- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Rhys only remained at the console for a moment or two after Nyarri finished speaking, before trembling for a moment. That was all the indication the assassin gave before suddenly darting out of the bridge altogether. The karthk'yarii quickly shed the Vollori-like form, a form which was starting to almost become familiar, in favor of something that would offer faster and more fluid movement. There was nothing Rhys could do to help Nyarri now. It would be up to her to interact with the "King" and find a way to get them out of here. Even if she needed the assassin's help, there was nothing he could do for her. Isindyll was incapacitated, and he had no way to reach her. It felt strange, leaving everyone's fate in another's hands, but Rhys didn't dwell on all the things that could go wrong.
Right now, Rhys had to focus on something else. Namely, figuring out what was wrong with Isindyll.
In the absence of the "King" and his ramblings, of Isindyll's vague mumblings, and even of the asteroids slamming directly into the ship's hull, silence gripped Isindyll's empty hallways. It was a silence so complete, so all-encompassing, that all seemed still. For the first time since leaving for her maiden voyage into the Void, the Isindyll's interiors rang with nothing but the high-pitched beep of automated systems, and low hum of steadily dying engines. The silence was made all the more poignant by the cause of its existence. It was more than the absence of noise that made the hallways unnerving. Isindyll's halls, despite of, or even perhaps because of, the low din of electronic systems seemed to share more in common with a hospital bedroom than it did the flagship of the Imperial Navy.
Rhys didn't like it one bit. It left the normally cool Karthk'yarii jittery and on edge, the silence conjuring images thought long forgotten, of a clearing among giant trees, and the blood of Tribe scattered all across the clearing. The images seemed to swell within Rhys' mind until they left the assassin practically paralyzed, brought to a halt in some empty hallway, leaning against Isindyll's walls. "I'll figure this out," Rhys promised to the empty hallway, voice a nearly unintelligible hum. It wasn't as though anyone else could hear it anyways. "One way or another. I won't lose another member of my Tribe. I won't."
Rhys could only pretend he wasn't helpless. How large was this ship? How many corridors interlocked into a maze of biological and metal? From the bridge outward, Isindyll's interiors took on a vastly different structure than other ships in the Empire. Room had been set aside for more complex organic segments and systems. Mass produced doorway after mass produced doorway met Rhys as he ventured deeper into the ship. Still, nothing seemed visibly wrong with Isindyll. No cancerous growths, no rampant discoloration or otherwise unanticipated sights. Just hallway after hallway...
Rhys ducked in and out of rooms, hoping against hope that something would appear. The Karthk'yarii didn't know what was wrong with Isindyll, or what place might provide a hint as to how to go about aiding her. All it was possible to do was to keep searching, to wander, to make sure that every room, every space, every hallway, every corner had been searched. The slow pace was becoming more and more maddening, and it quickly became harder and harder for the assassin to resist the temptation to start racing through her hallways in fear and urgency. Only the knowledge that such actions might cause Rhys to miss some subtle clue, some hint as to what was wrong, kept the assassin patient. All the same, Rhys' temper was wearing thinner and thinner.
It turned out it was a good thing that Nyarri had left the ship to "negotiate" with the alien. Otherwise, when Rhys finally found what was wrong with Isindyll, one wrong word, one wrong movement, and Nyarri might have found herself the victim of a burst of uncontrollable temper. The entirety of Isindyll's brain, the room that would have equated to an engine room in any other ship, was covered in gossamer fine purple cobwebs, which gathered together into pulsing balls of purple light.
Right now, Rhys had to focus on something else. Namely, figuring out what was wrong with Isindyll.
In the absence of the "King" and his ramblings, of Isindyll's vague mumblings, and even of the asteroids slamming directly into the ship's hull, silence gripped Isindyll's empty hallways. It was a silence so complete, so all-encompassing, that all seemed still. For the first time since leaving for her maiden voyage into the Void, the Isindyll's interiors rang with nothing but the high-pitched beep of automated systems, and low hum of steadily dying engines. The silence was made all the more poignant by the cause of its existence. It was more than the absence of noise that made the hallways unnerving. Isindyll's halls, despite of, or even perhaps because of, the low din of electronic systems seemed to share more in common with a hospital bedroom than it did the flagship of the Imperial Navy.
Rhys didn't like it one bit. It left the normally cool Karthk'yarii jittery and on edge, the silence conjuring images thought long forgotten, of a clearing among giant trees, and the blood of Tribe scattered all across the clearing. The images seemed to swell within Rhys' mind until they left the assassin practically paralyzed, brought to a halt in some empty hallway, leaning against Isindyll's walls. "I'll figure this out," Rhys promised to the empty hallway, voice a nearly unintelligible hum. It wasn't as though anyone else could hear it anyways. "One way or another. I won't lose another member of my Tribe. I won't."
Rhys could only pretend he wasn't helpless. How large was this ship? How many corridors interlocked into a maze of biological and metal? From the bridge outward, Isindyll's interiors took on a vastly different structure than other ships in the Empire. Room had been set aside for more complex organic segments and systems. Mass produced doorway after mass produced doorway met Rhys as he ventured deeper into the ship. Still, nothing seemed visibly wrong with Isindyll. No cancerous growths, no rampant discoloration or otherwise unanticipated sights. Just hallway after hallway...
Rhys ducked in and out of rooms, hoping against hope that something would appear. The Karthk'yarii didn't know what was wrong with Isindyll, or what place might provide a hint as to how to go about aiding her. All it was possible to do was to keep searching, to wander, to make sure that every room, every space, every hallway, every corner had been searched. The slow pace was becoming more and more maddening, and it quickly became harder and harder for the assassin to resist the temptation to start racing through her hallways in fear and urgency. Only the knowledge that such actions might cause Rhys to miss some subtle clue, some hint as to what was wrong, kept the assassin patient. All the same, Rhys' temper was wearing thinner and thinner.
It turned out it was a good thing that Nyarri had left the ship to "negotiate" with the alien. Otherwise, when Rhys finally found what was wrong with Isindyll, one wrong word, one wrong movement, and Nyarri might have found herself the victim of a burst of uncontrollable temper. The entirety of Isindyll's brain, the room that would have equated to an engine room in any other ship, was covered in gossamer fine purple cobwebs, which gathered together into pulsing balls of purple light.