, but disheveled appearance. A variety of drawstrings and belts wound around her waist, connected to pouches containing important items and her favourite weapons, one being a laser-edged Norse sword, that was originally from Earth, but enhanced through the ages and passed down her family.

Alfhild disregarded the long tables where most of her comrades currently sat, instead focusing resolutely on food. She approached the counter, grabbing a bowl and spoon before sliding down the counter to be face-to-face with the ship's resident cook, Kjoljandr. "Góðan dag, Kole," Alfhild flashed him a grin, "what are we eating today?" Kole had probably benefited from the temporary peace they had been having, simply pleased to work in his kitchen without the possible threat of dying hanging over his head. "Did Kri help with the meal this time around?" Her closest friend had taken her drunken request to help in the kitchen, and Alfhild never had the heart to tell him that it wasn't meant to be taken seriously. It wasn't likely that Kri was a burden in the kitchen, though it did cut down on the two's sparring time together.

As Alfhild awaited her meal, she turned to look at her crew. All seemed well, and she couldn't help but smile.

_________________
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Last edited by Cotton on Mon Aug 29, 2016 6:04 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 9:15 am 

...looking for some new RP's.

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*Buzz! Vrrrrrrrrrr...*


The digital watch on Isas wrist, vibrated slightly. Looking at the time, she shut the robot she was working at, down. ~Almost time to help Kole in the kitchen again, or the crew might have late lunch today~ A check of the Washing-Maxun in the adjacent room, told her that the next batch of laundry will not be ready until after lunch, so she was all ready to set out.

An accidental look into the small mirror, hanging next to the door of her quite spacy workroom, let her furrow her brows slightly. A pair of silvery-grey eyes looked at her, a little surprised , and strands of cammommille Hair with a touch of silver, framed her slightly thin, but well shaped face. It had slipped past the simple leatherbands, holding her waist-long braid together. The surprise-effect of her appearance, though, were the black smudges of oil and dirt across her face. An especially dark, horizontal line across her straight nose, made her look a little bit like a jungle fighter in camouflage.
~ I dont think its a good idea to let Kole see me like that. I wont get even a step past him in the kitchen without a good spank. Phew. Good that I noticed it just in time.~
A wry smile in the reflection showed some dimples on her cheeks, as she sped past the mirror, and looked again at the time.

Then she pressed some buttons to set another buzz alarm in ten minutes.
~That should be enough time.~
Functioning for the deaf Isa as a substitute for the earpiece system, it kept her busy, reminding her of her - self set - scedule.
The watch had a function to send simple messages as well. However, It would require for the counterpart to have the same watch and the understanding of the morse code via vibrations. Maybe Ragna would be able to do this ordeal, but usually it was simpler just to come over and ask the people what help was needed.
So, for Isa, knowing the other peoples whereabouts was essential.

With a whiff Isa stripped off the burlap bag with holes for arms she had put on over her overall, to not get it oily, and threw it into one of the boxes for very dirty laundry. Those wooden boxes and woven baskets took up a good part of her workroom, sorting laundry from washed clothes and trash from useful items.
Seeing no other stains on her, she nodded contently, and moved on to wash her face and comb her hair quickly.
~Ragna does have a point with dressing in the Valoons' overalls. They almost never get dirty, dont rip, and are quite comfortable to wear.~
Isa caught herself liking the practical approach of them not hindering her movements more and more. Still, with the peaceful atmosphere on the ship, she did put on a simple linen dress over her overall, and fixed it with a leather belt decorated with wood ornaments and some feathers. A knife pouch and some little pouches were hanging from the belt as well, but Isa put her treasured knife in her bag, to not accidentaly lose the memento.
The combination of fashion did not look too strange, since the suits of the Valoons could be used for disguise as well, adapting to colors in surroundings. And Isa disliked to wear flashy clothes, so she took note to pick a Valoonian suit with camouflage ability for herself, when she was able to. With another check of her hands and face, she was contented, and, after taking her usual bag with random necessities with her, and tying it on her back, she finally departed towards kitchen.

She paced swiftly, but slow enough to check the statuses of each room, crew member and robot she passed, reminding herself to fix some of them later. The robots, not the people.
~ I wish I could fix Johans bad habits with some screws here and there though..~ thought Isa, as she passed a robot dealing with some obvious footprints. Her light smile faded into a slight frown thinking about where to put in a screw to deal with that problem...

Unconsciously she took detours, to keep a bit of watch on the crewmembers from the sidelines. Passing by the Capitains, Vice-Capitains, Ragnas , Fiskes, Ber's and Kole's Rooms it was obvious that the most members were not in, so she merely took a peek to assure that everything was clean and orderly. Not standing on ceremony to knock, since she would not be able to her an answer anyway.
If somebody was in, so be it. She would just shrug it off and close the door again.
Not many of the crew members even noticed, and those who did had time to get used to it in the last half a year after Isa joined them. Not that there was much privacy on the ship anyway. Besides the Capitain and the Vice-Capitain only a few had a single room. Isa did not count herself, since her room was too small to fit in another bed. Well, strictly speaking she did not use her bed as well ...but that was another story.

Feeling the vibrations from the Hrid, but not hearing anything, made her still a little bit uncomfortable, so the daily surveillance reassured her of everything being okay. It had no set time, but if she had something to think about, she would take a walk to check up on the members. Passing by the patiens ward, she peeked in and scanned everything with a look, but it seemed peaceful and nicely empty. They had no major fights for a while so the patients were just some minor injured people here and there, nothing serious enough to stay at the ward.
With a content nod she closed the door again.

*Buzz! Vrrrrrrrrrr...*


Her little time-and-life-saver stated to vibrate again, stating that she had just some minutes to be in the kitchen earlier than Kri, and something was rummaging in her bag as well. Opening it , and pressing a button to stop her little ex-cleaning robot Tinky from blinking and shaking, Isa focussed her gaze, as she accelerated her pace, this time without detour, in the direction of the kitchen, victoriously slipping past Kri, and nodding at Kole, as she started to clean and set up the tables.
Some dishes from late breakfast seemed in need of another round of scrubbing, so she cleaned those as well. After some minuscule preparation work like heating water for the warm drinks, and pouring it into some isolating containers, Isa caught Koles gaze and shot an intent look at him, showing her empty hands, itching for work.

***


Looking around and assuring there was nothing to do anymore that she could help with, as the majority of people were already settled at the table with their food and drink, she finally grabbed her own portion, and settled down on a free table, to appease the growing vibrations from her stomach. A cup of warm grape juice accompanied her to her seat as well.
Trying to control her greed, she forced herself to eat and chew very slowly, but still , her slowest speed whilst enjoying her food at the maximum, was even faster than chugging down a cup of ale. It did take only some minutes before she was back for a second portion, with sparkling eyes (to appease the cook of course!) and a graceful, heartfelt smile. What betrayed that smile was the underlining growling noises of her stomach, desperately calling for more food...
After enjoying her second portion, at a pace that was a little slower, but not much slower than eating the first one, she settled down for a little bit, and decided to shamelessly scrounge another portion from Kole if she could. The line of people had thinned, just some late comers were there, so she ended up right behind the Capitain, with a neutral and innocent, but determined expression to get that third portion on her face, patiently waiting in line until the capitain would get her portion.
*gurururururrrrrrrr*~ *grurrrr*~

No, this was not her watch, and realizing what kind of vibration it was, she felt a little blush settling on her cheeks, as the vibrations in her stomach - probably- gave her out, and her stealthy appearance behind the capitain, was not so stealthy anymore. She sighed voicelessly, and hoped that the vibrations just felt loud, and werent that loud at all. Judging from the surrounding, teasingly smiling gazes of the crew though, she could see that hope flying in a dirty laundry basket...

_________________
Best method to kill: | +
Actually, at one point during the month, a group of a dozen or so Cultivators belonging to a different local power group showed up. They desired to slay Meng Hao and take his medicinal pills by force. A single cold snort echoed out from within the Immortal’s cave, causing Heaven and Earth to shake, and instantly killing half of the group.(from ISSTH)

How to beat a Machine gun with a Laser sword. | +
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(sig made by Eferhilda)

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PostThis post was deleted by Coreonysis on Thu Dec 10, 2015 6:49 pm.
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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 10:13 pm 

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"Rurkyng-verb... Sounds like "roar-kin". The emphasis on the "roar" sound indicates aggression. The emphasis on the "kin" sound indicates placidity. Huh. No wonder he was so upset," Ragna muttered and scooped a controlled amount of food into her mouth. She chewed slowly as she scrolled through the paragraphs of a book written in Corenan on a small handheld computer.

"Apparently, I will have to apologize the next time I see him."

She lifted one booted foot and crossed it over another and sipped a small amount of her drink before she turned the page. Her eyes scanned over the symbols on the page and her eyes widened a little. Color flushed her pale cheeks and she turned the computer off.

"Yep! Yep. I must definitely apologize..."

She leaned back in her seat to stretch and her eyes scanned the crowd. Each and every one of them was there for a divine purpose: to find the existence of gods. Well, all except for Ragna of course. Ragna had a very different view of the Gods, but she was not one to go around shouting it into every room on every floor of Hrið. Her job on board the ship was to stop fights and promote synergy, not to start them. Still, they were good companions and Ragna found no fault in their desire to keep the Norse traditions alive. When the time came, she knew she could count on them.

She took another controlled bite and another small sip of drink as the Captain entered and made her way to the food line. Ragna waited until Alfhild had finished engaging in conversation with Kole the cook before sliding from her seat and approaching on her own.

"Greetings, Captain," Ragna said. She had to look up slightly to be eye to eye with Alfhild, but she seemed un-intimidated nonetheless. "Please forgive my short sparring session this morning. There was something on my mind that I needed to settle."

She scratched the short side of her pink head.

"I'm sure it won't be anything serious, but we should probably give Coren a wide birth for now..." She waved her hands calmly. "Actually, I doubt it's that bad. According to my files I used the wrong inflection on a word, but Corenan is a tricky language. They were mad, but it wasn't like last time..."

She traced the scar on her lip.

"I just thought you should know I **** them off again. It wasn't on purpose though on my honor."

_________________
"Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder."
~ Rumi


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Last edited by Rose_Enthorne on Thu Dec 17, 2015 10:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:49 pm 

Rum innate.

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“Kole, you have to let me go. You have to.”

“No! Stop talking!” Tears forced themselves through Kole’s clenched eyelids. He was gripping Gunnar’s suit by the lapel. “Ye not gunna die on me, ye hear!”

The gunner and the cook had escaped on a scout ship when The Hrið was attacked. Gunnar fended off an attacker but was wounded on both legs that Kole had to carry him over his shoulder just to get to the Scout. The scout ship's reactor was damaged during their escape. With the ship not having enough power to reach The Vætta, the injured gunner broke autopilot and performed an emergency landing in the wilderness of the planet Bryaclia. The crash aggravated Gunnar’s injuries, pushing him to pre-critical status.

“No, don’t turn on the distress signal. Those buzztards are still scouring the sector for survivors. Wait 96 hours or so. And besides, who’s gonna come to our rescue? We lost the Hrið, and we’re far away from The Vætta, and from other Norse--”

“But we gotta get ye to a med bay, Gunner! Ye stoopid or wot! The GP gonna find us and bring ye to a med--”

“It’s suicide, idjot! Most of Parra Savva hate our guts, the Galactic Police no different.”

Kole reluctantly saw Gunnar’s logic, and resolved to keep him stable until real help arrives. For the next two days, they found themselves talking intimate matters: about family back home; who among the crew would get married first; what it takes to be a great ship gunner; how invaluable knowledge of the indigenous flora was, knowing which plants contained coagulating agents to slow blood loss, which herbs were good sedatives to alleviate hypertension and slow down heart rates, which in turn would decrease respiration rates -- something especially critical since the dwindling supply of breathable air was their biggest enemy. The planet was carbon-dioxide rich, toxic to humans. Food and water posed no problem; once the rations ran out, there were enough edible Bryaclian vegetation and watery fruits to consume. According to Gunnar, the ship had enough reserves to oxygenate the air for 21 days for the both of them.

On that second day, equipped with a breathing apparatus, Kole was out surveying and collecting resources. He figured that he would activate the distress signal after only 48 hours, but when he returned, he found Gunnar anemically pale on his makeshift stretcher, foaming at the mouth. His palm opened weakly to reveal an emptied vial. The cook knelt by his dying comrade in disbelief, staring at his misting eyes. Dilating pupils, searching left and right. Gunnar didn’t need to speak. It was written all over his glazed eyes.

Kole, I’m only a burden… even if you can keep me alive for months, what use am I without my legs. I know there’s no guarantee, if... anyone is even looking for us. You might have to seek out the Bryaclians for help. Kole, live. Live for me. For our people. Giving you three more weeks is the least I can do…

Within moments, the gunner Gunnar was a goner.

The worst day of Kole’s life.


* * * * *



“Ggóður dagur! Y’Captain!” The cook cheerfully served Alfalfa her portions. “We be havin’ today boiled eggs, alfalfa and kale salad wit’ cranberry dressing, baked potatoes wit’ chives, nässelsoppa, and slices of fresh apricots and canteloops.” Gotta serve the non-perishable foods first such as fresh fruits, freshly ‘acquired’ from generous sources. “And non, Syrr Krii didna help out today, simple enough menu fer today’s lunch, ya?”

But before Alfalfa could respond, Isa’s stomach once again announced its presence. Kole was about to quirk an eyebrow, but since the last of the crew was served, everyone was free for seconds, and in Isa’s case, thirds.

“Aite, Jack Rabbit of all Tools, ye be knowin’ the rules, so yes, here ye go,” serving her a third portion. The rules being, or at least one of them, that no one should get a second helping until everyone has gotten their first. Kole had to bend the rules a little and a lot for Isa -- just like those other times he felt like bending his flexible spatula across her posterior, because it seemed to him as if she was presenting it for his disapproval, but that little twirl of the body was probably a defensive gesture for any self-respecting being, shielding or at least turning their most armoured or padded side to buffer or cushion incoming strikes. Besides, to whack someone with a cooking utensil currently in use was offensive to anyone with a sense of hygiene!

* * *


“Eh, ye feedin’ two mouths or somethin’?” Kole joked one time in a similar situation as present – while serving at the counter but with Frisky nearby. “Er, doc, ye sure ye found nothin’ in yer scans? She sure eats enough fer two.” No one laughed, at least that he could recall. Maybe because it was lunch time and no one wanted to hear a joke about alien parasites who hide inside people’s stomachs. So he tried to alleviate the situation by cleverly changing the implied subject -- from an alien to a baby. “Ye sure ye’re not pregnant? Eh? Eh?” Adding a wink.

* * *


There were other rules in Kole’s Kitchen. All dining implements were unbreakable, from the silver utensils to the ceramic food trays to the genuinely glass-like plastic cups. Unfortunately, his wooden set was destroyed on that fateful day a long time ago. Being out in space, turbulences were bound to occur more often than on a ground-based establishment, so everything must be shatterproof. Another rule: everyone must eat together at appointed meal times. The crew was small enough that four tables sufficed, and that policy could only help in fostering a social atmosphere. Supporting this rule himself, Kole would randomly sit at different tables, not playing favourites, although he did have his preferred company. In such an environment, Kole would not only be able to catch up on senior officer plans and general ship agendas, but also figure out how to introduce and merge the ship's lower-level issues such as ration levels and supplies with higher-priority ones.

At the moment, there was one item the ship’s cook and budding winemaker was particularly excited about, and so he brought his tray and cup and sat in front of the Navigator Johan Liutsson. Kole remained wearing his chef beanie hat; not presentable, wearing a hathead.

“Say, what be our chartered courses fer the next little whyle, eh?” It wasn’t an unusual query. Kole had asked this before many times, so he can coordinate picking up supplies from this and that location, which would allow him to plan ahead his menu, among other things. But he overheard Negotiator Ragna saying something about avoiding Coren for the next little while. “Eh, okay, besides Coren, that be.”

Kole was curious. He read, or heard, from somewhere, that time travelled faster or slower in different places. Of course, the entirety of the dissertation was gibberish to him, but that was what he understood and took away from it. He didn’t even realize that he gleaned and tucked away this info until he got into winemaking. What is the most important ingredient in wine? Even more crucial than the most exquisite variety of grapes? Why, time, of course! But, what's that got to do with anything? It's not like time can be distilled and increased or decreased as an ingredient? Or can it? His secret brainstorm: to lower a crate of barrels of freshly pressed wine -- with a very very long rope or something to avoid being affected -- into someplace where time ticked faster, leave it there for a month, come back and retrieve it, and it would have aged decades, maybe even centuries! Vintage!

A sparkle like that of champagne alighted Kole’s clear blue eyes.

“Any like, uh, dead spots the space sailors be sayin’ to avoid, or somethin’ like that, Syrr Liutsson?”


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View Likes PostPosted: Fri Dec 18, 2015 10:48 am 
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Bergljot was about to start tackling the main issue, but she'd noticed the time, having finished the main morning maintenance check a little later than what it would have normally taken her. There had been a few wires that had needed replacing. She was about to head into the main engine room but her stomach was telling her it was time for lunch. A double check of the time confirmed her hunger. Ber headed down to the cafeteria, wondering what delights Kole would have cooked them up today. Something that always pleased her was how no two lunches were ever the same, Kole always had something new and delicious on his menu.

Ber headed into the cafeteria with a little more haste than she had planned, upon getting there she realized once again she was one of the first there, which was always a bonus. Grabbing a tray she headed down to where Kole served up the food.
"Looks good Kole, I'll come and do the kitchen maintenance checks this evening" She mentioned and smiled at him, one that told him she was grateful for his culinary skills. Then headed to her usual spot and sat down, saying a quick thanks to the gods for living another day and always having lovely food. Looking around she noticed the others beginning to filter in, and she began on her food. Eating slower than most.

Ber heard the captain come in, whom was the last to eat and she'd noticed Isa had gone up for thirds, and thought to herself how much that girl could eat. She didn't bother though, as her own appetite was very small. As she finished her lunch, she washed it down with a glass of milk with a dash of honey for the sweet edge. She had to keep her calcium intake high so her bones would be stronger than any machine she took care of.

---

Johan had gotten into the cafeteria not long after Bergljot, getting his food and shyly thanking Kole, headed to a table and sat down. He'd considered sitting with Ber, but had thought against it in the end. He was sleepy after having pouring over his maps all night, there was something in the map he'd recently constructed that didn't add up. He was sure there wouldn't have been an error, but he hadn't slept well for many days so had put it down to a miscalculation. He'd been thinking to himself when he was suddenly interrupted. Startled a little he jumped, and looked up.
"Kole" he said, as though he had to confirm there was actually someone stood there. When he asked about black spots and chartered courses. He thought.
"Not right now Kole, sorry, and I'm going to be meeting with the Captain this afternoon to see where we are going to be headed, so I'll let you know at Evening Meal time." He replied a little emptier than he'd meant to.
Taking a long mouthful of his juice he realized how it had sounded and wanted to apologize but put it down to his own paranoia and that it would all be alright. Moving a stray piece of hair out of his face he noticed the Captain was having her lunch and waited until she'd finished eating before thinking about interrupting her. It wasn't right to disturb a lady in the midst of her meal.

_________________
Three rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Dec 22, 2015 1:01 am 
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Fiske had recently started to practice a habit of staying up late the night before, studying until exhaustion prevented him from further reading a single word, and snoozing well into the late hours of the morning... Though this time, he hadn’t even made it to the bed in his room. Splayed onto a table, he found his face planted into a hard surface, falling back into awareness as he heard the footsteps of his crew pace along the long and grand hallways. A deep growl resounded from the young man as heavy eyelids ever so slowly filtered sunlight into his vision. His eyes depicted long, diaphanous digits curled around an intricate carving knife, resting onto his working table as its skin pressed firmly onto the wooden surface below. Why did it feel so sore, all of a sudden? He groaned, taking more effort than expected to push his palm away from the table. And at that moment, he realised the deep, red marks that had been stamped onto his hand.

Oh, gods. That’s what he was doing last night.

His wits began to liven. Memories of yesterday evening recalled that he had been successful in using a combination of space-age and Norse technology, a recipe of chemicals and natural ointment, to bind and heal cuts more efficiently. In his excitement, he scribbled his findings into a leather book, as well as turning to his desk to forever mark his findings. By now, a quarter of the table was covered in the handmade various symbols, depicting tales of his successes almost in the same elegant fashion as the carved walls that donned the ship’s interior. With each stroke of the blade, Fiske carved his own identity, forged his own path, subconsciously verified his abilities as a doctor worthy of looking after the people he holds dear, as well as gluing him to his seat from being so absorbed in the intricate act to the point of passing out onto his own carvings... He breathed a laugh through his nose as he finally managed to get up to his feet and glanced at himself through the mirror adjacent to him. It appeared that the carvings had printed their way onto his face, his right cheek covered in shorthand writing and pushed in so deep they were determined to stay put, no matter how much Fiske prodded and smoothed the area with his hands. Fiske slowly shook his head to dismiss his agitated aesthetic as he left the room. There were greater things to worry about, especially seeing as he didn’t show up for breakfast and knew how much the crew liked eating together and conversing about morning plans. Argh.

He practically hovered towards the dining area, sore limbs and sleepy eyes hunching him over. His cape, or in other words his sleeping blanket, crumpled behind him, locks of light brown hair combed by his fingers to rest onto his shoulders. Looming over to Kole and his cooking, he nodded with an apologetically-toned greeting, and quietly sat to the back of the room to dine. His eyes haunted over to the other members as they filed in and sat down, smirking at Isa’s eager notions for thirds. One mealtime previously, when Kole had joked about Isa having the appetite of a woman in stages of pregnancy, Fiske snorted in amusement at the cook’s winking gesture and mused back; “Aha, naw, but who knows? I’ve not much experience at determining that sort’ve thing yet. Also, weyard scanning technology is weyard.” Fiske was never really one for straying beyond old-fashioned, traditional remedies, but then again, becoming a more modern man was in order if he wanted to improve his abilities.

Their enthusiasm, coupled with such fond memories, did wonders to work energy into Fiske, as he found they usually did. When everyone eventually met to the tables, he worked at a soft smile to reflect back at them. “So how’s everyone doin’? Not hurting anywhere? Well, not like we’ve had much to fight to get hurt from recently.” He shoveled a chunk of baked potato and nettle soup into his mouth, its warmth soothing and tasting of distinct Hrið comfort. “And, uh, my apologies for waking up so late. You lot know me.” His words openly spoke to no one in particular as he ate, reminding himself with a smile of why he boarded this ship in the first place. Next time, he thought, he’d try to work on being prompt to morning meetings, for the sake of his friends, no, family in a dangerous spacetime.

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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Dec 29, 2015 1:56 am 

I would love to get to college already.

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A drop of blood. A single drop of blood rolled down his face. And with that warm excretion rolling down his skin, his nose being stained the scarlet color of red ink, a single thought strolled across his mind.

"I don't want to die."

And with that single thought, Kri pulled his sorry ass up to his feet, and prepared himself for the fight of his life. As drew his sword from the sheath on his back, staggering across the floor and dripping blood from the gash upon his head, he began to run. His vision was fuzzy, but a hell of a lot better than when he laid under a pile of smoldering rubble. He knew that the soj would be upon him in a matter of moments. He knew with certainty that they had most likely gotten to many of the members of the crew... That thought alone made him choke upon his own spit. He knew, as the second in command, he was responsible for the overview of security on the ship. But the ones under him... They hadn't had a chance to report anything to him. He hoped that they had gotten to Alfie, and warned her in time. Now that he thought about it, in this moment of fuzzy clarity, he realized he didn't want to live without his crew.

His vision was getting worse. He knew he had to get to the scout ship hangar, though he had no idea if he would be able to make it in time. His sword, which was always so light, felt like dead weight in his hand. He put it back in his sheath, praying to all of the gods that he wouldn't encounter the soj. They had hopefully thought him dead and left him, under the pile of smoldering wreckage. His jacket, the one left with it... It prevented most major burns, and he was grateful for it. It was made of some sort of fire retardant material. Still, he would have to consult Fiske when he made it out.

If they all made it.

He still clung to that small hope, that small, irrational part of him that said that everyone would make it out.

It was then in a heart-stopping moment that he heard the footsteps behind him. He didn't turn. He hoped that he had not been seen. He knew it was the soj, and he turned a corner that let far from where the hangar was. He kept running, and only then did he turn. His heart leapt to his throat when he saw that it wasn't the soj.

"Alfhild!"

She was running toward the hangar, and over the noise of the burning and crackling, snapping and popping, he knew she didn't hear him. Even with superhuman hearing, no one could have heard over the massive groaning of the ship falling apart. So, despite his woozy head, his disability to be heard, and his severe wounds, he began to run once more. He chased after her with all of his ability, but in his weakened state, she was faster. She was already at the hangar when he got back to the turn, and he knew that once he made it there...

Kri gave it one last burst of energy, and was able to make it to the hangar. Black dots danced across his vision, and he almost celebrated. Until he saw the last scout ship, leaving and blasting off to the stars.

----

"Ugghhhh..."

The groan that came from Kri's lips was nothing short of a snarl, one that seemed like it could come from a bear. Maybe it was from being around Alfhild too long. That thought alone brought a chuckle to his lips, and it was then that his ears registered his alarm.

Well. The day started off with a bundle of dritt. He got up out of bed, stumbling in his fur blankets and falling to the floor with a thud. His closet hung ajar, and paper and ink sat on his desk where the letter he had been working on sat unfinished. Correspondence was his job, and he didn't take it lightly. He had become a master at forging handwriting as well, so he could theoretically put two species at war against themselves.

That, of course, was not his decision. So as he pulled on bearskin boxers, which again reminded him, with a hearty chuckle, of Alfie, some pants made of material that was from some other race's technology, and his jacket, he stood in pretty high spirits. The peace had gone on relatively undisturbed for quite some time, though he still had a habit of wearing his armor. Alfhild had gifted him with armor that matched his fighting style perfectly. It was incredibly light, as light as someone's normal clothes, though it was much less strong than Alfie's power suit. He often times couldn't lift that girl's armor, much less wear it.

As he got all of his clothes where they were supposed to be, he loaded his neck pocket with all of its normal commodities. He then strapped his sword across his back, it effortlessly falling to cover his scar. It stung a bit, and he knew he would have to have Fiske look at it again rather soon. He was finally suitable for lunch, and in suit with his role of second in command, he threw open the door and began running down the hall like a lunatic.

Damn, was it good not to think about dying.

Isa, as usual, passed him just as he was about to enter the dining hall. He sighed, though his face was one of contentedness. He saw Alfhild in line and jumped in behind her, punching her shoulder as she turned to look out to the dining hall. All was well on the ship, and it was reflected in her face as well as his own. "A shame peace like this can't last forever, isn't it?" He asked her, his friendship toward her bleeding through his voice. They had been through a lot together. He was glad things were going smooth for once.

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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Dec 30, 2015 11:17 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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Alfhild turned back to face the chef as he began to speak. Her smile was wide as she listened to Kole's ever-characteristic accent. She found his voice to be pleasantly unique, enriching the conversation with a sort of special flavour that others lacked. Maybe it was his instinct as a cook, to excite the senses in not just taste, but hearing as well. Her own voice was a low rumble, carrying across rooms and even ships. It had gotten her in trouble on many occasions, having never completely perfected the art of whispering, which required the dulcet tones of a voice to come to light. Nowadays it came in handy, being a captain. The louder the voice, the more authority was present. She had always been proud of the skills that came with being the owner of such a booming voice. Rarely did she have to get up from her own workings when she was in need of something, instead blasting forth the name of any one of her crew mates to assist her in the deed. Alfhild rarely had to whisper nowadays, Isa's hand signing having become a more important component in the ship than she had first expected. The communication was not only useful when talking to the deaf, but also for exchanging messages in secret in front of a possible hostile, or even to express orders across distances that her voice certainly could reach, but was of a more disturbing property than the silent motion of the hands. Most on the crew were well-versed in the communicative movements, some having a better grasp on it than others. Alfhild was, thankfully, one of the more gifted. her signs were grand and forceful with an abrasive sharpness, replicating her spoken voice. She wondered briefly if Kole's eccentricness of voice imprinted itself on his own signing. It seemed a shame if Isa were to miss out on the amusement.

Alfhild cheered inwardly at Kole's mention of nässelsoppa. The cook certainly knew of her fondness for the dish, as did the rest of the crew. Its gamey, green taste opening a world of wonders for the blonde she-warrior. Her eyes lit up as Kole poured the mixture into her bowl, stopping just short of the rim. He knew her well enough to not deny her of a single drop. "Aye, that's understandable. As they say, t-" she was halted by an unearthly noise to her back. Alfhild turned at a speed rare for women of her build, finding Isa, the causer of the rumbling, behind her. It was remarkable that the girl was able to sneak up on Alfhild, a well-trained warrior, and remarkable still that she could produce such a loud sound. Alfhild found it irritating that she hadn't noticed Isa in the first place. She would have to implement some sort of training program to re-hone her senses. The past weeks had certainly left her dull.

"Great Baldr!" Alfhild exclaimed aloud, signing as well for Isa's benefit, "I think there might be a dragon making its home in your stomach!" Her voice held a cheerful amusement and mock surprise, further steering the comedic spin of her words. Facial expressions were a key component of signing, making up for the lack of tone in many body movements. Isa had the ability to read lips, but Alfhild felt it made her more comfortable when it was accompanied by signing. Alfhild never wished for a member of her crew to feel out of place or unwanted; that was why they had all been so carefully selected. They were to work together not just as crewmates, but as friends, and kin. Naturally with the number of people on the ship there was always some division between people, but Ragna served as an excellent peacemaker, and those with natural dislike for each other often simply avoided the other person's company. Simple, in most cases. Alfhild was also avoidant of the possibility of romantic partnerships to develop on ship, but that too, was inevitable. Alfhild herself had never considered the possibilities of becoming betrothed, or being in a serious relationship, for that matter. In her younger years she had been frisky and flighty when it came to men, coming at the task with a warrior's mind. That yearning had faded over the years, dimmed by her dislike of the idea of having children. To become pregnant was to become weak, and being weak was foolish. At least, that was the way she saw it.

Alfhild began signing conversationally with Isa, but was interrupted yet again, this time by Ragna. Her voice set easily in contrast to Kole's, being thoughtful and studious, with the clarity of someone gifted with speech. The captain's face was filled with comical resignment at being cut off mid-conversation once again, but she understood that this was the life she had accepted, to be constantly sought for and consulted. This didn't develop a large ego within herself, but instead bred a determined spirit, intent on serving all those that she could.

Alfhild was glad that Ragna had come up now as she began to speak, carrying important information that was better served quickly. The mention of their morning sparring session reminded Alfhild of the smarting red welt on her thigh. When Ragna got hold, you were going down, regardless of skill. "Well, I'm certainly glad you've settled it," Alfhild mused, "I have no doubt that it wasn't your intention to anger them. We'll just have to avoid them for now." Alfhild kept herself from sighing out loud, however much she wished to expel her frustration. As captain, Alfhild wanted to keep her crew members at ease. A good leader was meant to be stoic and not cause undue panic, but if the malfunctioning engine was in need of some sort of special part, this meant they would have to get a lower quality part, or buy second-hand. Even finding other parts creators was difficult, as the corenians had the market so nicely cornered in Parra Savva. No one built machinery as well as the corenians, and this meant that large section of trade was cut off to them. She didn't blame Ragna; Alfhild understood that languages were complex, and marveled at the bright-haired woman's skill to master the intricacies of such strange and difficult speech patterns. Alfhild was sure she could work something out. Hopefully.

A light punch to shoulder caused Alfhild to turn again. The sight of her best friend's and second-in-command's face raised the state of her mood immensely. She didn't forget her worries, but the gaiety of being with such a close comrade was certainly a light in the dark.

"Heil og sæl!" Alfhild grinned, throwing an arm over Kri's shoulders. His comment brought a dark cloud over the captain's head. It was true that she did long for battle, but the miracle of peace was infinitely more precious than battle to her. Blasphemous for someone so devout to the gods to think. War came with the heavy loss of life. If death could be eliminated from fighting.... Alfhild almost laughed aloud, thinking of her times on the Village, wooden training sword in hand. She and her companions would run about the galley and halls, laughing and whooping. There were no good or bad side, just the joy of the sword. Those times were gone. These thoughts didn't reach Alfhild's face, which presented itself as calm and content. "Aye," she replied, "a true shame." After he had received his food, she directed them with a slight motion to a table, near the almost comatose Fiske and the much more bright-eyed Ber. Finally, Alfhild could begin her meal. All of the interruptions had brought frustration to her stomach. She thanked the gods quickly before taking a hearty slurp of the nässelsoppa. Incredible, as usual. Alfhild took a few more bites of the morning's fare before turning to Kri. She had taken note of his bursting entrance, and was intrigued by what had brought him into such physical extravagance. "What puts you in such energetic spirits today?" she asked, leaning back casually in her chair and grabbing an apricot from her plate. She watched with a side eye as she took several quick bites. Alfhild was well-known on the ship for being a ravenous eater, who didn't entirely mind speaking with her mouth full.

Before Kri could reply, Alfhild's flighty ears heard Fiske's askance. She turned, about to include them in her and Kri's conversation, before she noticed the markings all across his face. A bubble of mirth rose inside her; how ridiculous he looked! The red pressed markings over the side of his face stood in such contrast to his normal pallor that he looked like a striped uugbek. "What happened to your face?!" she hooted in mirth, barely containing booming laughter. She knew the day was good if it could begin with such amusement. "Not hurt, surely, but you make my ribs ache!"

This was the crew Alfhild knew and loved so very dearly.

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 31, 2015 12:16 am 

...looking for some new RP's.

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~Jack Ra...Rabid? Rapid? Rabbit?... ~Isa had trouble with lipreading Koles heavy accent, but she could read the gestures and the ~here you go~ clearly. Content, she grabbed her portion. But even if he called her a rabid dog, she would still smile and nod. ~No person that can cook so well, can be evil.~ she reassured herself. And her small wry smile could only rarely be widened into a grin – but often it was seen when she successfully managed to grab an extra seconds or thirds from Kole.
„Ay ay.“ she replied smiling softly, not sure if it was heard or not.
Maybe it was too quiet.
Then her attention focussed once again at the capitain, and she made a small salute, with a try to make her voice significantly louder, but she did not know if it turned out alright.

G'd day Captain.“

To a stranger, she would not sound like a deaf person – but experienced people might notice the wrongly intonated words. Of course only her family knew of her melodic voice from before, Isa had even liked to sing, when she still could hear, right now it sounded quite flat, monotone, and a little fragmented, accentuating each letter, as she used only one sharp breath to speak.

Her cheeks had now small red spots growing bigger and deeper shade of red, as reaction to the capitains words, and watching her handsigns Isa smiled a little apologetically at first. ~It is not a dragon, but my body tries to store up some food reserves, maybe.. ~
She made some vague handsigns, implying that it was not that bad, the simple combination of signs for 'very small dragon' and 'enjoying good food' emerged, and she hoped that the capitain could grasp her signs, before her attention was grabbed again by Ragna.


We should give Coren a wide birth..“ something must have happened, maybe Ragna had a misunderstanding last time with the aliens there... Isa frowned, lipreading her words, they did look a little more agitated than usual, but she did not pay it any mind that time, when she accompanied Ragna to the negotiation with the corenans. Corenans were usually angry, they liked to flare up a lot, when they didn't talk about their technology. Or maybe it was just percieved as angry – with their aggressive nature, fights were a part of their life.

She tried to catch Ragnas eyes, to signal her not to worry about the corenans in sign language, if she was successful. The practical side of sign language, was that it would not really interrupt the conversation. The unpractical side was that both people had to pay attention.


To lipread, was a good training, because she was still not perfect at it – losing her hearing just a year prior, the first few months were a nightmare. A whole world of fear and deadly silence, but she learned to survive, and care for the slightest vibrations she percieved. It also sharpened her senses and her instincts.
Trying to keep her eyes on a persons lips each time the person was in vision range, to not miss anything they said, even if they did not always talk to her, was something she did automatically now. Same as never keeping her back to others – maybe besides turning her body a little when kole made attempts to spank her. He never did though, so she might need to get rid of that habit.

If you have no other choice, you learn fast, but honestly, sometimes it was easier to read aliens, than peoples accents. Isas only merit was, that she could read and write quite well. She preferred it, instead of talking for long explanations, or with dialogue. She read and wrote in only the basic language, but that was quite good already.

Swiping her eyes across the cafeteria, she noticed that Johan looked a like a good patient for the hospital wing – dark shadows under his eyes and wandering, absentminded glances here and there, not even noticing Kole ... pitying the man, she decided to not point out the footprints today... or maybe it was Koles meal that made her mood a lot better, so she was not in the mood to bicker.

She made another small nod to everyone in the now lively round of people, before she darted off into a corner, to sit down. From there she could eat and had no blind spots in her back. Her former sitting place was now filled by somebody else , but that did not really bother her.
A glance at Ber and her small portion made Isa blush a little, but the guilty feeling of eating for three or four people, disappeared with the first bite of the food and it melting in her mouth.

This time she ate slower, while another of her habits emerged, mainly watching the crewmembers, and lipread their words.
Fragments, reached her eyes, to be deciphered by her randomly
~I am not spying on them, I am just making sure they are happy and well~ she mused to herself, while something caught her eye -

you. ..sure you not pregnant?“she saw Kole talking to the Doctor and Isa almost parted with the food she was just chewing on, coughing slightly, then looking again, sceptically, watching the two men. She must have read wrong, no? Or maybe it was something like : you.. sure you didnt make her pregnant? Slightly shy she looked around for any sign of pregnancy on the female crew members and then scratched her head. ~Can it really be..?~ He looked really tired today.. so that was that?

No, wait, Fiske was a doctor.
He might have diagnosed it. So maybe another of the crew members … she did not notice her small mouth hanging open and not closing for quite a while, and lost in thought , Isa dropped a bite of her food on the table.
Noticing it, she scowled at her spoon, as if it was at fault, and quickly scooped it up and chewed it before somebody would point out that it was unhygienic. ~Good thing it did not drop on the floor.~ Putting her nose in her bowl for a while Isa concentrated on her food, only glancing up now and then, to check if all the crew members were present, and if maybe somebody had a task for her today, besides her usual work scedule.

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Actually, at one point during the month, a group of a dozen or so Cultivators belonging to a different local power group showed up. They desired to slay Meng Hao and take his medicinal pills by force. A single cold snort echoed out from within the Immortal’s cave, causing Heaven and Earth to shake, and instantly killing half of the group.(from ISSTH)

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View Likes PostPosted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 12:00 pm 

I would love to get to college already.

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To the lesser trained eye, Alfhild would have seemed perfectly content. But Kri knew better than that. He knew that she loved the buzz of battle, the blood of the sword, the thrill of the kill... He sighed, taking his food from Kole, who threw him a glance that said something like, "See, ye didn't elp me make it this time." or something like that. He was never good with the man's accent. He could listen to it a million time, and still not be able to replicate a single syllable with his own tongue. He looked down at the dish, and knew now why the captain seemed a bit bubbly. Nässelsoppa was her absolute favorite, and they would often spar over the leftovers, if there were any. It was safe to say that she was the most fierce during those few matches.

He took his seat at her side, and looked out among the crew mates. He was about to reply to Alfie when he spotted his beloved doctor, Fiske. He almost laughed. "What happened to your face, man? Looks like you've been writing on it." He was able to discern that they were doctor's notes, but he couldn't tell what most of them said. "I'll need you to take a look at my scar later, by the way." It felt kind of strange discussing such a topic out in the open, but all of the crew members knew about it by now. There was no use being private about it.

As for Alhild's question, well, there wasn't really a valid answer for that.

"I've no idea, Alfie. Maybe it's the high of peace getting to my head. Maybe it's the smell of battle drawing near." He gave a small chuckle, taking a gulp of the ale he always had with lunch. His tolerance had skyrocketed since he met Alfhild, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But they had shared many a drunken night around the fire, saying things that probably made no sense to anyone but themselves.

He saw Isa over in the corner, and was a bit sad to see her not with everyone for lunch. He had asked her why she sat there before, so he knew why she did it, but he often wished that he could find some way to cure her deafness. She was a nice girl, and he wanted communication to be easier. It would also be way safer for her, as warnings didn't often get passed along by vibration. The signal went off, and that was that. If she didn't sense something wrong...

He shook off the burden of thought and threw his arm around Alfhild's shoulders, downing his glass of Ale and refilling it from the barrel on the end of the table. "So, I don't know, and I don't care. All I know, is that I intent to be drunk by eight at night." He enjoyed the buzz, and he and Alfie hadn't sparred drunk in a while. It was pretty reckless, but fun as hell.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 03, 2016 12:35 am 

Teller of Tales and Magical Myths

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"My apologies again, Captain," Ragna said. "I should hope you won't prohibit me from returning to Coren at a later time once things have smoothed over."

She left it at that. As the ship's negotiator it was her job to speak with the aliens they came across to broker deals, set up trades, and foster friendships and alliances. It was her job to end fights, not cause them; but the Corenan language was particularly tricky. She began studying early and immersed herself in its language for years but the inflections of words could change their meanings entirely. Misunderstandings were unfortunately common, and the Corenan were not exactly known for being emotionally level headed. Neither were the Norse for that matter, but Ragna considered herself above the whims of her emotion. She succumbed to them rarely, but usually to dire consequences once all was said and done. In fact, the long scar that ran diagonally across her lips from cheek to chin, was a reminder of the last time she let her emotions control her words against a Corenan.

Captain Alfhild walked away to sit at a table and Ragna glanced at Kole, swiped another roll from the counter, nodded to him, then went and sat with the Captain. She smiled at Second in Command Kri and merely glanced in Ber's direction to acknowledge her presence. Ragna didn't dislike Ber, but it seemed Ber disliked her because of their conflicting views. In order to keep peace, Ragna often chose only to speak to her when it was a matter of importance. As Ber worked in the engine rooms and Ragna usually worked on the planets below them, the two rarely spoke at all.

She ate quietly, munching on the fluffy warm roll as she listened to Alfhild talk with the others at the table. Now that her own business was taken care of, Ragna turned to listening rather than speaking. True listening, she found, was a valuable skill. It served many purposes for a role such as the one she played. She listened to the idle chatter, the rumors and gossip, the secrets as they were whispered...

The Alfhild's booming laughter drowned it all out.

Ragna lifted her head and her blue eyes fell on the source of her mirth: Fiske. The doctor had fallen asleep on his notes it seemed and they were engraved upon his face in angry red welts. Ragna cracked a half-smile, but she did not tease him. No matter how much she wanted to, it would not do.

"Doctor," she said. "Perhaps you would do well to record your notes on something more efficient than wood carvings. We have computers. You might like to use one."

Briefly she wondered if that would sound like teasing. After years of traveling together, one would hope that the crew would come to understand her way of speech as non-confrontational. But, like the Corenan, the Norse were unpredictable. She sighed quietly through her nose, but the expression on her face remained one of mild amusement at Fiske's expense.

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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Jan 05, 2016 3:35 am 

Rum innate.

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There were four tables total; two were joined at the end, and the other two, the same. From above, the arrangement looked like an equal sign. But the boisterousness levels between the two rows were far from equal. Alfhid, Kri, Ber, Ragna, and Fiske occupied the first row. And they were loud in laughter, causing Kole (his back was to them) to turn around to see what the fuss was all about. It looked like Fiske had just awoken, the pillow creases still fresh upon his face. Only they looked more like inscriptions upon a narrower-eyed inspection, as confirmed by Ragnarok. Kole still found it remarkable that her speech sounded immaculate despite the scar slanting across her lip. A formidable master linguist, for sure. "Yehehee! That what ye get for wakin' up late, Friske! And there ye go, Captain's ribs be achin' -- somethin' for ye to examine if ye so eager. And wha-? No way, Doc, compooters over-ated. Methinks yer… tattooin' yeself a brilliant ideea!"

Kole returned his attention to his table mates. A much quieter bunch. There was Johan who seemed hesitant in answering his queries about potential anomalous spots in the star charts. Like whirlpools to be avoided in a literal stream. Maybe the Navigator was just being cautious. After all, what would a cook do with such information? Hoping to catch some sort of star fish in those eddies? Still, Kole felt Johan was overall avoidant of him, and this current reticence was not just any isolated situation. "Hey, Syr Johan, ye never tole me yet what be yer fayvoorite dish, eh?" The civilian was determined to break the ice with the primary officer. Or maybe he was just trying to figure out if it was something else but the food? His pride wouldn't allow him to accept that someone could be just lukewarm, so-so, to his culinary creations.

Then there was Gunnar, a brooding trigger-happy gold-bearded ship gunner whose grey eyes always seemed gazing at some distant target, not paying attention to his spoon missing his lip and splashing nettle soup on his beard. Yeah, he wasn't much for conversation, either. Although he often missed the target that was his mouth, Gunnar was actually a good shot when it came to sniping from afar.

And then there was Isa, the quietest and also the most diligent. Kole could relate to the Jack Rabbit of All Trades in that he wasn't particularly skilled in areas crucial to a ship's function. A technical officer -- such as the excellent Ber -- with secondary or even a barely passable cooking ability had the superior qualifications. Fortunately, the Captain Alfalfa must have seen something in him the day she visited his family's diner. Kole wanted to join one of the independent Viking ships, to explore the stars, to... to... to find a more permanent home for his people. Before The Village should reach its capacity. Population growth tended to become exponential especially when having many children was encouraged to ensure survival. Speaking of which, if one had been lucky enough to pass by the kitchen, they might have heard Kole singing a variation of one of his favourite leitmotifs:

Little town, ye're quite a Village
Ev'ry day
Adding one more
Light at dawn
Full of little wee ones
Wakin' up to na'es
Bjorn! Balder! Bjork! Borghild! Bergljot!


There be goin' the baker with his tray, like always ♫
The same ole bread and stew to sell
Ev'ry mornin' be the same
Since the morning that we came
To Parra Savva's Valdo'n


The baguettes!

I need six eggs!

Ye call this bakin'?

What lovely grapes!


Some cheese

There must be more than this provincial life! ♫


Kole smiled at Isa, almost apologetically. With the current table placements, no seat offered a vantage point where she could view everyone's faces; some would have their backs to her. Unless... the tables were arranged so everyone can face each other? Circular was ideal, but the mess hall doubled as a social hub and needed to remain versatile for auditorium and dance and music hall layouts. So a large rectangle would do. Four -- the most senior officers -- would sit at the widths, and then up to six of the remaining crew on each side of the lengths. But how to introduce it discreetly? Kole pondered. Whose birthday was coming up? Ah. That would be the opportune time to rearrange the tables into one big rectangle. And then be lazy in reverting.

In the meantime, while listening to the Captain and the gang behind him talk aloud, Kole relayed the stories by sign language for Isa's benefit. Rolling his powder blue eyes deliberately in all gyroscopic directions while swiveling his head all around to denote the drunkenness; clanking his fork and spoon in a subdued manner to convey the sparring between Captain and First Mate. Tossing some kale and alfalfa, while wooshing with his mouth to portray a blazing campfire. Raising his shoulders and hunching his back to picture Kreep and his heavy collar. However, Kole left out the ominous parts… A shame peace like this can't last forever, isn't it?... Maybe it's the smell of battle drawing near. …

Kole adjusted the beret on his forehead with the back of his left hand, smiled, a little more solemnly this time, and forked a cube of Cantelope into his mouth.

I don't know, and I don't care. All I know, is that I intent to be drunk by eight at night.

Kole remembered his wine-making scheme. The liquor supply was depleting faster than it could be replenished. Surely Kri would authorize such a... stout cause? Well, Kole must first revisit with Johan at dinner to determine the plausibility of storing wine where time aged faster. And dinner time was just about perfect. Kri would be drunk by then.


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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jan 06, 2016 10:25 am 
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Even though Ber hadn't mentioned about the markings on Fiske's face, everyone else's was enough for her own amusement, almost snorting milk through her nose when they mentioned about being tattoo'd on his face, there was something far too hilarious about that for Ber to contain herself. Taking a deep breath she tried to stop herself, but ended up giggling like a little girl anyway. After a few minutes or so, she finally managed to calm herself down.
"Hey Fiske, tattoos sounds like a more... permanent solution" Ber added, ending up in another fit of giggles. There wasn't really ever a dull moment around the crew, and that's what she loved. The amount of energy just helped the whole atmosphere feel so much better. Of course it wasn't perfect and it was hard work, but she couldn't help but love them all... even when they annoyed her to no end.
Calming her giggling once more, it seemed safe to finish up her milk... in hopes that no more milk snorts would pounce upon her. Even though it was lunchtime, there was still many more hours in the day for her to get things done. The one thing Ber didn't like doing was ending a day without having finished or achieved what she had aimed to do for that day.
When she heard the captain and commander talking about drunk sparring and being drunk by 8 she just mentally shook her head in disbelief, would being that reckless even help their fighting abilities? Keeping her thoughts to herself, she just enjoyed watching the rest of the lunch break unfold, every so often, glancing over to the other table to where Kole and Johan were sat. They always seemed so quiet unlike the table she sat on which was always full of joy, laughter and buzzing energy.

---

Johan looked over at Kole, the words taking a little longer to process simply because of how tired he was, definitely not up to his normal standards, even the noise from the other table was beginning to ache his sleepy head. He would need to get some sleep soon. Then he realized what he'd asked in regards to food.
"Oh, sorry,well... I always look forward to what concoction you manage to come up with, but I think my favourite had to be the one from a while back, it was the bláber butter and skreið dish... I think that would be my favourite so far" Johan replied, recalling how nice the blueberry butter went with the soft flaky stock-fish. Johan wasn't sure how Kole managed it, but he took things that he'd never think would work, and make some kind of amazing concoction. There wasn't much food Johan didn't like, but occasionally it happened. The one thing he particularly hated was the Hazelnut Elk he'd made a few months back. Thankfully that hadn't reappeared on the menu since.

_________________
Three rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.


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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jan 13, 2016 6:34 am 
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For a good, solemn moment, Fiske relished in the sweetness of his teeth sinking into fresh canteloupe, the warm colours of various light sources highlighting their frames, the soft rabble of good company as everyone settled down onto the four tables... Until his table suddenly surged in laughter at the sound of their dear Captain’s signature booming vocals. Fiske blinked, increasingly regretting not being attentive the night before with each comment and witty remark that were being sent his way. Waving his hands upwards and downwards, as though he could somehow lower their amusement with his shy gestures, he grumbled in jest at their comments. “Aye, aye, glad to be of entertainment...” His furrowed brow couldn’t help but lift, and his sour face couldn’t help but brighten as he observed the crew’s smiles. Perhaps an inexperienced, younger Fiske would’ve been incredibly strict on himself, letting his angst direct his behaviour, but after so much exposure to the tight-knit ‘family’ that was the crew of Hrið, he had started to learn to lighten up. After all, a good mood made for a healthy person, didn’t it? “Hm... But I suppose this way, I’ve really imprinted my notations into muscle memory, huh?” A snicker managed to escape the corner of his mouth before continuing, “Regardless, it’s good to see you’re all doing well.” He tilted his head down as to not reveal blushed and thankful cheeks, quickly finishing the rest of his meal.

Kri’s voice turned to Fiske, who could feel the skin around his cheeks and mouth tense in concern in regards to the young man’s scar. “Is that so? Feel free to stop by my door when you’re ready and I’ll take a look, in that case,” he replied with a gentle nod. Fiske was quite fond of Kri’s sword wound scar, and hoped whatever Kri was concerned with wasn’t too much of a problem. It held the memories of the first time Fiske had ever really performed a serious procedure on any of the crew, of the long and painstaking time it took for the white haired young man to lay onto his medical table as the doctor’s long digits curled around needle and thread, sewing with careful precision to execute the neatest stitch he had ever laid burning, focused eyes on. Yes, he thought, this was why he hopped onto this vessel in the first place. It was with confidence after that memory that he could truly call himself a medic in practise. There were people to protect here.

Finished with this plate, he stood up and stretched his legs. Dark green eyes glancing over to the other row of tables, he chuckled at Kjoljandr’s interpretive performance and slowly moved over to them. “Not only can you cook wonderfully, you’ve lived a second life as a natural performer in theatre, haven’t you?” Kole’s previous comment concerning modern technology really reassured Fiske as he curled a smile at Kole’s bright eyes. Yes, compooters were definitely incomparable to the wonders of his good old, reliable practices, and was glad someone else reckoned so too. Turning his head to Isa, Fiske gestured the hand signings necessary to convey his next point as he spoke. “When you find the time, could you stop by my office and collect my rubbish? My late night ventures spawned a lot of mess, ahah...” He muttered before mindlessly scratching his beard. The girl was a keen lip reader, but Fiske took to studying sign language as soon as it was mentioned among the ship as valuable. After all, it was of upmost importance to the man to be as useful as he could be. How else could he repay them for such kindness and warmth? It was only logical.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Jan 23, 2016 10:27 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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Alfhild quieted herself, not wanting to drown out the pleasant conversation. She wiped tears from her eyes as she replied to Kri's chipper comment, leaving the darker conversation behind for now. "Eight, you say? What a lofty goal!" Despite their low gains from lack of activity, the crew still ad plenty of ale, wine, and other drink to keep life on the ship lively. Alfhild had an astonishingly high tolerance rate in regards to alcohol, able to out-drink most of the crew, but once it began reaching her system, she became even more loud and, to admit it, obnoxious, than usual.

Alfhild heard Kri mention his scar to Fiske, and felt a twinge of concern. The jagged line across his back didn't seem to completely inhibit his daily functions or even his fighting most days, but it was still unpleasant. Although Afhild herself wore scars proudly, displaying them as a decorative tapestry of her life as a warrior, she couldn't imagine having such a large wound in such a sensitive place.

As she continued to partake in the ribbing of Fiske's special facial medical notes, Alfhild noticed Kole's movements from the corner of her eye. She smiled slightly, glad that Isa wasn't being left out. It definitely pleased the captain that her crew had taken to the idea of sign language so passionately.

Fiske's attitude toward their ribbing of him gladdened Alfhild. When he had first joined the crew, the medic had seemed somewhat stiff and formal, unsure how to approach Alfhild's loud, often joking character. Besides Kri, Fiske had been one of the first people Alfhild had approached to offer a position on her crew. Not because they knew each other, but because of Fiske's strong reputation as an excellent healer, even among the older members of the Village. The captain only wanted her crew to be filled with the best of the best. Fiske's youth had also been an aspect Alfhild had been drawn to. Many other Norse healers were simply retired warriors who could no longer fight but still wanted to provide useful service, or women too attached to serving the Village to leave. Properly predicting Fiske's wish to prove himself, a quality that most Norse men of the Village had, she had managed to get him to join the crew quite easily.

Of course, Alfhild now didn't see him in such a business-like way, but instead as a friend, and perhaps, though Alfhild would never say it out loud, almost like the mother she never had. Or at least, what she imagined a mother would be like. Having grown up only with an older father, she didn't really have much exposure to the feminine touch. She had gone to perhaps three tapestry-weaving courses before wishing to pull her eyeballs out. It wasn't entirely out of lack of disinterest; her fingers were simply too large to perform the precise art of sewing.

Suddenly remembering what had brought her to the galley, besides the excellent cooking of Kole, Alfhild turned towards the resident mechanic, Ber.

Ber was a funny case. Most of the crew had been approached by Alfhild with a request to join her crew. In Ber's situation, it was flipped, the pale, red-haired girl approaching Alfhild at every opportunity, almost begging to become the mechanic of Hrið. At first Alfhild had been hesitant, not pleased by Ber's clingy behaviour, but through her sheer tenacity, Alfhild was won over. She turned out to be an extremely capable mechanic, good at working around a problem. Both women had a very stubborn attitude, so they easily established a rapport.

"Ber, whenever you're done your meal, I think the engine needs to be checked out. It's making a noise kind of like-" Alfhild let out an unearthly grinding screech, as reminiscent of the sound in the engine room as a normal healthy human being could perform without injuring themselves.

Alfhild simply prayed to the gods that the fix of the engine wouldn't require any new parts. It seemed like a patch of bad luck, for them to be in such a monetary situation, and having to avoid Coren, the number one supplier of high-end parts in the galaxy... To be fairy, they had been in worse scraps before. As Alfhild returned to her beloved nässelsoppa, she thought of the extreme adventures her crew had been on. The time when they had made an emergency docking on Cavros and almost been scalped for it, another on ganjin where Johan had unwittingly proposed to a local. But in all those situations, Alfhild would rather trade her life than the life of her crew, or even her ship. It would be like a tragic love story if Hrið was ever to be lost.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 24, 2016 5:19 am 

...looking for some new RP's.

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Obviously, Isa was not able to hear Kole sing, and she regretted it a little. Even his accent was hard to understand, much less she would be able to decipher his singing.
Sometimes, when he would get really into it, forgetting that she was also in the kitchen, doing small tasks like cutting or washing vegetables, there would be slight vibrations on the bowls and glasses from his booming voice,
it was almost as powerful in vibrato as the capitains. The difference was only that in Koles case he was singing loudly, while the capitain just talked or laughed. The deaf girl could not compare it, obviously, but the powerfulness of the Capitains vocal cords was just on another level. Sometimes even Isa felt, just a little bit more and she would be able to hear it. A little chuckle emerged from her, as the neighboring table shook so hard from Alfhilds laughter, that it resonated with her own table.

Capitain is so powerful, that even I can feel her booming laughter.
Indeed, the girl thought, just a little louder, and I would be able to hear Alfhilds voice.

Glancing on Kole, who paid attention to her, and retold the stories in a fashionable manner, playing translator and harlekin at the same time, she was of course aware, that he was doing that specially for her. She never met a person like Kole, even his sign language was something like a new developed communication method with aliens. He used eyes, - especially eyebrows-, face expressions, forks, spoons, ladles, movements...everything but handsigns to get his message across.
Still not used to be the center of attention and due to Koles funny presentation, Isas cheeks reddened slightly and the redness spread across her face almost up to her ears. Her smile widened, anoter stifled laugh escaped her. Suppressing her guffaws, she was careful this time, not to eat or drink while paying attention to Kole and the others, not wasting any more food.
Though she could not always understand what he was talking - gesturing - about, pieced together with the fragments of speech from the other table, she had a general idea of what was going on.

Munching carefully on the rest of her food, Isas eyes often left her bowl, to see what all the other crewmembers were doing. Some of them ate quickly, and returned to work or other pressing matters, others stayed behind to chat even after eating.
She suppressed her desire to go and start cleaning the dishes, because Kole, Capitain and Vice-Capitain were still there, relaxind and eating or talking.

Waiting and trying not to get too much attention was the better strategy, especially with the Vice-Capitain there. Isa did not hate him, but she could not get used to his somewhat strange personality at all. Besides, she was not immune to the apparent look of pity that flashed sometimes in peoples eyes while they looked at her. (him being one of the culpits) Even if she already suppressed her own self-pity as hard as she could, and moved on, she was not yet used to the title of a 'deaf cripple'. The past was still fresh, it was not that long ago, when she had almost given up on her goals, and found them anew.
It was an accident and not anyones fault, in the end, but every time she caught obvious looks of pity, and rarely, ridicule, she had to suppress a gut wrenching desire to kick the persons shin and scream loudly: Never seen a deaf person?!


Not that she would ever dare to hit her superiors. Even in her behaviour to her crewmates, she mostly used Ragna as an example and stayed polite. In the long run, that was for the best. As for other people at the other ships or inside the Village - Isa learned to ignore them more than ever. Honestly, the positive side of being deaf was that you had a very good reason to ignore idiots, who thought she was deaf and dumb.
Isa trained secretly in her room, to vent out the frustration. Usually with a picked up and repaired old sandbag, punching and kicking it vigorously.
If somebody asked why she needed so much sand, when stocking up on other planets, she would answer with a half-truth: That sand could make a good emulsion with soap, to scrub off oil and dirt residue from skin and clothes.


Speaking about sand... her usually attentive gaze to everything in the room slipped and was distracted by the drawings on Fiskes face, as he turned around to talk to her. She closed and opened her mouth multiple times, but did not say anything in the end.

They look like tribal tattoos.

Unconsciously she rummaged in her bag under the table and took out a cotton tissue, clutching it tightly in her hands, preparing to launch an attack on the inky smears... After a while of fretting, and almost standing up, she awkwardly put it back in her bag, and only gestured slowly to the Doctor, keeping in mind that he was still learning sign language:

"Will bring...you...sandscrub ...as well... alcohol.. not good.. for... cleaning face."

She would be getting too many looks from others, if she stood up, walked over, and started to scrub another persons face, in the middle of lunch.

Her expression entered work mode as she nodded at his plea, thinking about the possible states of his room. Johan and Fiske seemed to compete in being the messiest people on board. They had totally different habits, and different behaviour - Fiske almost apologetic and helpless every time he made himself or his studyroom messy because of his scatterbrainedness, saying "Blast... I swore I had just tended to this yesterday. Another curious feat of human nature, I guess one could put it..."

Johan stubborn and never repenting stayed on a straight course with his habits: "I feel that you don't quite understand my sense of direction, my own organisation is somewhat of a compass " but in the end, a mess was a mess for Isa, if it was documents or footprints - something she or the robots had to clean up. She frowned, and resisted another urge to jump up and immediately attack the rooms.

Instead, she sat down first - she did not remember how and why she suddenly was standing - finished the rest of food in her bowl, with slightly red ears, nodded thankfully at Kole for the food and the performance, and stealthily made her way to the kitchen, pretending to grab something to drink.

Passing by the other table, she noticed Ber having milkstains on her face and clothes. She seemed to have a talk with the capitain, and while the capitain may not pay attention to such small matters, it would be better to have a tissue, - or something to clean the stains with.

Isa quickly crouched down, as if she was tying her shoelaces, grabbed the white cotton tissue from her bag, and threw it
- right on target -
onto Ber's thighs. Standing up and peeking at Fiskes face, she decided not to give him one, after all, because then his face would probably turn from tribal tattoo into a half black half white one.

As if nothing happened, she went into the kitchen to get herself another glass of juice, while 'accidently' putting all the dirty dishes she saw to soak in the tub with warm water and preparing a small bucket with water and a rag to wipe the tables later. On her way back, she was 'held up' by some of the crewmembers bringing back their dishes and glasses and of course she took them all and put them in the same tub.
Then she walked back to her spot with her drink, looking secretly on everyones plates as she passed by, if they needed something.

_________________
Best method to kill: | +
Actually, at one point during the month, a group of a dozen or so Cultivators belonging to a different local power group showed up. They desired to slay Meng Hao and take his medicinal pills by force. A single cold snort echoed out from within the Immortal’s cave, causing Heaven and Earth to shake, and instantly killing half of the group.(from ISSTH)

How to beat a Machine gun with a Laser sword. | +
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(sig made by Eferhilda)

MtG | +
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Nodiatis | +
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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jan 27, 2016 7:30 pm 

Teller of Tales and Magical Myths

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Ragna finished her tea as the Captain shifted her attention to Ber and then rose.

"By you leave, Captain," she said, "I am feeling rather frustrated, and have decided to train some more. If you receive any messages please send for me in the training room." She bid farewell to the others at the table then re-opened her handheld computer as she exited the hall. Frustration was an understatement. Ragna hated to fail and now she felt anger at herself for making the crew suffer. Though she felt above much of the Norse way of life, she could not deny that urge for violence when frustrated. As a peacekeeper and a negotiator, Ragna largely denied that part of herself in order to keep the peace. But Ragna could have very well messed it all up the other day. At such a time, training felt prudent.

The door to the training room slid open and Ragna closed her computer. A few crew members populated the space but as it was the end of the lunch hour people were returning to their duties or slipping off to take naps. Ragna felt too anxious to do either.

Not wanting to interrupt the ones already sparring, Ragna opted to battle a droid. She perused the list of fighting disks available and picked the one for the Corenan. Weighing the disk in her hand, she carried it over to a droid and inserted it in the back. The droid then came to life and it's arms separated into two sets. Ragna cracked her neck and dropped into a martial arts stance.

"Let's get started," she said and then issued the command "Commence Battle!"

The droid sprang forward with impressive speed. Ragna stepped into the lunge, dodging a swipe from the droid and hammering her elbow into the space between the arm appendages. The droid spun around and a fist connected to her stomach. She stumbled back and the droid lunged again, even faster than the last. In terms of reflexes, as a grappler, Ragna was one of the fastest on the ship. She had to be in order to over power the crew members, like Alfhild, who were twice her size. But Corenans were fast as well. And they were not usually hostile but their quick tempers made it easy to start a brawl with one.

Ragna launched the droid over her head and onto the mat. It twisted to it's feet again and rose with one of the four arms hanging limp. The droid registered a hit to the Corenan's nerves. Ragna cracked her knuckles.

It took Ragna twenty minutes to disable three of the four arms. Twenty minutes of straight combat when a fight was usually truly over in seconds. Sweat drenched her Valdoonian uniform and her pink hair clung to her face. The robot, which could not feel exhaustion, paused briefly to measure her vitals. The adrenaline of the fight had already worn off, and Ragna's body felt heavy as boulders. She could practically feel the bruises turning blue on her ribs and stomach and a stinging welt across the back of the neck would have made a nice new scar if the droid had been the real thing. Still, she must have passed the assessment because the droid lunged at her again. She dodged him a few times, feeling each dodge a little harder to pull off. Then finally, Ragna saw her chance and grasped the arm as it lunged and buried her fist into the socket. If it were a Corenan she would have heard the crunch as she dislocated the arm, as it were, her hand merely collided with foam, and the arm fell limp. The Corenan droid was rendered unable to continue fighting.

"Training session complete," she told the droid and it reset, ejecting the disk in the process. Ragna took the disk, returned it to the shelf, then sat with her back against the wall as she chugged from a container of water. She rubbed the welt on her neck and it burned to the touch of her fingers. It would also bruise.

The Norse woman sighed, feeling a mixture of emotions.
"I hope we can fix this without fighting..." she muttered to her water.

_________________
"Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder."
~ Rumi


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Feb 09, 2016 2:19 am 
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The Norse medic patiently observed Isa as she fumbled around with her bag. He considered the handy-woman to be a rather charming character, with her determined, almost stealth-like nature allowing her to instantly solve problems and complete duties aboard the ship that Fiske could always count on. A quality they seemed to have in common concerned their observant and protective attitude regarding their crew mates - going out of their way to watch out for their friends definitely came into play here, especially considering the nature of Hiro’s mission being so unpredictable and risky. As Isa reached out her hands to carefully outline the important details of her message to the doctor, he studied her symbols carefully, murmuring the translation to himself while she signed to ensure the message came across. “Mm, really? Þǫkk, that’s quite thoughtful.” A slight bow of the head accompanied his message before he shifted towards the dining room’s exit, turning back briefly to thank what was left of the crew for the meal.

Several paces ahead of him, Fiske noticed Ragna’s figure as she started off into the vessel’s training room. Shifting his eyes to her gestures, he observed that the negotiator seemed a tad annoyed this afternoon; knowing how she preferred to deal with frustration, he felt it important to not bother her for now and simply waddle off into the side of the ship, where his little medical sanctuary thrived and perhaps talk to her at a later time.

His cosy office, whilst situated somewhat centrally length-wise for easier access between most people aboard, sat to the left-hand side of the ship, allowing Fiske to have a couple of windows at the back of the room. Such windows seemed to peer into eternity, into the dark yet colourful abyss of galaxy in which they floated in. Opaque, white silk curtains protected the outside world from being too contrastingly overbearing to the eye, and an abundance of ferns and vines crawled along the medical room’s walls to add a homey sort of fragrance to the earthy colours of his wooden furniture and decor. Today felt… Cosier than usual in this room as he slid through the door, to say the least. Last night’s battle between blade, medicine and dignity caused an excessive output of thick, bounded books splayed across the floor, open jars of all sorts of scents and chemicals scattered along the shelves and inside cupboards, and of course, a decent pile of wood shavings resting on his ‘carving desk’ and falling onto the floor. “Poor, unhygienic office, fyrirgef mik,” he laughed with exasperation, “though I’m positive I’m on the right track about this ointment.”

Walking towards his desk, he picked up the tiny yet prized jar of ointment that had been the product of last night’s hard labour. His innovation was a faster paced treatment for open cuts. I don’t know yet what Kri was in need of today, but if his stitch work was somehow broken, the gods may have just blessed us with a good luck sign, he thought with a smile, doing what he could to pack away the books and copious empty jars as to not create too much of a fuss for Isa.

These days, Fiske’s strict routine of studies seemed to curve towards his crew, even if only by unconscious decision. The memory of the time Captain Alfhild had approached him all the way back at the Village still struck so vivid to him. At first impression, the woman seemed sort of overwhelming, almost daunting to him, starkly contrasting with his own reserved demeanour… But she spoke. She was open, welcoming, influential, powerful, strong, brave, hearty - the qualities that the Osmond family always wanted out of Fiske, qualities he could only dream of. Such warriors were admirable to him. Ever since that fateful day in which her dreams to pursue the gods persuaded him to join, Fiske’s attitude could never be happier to tend to the brave crew and fighters that he could never hope to become.

Sinking into his office chair, his hand graced upon an untouched computer. Modern space age technology was only becoming the future of medicine these days; with his friends at stake, he prayed to Eir that his new concoctions would compete with the rest of the universe. He would not abandon the traditions of the Norse elders, but a mixture of past and present, he found, worked well to serve both the gods and his peers.

(Old Norse translations: ‘Þǫkk’ = ‘thank you’; ‘fyrirgef mik’ = ‘I’m sorry’)

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PostPosted: Sat Mar 12, 2016 9:42 pm 

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When a family sits together for meals, it was a good sign of a healthy and functioning unit. The same should be true of a ship's crew. Kole smiled proudly as he looked around the galley, knowing that his healthy and delicious meals were at the heart of it. Keeping a strict schedule and outlining his menu two weeks in advance also helped. But the most important ingredient to any crew's success are the people themselves, the calibre and personality. Food simply tasted better in the presence of good company.

Now that most of the members have milled out of the galley to do their own thing, Kole rose from his seat, taking his tray with him, dumping the leftovers into one of two large jar-shaped omnivorous plants. These Cavros flytraps were amazing compost boxes aboard the Hrið. Plus their twining vines on a window trellis were pretty to look at, adding that homely touch to the place on the ship that a cook spent most of his time.

Kole then poured the hickory sauce-based marinade he prepared earlier on the meat now thawed out. The elk steaks should be ready for barbecuing this evening after at least five hours marinading.

Then he nodded to Isa, knowing she'd take care to look after the mess hall and kitchen area. "Arr, I be smellin' of food, gotta hop into the hot springs and wash it all off and relax, ya?" He explained to her of his immediate plan, while hanging his apron on a wall hook. But before leaving the galley, Kole made sure to scribble "bláber butter and skreið" on the next open slot on the menu corkboard. "See ya," he winked.

The cook brought a clothes basket with him before entering the bath suite. He made sure the tub was misty and bubbly before slipping in to enjoy a hot and relaxing salt bath. He placed a pumice stone (excellent tool to scrub off grime and dirt with) atop his head, nestling it among his dirty blonde locks. A sort of mechanism to warn him if he should nod off to sleep. So he would be basically killing two birds with one stone: cleansing himself of food smell while napping at the same time. He would simply rest there, not thinking of anything, at least trying not to, and just enjoy the siesta after the fiesta.

"Need more practice," he murmured, regarding his projectile weaponry training. He preferred stun energy tactics from a distance over close contact combat. Kole was strong, what with hunting and lugging boars over his shoulders through the teen years, but lacked technique. He was strange like that, adept at hunting animals, but squeamish when it came to hurting anyone for the sake of... marking territory?

Erguds. Valhalla help us now.



Edit: fixed a typo.


Last edited by Sentience on Sun Apr 03, 2016 4:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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