NationStates Jolt Archive

Nosirin sighed as he traveled aboard the Thelasi transport. Unlike Theallas, who had seen no need for a luxury transport, Ithenril, Nosirin's predacessor, had finally sunk some money into a small, but well furnished transport. He sat back in his chair, looking out the window at the inky blackness that surrounded the transport as it flew through the upper atmosphere.

He watched as the window went red, at least the outer surface, as the vehicle entered the atmosphere. The comforting black of spae gave way to blue, and then white as the shuttle aproached the landing strip.

As the craft jarred to a stop, Nosirin stood, walking stifly twoards the door. As it opened, he was thankfull for his mask and airfiltering unit, the air was thick with black smoke, and stung at his eyes.

He stepped off of the transport, looking around for his escort to the main government structure.

Tag

Three large, deep green troop transports rolled to a stop nearby, the turrets on the top slowly lumbering around to level themselves at the landing craft. Men hopped from the hatches on the side and rear of the massive machines--Easterling Marines by the look of things. Like the Thelasi, they wore air filtering units, almost like gas masks with hoses coming out of the front and over their shoulders. An eerie red light glowed from their eyes, increasingly noticible to the Thelasi inside as they closed on their transport.

Dozens of them plodded inexorably towards the shuttle as it taxied to a stop, as the escorts were already being led quickly to the hangars, which sat across the tarmac from the apporaching troops.

A phalynx of jets flew in close overhead as Warlord Garrand peered out at the Thelasi craft. His view darted about as he examined the craft and checked the Sable Fist in the hills and surrounding buildings. As could probably be expected, no expense was spared for the security proceedings here, and soon the craft was under the close scrutiny of no less than 500 Easterling marines and 55 Sable Fist men on the ground.

"Go," he barked quickly, now that all the people were assembled. A few of his aides and a handful of nearby Overlords scatter into the group. His earpiece chatters with quiet observations and instructions from the Sergeants in C Company.

He hailed the Cheif Taskmaster; the man who would be escorting the Elves to him. "Look sharp. Show's on,"

"Affirmative. I'll bring them to you shortly."

"Scans indicate nothing at this time. Still, don't be to sure. I've never heard of this man before, and the Thelasi aren't noted for their decision making ability. Don't get too close. Keep the men a short distance off," answers Garrand. "Garrand out."

The large Easterling Taskmaster turned and raised his voice to the men behind him, two of which quickly ran to his side with their weapons drawn. He spoke quickly, shouting orders to them in a rythmic chant. The party formed up and walked with a purpose towards the craft, the men in the rows ahead of him and his two Sergeants stepping aside quickly to allow them passage. Behind them and above the troops flew small gravitic craft with an assortment of short range weaponry mounted somewhere on each one.

The Taskmaster stops at the front of the line, scowling at the shuttle before them. Larger than any of the other men, he also has the important distinction of not wearing an air filtering unit and is more heavily armed. He carries a large sword which he casts into the ground in front of him as he lifts the bullhorn to his lips.

"Down the ramp!" he barks, peering at the new arrivals closely. The men below change stance, readying their weapons. The ones nearest the shuttle kneel and take aim as the lines behind them aim over their heads at Nossirin and his crew.

"Proceed to this position," he ordered as if speaking to a slave. The men on either side of him snickered. "I will lead you to the Warlord," he finishes quickly.

Nosirin smiles, not that visible under the mask. He walks forward, behind him two Tirn stand, their red and black armor bearing a strong resemblance to the armor of the Galahdrim of the Third Age. A resemblance strong enough to make the situation highly ironic. Nosirin spoke in Black Speach, his Thelasi accent, already making his elven tones unusualy hard, barely showing through.

"Commander, I thank you for your willingness, please, this meeting is of an urgent nature."

The commander lifted his hand as if to backhand the impudent Thelasi. "You mock me with your speech!" he snarls as the men behind him chatter quietly. "Do not think that speaking our language increases your standing here," he begins, handing the bullhorn off to the Sergeant on his left. He levels a finger at his counterpart. "Don't patronize us. You'll do well to continue in another form of talk."

Emperor Nosirin laughed, "Very well officer." He speaks in a fluent Sindar, "Now, if we may continue with our little journey, and cease this tiring argument?"

The Taskmaster snorts. "Tiring indeed," he answers swifly, wrenching his sword from the ground. He exudes contempt as he spins around and begins towards the waiting row of transports behind them. "Follow," he says simply. "Its not far."

Nosirin sighed, following the Imperium soldier.

(OOC: Nosirin just follows)

Quiet growls can be heard from the men as Nosirin walks past; the creak of leather also prominent as the marines tighten their grips on their weapons. They're not dressed in any sense for a dress proceeding, but rather seemed fully armed and outfitted for a combat situation. They did not all carry the same weapons, for instance; the ones closes to the party carried weapons suitable for a quick-and-dirty melee, while the soldiers a short distance off had the guns. The men on the front lines were dressed as captains--apparently they were the commanders for the platoons arranged behind them and carried large swords; though some had spears and still others opted for a pistol and a short sword.

The large transports loom nearer, and the Taskmaster brings them to it. Before them appears as if from nowhere a 5-man security crew. One stands behind the controls to an odd sort of machine; with a circle on the ground and a partial wall coming up around the edge of it; the top housed a compliacated array of sensors and scanning devices, which was wired to the control panel a short distance off. The two Sergeants on either side of the Taskmaster turn once they reach the checkpoint. and signal for Nosirin's bodyguards to halt as well.

"I hope you didn't think we'd just let you in, growls the Taskmaster. He turns around and nods to his Sergeants, who herd Nosirin and his posse towards the device. "Step inside."

Nosirin and his guards step inside. The Tirn are of course carrying their traditional elven swords. Nosirin on the other hand carries no weapons. The Emperor waits for a minute, watching the Imperium soldiers.

"Taskmaster Ogan Sourn, C company," barks the large Easterling as he taps the comm device in his ear. "The Elf and his cohorts have been scanned," he spits. His eyes narrow at Nosirin as a voive chatters orders to him on the other end. "Affirmative. His bodyguards are armed of course but we can sense no foul play here so far." Another pause. "Yes, my Lord. It will be done," he finishes after a time, his gaze never leaving Nosirin. "Taskmaster Sourn out."

He hands the bullhorn off to one of the Squad Sergeants behind him. He gestures to the Elf with the point of his sword. "In the transport. Warlord Garrand will meet with you at camp Firás, home of the Iron Claw." He hikes his chin towards the large, bulky grav transport. "Come now, I'll take you there. It's about a ten minute drive from here. Your escort craft will be housed in our subterranean hangar, and the pilots will be granted quarters here. Have you any idea as to the length of your stay?" He asks, his voice scracthy and gruff.

Another line of men forms up between the Taskmaster, Nosirin, and the grav transport, stepping aside to form another corridor through which the Elf and his bodyguards could reach the craft. The spears glint red with the flash of a lightning some miles off, stretching the shadows of the assembled ominously over the new 'guest' and his crew. Sourn cracks his neck. "Any idea at all?

Nosirin smiled, "I really have no clue, it all depends upon how long my buisness here takes. Although it do imagine it shouldn't take more than a week." He steps inside the transport, the two body guards following. Neither of the soldiers looks left or right at the Imperium guards, but one gets the distinct impression from their stance that they trust the soldiers of Morgoth about as much as the Imperium troops trusted the Thelasi.

But the two Tirn remained outwardly relaxed, and they followed their Emperor's lead. As he sat down, aformentioned Emperor turned to Sourn, "Interesting nation Taskmaster, care to inform me about it? Just the basics mind you...."