Register now to gain access to all of our features. Once registered and logged in, you will be able to contribute to this site by submitting your own content or replying to existing content. You'll be able to customize your profile, receive reputation points as a reward for submitting content, while also communicating with other members via your own private inbox, plus much more! This message will be removed once you have signed in.
Cptn Corizon
STSF GM-
Content count
1,120 -
Joined
-
Last visited
Posts posted by Cptn Corizon
-
-
Corizon limped into his office. The dry taste in his mouth had turned into a searing pain in the back of his throat. And his head felt like it was going to fall off his shoulders. He entered his office on Camelot station, trying to orientate himself.
The office was much larger than his own on Morningstar and had a window view of the planet below, though at the moment, Corizon really didn’t appreciate that. The office, spartanly decorated, had to the immediate left a couch, coffee table and chairs that faced the large floor to ceiling windows. To the far left, on the wall, were the replicator and a small closet. On the right of the entrance, Corizon’s glassy desk protruded fluidly from the wall. Mounted on top was his small computer terminal that rose from the desk itself. Otherwise, only a few assorted PADDS and a curious statue littered the otherwise sleek desk.
Immediately he lay down on the soft, green couch. The suddenness of the headache caught him by surprise and he didn’t associate it with anything happening on the Morningstar.
“Computer,” his voice weak, the sound of anything, let alone his voice, echoed like a Dinvarian Cathedral Organ in his ears. “Lights, and no interruptions...unless the station is blowing up…I want no comms and no visitors.”
“Please restate the parameters…”
Bloody Hell. “Computer, unless it’s Captain Sorehl or Admiral Day…no visitors and no incoming comms. If Lt. Xavier shows up, leave him a note that says come back tomorrow. I am going to bed.”
The computer beeped and the lights in his room dimmed. He curled up slightly, getting comfortable, and fell fast asleep, blissfully unawares of what was going on a few airlocks down.
-
Captain Heath Stanbury stood on the bridge of the passenger liner Aquaran. His attention fluttered between the blinking lights to his left, and the flashing green situation monitor directly in front of him.
“What was so important that it couldn’t wait another two hours when I’d be awake,” his voice still fresh with sleep, as were his eyes. He held a sliver coffee cup n his right hand and he took a drink between his question, and the response.
“Well Captain,” the attractive thirty-something Bajoran woman at the central operations consol said wryly. “We’ve been given notice that Starbase Camelot is on some sort of Security lockdown.”
Stanbury lifted his eyebrows. Really he wasn’t too surprised, given what he’d read about what was going on in the Quadrant. He was probably more surprised that his passenger manifest was completely full, all with people ready to try and start new lives, or continue old ones at this newest remote port of call. “Dominion troubles?”
“They won’t say,” she shook her head. “The only thing they’ll tell us is that they’ve sealed of the station and no one’s allowed to dock or undock.”
“Interesting,” he said as he started to wake up. “Any idea if when they’re going to lift the lockdown?”
“None.”
“Good think we packed light,” Stanbury said wryly. The comment came in light of the fact that he’d actually had to make an announcement to the boarding passengers at DS9 about bringing to much...as he called it…useless crap aboard.
The Bajoran woman only smirked. “Do you want me sound general quarters?”
“What’s our ETA?”
“Six hours…”
Stanbury thought about the situation for a long moment. “No, we’ll wait till morning.”
“We could reroute to New Bajor and layover there…”
“I think I’d rather sit in space outside of Camelot…”
“Oh?”
“Long story…”
“There is a Wadi Station not to far from us…”
“Over my dead body...”
She smirked. “Of course Captain. I’ll inform Camelot we wish to remain in orbit till the station has been cleared.”
“Good…I am going back to bed.”
-
Lancelot Attack Fighter
-
Guinevere Heavy Fighter/Bomber
-
Class: Guinevere (Gwens)
Type: Heavy Fighter/Bomber
Unit Run:
Commissioned: 2375-PRESENT
Dimensions:
Length : 14.7
Beam : 13.9
Height : 5.3
Mass: 29 Metric Tons
Crew: 1 Pilot/ 1 Gunner
Armament:
2 x Dual Class II rapid fire phaser pulse cannon
1 x Type IX Phaser Array
1 x Gravitic Charge Launcher (10 Charges)
2 x Ventral Plasma Bomb Launchers (30 Bombs)
2 x Micro Photon Torpedo Launcher (20 Rounds)
Defense Systems:
Standard Shield System, total capacity 75 ,000 TeraJoules
Standard Duranium/Tritanium hull plus 3 cm Ablative Armor.
High level Structural Integrity Field
Propulsion / Power Systems:
Warp Power Provided by one Micro-WarpCore
Impulse power provided by two multi-vectored impulse engines powered by one fusion reactora 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)"
Warp:
Average Cruise : Warp 3 (10 Hours)
Max Cruise: Warp 5 (3 Hours)
Impulse: .4 x c
Atmospheric Cruise (Mach) : 3
Atmospheric Max (Mach): 10
Expected Hull Life: 20 Years
Refit Cycle
Minor : 6 Months
Standard : 1.5 Years
Major : 4 years
-
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
-
::points:: I have 2 inches of snow...
...I hate winter...
-
Just 50? ::blinks::
-
Happy Birthday Atragon 9
-
Talin Sector
Vorta Central Command Station
On the Vorta Command Center, located deep in Dominion Space, Keevan set brooding in the dark silence of the council chamber. He often came here to say his prayers to the Founders. Each day he knelt on one knee, placed his wrists together and opened his hands to either side and faced the window. Yet their guidance seemed to elude him.
And he desperately wished for it. Rumors were beginning to spread of a growing resistance against the purge, among Vorta, Jem’Hadar and Citizens alike. On the small mining world of Regash, production of ore had ground to halt as workers demanded better treatment from the Jem’Hadar. They’d even killed the Vorta Liaison in charge of the facility.
Keevan sighed. The entire work force had been purged. Yet production at the mine had yet to resume. The local populace refused to work. It was maddening. And with out the wise guidance of the Founders, he was lost.
His thoughts were interrupted by the swish of the door directly behind him. “Keevan,” a female Vorta’s voice called out. “I am sorry to interrupt you.”
He closed his eyes and finished his prayer quickly. Gathering himself, he turned to face the visitor. His pale amethyst eyes searched her out. “Ahh,” he said letting a small, weak smile cross his thin lips. “Eris.”
Eris emerged from the darkness into the pale moonlight that bathed a small section of the room. “I do apologize for interruption,” she said. Her own pale eyes finding his. “You must have much to speak to the Founders about.”
“They are wise in all things.”
“If only you could commune with them now,” her tone sympathetic.
“Yes, but that is not possible. I will not break Odo’s orders. By doing that, I would be no better than those…heretics.” He seemed to convulse outwardly at the very thought of the growing rebellion.
Eris nodded as she made her way to stand next to Keevan, who had now turned to look at the moon which the station circled. “The order is that you may not break the glorious seclusion that they have entered, correct?”
Keevan glanced at her for a moment, she’d been there when the order had been given. “Yes.”
“Perhaps there is another way.”
Keevan turned to her, his eyes locked on her. Eris had been a trusted advisor to his predecessor Javin 7. And her voice carried much weight in the council. “What do you mean?”
“Not all the Founders have gone into the Glorious Seclusion of the new Great Link.”
Keevan’s mouth opened, then closed. Could it be that Eris had joined the Hundred? He glanced at her more intently now. “Surely you do not speak of the Hundred?”
Eris turned to him with a certain playfulness in her eyes. “Don’t be silly. They may be Founders, but they are not wise.”
Keevan released a sigh of relief. “Then who do you speak of Eris?”
Her head swiveled back to the window. “There is one other Founder who can be consulted. Though thousands of light years and a wormhole lie between us and her.”
Surprise again returned to Keevan’s face. “Surely you joke. The Federation would never allow it, and if they did the Romulans and the Klingons would invade with in a week.”
Shaking her head, “Untrue. Weyoun actually thought up the idea. Rather cleaver for a ninth generation of the original. You’d think he’d start to fade by now.”
“What a pity he hasn’t,” Keevan said lowly. It was widely believed that Weyoun was responsible for the disaster in the Alpha Quadrant, and few Vorta chose to associate with the newest iteration of the once legendary Weyoun.
Iris ignored the remark and continued. “He, as you remember, is stationed at Starbase Camelot.”
Keevan nodded. “What of it?”
“He has contacted the Federation Ambassador their about the idea. She is in negotiation with her government now, but expects the request to be approved.”
Keevan’s eyes flashed. “How dare he! With out the Approval of the Council!”
“I approved the request myself.”
Keevan’s fury faded as he glanced at Eris. “Next time, I suggest you bring the matter before the entire Council.”
“You know it’s the only option we have.”
“And that’s why I am not having you executed. Make no mistake, these are dangerous times, and we can ill afford to have such…breaches of protocol to happen at such a high level.”
Iris wasn’t surprised by the threat. In fact, she’d assumed he would actually have her activate her implant. “I give you my word it will not happen again.”
“See that it does not,” he said dismissively. “Inform me as soon as you have word from Weyoun 9.”
“Of course…”
-
Author's Note: Backdated from before we arrived at Camelot. Enjoyeth!
_____________________________________________
Exile of the Heart
Ah-Windu Corizon stared aimlessly into space as stars flicked by as the Morninstar hurried home to Starbase Camelot and the safety of the veil of Avalon. But no serenity would come to the steward of the Morningstar.
Five days passed since they left Al-Ucard in the wake of the mighty Intrepid-class starship. And he was glad to leave the tidal monsoon of emotional scaring it left upon him behind; though he knew his experience with Victria would leave a lasting imprint upon his thoughts and dreams for many years to come.
His gaze glanced into the darkness. His thoughts called to it, for in the darkness of space, his emotional exile continued. His entire life, he walled himself off from everyone else. Exiling himself, making unto himself an isle, but inside a torrent of emotions stirred, like a resting volcano sleeping, hiding it’s wrath.
And so easily, Victria had penetrated that wall. In a very strange way, he felt a very deep connection with her. So easily he had offered to give himself to her, and yet he barely knew her. He had felt at ease with her, and his heart had stirred in the darkness of his soul.
But as the Morningstar distanced the planet, the embers that stirred in his cold heart flickered and dulled as the warmth escaped. And again he was cold, and frozen.
_____________________________________________
Long Long Journey
The journey to Camelot seemed, at glance, an eternity. Though he knew he would find know respite, he wanted desperately to be someplace familiar. His heart was far from home though, and even the skies of his home planet would not quiet the rising shadow he saw in his mind, and felt in his heart.
Twenty Days. He’d repeated the phrase over and over to himself in his quarters on the first day of the journey home. And every day after that, he repeated the number of days left till the reached journey’s end. But it didn’t seem to help; though light years seemed short to the heart longing for home—his mind swirled with thoughts and misgivings.
And always the burning of his ever fading heart, constantly reminded him of the path that lay behind him.
Never before had insecurity crept into his mind like it now did. Not only did he now question himself, but he questioned the future of peace and security in the Galaxy. And though Camelot would provide security, it would not stop the tide that seemed destined to crash against the land.
The Dominion stood, ready to fall. Divided and leaderless. And so, at the end of this long long journey there would be no blessed relief. There would be no lake of silver glass, no boats to carry them on home. Only the fires of war awaited at the end of this journey, he feared. And so no rest would come to him, not yet.
_____________________________________________
Broken Embers
Why had Victria broken the walls of his heart? Why could she chisel through the solid rock he sheathed that which he showed to none? Corizon spent an entire day, recouping from the incident in meditation. His past, a closely guarded essence came to him often in the meditated trance he sought.
A lost moment in time surfaced to haunt his dreams. There was a day when his heart was open, but when the day turned into night, his heart grew cold. Someone said goodbye, and he never understood why.
Since, he’d looked for meaning, though he did not know why. But all the time, he kept believing, though he didn’t know why he couldn’t say goodbye. Even when the sunning was shining, he could never see the golden sky.
His heart turned cold, because he couldn’t say good bye. And he didn’t know why would his broken heart had began to cry. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know why.
_____________________________________________
In Dreams
Corizon stood once more, perched against his windows, staring into space. Wondering and thinking. Twelve days had passed. Journey’s end was now in sight. And he’d concealed the weakness in his emotional armor once more.
He easily rebuffed attempts by the crew to consol him. Dismissing the need for help, saying it had only been a short captivity and one he’d rather forget. All of which were true. And he thanked the stars they didn’t have a counselor aboard.
And so, only his dreams, did his thoughts turn the moments which had shaped his heart, and broken it into cold embers.
As he stood by the window, preparing to go on duty watch, he sung lowly and softly to himself the song that had came to him in his dreams. Making his way down the corridors, the song faded into a hum with occasional words, and the hum into silence as he approached the bridge; with the melody, faded the appearance of sorrow in his heart.
The outward façade reappeared, and once again walled himself off.
-
Mission Brief: The Morningstar has arrived back at Camelot, the crew has been given a day of leave untill they are given new orders. Commander Corizon has ordered everyone to get some rest, while he meets with Captain Sorehl.
-
Mission Brief: The Morningstar crew has mounted a search and rescue mission of the commander, who's been taken deeper into the forbid zone by Victria, who's only now come to realize she made a mistake. Now the crew must hope to find him before someone else does, and meanwhile that Engineering can get us ready for lift off. :lol:
-
Mission Brief: The Morningstar has continued to make repairs, meanwhile Corizon has gone missing.
-
My own updated picks. :D
AFC East
*1. New England (Injuries across the board have hampered this team, however they haven’t played well enough regardless. Despite that, this weak division leaves them as the only credible playoff team, and thus they get the nod, but don’t look for them to make it past the first round, as the Wildcards in the AFC should both be better than them.)
2. Buffalo (A work in progress that improves every week.)
3. Miami (Another work in progress that needs a QB to match what is other wise a yong and talented team.)
4. NY Jets (Like the Pats, injuries have ruined this team, especially in the QB area. Don’t be surprised if the Jets go after a rookie QB early in the draft.)
AFC North
*1. Pittsburgh (If Ben is healthy, as he is supposedly now. This is still the team to beat in the AFC North, and can play with anyone. That said, if Ben is not healthy, this team becomes very average and may only be a wild card at best.)
W2. Cincinnati (They lack a running defense, and have to make a trip to Pittsburgh late in the season. However, if Ben is not healthy they can certainly move up, however, if they have to see Indy again or the Broncos, they won’t go far.)
3. Cleveland (Another work in progress that lacks a solid QB.)
4. Baltimore (The Ravens’ biggest problem is no QB and injuries on Defense. Raven’s fans are drooling at the mouth at the opportunity to draft say maybe USC’s Lienart, or may also try and make a trade to get Matt Schuab from Atlanta.)
AFC South
*1. Indianapolis (10-0, but with a tough remaining schedule. They’ll likely be 13-3 or 14-2 entering the playoffs but may have to see the Patriots in the second round. Still if they can beat Denver in the AFC Championship, they’ll be favorites to win it all..)
2. Jacksonville (A very blah team that lacks starpower.)
3. Tennessee (An aged team that has question marks all over.)
4. Houston (Terrel Owen’s next home?)
AFC West
*1. Denver (Denver has a great shot to be back in the Super Bowl. Mike Shanahan may be doing his finest coaching job yet)
W2. San Diego (Despite an early schedule that left them having to win games late, they will make I to the wildcard, though KC might sneak up on them..) (Wildcard 2)
3. Kansas City (The same story as last year…DEFENSE.)
4. Oakland (A work in progress that improves every week.)
------------------------------------------------------------
NFC East
*1. Dallas (Big D is back. And don’t be surprised if they’re playing Indy in the Super Bowl)
W2. N.Y. Giants (Eli’s came. Just think about this possible SB match up…Eli vs Peyton!) (Wildcard 2)
3. Washington (A vastly improved team that with a little luck, will make this the toughest division in football…next season)
4. Philadelphia (This entire Franchise is in disarray. They have some serious issues to address in the off season.)
NFC North
*1. Chicago (In retrospect, this is probably the best team the in Conference. Kyle Orton makes great choices, and the defense is outstanding for Lovie Bush.)
2. Minnesota (Surprisingly, this team could end up competing for a playoff berth. But don’t expect it.)
3. Detroit (Detroit is a real paradox to me. They have talent all over the place but can’t do anything with, nor can they stop shooting themselves in the foot. As much as I like Mooch, this may be his last season.)
4. Green Bay (Bret Farve shouldn’t go out this way.)
NFC South
*1. Carolina (A good team that has made us forget last season. They can challenge Chicago and Dallas on any day.)
W2. Tampa Bay (Chris Simms has certainly proved himself, and the defense is good again. They need a healthy Cadillac though, and that doesn’t look likely. Wildcards at best. )
3. Atlanta (They lack consistency.)
4. New Orleans (A forgettable result in an unforgettable year.)
NFC West
*1. Seattle (A solid team that could also play Indy in the SB.) (1st Seed)
2. St. Louis (Bulger out, Martz Out…injuries galore. This team would really like a mulligan for the year.)
3. Arizona (They need a QB and a Running Back. Look for them to maybe target USC’s LenDale White.)
4. San Francisco (Reggie Bush’s next stop?)
*= Division Winner
W= Wildcard
Playoffs (winners in bold):
Round 1
AFC-
San Diego at New England
Cincinnati at Pittsburgh
NFC-
Tampa Bay at Carolina
NY Giants at Dallas
Round 2
AFC
San Diego at Indianapolis
Pittsburgh at Denver
NFC
Carolina at Seattle
Dallas at Chicago
AFC Championship Game:
Denver at Indy
NFC Championship Game:
Chicago at Seattle
Super Bowl 40
Chicago at Indy
The Midwestern Superbowl should have a Midwestern flavor.
-
The USS Excalibur/Morningstar will sim on Sunday, November 27 as scheduled. Enjoy Turkey Day. :huh: (And for our Canadian members...uhhh yeah...sorry for your luck :D )
-
-
A Guy I went to school with...does a scary christmas lights display, he's upto to over 3 million lights now. It's really frightening. The power company loves him so much, they had to put in an extra transformer directly to his house! Especialy the year he spelled out "Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays" in bold 5 foot tall leters in his field.....oy vey...
-
Happy Birthday Moosy
-
Corizon fluttered his eyes as Victria held him by the throat.
"Where is your mark?" Yanking his shirt up higher, Victria ran her hand over his chest without regard for personal space or privacy, her brows furrowed in frustration as she sought something that was not there. "This is not possible."
He let out a half laugh. "What mark?"
"The mark of the Lucam. Every slave is born with the mark." Her gaze snapped up to his, angered by his laughter.
"I told you," he growled. "I am not a bloody Lucam... I am a Dameon of the Alpha Quadrant!"
Mentally, she compiled his list of excuses – unknown race, from an unknown area of space, unfamiliar with the Al-Ucard, touring the common area, purchasing a necklace he believed to be only jewelry, bearing no mark, and with several differences from fully grown Lucam – and she formed a conclusion that she did not like. She hissed, fangs glinting through partially open lips. "Slaves will say anything to be released. Why would I have believed you?"
Now doubting herself, she threw a glance back to the bloodied street, ears catching the sounds of approaching guards. "You've killed Imperial Guards. The punishment for that is death, Lucam or no. They will not care you are a stranger to this planet."
His eyes glinted, having not thought about that when attempted his escape. "I suppose it doesn't matter I was falsely imprisoned?"
"No." She glanced back to him, her hands working to free him from the restraints. She snarled as if angry with herself for what she was about to do. "If you wish to live, follow me. But if you can't keep up, I won't stop to save you."
"You got me into this," he growled moving to follow her. "If I am captured, my crew will hold you responsible, know this..."
Her lip curled upward at the threat, revealing her fangs again. "See that you don't leave a trail of blood for them to follow." Sliding past him, she broke into a run, heading away from the four dead guards and in a different direction than the Imperial Palace.
He ripped his shirt, making a quick but crude bandage over the wound and took off at gallop on all fours after her. Catching up to her he asked, "Where are we going?"
To her word, she never glanced back to see if he was following. Picking her path through the dim alleyways, she ran easily along, neither sweating nor breathing heavily. Without peering in his direction, she muttered. "A safehouse."
They reached a dead end and she vaulted to the top of the wall, taking to the rooftops. Corizon followed into the alley, finding himself at the dead end. Though not as nimbly as the female Al-Ucard, he used his claws to clamor to the roof.
"Keep as low as possible," she hissed back at him. Skulking along, she made good use of overhangs and the closeness of the city's buildings, moving quickly along the flat roofs until they reached an older, less maintained district. The buildings here were old, some of them scheduled for demolition and most of them abandoned.
Corizon, like many Dameon's, were actually quite adept at sneaking through darkness. They were, after all, creatures that once preyed on lesser animals, much as the woman who was but a mere four feet in front of him. He watched her drop into yet another alley and followed her, crouching beside her as she examined the surroundings and the building in front of them. It was taller than most of the others around it, though seemed to be in the worst shape of them all. Several floors were completely open to the elements.
"A lovely vacation spot," he muttered loud enough for her to hear.
She threw him a sharp look and then rose to her feet, trench coat flapping about her boots. Crossing the alley, she disappeared into the gloom of the building without waiting for him. It was extremely dim with very little light filtering in from outside and no other source of light. Once she passed beyond the outer passage, it was pitch black. She didn't stop for a light, however, her eyes automatically adjusting to compensate.
Corizon followed along, happy not to have to run on all fours to keep up. He could see well enough, his yellow eyes adjusting to the lower light of the building. He imagined that by now, the Morningstar crew was either throwing a party, or out looking for him. In either case, he knew there'd be hell to pay.
When they reached a flight of stairs, she took them two at a time, boots thudding lightly. Up they went about seven or eight floors and she led him down another corridor, around a corner, through some sort of common area, and finally into an intact suite of rooms. They were completely furnished with various pieces of furniture, different types of equipment, and several medical instruments.
"An interrogation room," he observed, taking in the surroundings.
"Occasionally. Also a base of operations. Many of the slaves I Hunt attempt to hide in the Old City. I found it prudent to have a base here. I have several of them, in fact. All Hunters do." She slipped out of her coat and threw him a look, her gaze traveling to the bloodied bandage on his wound. Moving closer, she pulled the bandage aside to take a look.
He winced as she touched the wound. He'd never cared for physical pain in the least, though he rarely showed it. "One of the other prisoners... he told me of your people's history."
"This should be interesting," she said dryly. Guiding him to one of the metal interrogation chairs (though not strapping him in), she unwrapped his wound to take a better look at it. "And what did he tell you?"
"Great hunters he said, Hunters for a Dark Race that made you," he paused searching for words, "made you...and them...what you are..."
"And when they left," he continued, not waiting for her to verify or deny, "You took to hunting for food... or for pleasure. And now... you are Death Dealers. Hired fangs for service."
Her mouth parted slightly and she ran her tongue over her fangs, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent of his blood. His wound began to bleed sluggishly when she removed the bandage. She shifted her gaze to his face briefly as he spoke, though her hands were busy tending to the deep cut. "And your point?"
"Just curious," he said leaning back, relaxing only slightly. "My people," he paused, "My Federation... we are explorers. We like to know about the people we encounter."
"I've never heard of your Federation, but it seems to me that you should be more careful where you stick your nose." Inserting some sort of medical device into his wound, she filled it with a strange foam substance that dulled the pain. Putting a new bandage over that, she fixed it tightly, though not tightly enough to cut off his circulation. Her fingers were covered with his blood. With a slight smirk, she licked them clean. "Mmmm, you taste differently than a Lucam."
"I would hope so," he smirked. "And we really didn't have a choice in the matter."
He leaned back again, as the pain eased, closing his eyes briefly, but opening them again. "You know, I am not at all disgusted by your... diet... or disturbed by your fangs," he grinned showing his own.
Moving back to perch upon one of the tables, she studied him with her strange ice-blue eyes. Her gaze traveled the length of him, still searching for differences between him and her prey. Eyebrows arching at his show of pointed teeth, she snorted. "Why should it? It is the way we survive. The only way. Though, perhaps, some choose only to feed but not to kill their meals. There is a difference. And others do not prefer to eat the newborn younglings. Nevertheless, it was how we were made."
"By a virus," he reminded her. "I too eat raw flesh by choice... the taste of blood is appeasing. But you'd be surprised how many people are... repulsed by it." His own yellow eyes taking her in, measuring her.
She snorted with contempt. "Many have tried to cure that virus, but it is not possible. And even if it were, there are those that would not wish it." She shook her head. "None of that matters now, however. How do you plan on escaping back to your people?"
"They will come looking for me," he said, though it was clear he didn't intend to escape that way. "Have you transporter technology?"
"Transporter? You mean teleportation?" She shook her head. "We possess it, but it would not help you. Such centers are heavily guarded and the use of those devices is monitored."
He growled lowly. "And what of shuttles?"
"Ground transports are available, though they are coded to the owner. Faking signatures can be done, but it takes time. More time than you have." She was still peering at him, though her gaze kept drifting to his bandaged shoulder.
"Hungry?"
"Overdue." Her eyes narrowed slightly, lip curling back to bare her fangs in an unconscious gesture.
Corizon considered the situation. "Can I contract the virus?"
"That depends entirely on your biological makeup." She waved away the thought with a flick of her hand. "Lucams usually survive, though there are those that will die if bitten. You need not concern yourself with it. I've self control enough to keep myself from lunging to rip your throat out." Her grin was slow and wicked. "I seem to have done enough damage on your person."
"Actually," Corizon said quite honestly. "I was going to offer you myself if you needed to feed."
"I know." Her eyes widened slightly, pupil contracting to nearly nothing. After a few moments of struggling with the urge, she regained her composure and her breathing slowed. "Do you have pity for the Lucam?"
"My own people, the Dameon," he said in measured tones. "We once enslaved whole worlds, for no other reason than galactic conquest."
"My great, great, great grandfather..." Corizon's eyes drifted into the past. "He was a general that put to death thousands of Gorn to feed the war machine. Is it ethical to enslave a race? No. Does it have its uses? Certainly."
"So, you have never before been a slave?" Victria slid from the table, landing silently in front of him. “I have. That Lucam slave did not tell you the entire story. Every hundred years or so, the Lucam work up enough courage to actually rebel. Unlike us, they breed quickly and already outnumber us. Battles for their freedom are always bloody and full of carnage. Sometimes, they succeed. When they do, we are enslaved to fulfill their whims – to be their prey. I was born in such a time.” She growled low. “Now I kill as many as I am able in order to prevent that from happening again.”
Skirting his chair, she kept her gaze upon him as she moved, pulling free her bloodied throwing star as she reached another workstation. "How did you enjoy that muzzle?"
"As much as you'd enjoy a nice clove of garlic shoved down your throat."
She chuckled as she dropped the silver weapon into a container of cleaning solution, circling him around the other side now. She moved slowly, still studying him. "And who are you to your people? Why would they be concerned with your fate, or do you treat all of your clan in such a way?"
"I am a Commander," he said watching her intently. "I am the Second in command of my vessel. As for treatment, the Federation is a peace loving organization abhorrent to violence."
That brought a hearty laugh from her. She closed in on him, placing her hands on the armrest of his chair and leaning in until they were only inches apart. "And you? Are you a peace lover? You who seem to be built for killing and death? Whose people were once the Masters of all?"
"I am a tactician," he said, meeting her gaze and refusing to back away. His eyes were sad though, the pride running through his blood showing. "That was long ago. My people fell from the grace of the Great Makers. Now we are but members of the Federation, our passions dulled by their peace they cherish so much."
Corizon shifted uncomfortably, the topics cutting to quickly to his heart. "You know, I never learned your name"
She'd leaned further in, her breath warm upon his neck as she took in his scent. She seemed intrigued by his smell, most likely drawn by the subtle differences of his blood. To her, he would be an exotic vintage that she only just tasted and now craved. Drawing back finally, she reached for her coat and shrugged into it.
"Victria. Hunter of the House of Mordan."
Her own, subtle scent lingered in his nostrils. "I am Ah-Windu, of the House of Corizon."
"I remember from your previous ramblings." Pausing near the door, she watched him for a moment. "I must hunt to feed. I suggest you stay here until we know that there are no searches in the area. And, of course, there are always Hunters out prowling that may not be as hospitable."
"I am more than capable of defending myself," he curled his fingers, showing the sharp claws. "And... thank you."
As her dark figure slowly disappeared into darkness, Corizon sighed deeply, he only hoped that he could hold out until he could devise a way to escape, though he reminded himself that he 0 for 1 on that front. Most likely, as much as he hated to admit it, he would have to wait for his crew to rescue him. There would be no living with them after that…
-
It can also be found in the Excal Policy Pack
-
-
It gives me great pleasure to announce the launch of Excalibur's New CafePress shop, Excalibur Quartermaster Check it out, and keep an eye out as new items will show up regularlly. :rolleyes:
-
::Pet's AD-Ware-SE::
in USS Excalibur Briefings & Logs
Posted · Report post
The smoldering ruins of the largest city on Regash steamed in the cold, dark night. From his vantage point five kilometers away, Kalen, Vorta Functionary of Regash shook his head. Forty-thousand Dominion citizens completely obliterated. Infrastructure of an entire mining complex laid to waste, and 700 of his most loyal Jem’Hadar dead in the ruble.
In his previous eight lifetimes, he could not recall a time when such…drastic…measures had been inflicted on world that had been under rule of the Dominion for as long as Regash. Sure there was the occasional uprising on the more…backwater worlds. But they were easily suppressed. And the resistance crushed beneath the heals of the Jem’Hadar’s boots. This was different though… the Regash were actually organized.
The fought against Dominion rule, openly and as a people. Though none of them had ever tasted…freedom…they marched into battle clinging to the hope that the Dominion would simply grow weary and leave them alone. They obviously were ignorant to the reality of the situation.
For the first time since it’s inception thousands of years ago, the Dominion’s foundations were quaking. Regash was but a snapshot, an example of the ever growing discontent and anxiety that spread through the Great Dominion.
Kalen silently said a prayer to the Founders. He blamed Keevan for this. It was Keevan’s order that had turned so many against the Vorta Council. His…purge…right or wrong lacked legitimacy with the people. In the old days, had the Founders given such an order, it would have been obeyed without question.
But now, as the Vorta…and the Dominion itself, went into withdraw from the drug of the Founders wisdom. The entire order of the universe seamed to crumble.
As much as Kalen wished to blame Keevan, he knew that his only option was to follow the orders he’d been given. Keevan was the chosen leader of the Council now, and his orders came proxy of the Founders…however misconstrued they might have become...
Kalen sighed and turned to his first. “Rak’Tomjan,” his voice shallow and burdened. “Send your men into the city. Any who remain alive…kill them. We must make an exampleo them to the rest of the Dominion. Show them what will happen if they continue to resist…”
Rak’Tomjan nodded obediently. He was a Gamma, born in the cloning vats, long before the Dominion War with the Alpha Quadrant. Remarkably, he’d lived through that war, and was now among the most respected of the Jem’Hadar. Though he knew he would soon become useless in old age, and he would have to die. He only hoped it was in the service of the Founders.
As Rak’Tomjan headed off in the direction of his encampment. Kalen envied him. At least the Founders had made the Jem’Hadar's addiction obvious. And at some level, he suddenly wished he had a tube of ketrical white attached to his throat, instead of the growing desire to commune with his gods.