Cptn Corizon

Thankfully that's fixed now :D Oh and thanks to all you guys for the B-Day Wishes :P

I don't know if it's been said yet, but I also suggest talking to the Host team of the ship you're interested in. :P

MISSION BRIEF: [Off Plot] Several crewmembers have gathered in the Holodeck for a night of Murder Mystery. We pick up with the crew gathering in a swanky lobby of a luxury starship, flotating a dense nebula. Moral of the Story, don't trust a plant in the dark. ;) 090306.txt

SG is in season 10. I mean really, how much more can they milk out of the show?

It was not a view that many on board the Excalibur wished the Scorpiad commander, Gheeh’ka to have had. On the view portal of the bridge, the Excalibur raced towards a lone Scorpiad fighter. Adjusting his weight upon the Command Dais of the bridge of the G’Jak-class battlecruiser Stinging Frry, he flitted several eyes towards the operations officer, a Trog. The strong, hardy sub-species provided the back bone of the Scorpiad Navy. As an Androcot, Gheeh’ka was placed above him in the social way of things, but he’d learned a deal of respect for the Trogs over the years. “How long until we can intercept the Fighter?” The operations officer manipulated a control on a dimly lit consol. “Not before the Federation vessel does.” “Bring us into normal space, but remained cloaked. I do not want to give our advantage away,” the straw-yellow Scorpiad commanded, obviously irritated. Turning to a small alcove nestled below the Dais, he looked towards the officers, “Stand by to launch a fighter ball, prepare all weapons. The fighter must survive.” Behind him the sharp voice of his infantry and strike commander chimed in. “Shall I prepare a boarding team?” Rotating himself, the tall, slender Leiri loomed. “That would be prudent,” Gheeh’ka said after some thought. “Perhaps these Federation types deserve a closer study?” “I am sure General Tan’Krrkk would think so,” the fierce looking Scorpiad said closing his razor sharp claws a few times. “I’ll try and keep a few alive for them.” From the alcove, one of the officers chirped, “We’ll be with in range soon, no sign we’ve been detected.” “Excellent,” Gheeh’ka motioned with a dismissal to the Leiri before returning to face the view portal and the alcove. “All hands to battle stations.”

MISSION BRIEF: The Dog and company are in the hold of a fighter. Sorehl now has the task of deciding what to do. 082006.txt

Mission Brief: The continued plot to usurp Corizon and his illgeal weapon continues. 081306.txt

MISSION BRIEF: Captain Sorehl has called a meeting of various persons to attempt to arrive at a solution to the problem of not wanting to go with Corizon's plan. 080606.txt

Lay me doon in the caul caul groon Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun Lay me doon in the caul caul groon Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun The sun rose gently over the bridge of the USS Excalibur. Standing on the foreword observation deck in silence, Corizon let the rays wash against his face. The room was still in the quite morning. The last three weeks had seen him turn from rational Starfleet Captain, to obsessive whale hunter. Had the Dominion War so deeply affected him that he could no longer function rationally with out letting it murk his judgment? The Good of the Federation. The reasoning sounded as empty as the room. How many atrocities had been committed in the name of protecting the government; how many atrocities had been committed by a small powerful minority ruling in proxy, capriciously making choices for the whole. Clawed fists clenched tight on the thoughts. He was becoming the very thing he despised. And the damnedest part of it was that no matter how much he wanted to blame the Dominion, no matter how much he hated them for turning the pristine worlds of the Alpha Quadrant into a war zone and forever altering that world—he had only himself to blame. Something urged to him to transfer the reason behind his actions to the Scorpiads, but deep inside, he knew it wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t compromised the very moral fabric of everything he stood for; no, only one person could be held on trial for that charge. Corizon. Merlin was just the beginning. The compromise of morality hadn’t been a quick, overnight process; one by one, slowly he’d succumb to the darker urges of the world. He’d done what had to be done to protect the Federation. He’d killed, lied, and broken more laws than he cared to remember. But no punishment had been handed down to him, not one demerit, not one reprimand existed on his file. At some level, he’d begin to realize that the torment of living with his actions was punishment itself. Slowly you became numb. Slowly, you started to be able to live with it. Slowly, you became comfortable with it. Once and a while, after you’d lived with it long enough though, it all came rushing back to you in a torrent of guilt. It was a burden that no one should ever have to carry. But it was burden that he’d accepted long ago. There was little he do could about the past, it was sketched into the sands of time, but the future lay before him. Sorehl had given him a reminder, a reminder than the values of the Federation were important than the survival of the Federation. A wise man had once said that it far more noble to die with your values intact, than to live forever with compromised morals. Indeed, with out the founding principals of the Federation intact, all of his sacrifices would be in vain. And the trial continued…

MISSION BRIEF: Three days have passed since last week's game and we are closing in on our target date for completion of projects, the atmosphere has hit a fevered pitch. 073006.txt

Mission Brief: The Excalibur crew and members of Camelot's crew continue to work on their respective assignments for the repatriotion of the wormhole. Three weeks have passed, and the crew is nearing the target date of complition. 072306.txt

Mission Brief: A Round table has been called to discuss the recent news...while the Excalibur command staff will be meeting shortly, Corizon has asked Mister Teykier to gather them sooner and have them start brain storming ideas. 071606.txt

There was a low hum on the CNC of Camelot Station. The last three weeks had been busy, but otherwise quite. It was a respite that everyone had welcomed. With the Dominion virtually gone from the station, Ambassador t’Salik an off on some secretive mission, Governor K’Vorlag out on a mission of his own, Ambassador N’Kedre planet side visiting colonists, Admiral tr’Shaelon overseeing the refit of the Romulan Fleet, Admiral Day neck deep in planning, Captains Corizon and Sorehel were like wise, it had left the day to day operations of the stations in the capable hands of others. While things had been calm at Avalon, the rest of the Quadrant was no so fortunate it seemed. The last three weeks had seen major offensives by the Dominion against Scorpiad held systems, and counter strikes by the Scorpiad allies into Dominion systems. All in all, it seemed as if the war had finally settled in. Since the surprising attack against the Allied emplacements, there had been little activity beyond the six sector line that most of the Starfleet personnel were calling the Keevan-Enala Line. Truth be told, they were all happy that the war had shifted away from them. Honestly, all most of them wanted to do was call home. Something told them it would be a while before anyone got to call anywhere but Camelot home though. The irony of the situation, was that Scorpiads had done something that no one had ever thought possible, not even at the height of cooperation during the Dominion war had the Klingons, Romulans, and Federation united so fully together in common unity and fellowship. There was no deception, no lie between them. For all their differences, they seemed agreed that no mater what the cost, the Scorpiads could not be allowed to enter the Alpha Quadrant. __ Hovering above the skies of Surma, the mobile Imperial Palace swarmed with activity. Dozens of warships orbited defensively protecting the future of their empire. Inside, the Crown Prince Kgik'Kkk prepared to make his first official meeting with the leaders of his army. The Eratan strategist Neltran made her way through the swarm of Scorpiads and Scorpiad-subjugates, reaching the heavy throne room doors as she glanced around for the Al-Ucardian and other Eratan officials. The grand throne room, was an opulent if not dark chasm in the center of the palace. Seated in the epicenter of the room, the blue-black skin of Kgik'Kkk glistened under the low lighting. Slipping through the doors, Neltran slowly approached the arachnid, her red eyes cast downwards as she genuflected. "My lord," she murmured, not daring to meet the many-eyed gaze of the Scorpiad before her. Ghosting into the throne room by a side door, the Al-Ucardian Huntmaster Tyan joined Neltran before the dais, bowing deeply to Kgik'Kkk. Eyes darting around, and shifting his weight, the Scorpiad opened his mandibles, clicking them several times before expressing a true sound. "I am pleased to see you..." On either side of him, two tall, reddish black Scorpiads with razor sharp claws razed their tails aprehensivly towards the two who approached their master. Tyan straightened, though he kept his head bowed. "My lord has instructions?" he inquired, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice. Kgik'Kkk lifted a claw, and motioned with the finger like apertures on his one arm. "You may both rise, you have served your lords well." Mirroring the Al-Ucardian's posture, Neltran rose, glancing at their ruler. "We are honored by your satisfaction, Lord. How might we serve you now?" "While you distracted the Founders and their allies," Kgik'Kkk said almost gleefully. "We were able to capture with wormhole..." "A glorious success, my lord," Tyan said smoothly, raising his head to gaze at the Scorpiad with golden eyes. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "Indeed, glorious," she added, genuinely pleased. There was a slight pause, "The Founders seem to be unconcerned, which falls into our claws. They've redeployed their forced along a six sector line." Forming what appeared to be a smile, "What is the condition of your fleets?" She stole a glance at the other commander, swallowing hard. "They have not been wiped out, but we have taken some losses in our encounters with the intruders... they can easily be restored to full glory, Lord." Tyan nodded. "It is likewise with our fleets, my lord," he said. "Though I do not know if I would say 'easily', myself." "We will supply you with the necessary resources. You will then deploy your forces to counter the Founders..." The two fleet leaders waited patiently. "As well...you will have detachments of our ground troops to aide you. Have you, questions?" The Eratan looked at him a moment, pondering the question. "Undoubtedly they will attempt to retake what they have lost. Do you plan to counter this rebuttal?" Shifting his weight, "You are the counter." The Huntmaster's concern was somewhat different. "What of the humans, and their station?" "It is of low priority," Kgik'Kkk bristled. "There seems to have been a fracture in their alliance, not to mention they have been cut off from their homelands." "In time...we will turn our eye upon them." "Their spirits will be low," she concurred. "And yet they trespass so lightly in our Empire. Should their arrogance not be punished?" "Patience. In time they will learn their place in the galaxy." "Will they not attack your forces at the wormhole, my lord?" "I am sure they will," he showed little concern. "Of course not." What did they have to fear from a small group of petty trespassers, separated from their governments and supply routes. "And with the wormhole taken, they'll have little hope of backup support." The Crown Prince seemed to nod his head. "Now...to other issues..."

Three weeks, thirteen-hours, and fifty-five minutes and an assorted number of seconds. That’s how long it had been since Corizon had arbitrarily given the mission to the crew. Since he’d decided to put them in harms way. Sitting in the darkened alcove he called an office, Corizon placed his hands on his face and sighed deeply. But for all of his reservations, he had to admit that the crew, indeed all of the crews, civilians and non-Federation personnel were responding very well to the situation. In fact, he’d never seen such a large group of people working so well under such dire circumstances. Refitting of the damaged Federation, Klingon, and Romulan fleets had begun in earnest and repairs were well ahead of schedule. Colonel Kimura, who’d taken over operations at the Federation colonial base on Avalon reported that everything was going well there as well. And on his own fronts, the Engineering project—under the watchful eye of Sorehl—was well on it’s way to completion at the target date. As well, Mister Craven and his team seemed to be well on track for their projected completion date. Pausing momentarily in his train of thoughts, Corizon ran his fingers through his silver locks. Very few Starfleet Captains would have ever ordered a member of their crew to create something as heinous as the Merlin Project, and even fewer would have done so with the cold, calculating resolve of Ah-Windu Corizon. He had one aim, preserve the Federation, and if he had to ignore a few treaties to do that, he would. After all, it had not been the first nor last time he would have done something illegal to protect the Federation. With his brain a flurry with tactical scenarios, the seasoned veteran stepped back to reassess his plan. The linchpin was the Osaris Expanse; spreading over four light years, the expanse was a lonely and desolate area of space just north of the Wormhole terminus. It had gone virtually ignored by the Dominion for a number of years, mostly likely because of the inherit dangers of the region. The Expanse was a literal gravimetric whirlpool. One moment you’d be sailing along, and whap…a huge gravimetric fissure would develop, causing your ship to be crushed under its own weight. Why then would Corizon be willing to use it, and why would the Scorpiads even consider chasing a single starship into the expanse? Waggle a big enough carrot, and even the smartest rabbit will follow it into the box.

with thanks to Tandy Tandaris walked into Corizon's office. He had not been in here before and took the time to look around, but before he could clean anything about Corizon's personality from the decor, the door behind him slid shut sibilantly and he turned to look at Corizon. Tandaris cleared his voice and said, "You wanted to see me, sir?" There was a mountain of PADDS scattered about the desk, behind them the visage of the Dameon hadn't looked up yet from whatever it was he was reading. "Yes," his voice echoed slightly accross the walls. "Please, have a seat." Tandaris looked at the two chairs in front of him. Left or right? Which to choose? Left--no, maybe right--nah, he was sure that the left one looked more comfortable. Then again, if they were both standard-issue Starfleet furniture, they would be uncomfortable and also make him look fat, so what did he care? He sat down in the left one and waited for Corizon to continue. "I understand," Corizon continued to tap away at the PADD, his ears cocked to either side. "That you've came across...what did the file call it, a possible 'virus' in the Excalibur computer systems?" Tandaris winced and considered his reply. "Yes, rather a series of suspicious commands that we think were deliberately planted by sources unknown. It started, as far as we can tell, from a series of bio-neural gel-paks on Deck 4, in section 12. The gel-paks sent anomalous commands to several other relays throughout the ship, commands that the computer could not process and seemed to be able to override our normal preventative measures to keep the memory buffer from overloading like it did." "And you never bothered to report this to anyone," Corizon finally looked up, glancing directly at Tandaris, "Until now?" "Ensign Tr'Lorin and I just barely discovered it. After replacing the gel-paks, I was preparing to write up a report of the issue to Commander Xavier. But I wanted to try and see if I could track down the source of the commands first, Captain. That's the strange thing--the gel-paks keep logs of every instruction they receive. The ones affected by Deck 4 have records of receiving the commands. But the ones on Deck 4 are clean. The commands, for all intents and purposes, appear to have been directly introduced from an outside source." Waving one hand slightly, Corizon glanced back to the PADD's in his other hand. "It certainly is quite the puzzle..." From the massive amount of paperwork on Corizon's desk, Tandaris gathered that the first officer was rather engrossed with the minutiae of planning whatever their next move was. Unfortunately, he was still unclear as to why he was here. "Sir, if I may ask . . . how did you find out about this anyway? And why didn't you call Commander Xavier?" "There is little that goes on aboard this vessel," Corizon found himself saying this for the second time in one day, "that I don't know about. Secondly, I was curious to hear your own assessment of the issue, especially considering how close the origin of the problem is to your own quarters." That last bit would have caused Tandaris to spit out his beverage (or his fudge) had he been consuming either substance (possibly out of his nose). "Excuse me, sir, I thought you said my quarters." Raising an ear slightly, along with a corresponding eyebrow, the Dameon looked again at the young Trill before him for a few moments before speaking. "I wasn't aware that the Trill species were hard of hearing, perhaps I should have my universal translator checked?" "How could this be coming from inside my quarters?" Tandaris asked, now feeling quite uncomfortable. Lifting the other ear, "Who said anything about inside your quarters?" "Didn't you--" Tandaris thought about it, "--but I . . ." he thought some more, ". . . oh. I thought you said inside my quarters. But what does the proximity to my quarters have to do with it?" "Given who else lives in that block of quarters and also that the ship has been virtually unreachable to non-Federation personnel, I'd say a great deal." "I assure you, sir, I had nothing to do with this. I only noticed the incident while I was running tests on the computers." "I don't think I made that accusatory, perhaps I should have that universal translator of mine looked at..." "If I didn't do it intentionally, how could I have done it inadvertently?" asked Tandaris, now far more confused than ever. "I haven't touched those gel-paks in my entire stay on the ship; there's no way I could have accidentally infected them with this. . . ." "Perhaps not you..." Tandaris sincerely thought that ellipses should be eliminated from the language altogether. "Then, again, I fail to see what my quarters have to do with this." The only other occupant of his quarters, the stuffed Umb, was not an expert at engineering. Corizon seemed distracted, in deep thought. After what would have had to seem like an eternity, he finally opened his mouth. "I want you to find who or what is responsible for this. We can't afford to have a security breach on this ship with our upcoming mission. I don't care what resources you have to use, just do it. And report your findings to me—personally." Finally the captain was starting to make sense. Tandaris said, "Of course, sir. I'll get on that right away. Anything else?" Corizon shook his head and went back to working, the sign he was done with Tandaris for now. Tandaris stood up and left the office. He walked down the corridor for a few meters then stopped and collapsed against the wall, letting out the breath he realized he had been holding. On the one hand, Tandaris was an engineer, not a detective! But someone had interfered with his computer systems, and he did want to see that person brought to justice...which meant he needed to find them, track them, and catch them. He decided that he would further examine the gel-paks from Deck 4 to see if he could determine when the virus had been planted. In his quarters on Deck 4, nothing moved. Umb sat near the checkers table staring blankly into space. The bed was made, everything was organized, nothing was amiss. And in a drawer buried beneath several other knick-knacks and curiosities, the lights on a particularly peculiar device blinked steadily.

Here are the Techincal Specs for the two classes of fighters carried aboard the USS Morningstar and the USS Excalibur-B (Images attached as well) Class: Lancelot Type: Attack Fighter Unit Run: Commissioned: 2375-PRESENT Dimensions: Length : 12.3 M Beam : 11.8 M Height : 5.2 M Mass: 24 Metric Tons Crew: 1 Pilot Armament: 2 x Dual Class II rapid fire phaser pulse cannon 1 x Type IX Phaser Array 2 x Ventral Plasma Bomb Launchers (10 Bombs) 1 x Micro Photon Torpedo Launcher (5 Rounds) Defense Systems: Light Shield System, total capacity 30,000 TeraJoules Light Duranium/Tritanium hull plus 2 cm Ablative Armor. High level Structural Integrity Field Propulsion / Power Systems Impulse power provided by two multi-vectored impulse engines powered by one fusion reactor encased within engine housing. Maneuverability provided by a series of six surface mounted retro-thrusters pods [10 retro-thrusters per pod] and a series of four embedded RCS thruster quads Speeds (TNG scale): Impulse: .7 x c Atmospheric Cruise (Mach) : 5 Atmospheric Max (Mach): 12 Expected Hull Life: 20 Years Refit Cycle Minor : 6 Months Standard : 1.5 Years Major : 4 years

It didn't hit me...till I read through old logs to find the names I needed for something else, and I realized...I'd already posted this! (Found it on my Hard drive, thinking it was the log I'd written a while back and needed to post soon! )

Mission Brief: The Excalibur has assumed position above Camelot in stationary position. Meanwhile we await the news from our advanced scouts on the fate of New Bajor and Idran 070906.txt

Deliverance. It could come in many ways, and from many sources. Corizon’s own deliverance had come in the form of two subspace communications. As the sun breaking across the horizon on a cold and lonely night, the messages from the Klingons and the Romulans brought the allayment of his greatest fears. True, the news they’d brought had been less than exciting itself; the wormhole in operable, and the probable wholesale slaughter of the New Bajor colonists was hardly something to rejoice in, but the worst possible scenario hadn’t played out. Instead of having to mount a full scale attack, they could fall back, regroup, plan and launch a calculated strike that would achieve their goals with a limited amount of bloodshed. To that end, Corizon had been well ahead of the game. His mind had already produced several possible solutions, one of which was already underway, another he’d be speaking with Crispin with about shortly, and another… Stopping the continual train of thought he glanced up towards the screen as Excalibur began to distance herself from Camelot. “Mister Teykier,” his voice commanded as he headed for the lift. “I have some business to attend to before the meeting, you have your…orders. And on second thought but us back in position above Camelot.” The Orion nodded obediently as Corizon slipped away into the turbolift. “Locate the Al-Ucardian and take me to her.”

Nothing seems to calm my mind. Not the drink, not the sword. It’s like I am a telepath, and I have a thousand different minds in my head, only they’re all the same voice. All of them with an assessment of the current situation. The general consensus is that the outlook is bleak. Hope is a frail and dying ember of light being swallowed by the rising shadow of darkness. And in that darkness my mind dreams of terrible things, things that chill to the bone. Control of the wormhole, the Gateway of the Prophets, to the Scorpiads is a truly a frightening possibility. The Alpha Quadrant is unprepared for their onslaught and thousands of worlds would fall before them, as their armies marched through the Alpha Quadrant. Bajor would be the first victim of the slaughter. I doubt the Scorpiads would have much use for them, or tolerance for their zealously independent nature. No, they would slaughter the Bajorans, bringing darkness across the planet that would pail the Occupation. But it would not be long, till they would turn their eye to richer and riper areas. Cardassia, broken and defeated, dependent upon her conquerors for protection would fall easily before the might of the Scorpiads. Earth would follow shortly. Romulus, Qo’Nos not long after. Even together, our combined strength and singular will to survive seems insufficient before the host of the Scorpiad Empire. The thought sends waves of anxiety across my body. If the Scorpiads have begun the invasion of the Alpha Quadrant…if my fears are realized, we have a very difficult decision to make. Do we abandon all hope, and flee to the Alpha Quadrant, sealing the wormhole as we make our retreat? Or do we stay and fight, dreaming that as the last shining light of hope, that our light will shine across the darkness, and give way to the breaking morning across the long horizon? In deed, though all I may see is darkness, there is some light left in this world. Perhaps, the scouts will report only the failure of the beacons, localized interference? For now, all of the voices can only speculate, and I can only listen to them…

Mission Brief: The Excalibur crew has been mysteriously recalled to the Excalibur...as have all of the other Federation, Romulan and Klingon crew. Word has begun to filter around that something is up...though no one seems to know what. Meanwhile, Romulan and Klingon scouts have been dispatched to investigate what the command team feels could be an attack on New Bajor and perhaps an invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. 070206.txt

Mission Brief: The Excalibur crew continues their leave, engineering has been asked to return to finsih work on repairs, while Corizon has gone LOA as trouble stirs (that no one knows about :lol: ). 5 Hours have passed since we last left off. 062606.txt

The USS Excalibur simulation will be running as scheduled. :P

You might try some where like Kuro-RPG. I know some of us also have ours on various Flickr or Photobucket accounts. ~Corizon (Also, not Finn) PS: I moved this to "Questions."

Silence. Sheer and utter, it permeated the Round Table room. Of the three military commanders in the room, none of them had ever experienced such a shocking turn of events in recent memory. Corizon looked at the Romulan and Klingon before him, the Admiral and the Governor, respectively seemed close to re-declaring war on the Dominion, and Corizon was not far behind himself. “The nerve of that pe’Taq,” K’Vorlag finally said what the other two were thinking, though the expletive was likely interchangeable. “To borrow from your Vulcan friend,” tr’Shaelon looked at Corizon, then to K’Vorlag, “The Vorta’s actions were most imprudent.” “After all we’ve done for them and their gods,” Corizon let a low, muffled growl at as his ears stayed pinned to either side of his head, “The first time we ask them for something…” Letting silence return for a few moments Corizon sighed weakly. “No matter,” he regained his composure, “We need to begin preparing for what may come before us.” “Agreed,” K’Vorlag said, though his frustration with the Vorta cleared showed in his expression. “But let us all be honest with each other.” Looking pointedly, “What do you mean to imply?” “I think,” Corizon interjected eager to avoid a confrontation between the allies, “Is that none of us have been completely honest with each other until now.” Nodding, “We all know that none of us escaped the Battle of Karema or Sector 42-GX with out heavy casualties,” K’Vorlag returned to the mug of bloodwine Perfect had left on the table, it’s frosting all but melted. Putting his hands to his chin and stroking thoughtfully, the Romulan Admiral wanted to measure his response carefully. Though they were allies, and they had a common goal, there were certain precautions he would still take. Finally opening his mouth to speak, “Our losses were indeed on par with what I’ve seen preliminarily from your fleets,” he kept his tone flat and business like. “Our combined forces are certainly adequate to defend against the sort of conventional forces we each saw in battle…” “However,” Corizon reminded him, “It is more likely we’re going to be dealing with a Scorpiad force…I don’t have to tell you that they are superior to either the Al-Ucard or the…” “Eretan.” “Right,” Corizon continued. “We’re not going to be able to go head-on into a direct battle with the Scorpiads…not with our forces depleted the way they are.” “As much as it pains me to admit,” K’Vorlag said placing the empty bloodwine down, “He’s right and we all know it.” “Then what shall we do,” Corizon said almost distantly. The collective minds of the three stirred for what seemed like an eternity, each opening his mouth several times, as if to suggest something before closing it sharply. “We could,” Corizon started for the eighth time, the others not even looking up. “Use their own tactics against them…” Finally an idea, the Romulan and the Klingon looked up with twinkles in their eyes. “Their own tactics,” Khevio repeated. “Distract them with big motions while something else goes on.” “A bit obvious don’t you think?” “Perhaps,” Corizon noted, “but that’s the beauty of the plan.” “What did you have in mind,” K’Vorlag said, leaning towards his compatriots. “First,” Corizon said, “Dispatch your scouts…we can start planning better once we know what we’re up against…”