Revan Part II- Cont., the storm on Nirm has.... Options

[Lord Revan]

The Archives have been updated, just some info on psychic focus and magnitude (explaination of psychic powers).
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He stopped to evaluate the progress of his craftsmanship. Revan had completed his helmet, the cuirass, pauldrons, and gauntlets of his new armor in this short time.

The helmet remained largely unchanged, its visor covered slightly less area though, but Revan was confident he could fight just as well with narrowed vision.
His cuirass was thicker all around than his former one. The parts of his torso that needed to move without restraint were protected by overlapping segments of a refined sapphire-like substance. A chunk of cobalt focusing crystal lay above where the wearer’s sternum would be.

The pauldrons resembled those of Dunmer chitin. Two small crystal fragments were embedded in identical slots that Revan had carved into them.
Another pass-over from his old armor was the gauntlet design, with a few exceptions. Like the pauldrons, both gauntlets had common focusing crystals integrated. Revan had lost his energy blades in the explosion; he hoped learn from that lesson and utilize the High Naryyn technique. I am half High Naryyn after all… He thought dryly.

The completed pieces lay neatly arranged on the floor beside him. Now that he’d stopped, Revan realized that he had not eaten in..... quite awhile.
“So, this is where you’ve been.” Rhys said as she sat down next to him.

Revan set down the yet-to-be-finished greaves. “I apologize for leaving you in bed, but I needed to do something constructive and you needed the rest.”

She glared at him theatrically, “And you don’t?” Striking him playfully in the chest, Rhys teased. “Who’s braver? The people in fancy armor or those that fight without it?”

“Don’t tempt me to prove you wrong, Rhys.” Revan replied with a smile on his face. “Or you might just run out of luck.”

Her own face adorned by the same expression. “You couldn’t touch me, let alone beat me in a fight.”
“Is that a challenge?” He asked as he stood up. “Because, I’ll take you up on that..... after I get something to eat.”

Rhys got up as well, “I won’t go easy on you just because you happen to be my friend, Ahtre’Mehrah.”

Rhys....

The Hvy. Destroyer Emphatic Judgment sat just outside the borders of Sadrith Mora. The capital-class ship dwarfed the Telvaani town beside it.

Rhys’ eyes wandered a bit, having only been to House Telvaani’s domain briefly before now, their distinct traits were still new to her.
Revan paid more attention to the sky and its occupants. Several frigates, destroyers and High Naryyn missile frigates patrolled the nearby airspace.

A small squad of interceptors was visible, swooping low over the sea in close formation. “Since you seem to know this place better, perhaps you should lead."
"Fair enough, though I believe non-Telvaani still require Hospitality Papers..."

"We're just two exceptions, that along with a couple dozen more won't drive some Telvaani lord nuts." She joked lightly.
"Believe me, some Telvaani are nuts to begin with. But that doesn't make them less interesting." Revan said in a tone that told he knew all too well.

The two noticed a gathering of Virtarak around a certain localation: the Sadrith Mora Slave Market. While being some distance from the gathering, Rhys could feel the mood. She promptly closed herself from the powerful emotions.

Revan extended his mental probe, taking in every element of the scene. "This isn't good." He muttured, before marching toward the spectacle.
Rhys followed, knowing what her companion meant. The Virtarak crowd was not armed, which was good, but they were displaying their views on the trade of "inferior races." The mob would advance, leap back in unison, and then advance further, all the while hissing threatening at the Telvaani guards.

As Revan approached the flock from behind, several broke off rapidly to scoop up their discarded weapons. Seeing this, he lashed out, causing said weapons to launch into the air. The Virtarak skidded to a halt, mid-sprint, making ready to leap after the flying rifles.

Rhys didn't want this to become violent anymore than Revan did. She projected her thoughts to the avian aliens. "Fighting isn't going to do any good; it will only give us more enemies when we need only one!"

The mob came to an abrupt halt in their cycle, their heads scanned the area for the speaker. When they noticed the two of them, one thought became very apparent. "This can not continue, but for now we shall stand down in our defense, Naryyn."

All Virtarak cleared out, leaving the only occupants as the Telvaani guards and the two Naryyn. The former appeared to be confused as to the sudden withdrawl. As Rhys and Revan walked past them to Wolverine Hall, Revan said to one of the guards. "A word of warning: don't be around here for the next few weeks; if you want not to be the target of the Virtaraks' fury."

The guards said nothing, so both moved on. "Do you think the Virtarak really will resort to violence?"
"Anything is possible," he replied. "We can only read the scroll, not rewrite it."

Both were silent until, Rhys muttured. "Some scuttle and saltrice would be really good right now."
Revan nodded, "Same here. Hopefully, there will be a buffet and no pay required..... otherwise we could just make some food go missing."

[Lord Revan]

Does anyone notice anything about the new character's name, or the companions she mentions?
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Fleet Admiral Tobias Satith looked through the polarized viewing station on the Armet's bridge, in the distant darkness he could see the squads of mk-15s flying patrol and the remains of his fleet hovering over the alien landscape.

All of his vessels were given away in the near blackness by the pulsing, electric-blue power conduits that curved along their hulls. Satith turned away from the vista, striding past his crew and out of the bridge. The admiral let the present conflict go for the moment and allowed for his mind to wander.

He remembered vividly the first time he’d killed another sentient, another trainee. The heat from his blades, the perspiration on his face and back, and the smoke curling from the other hopeful’s side and throat... The defeated look on her face.....

Finally, he passed through a uniquely designed door and into the sanctum of the psionist battleragers. The warriors who were meditating opened their eyes and watched as their superior walked past; those who were practicing their combat skills paused briefly to acknowledge his presence before continuing.

These men and women were the pinnacle of psionic techniques in war and mastery of stirring the maelstrom of battle in their favor. Lesser psionists were scattered around, ranging from a century or two and a half in age.

Admiral Satith reflected on how he’d started training, before becoming a commander. His widower of a father had relinquished him to the officials at the age of nine, possibly so he could have a chance but more likely to relieve himself of the burden of raising a son after losing his wife.
Whatever the reason, the admiral-to-be had been a candidate to ease the shortage of professional psionists and officers in the field. He could remember the endless, back to back demands of physical and psychic aptitude even when he and the others could hardly stand or struggle to remain conscious.

Over half of the others had been washed out, too wrecked by the strain on mind and body. Tobias still remembered his last night with Vivian, how she refused to stop muttering about everything from her bunk beside him.
What she had said about her life before being taken by the marines on the frontier, and especially what she’d confessed to him. “I wanted to say it so many times, but I couldn’t, now my time’s up.”

Satith didn’t say anything; he’d just laid there in the darkness. That must have been the end of the last cord Vivian had to sanity, because she’d started sobbing bitterly. The psychic inhibitors had probably been the only thing that kept him from being crushed by the sheer magnitude of her grief.

Tobias sat down on one of the meditation pedestals; he hadn’t grieved for Vivian, ever. Not even felt any particular remorse for being the willing executioner. Satith wasn’t certain whether he would be satisfied if he could feel a small measure of regret for killing his former friend like he had... She had been sincere in her confession, but I felt nothing along those lines for her.

For the first time, he decided to look back on his decision. There was the obvious outcome to refusing the order from his superiors; one of the others would have been saddled with the task.
But what if I had answered her? If I had felt the same just never realized it. Tobias Satith massaged his temples with his left thumb and index finger.

I could have tried to intervene, but then nothing would have changed other than both of us being dead... He sighed, Vivian had died too long ago, he’d need a soothsayer to have any idea of whatever future they could have had, if any.
Fleet Admiral Satith let his hindsight go, the past was impossible to change, he couldn’t reconcile with the first being he’d ever killed. Tobias let go of any thoughts Vivian and allowed the strong, serene atmosphere around him to flood his mind.

Marthyn, Skyrim tundra

Shaking off the cold, he rolled to his feet with a grunt. The snow had cushioned his impact, aside from being very far from where he needed to be Marthyn was unharmed. Nara was moving by now; vanishing and appearing in such a way that she could have been teleporting. But neither Markus nor Syran were letting her get too far ahead of them.

Energy and psionic attacks are useless against them, Ascendants are nigh-invincible that way. Marthyn recalled, "A good physical attack might stun them, but it won't accomplish anything in the long run...”

He suddenly looked skyward as thirteen Plys’Iea Vipers hurtled down toward them. The three other combatants noticed the incoming threat as well, and thankfully set their fight aside.

“This is a chance to disengage, we’d best use it!” He said to Nara, who nodded from a distance. Within moments the fighters were in their maximum weapons range.
There was a flash and five of the Plys’Iea fighters burst into hundreds of fragments. Marthyn didn’t have time to be surprised diving to dodge the hail of chain gun fire and energy pulses.

As he hunkered down on the side of a nearby hill, three dark emerald mobile armors appeared from the north. Marthyn recognized models like them sitting around that northern facility.
Did they find us this fast, or is there such a thing as bad luck?

The fighters aborted their attack early; whatever had shot down the first five was still at it. During the moment of respite, he watched as one of the mobile armors approached the glowing Ascendants.

Nara vanished a final time as both her attackers were forced to shift their attention. Marthyn was surprised to see the mech mostly unaffected even under the combined psionic and energy based attacks Markus and Syran threw at it.
Then the seer came into view beside him, her dark grey complexion pale and sweatied by exertion. He didn’t ask if she was all right, nor say they make themselves scarce again.

This is the first time I’ve seen her tired, or anything other than sagely and prophetic. Without a word, they left the new battlefield as the shrapnel from the destroyed Vipers began hailing down.

Gungnir

Heat radiated from the barrel of her coil gun and plasma-casters. Now that the fighters were no longer grouped up, she had less of a chance of hitting them. Not that there isn’t sport in trying.....

Then she picked up two energy signatures approaching rapidly. Fusion powered, completely automated, they shouldn’t be too tough. She thought as her legs braced, feet grasping deeply into the ice for support.

Experimentally, she fired a single shot from one of her plasma casters. The Plys’Iea hunter-seeker was thrown back by the kinetic force of the plasma bolt, but its armor plating warmed only slightly.
Perhaps I didn’t give these automatons enough credit, they still shouldn’t be anything more than particularly entertaining target practice.

The thunderous crack of her coil gun echoed over the tundra, the other hunter-seeker was struck in the shoulder, the hyper-velocity projectile punched a hole big enough that it ripped the mech’s shoulder from its torso.
Well, it’s fast, I’ll give it that. But not fast enough to dodge a hyper-velocity sniper shot to the upper torso. Despite the damage, the wounded hunter-seeker recovered and began charging again, now its partner had gotten up as well.

Against her typical preference, Gungnir, moved to meet their charge. Her heavy coil gun detached, its bulk only deadweight in a close quarters fight.
She focused on the left hunter-seeker, firing several bolts until both weapons were rendered useless from the abuse. Her target heated ten degrees; steam rolled off its armor as the accumulated frost evaporated, but continued its charge. The right one was closing as well, galloping on all fours.

With her hands free, the lone Naryyn mobile armor prepared for the melee. Acheron and Kusanagi might be the close range experts, but I'm no push-over either, you automatons.

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Oct 10 2007, 10:44 PM