D
Dawn Bringer Invictus
Guest
Original poster
Confidential
"So, what do you need, Sikaris?"
Arkoss was in his quarters on the Dissenter, looking and speaking to the Alarian commander from an advanced portable computer. Positioned on a table he'd moved near the back of his mostly sparse room, the rectangular device had seemingly started splitting apart. Its solid shape seemed to break into a plethora of whirring and noisy sub-parts, as if it had suddenly revealed a skeletal structure underneath. The screen-panel now lay all the way back and a blue light seemed to emanate from it. Above it was the holographic display of the one he was talking to. One wouldn't be able to recognize him as the almost mythological warrior he was a four days ago, back on Columbia 4. Gone was the fearsome yet compact armour and the sinisterly elegant robe-like uniform of the command staff. A simple outfit, plain shirt and pants, almost made him seem as a civilian.
In spite of that, his phsyical characteristics would always make him look the part of a funebraran warrior. Nearly seven feet tall and with flesh coloured a motley mix of brown, black, and grey, Arkoss looked much more savage than he did civilized. His face was skull like, as if only a thin layer of flesh was stretched across it, over a mouth that seemed to to host a labyrinth of shredding, ripping mandible-teeth. It was more angular than that of a mammal's head, yet it also had a mask-like quality to it in the sparseness of his facial features. What caught the attention of most was not its angled and sharp characteristics but his eyes, like two miniature spheres of gold, an unusual feature in many funebrarans. It was as if they were an amalgamation of all the extremities and hellish experiences he'd lived through. Some would claim that what those seen could be transmitted in that simple soul-shattering look more than just a few coalition officials had seen, a simple stare that summarized his tales of warfare and madness with a single meeting of eyes, and a silent reminder of a third party who was paying for their judgements.
He didn't know Sikaris terribly well. From what Arkoss could tell, younger than him (by the definition of a year the Alarians used, technically older than him if they were going by the now standard 365 day definition that the humans made so popular) but had risen to an important commanding position quite quickly and violently in the midst of a civil war. His track record spoke of raw efficiency, with various commemorations and awards granted to him, and what he'd overheard from the T.S.C. naval officers seemed to indicate that he was unwaveringly loyal to his cause of helping the 13th.
"So, what do you need, Sikaris?"
Arkoss was in his quarters on the Dissenter, looking and speaking to the Alarian commander from an advanced portable computer. Positioned on a table he'd moved near the back of his mostly sparse room, the rectangular device had seemingly started splitting apart. Its solid shape seemed to break into a plethora of whirring and noisy sub-parts, as if it had suddenly revealed a skeletal structure underneath. The screen-panel now lay all the way back and a blue light seemed to emanate from it. Above it was the holographic display of the one he was talking to. One wouldn't be able to recognize him as the almost mythological warrior he was a four days ago, back on Columbia 4. Gone was the fearsome yet compact armour and the sinisterly elegant robe-like uniform of the command staff. A simple outfit, plain shirt and pants, almost made him seem as a civilian.
In spite of that, his phsyical characteristics would always make him look the part of a funebraran warrior. Nearly seven feet tall and with flesh coloured a motley mix of brown, black, and grey, Arkoss looked much more savage than he did civilized. His face was skull like, as if only a thin layer of flesh was stretched across it, over a mouth that seemed to to host a labyrinth of shredding, ripping mandible-teeth. It was more angular than that of a mammal's head, yet it also had a mask-like quality to it in the sparseness of his facial features. What caught the attention of most was not its angled and sharp characteristics but his eyes, like two miniature spheres of gold, an unusual feature in many funebrarans. It was as if they were an amalgamation of all the extremities and hellish experiences he'd lived through. Some would claim that what those seen could be transmitted in that simple soul-shattering look more than just a few coalition officials had seen, a simple stare that summarized his tales of warfare and madness with a single meeting of eyes, and a silent reminder of a third party who was paying for their judgements.
He didn't know Sikaris terribly well. From what Arkoss could tell, younger than him (by the definition of a year the Alarians used, technically older than him if they were going by the now standard 365 day definition that the humans made so popular) but had risen to an important commanding position quite quickly and violently in the midst of a civil war. His track record spoke of raw efficiency, with various commemorations and awards granted to him, and what he'd overheard from the T.S.C. naval officers seemed to indicate that he was unwaveringly loyal to his cause of helping the 13th.