Private To Put it Simply...We're Stranded

[BobertEZ]

Unofficial Unknown Regions Exploration Program
Ymir Station: Launching of KBC Cataclysm
Day 1​

"Attention...Attention: Launch of KBC Cataclysm in two hours. All personnel, report to your stations. Repeat: Launch of KBC Cataclysm in two hours. All personnel, report to your stations."

Yacmoa-Eaha'm sighed heavily at the announcement, rising from his bed with groans and curses after having approximately three hours of sleep due to ensuring his father's ship was all set for launch. This took most of the night and left him exhausted and desiring nothing but slumber and relaxation; this announcement took that desire away and replaced it with more responsibilities, namely escorting his father's, and uncle's, pets aboard the ship for the mission. After this, he had to run rounds through the ship alongside Jargaza-Yshu to check that all crewmembers who were stationed aboard the ship were indeed aboard the ship. Such were the duties of the apparent lowest of the Vortex Spawn: headcount.

Marching through Ymir Station would be the shortest and most enjoyable part of his day as it gave him a rare moment to himself and his thoughts. Naturally, he cursed his fall down the ladder of approval to his father, cursing those that had replaced him and condemning the rest of the Spawn for ignoring him in favor of others outside of the family.

It was only a short downward spiral over the days that resulted in him concluding that he had to impress his father and kin during this mission, or at least regain his position. Removing the newcomers from the equation seemed the most sensible and easiest way to accomplish this hope, in spite of its logical faults that the Dark Jedi seemed incapable of comprehending in his stupor. He would have to find the best moment, the best opportunity to remove them from his life and regain his standing. Taking them on individual scoutings of the mission area and leaving them to their fate would work.

The Arkanian's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the chatter of dozens marching past him as they made their way to the ship, all dressed in pristine white and black uniforms that signified their status as the elite crewmen of the KBC Cataclysm. Yacmoa despised them as he knew that his father respected them far more than he ever respected his own son, his true-born son.

Brushing the hatred away, the Arkanian eventually found himself in the secondary boarding lobby of the station wherein he would find not only his assignment, but his father and uncle as well, despite having been informed they would have boarded the ship prior to his escorting duties.

"Father. Uncle. Why are you here?" he asked with barely hidden disdain. "You told me that you would be aboard the ship by now."

Kascalion shrugged nonchalantly and turned to his apprentice, a man by the name of Telis Taharin, "Just follow him to your quarters and drop all of your stuff off and then come find me in the laboratories. Good luck, brother."

Lorale chuckled and looked upon his son with a rare caring gaze, "It's good to see you, Yacmoa. It has been some time."

"Yes, well...when you constantly send your son away on menial duties, you would barely see him."

The words stung the Phoenix, although he didn't show it, instead turning to his two apprentices with a smile, "Mlow, you've already met Yacmoa. You guys get along very well. Thorzan and Telis, Yacmoa-Eaha'm. One of my Vortex Spawn. He will be your escort today."

The Arkanian scoffed and looked to the Human, Kaleesh, and Kudon with disgust, "Yes, a worthy task for a Spawn. Pet care. Know that I could defeat the three of you with one hand if I so desired."

The Phoenix would not have a chance to respond to the childish angst as Alrekur suddenly intervened, appearing from the newest crowd of arrivals, "Yacmoa, unless you want to be beaten, I suggest you curb the attitude. Anastasia and the Trandoshan's are running a touch late, Ba. Something to do with the Huntmaster needing to be appeased prior to battle or something, I don't know. The Devaronian and the Bothan are already aboard and tinkering with the engines, last I heard. I'll stop them from ruining the damned mission."

Lorale nodded in understanding, his eyes still locked onto the glare from Yacmoa, "Jargaza and Vigilant?"

Alrekur sniffed in irritation at his brother's glare and sharply smacked his shoulder before responding to his father's inquiry, "In the armory. Vigilant's already putting people on edge by...standing there. Not as bad as Creeper, I guess, wherever she is."

"She'll be arriving in her own time. I've sent her off on another task."

This inflamed Yacmoa who scoffed as loudly as possible and pointed accusingly at his father's apprentices, "And you put me in charge of them? What have I-"

"Enough! You will treat them with respect, as your siblings have. Understood?"

Alrekur interrupted yet again, pushing the Arkanian back with an expression of warning, "Look, if it will curb tensions, I'll escort these chaps to their rooms and Yacmoa can take my place in the barracks."
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Lorale quickly conceded to the offer and the Dark Jedi scurried off in embarrassment and rage, his vengeful plan now entrenched in his mind with Telis Taharin and Alrekur himself added to the casualty list. With the Arkanian sent off, Alrekur excused himself and his new assignments and began leading the three through the station to board the ship, remaining silent along the way save for his apologies to his brother's behavior. The apprentices would find, upon entering the hangar with the Wild Man, that the ship was unlike any Imperial design, having been based on the schematics of a ship never constructed by the Koignalteth millennia ago.

Constructed by Kascalion Giedfield himself, the ship was shaped like a dart with six fin-like structures encircling the back of the ship and several smaller fins running alongside the bow of the ship; these fins acted as the wings of the ship to compensate for the lessened turning capabilities that came with the straightened shape. Three large triangular rings additionally covered portions of the ship and were attached via innumerable wires and beams that crackled with white energy; as Kascalion would explain later, these rings acted as the stabilizers for hyperspace travel as well as emergency power sources in the event of an outage.

The apparent bridge of the ship was a golden diamond-shaped structure near the fletchings adorned with numerous antennae and radars. Several quad-turbolaser and proton-beam emplacements could also be seen on the ship every three sections, as well as multiple missile depots and fighter hangars. In total, the ship was five-thousand-meters of well-armed and well-defended fury designed to last lengthy deployments and dangerous exploration missions.

"Wait until you chaps see the interior," Alrekur commented to the apprentices before resuming his escorting of them once more.
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Roughly thirty minutes later, the four men had finally boarded the ship and the apprentices were finally presented with the interior of their new home for the next few weeks. The coloring of the ship's halls and rooms matched the clothing of the crewmen, being white-and-black, although the walls and floors were lined with a bright shade of red that aided in traversing the surprisingly labyrinthian construct. The only things not colored white-and-black within the ship were the furniture which was pitch black with light accents of gold.

"Your master really enjoys solid colors," Alrekur commented to Telis with a light chuckle as he led them through the halls and up several flights of stairs due to the turbolifts being constantly occupied.

Immediately upon each floor, the apprentices were greeted welcomingly by the crew who had either served alongside them in battle or were otherwise informed of their status, either offered handshakes or merely given bows and heartfelt introductions and/or greetings. The sheer level of kindness the apprentices were initially treated with was uncommon, almost unhealthy. Perhaps it was done out of fear of the Phoenix and his brother. Or perhaps it was genuine.

Regardless, the three eventually, and finally, reached their rooms which just so happened to be on the same floor and right next to each other in a line. Without another word, Alrekur departed for the barracks to ensure that his brother had not mucked around in his absence.

Mlow Eman'outther Thorzan san Shovis Telis Taharin-Zambrano

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

He understood that the Dark Jedi had never, and odds are, would never like him. However, the Kudon was never someone to stoop to the lower level, in fact, the moment he heard the comment slip past the lips of Yacmoa, and every last drip of the boy's body language bleeding some high level of distain and hatred of his current situation. Mlow couldn't help himself, he let a full smile cross his face as he reached out, as Yacmoa would be leaving the group, and giving the Dark Jedi a pat on the shoulder, albeit, a safe pace or two behind the man when he dared this. Something more akin to how an older brother would treat a younger one when they would become upset at something that, in the long run of things, failed to matter in the grand scheme of things. Offering only a quick comment behind a flash of fangs in a smile.

"Hey, good seeing you too, man!"

Odds are, the Kudon would have been turned to follow Alrekur as he would lead the gathering through the vessel. One of the things that always stuck out to the Kudon, ever since he had entered service under the Darth, was how striking Koignalteth designs and aesthetics were to the traditional designs and feel of Primal-Kudon creations. When studying the Times Before, when each section of writing engraved armor would be placed inside of some grand museum, when each scrap of a banner was considered sacred, and when intact castles were walled off from public visitation, it was stunningly easy to draw some vast overarching comparisons. This, however, failed to elicite anything deeper from the Kudon. He was never one for pondering the greater matters of what that could mean, why there were so many repeated themes over history, why some things linked across worlds, and why there seemed to always be the same beats. No, the Kudon was always far too in the now to concern himself with that. It was merely and observation, noted and taken, and reminded of several times with how blatantly the ship bled the culture of the man that called the helm his own. It was nearly intoxicating, nearly a game to see how many of the design choices that could be picked out as truly alien, so truly unlike the world that the Kudon had grown up in. The world of the Sith Empire, the world of Sith-Imperialism, the world of blended brutalism with a harsh Gothic swing, the world where the cityscapes were made to look oppressive as a cultural marking, not just based out of governmental want. A world where Star Destroyers blotting out the sky of your planet was a sign of good, where you would cheer and sally on the advancement of the cause. He grew up in a world so alike, yet so removed from what the Darth had been presenting to them. Hidden away in the citizenry, and then with the military forces, the Sith themselves were another world away. This land of mysticism and the Force, that he was so recently awoken to. The reality that now coursed through his veins and murmured in the background radiation of his head, another thing he was never fully conscious of. The world of training your spirit, the world of ancient texts and forgotten Near-Gods of ages past. There was an abject terror to the entire concept, yet, the Kudon had never felt more calm and at peace in his life. He enjoyed being broken from the hum-drum consultancies of the military life the more he went along with the Darth and his ventures. He enjoyed having the freedoms he did. The knowledge that was offered, inciting though it may be, never stood as his main reason for saying yes. He said yes for another reason, something baser yet grander in the same sense, something the Kudon himself wasn't really sure how to put into words...

The vessel itself was stunning, in a rustic sense. The crackling wires and, to the Kudon, seemingly random strew emplacements and locals gave Mlow a sense that the vessel was based off of more traditional designs. It clashed too hard with the Sith-Imperial doctrine that he had grown up surrounded by, this turbolaser goes here, this bridge goes here, to a predictable sense that most Star Ships pre-planned themselves before they ever even got to the drawing board. The internals were nearly as off-putting to the Kudon, as with every step as the group was led, he kept making assumptions on which way they should turn, and would take a few steps in the direction of a hall before their guide would before correcting himself and settling along the right path. Lugging a rather large rustsack on his back as they went, the clambering the fabricated plasteel sounding with every move.

The greetings and pleasantries exchanged with the crew, as they approached, was far from a new experience for the Kudon, handshakes and more-friendly-than-that expression was common between Legionaries, even with the Naval Officers. Camaraderie was the new major facet of Galactic Doctrine, if the men and women cared about one another, they would fight harder in the trenches to allow that to continue. This translates into many soldiers being much more casual, laid back, nearly scoundrel like in how they treat their fellows. This translated nearly directly to the crew of the Cataclysm, with the Kudon even giving a fistbump to one of the technicians as he passed him on the way to his room.

Taking a step inside, the door oscillating at his approach. There was a moment of pause as the Kudon took in the room in front of him, some of his native language slipping from his lips before he excitedly took two more steps inside. Traditional Kudon styled furniture, which translated to a chair and a bed in the case of the room, along with a book-desk, made up the base of the design. Simple, woodenframe carved with elegant curving scrip of Kudo, with, if he had to guess, native avian stuffed bedding and pillow. Sheets of moon-blue. The walls themselves, obviously artificially, were crafted with the design of mason-work, giving the appearance of a stonebound castle. On the wall, sat a framed portrait of the planets map, important cities labeled, all in Kudo. A rug of native fauna sat on faux-wooden floors, and a shelve dominated the right side of the room, enough works for a long journey. Turning, the Kudon saw, just flanking the bedhead, was a banner. Mint green throughout, besides a blackened circle surrounded by a ring of white. The coat-of-arms of his family. It took everything to not break.

Laughing, a fullhearted and honest sound, the Kudon stepped back outside of his room, the door shutting behind him. A smile reaching nearly ear to ear as he leaned up against the wall, waiting for the others to get acquainted with their living spaces. His slate-grey Sith-Imperial fatigues nearly vanishing against the wall.

BobertEZ
Thorzan san Shovis
Telis Taharin-Zambrano