NationStates Jolt Archive

Palinde brushed her golden blonde hair behind her pointed ears, frowning deeply. While hardly obsessed with the outer appearances of things, Palinde had always believed in taking care of that which Eru entrusted to his children, a category which included her own body. She didn’t like how dirty her hair had become, how grimy. Still, what could she do? Her boat, an old garbage scowl, had only so much fresh water and it was barely enough to provide drinking water for the dozens of elves, Sindar and Avari, crowded onto the small vessel.

The entire fleet was in a similar state: Little food, little water, almost no sanitation. What else could be expected from a great band of refugees, fleeing the guns of a ruthless enemy. Of course, Palinde’s ancestors had been fleeing her whole life. They had fled from the Noldor, from the Orc, from the nations of Man. They had rejoiced for Mankind when the Son of Eru had come and revealed to the Second Born why mortal death was ever called the “Gift of Iluvatar”. Yet, the very church that arose in his name had often hunted them, as demons and evil spirits. Yes, they had fled the church and now they fled the Communists.

Palinde’s father, Deloril, had first tried to fight, but the revolutionaries in their last home had been too strong and too many. They had closed the temples of Eru and crushed the lives of the people, not only spiritual but even the material prosperity which the Communists claimed to care for. They had driven the people into the sea. Palinde still remembered it well. Mothers had drowned even as they held their children up towards the boats. Elven men had fallen even as they fired a few last rounds at the enemy.

Here they were then. Thousands upon thousands of refugees cast onto the seas in hundreds of shoddy, low quality boatsd. They had a little food as well as that which they could catch themselves. They had a few more days worth of water. Beyond that, they had nothing but pride and faith.

The RPN SeaHawk was one of the last few sea based carriers in Phalanix. Almost all of the navy had been scraped with the exception of three battle groups. As the SeaHawk's battle group slowly drifted amungst the creatures of the sea board Spartans were tossing footballs over the side of the massive carrier and trying to shoot them in mid air. In the command center the officer on radar duty was listening to some music when he suddenly noticed a large collection of small blips on the radar only 75km away. "Commander! We have afew hundred contacts 75km to the port side," he called out. "Thank you lt," the commander replied as she quickly pulled a small comlink out of her pocket and put it to her ear and spoke, "Capitain. We have a few hundred unknown ships 75km to port. Should we alert the battle group to investiage them?" "Yes. Alert the Ageis and the Strike to investigate," the reply came in seconds, "We will stay here within fighter support and cannon range."
The twin SL destroyers Ageis and Strike began to turn towards the small cluster of ships. Onboard several small units of Spartans were suiting up for posible combat in 'frog armor' as they called it. The capitain of the Ageis signaled his com officer to send a message. "This is the RPN Ageis we mean no harm."

((OOC: Before I actually post an ic response, what language are your people speaking?))

The refugees were all Elven., of course. Most were simply Avari, Elves who had refused the summons of the Valar so very long ago. A substantial minority were Sindar and there were even a few Noldor scattered among the ships, isolated Elves somehow removed from their own people and scattered among the lost Elves of the wide world.

OCC:The message is in english but they can leanr a new language in a matter of days.

Not so very far away at all, a ship sailed...

A great ship indeed, six hundred fifty meters long, graceful and elegant, her hull resplendent in blood-red and void-black and sun-gold, every square meter of plating fit together with seamless precision, every surface lovingly detailed... certainly a work of art indeed, even if she was designed as a ship of war.

The ship did not sail upon the waves, however; she sailed upon the winds, riding upon the seemingly effortless exertions of a drive that bent the very fabric of reality to its will, providing lift and acceleration where none should, at first glance, possibly exist. This ship and hundreds others like it were known the world over and beyond, in friendship with peoples of Light and in terror and loathing by forces of Darkness. Din-sûl was her name, emblazoned upon the sinuous, flowing hull in five-meter-high, softly golden glowing characters of the tengwar alphabet; Silent Wind in the most common tongue of Men. This, far from the greatest ship of her kind, was a ship of the Elves' greatest realm... and she was on patrol.

Círyaran Hathaldir nos Círdan hated patrol. Especially atmospheric patrol. It was... well, boring. Few were foolish enough to approach Menelmacar in hostility these days; even the drug-runners had given it up when too many of their smuggling ships had been sunk to make the route profitable. It was, for him and his crew, largely taken for granted that their realm was a safe haven for Elvenkind of all persuasions, and beyond that considered (extremely begrudgingly by some, admittedly) one of the world's greatest nations. Eldalië had many enemies, it was true. But this place, at least, was one that those foes feared to tread.

It was a good thing for Hathaldir, then, that his patrol would get less boring very soon.

"Milord?"

Hathaldir looked up from his reverie, at the tirisquendë, 'sensor officer', who had spoken. "Yes, Eilinel?"

"I've got contacts, milord. Many hundreds... small ships, approaching Tareldanorë, though slowly indeed. From what I can see, not of any quality... some of them, it's amazing they're afloat at all. Not in any particular formation, either."

Hundreds of ships? Hathaldir wondered. Looks like this isn't such a boring patrol after all... "Put them on the holoprojector, please..."

And there they were, and a sorry lot indeed...certainly not an invading fleet, which was good news. As to who they were... well, Din-sûl was on patrol, after all. It was the job of her crew to find out. "Adjust course to intercept... it appears we have guests."

Din-sûl turned westward, in no particular hurry, it seemed, though well faster than a waterborne ship could have, and steadily neared the veritable armada of refugees.

OOC: Mind if I join?

The NAS Battleship Deliverance was just completing her sea trials far off NAS coastal waters when a blip appeared on her AWARE sensor suite.

"Ma'am? We've got some contacts in the water. Just on the edge of our sensor range. No recognizable profile."

Captain Carmella Kye wasn't very surprised at this relavation. The Deliverance was a relatively new ship, incorporating some of the best NAS weapons technology, and it would hardly come as a surprise if someone in a foreign intelligence department had decided that they would like some information on it as well.

"Shall we investigate captain?"

She cupped her chin with her hand, eyes taking on that distant look when she was thinking hard. Whether spy ship or something else, it was definitely off the normal trade routes used for commercial traffic. What if it was part of a war fleet? Or perhaps a ship in distress? The yellow squares on the holographic projector wasn't telling her anything beyond the fact that they were ships. It would remain squares until the sensors could establish an ID. She needed information. Preferably yesterday.

"Set a course towards the contacts. Steady at 20 knots. I want the Seakings in the air and scouting out the contacts. Inform naval command and our escorts of the change in plans." There would be hell to pay with naval command if this turned out to be a whole bunch of nothing, but somehow, her gut instincts were telling her otherwise. She hoped it was that and not a ulcer.

"Alert the gun crews. Just in case."

Immense bronze screws churned the frigid waters, pushing the bulk of the 650 meter long battleship turned towards the contacts, her destroyer escorts following. The choppers had already begun warming up their engines, rotors flashing in the sunlight. They would get there long before the fleet did. And hopefully provide a good idea of what awaited.

EDIT: An early picture of the Deliverance. Upgraded since.
http://www.freepichosting.com/Thumbs/421585807/0/1.jpg

Palinde tilts her head, hearing the loud voice coming from the barely functional radio. Walking rapidly to the prow of the vessel, her keen Elven eyes peer over the horizon, searching for a sight of the ships. Walking back to the radio, she signals back, speaking in Doriathrin. “We barely understand your words. We mean no harm. We are in need of aid. I am Palinde nos Thingol.” Her voice was raspy, dehydrated, and yet still lyrical, with an enchanting air unusual even for an Elf. Her voice was nothing compared to her grandmother’s, of course, but the blood still tells.

Meanwhile, a young Avari named Anebrildur took up the watch at the prow of the barely serviceable vessel. His eyes searched the sea, spotting the tiny specks of the various sea vessels, from two fleets now. He furrowed his brow slightly as he looked further up, blinking. “Pali! Pali!”

Even in her current wretched state, few Sindar would have ever been so informal with Palinde. She was just a Pretender, true, but she was the Pretender. Shaking her head, Palinde decided she could worry about culture once survival was taken care of. “Yes, Anebrildur?”

“There’s a vessel in the sky, seemingly Elven.” He says quickly.

“You mean a vessel from the True…?” she asks, almost incredulous.

“No, no, just advanced technology…I think.” The Avari pauses a long moment, his imagination wandering.

“Could you read the name?”

“Not at this distance.”

Palinde nods once to dismiss the man before turning back to the radio, sending a signal to the Din-sûl, speaking in Doriathrin. “Hail Elven vessel. We are in desperate need of aid. We are refugees from recent Communist violence in our most recent home. My name is Palinde nos Thingol.” To ensure clarity, she repeats the same message in Quenya and Sindarin.

"We got a reply. I sujest we end the reactors into overdrive to reach them within about 30 minutes at best capitain," the first officer said as he listened in on the reply. "Yes do it. Also send up the Shadow's."

On both ship's launch pads two identical dropships designed to land in water preped for launch. As the first one lifted off the loud shreaking could be heard for kilometers. The second one was hidden by the first one's launch. As the shadows flew faster than the two SL destroyers towards the group of ships the Striker and Ageis began to pick up speed.

With their upgraded turbocharged engines and top speed of close to 320 kph, the 2 Seaking Helicopters rapidly closed in on the contacts. It wasn't long before they had made visual contact with them. Not to mention the massive Elven flying battleship seemingly approaching their location.

"This is Goblin 1, we've made visual contact. Appears to be refugee ships. There's a Eldalië battleship approaching our location. Intention unknown."

Carmella heaved a small sigh of relief. Refugees. Well, bound as she was by the code of most sea goers, she had to help them. It would also make the hounds at naval comand go away too. "Broadcast the following on both radio and external channels."

Hovering some several hundred meters away, the approach of the Seakings had caused quite a stir among the refugee ships, but they had calmed once it was apparent that they weren't going to start shooting when the following message boomed out on both radio frequencies and loudspeakers. "This is the NAS battleship Deliverance transmitting via helicopter. We mean you no harm. We are here render you whatever assistance as you may require. If you can, please respond."

Back on the Deliverance, Carmella was thinking about that Elven battleship. What was it doing here? Possibly helping the refugees. It was the most likely situation. Still, she didn't like the odds. The waters of Eldalië were very far from where the refugees were. "Increase speed to flank. There may be a party going on and I don't want to be late." A small laugh ran through the bridge crew as they relayed her command, the Pebblebed nuclear reactors increasing their output and subsequently, the speed of the Deliverance.

"Incoming communication, milord... not clear at all, even at this short distance. Their radio may be damaged."

Hathaldir nodded. "Put it on," he replied.

Words came through in Doriathrin, which the computer translated in words projected in the holo, though several of the bridge crew knew the ancient Sindarin-dialect tongue of the Guarded Wood. Then they were repeated in Quenya and Sindarin, both official languages of Menelmacar.

"Hai...ven vessel. We ... in despe...eed of aid. We are refugees fro...cent Commu...iolence in our most re... home. M...ame is Palinde nos Thingol."

"Her first tongue is Doriathrin... yet then she speaks Quenya," Eilinel mused. "Perhaps if they are Doriathrim, they have put the kin-strife behind them, as we have."

"One can hope," Hathaldir said with a slight smile. "Put me through to them, Minyatur," he said to the palenquentaquendë, or comm-officer.

"Elen síla lumenn'omentielvo, Palindë nos Thingol," Hathaldir began, in Quenya, since he knew she knew the tongue. "You have found your aid, or perhaps aid has found you. You will be safe from the omótahorma now." The word meant Communists as a general group; literally translated, it meant 'together-labor-horde', though many Menelmacari had come to refer to individual Communists as omóli, or literally, 'together-slaves'. A subtle jab lost on most peoples of Men.

"I am Círyaran Hathaldir nos Círdan, and my ship is the gravitic cruiser Din-sûl, attached to the Eighth Menelmacari Imperial Gravitic Battle Fleet. I am unsure if you are familiar with Menelmacar, but suffice it to say that it is the one place above all others that the Elven people can live safe, prosperous, and free."

By now, Din-sûl was close enough to be clearly visible; a quartet of fighter craft launched to secure the area, flying in pairs, though they stayed well-clear of the refugee boats so as to be as non-threatening as possible. It had not yet, after all, been ascertained whose the other two fleets were.

OOC: MR, are you new to NationStates, or do you play other nations as well?

Here's a general idea of what Menelmacari ships look like... this isn't Din-sûl, or even a cruiser, it's a Gilthoniel-class destroyer, the next size down. I haven't rendered a cruiser yet. *blushies*
Ship Picture 1 (http://photobucket.com/albums/v257/Sirithil/gravshipsample4.png)
Ship Picture 2 (http://photobucket.com/albums/v257/Sirithil/gravshipsample5.png)

The fighters are Thoron-class gravitic aerospace fighters, and look like this:
Thoron Fighter (http://photobucket.com/albums/v257/Sirithil/thoron.jpg)
No, I didn't make that.

"This is Goblin 1. We've got fighters inbound. I repeat fighters inbound. No threat alarms going off. I don't think their here to fight." Flight captain Darren Molter sighed as the message was sent through the encrypted communications channels. Maybe they weren't going to fight. Maybe they wanted to scare him off. Either way, he could outwait them with the drop tanks that had been attached to his Seaking before taking off. "Think everything will work out?" His co-pilot, a dour man, only shrugged in reply as the radio crackled a response.

"This is Deliverance. Take no hostile actions. I repeat. Take no hostile actions. We don't want to start a war here."

"Roger that. Goblin 1 out." Watching the Elven fighters circling around, their weapons glinting in the sun he grunted sourly. I hope its as easy as that.

OOC: I'll be gone for a few hours. Hope to be back soon. *In small voice* Don't start a war without me...

The twin shadow dropships began to "roar" even louder as htey finaily reached the cluster of ships. Slowly both of them began to quiet and lower onto the ocean water. As the first one landed te top hatch opened and a black armored figure poked a rifle out did a quick sweep of the area and waved to the others in it to come out. At that point a officer in a naval uniform climbed out and jumped down onto one of the side wings and waved to the occupants of one of the boats. Inside the pilot was radioing the Ageis of the two choppers when the radar painted four fighters inbound. "Capitain there are two choppers hoving near the ships. We also have four fighters inbound. They seem friendly so I doubt it would be wise to launch fighters."
"Copy that. We are letting the SeaHawk to come closer."

OOC: Non Aligned States, this one's for you. :)

IC:

Flight Leader Ninniach frowned as his sensors informed him of the incoming Sea Kings of Goblin Flight. He quickly opened a channel, while taking his Thoron, and followed by his rámaquendë (wingman) into a wide circle around the helicopters. What was interesting about this circle, was that it was flown sideways, with the fighter always pointed inwards at the choppers. Thoron pilots were well-trained to take advantage of the maneuverability offered them by their gravitic engines.

"Incoming helicopters, this is Ecet (Gladius) Flight Leader Ninniach, off the cruiser Din-sûl, Menelmacari Eighth Fleet. We are on a mission of aid, and have no hostile intent. Please identify yourselves and take no hostile actions."

Once the one circle around the helicopters had been completed, the pair of Thoroni straightened out their headings and continued on their patrol route; they had shown a degree of their capabilities, that was enough to make a point, as they really did have no hostile intent.

((OOC: Yeah, I play other nations. But I was just rereading Tolkien and felt an overwhelming urge to do a nation based on it.))

Palinde manages to get most of the message, pulling back in thought. Turning the radio off, she turns with a sigh. “You know…in all my years, in all my people’s sufferings, I’ve never had to ask for help before. I…I suppose I have to for my people.”

Turning back, she addresses the Menelmacari vessel once more. “Elen síla lumenn'omentielvo, Hathaldir nos Cirdan. My people and I are immensely appreciative of any aid in this time of emergency. All we truly seek is a place where we may make our own way with our own labor.”

She glances over her shoulder briefly before continuing. “I should warn you that the majority of my compatriots speak only Doriathrin and that there are some Avari in our company who still speaking nothing but Primitive Quendian. If you send people directly, communication is likely to be something of an issue.”

The radio crackles again, bringing a frown of annoyance to her features. “This radio is proving even more ineffective than expected. If possible, I would ask to speak in person.”

Eowiriand knelt in what was truly little more than a raft, running his hands through the sea water. The Avari man studied the Menelmacari ship with a sharp eye and a sharp mind, but little education or training in such matters. “I hope they’re not more Communists.” The refugees have coined no new word for Communism. They simply use the foreign term.

“I still feel betrayed.” answered Amarade, his wife. “They said they were fighting to help us get better wages and lower hours. Then we had to work longer hours for less than ever before. They said they would end discrimination against us. Then they said everything of our people’s faith and history was contrary to…contrary to…that more abstract word for Communism.”

Hathaldir pondered this a bit. "All right, we can meet in person, Lady Palindë, and I will provide you with improved communications systems when we meet. Also, my palanquentaquendë is a skilled linguist; I will bring him along for any translations that will be needed." He didn't know if she was actually a Lady or not. Like him with House Círdan, she might simply be affiliated with House Singollo, as opposed to actually part of the family. But it conveyed respect to call her Lady Palindë all the same, and he was better safe than sorry. "Would you prefer to meet aboard your vessel, or ours?"

The Din-sûl had determined by now which vessel Palindë was radioing from, and was now directly over the refugee armada, her great hull shading several of the central vessels, including Palindë's, from the hot tropical sun. A shuttle was prepared, to either carry Hathaldir to Palindë or vice-versa, and gifts of friendship were gathered.

Palinde smiles. She hadn’t given her title or her full heritage. It still hurt that a descendant of Elwe Singollo should have to come begging for aid. Nonetheless, it was nice to hear the title. Even among her own ‘court’, few still bothered to call her lady on a garbage scowl. “I would prefer to come aboard your vessel.” she says simply.

Palinde steps out from the bridge, if one can call it that, and looks up at the great Menelmacari ship. Noldor. It was the Noldor who first destroyed her people’s home, a home that had once withstood waves of darkness when most of the world was under the iron heel of Morgoth. Still, all that was a very, very long time ago. Perhaps she had found friends. Perhaps she could finally stop running.

"Very well, then," Hathaldir said with a smile. "We will send down a Vilyulairë (Skywraith) dropship to pick you up, along with a few companions, if you wish to bring them. Tenn'enomentielva, Lady Palindë." We will meet again, he had said.

Skywraith Dropship (http://www.forgeworld.co.uk/acatalog/vr1store.jpg)

The Vilyulairë launched from Din-sûl's aft bay and descended towards Palindë's ship; it came alongside, and like the fighters and the cruiser its drives were not loud, emitting only a high-pitched hum and the faintest of low rumbles. With typical Elven skill, the pilot set his ship hovering such that the aft boarding ramp came down perfectly onto the deck; he set his drive computer to keep the dropship precisely where it was in relation to the scow, even keeping pace with the refugee vessel's gentle rolling on the ocean waves.

The dropship was painted in the same red/black/gold color scheme of its parent ship, and up close now it could be seen that the armor plating was not simple panels but intricately etched and detailed, fitted together such that even running one's hand over the hull one could not find seams or fasteners. The insignia on the tails and wings was the eight-pointed star of House Fëanor, scarlet and shimmering, seeming to reflect light as would a great ruby, the bottom-most point longer than the others.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/Sirithil/daggerstar2.bmp

The pilot rose from his seat, and moved to the top of the ramp. "Lady Palindë of Doriath?" he asked, looking around at any who might have assembled as the dropship descended. His hair was dark, almost raven-black, and he wore a red and black undress uniform, functional as a military uniform would require but still managing to be quite elegant. The left side of his breast sported a similar 'daggerstar' insignia to the dropship. A pistol of sorts hung at his belt, bulkier than most Elven works would be, though this was necessitated by the nature of the weapon - it fired deadly bolts of superheated plasma, though Palindë would not discover this unless she asked - he obviously had no intention of shooting anyone. His smile was the haughty one of a skilled pilot, but was warm and friendly nonetheless, and he gestured aboard the ship. "Your chariot awaits."

OOC: Do you have IRC? It's easiest to RP talking-bits in real-time instead of posts.

((OOC: Unfortunately, not here. I downloaded mIRC but apparently the nearest server is too distant geographically for me to get on or something. Not quite sure what's up with it. I do have AIM, if that helps.))

Meanwhile, on the raft, Silmanduil, an Elf who’d gone through several months in a reeducation camp, rolled over to address Eowiriand and Amarade. “Dialectical materialism, I think.”

Eowiirand shrugged. “I don’t care what they call it. I’m not going to deny the name of Eru because of anything some doctrine.”

Silmanduil nodded. “I suppose not. I wouldn’t either. Who do you think’s in that ship up there? It looks Elven.”

Eowiirand shrugged. “Maybe it’s Vanyar.”
~
Palinde smiled, inclining her head to the pilot, a number of ragged Elves gathered around her. “That is a title I claim, though I have never seen Doriath since I was brought into this world. I am Palinde, daughter of Heril, son of Elured, son of Dior, son of Luthien, daughter of Elu Thingol also called Elwe Singollo, who awakened at Cuivienen with the first of our people.” Smiling politely and swallowing her pride, she stepped aboard. “Thank you.”

OOC: TG me your AIM name, perhaps?

The pilot smiled, and it was all he could do to avoid letting out a low whistle at the lineage described. A direct descendant of Singollo and, it seemed, a not-so-distant relative of the Aelosian Everqueen, here on this boat... and on his dropship... it was very impressive. He'd ferried a few nobles in his time, but as yet none who could credibly claim leadership over a House - or at least the Menelmacari branch thereof. "Will you be bringing anyone with you, milady?" he asked. She was quite beautiful, too. He could see that, despite her disheveled state. He took her hand gently to help her aboard.

Silmanduil rolls his eyes. “Sure. That explanation makes sense. I’d bet it’s Noldor. Arrogant, it’s true, but usually not all that dangerous, at least recently. The Communists sure hate them though.”
~
Palinde paused, looking behind her. “Cindil, Isorfir, would you two accompany me?” As she spoke, she took the pilot’s hand, allowing herself to be helped on board.

“Of course.” answers one of the Elves standing near. Cindil, for such was his name, stepped up behind the lady and the pilot. Very few Elves can be called ugly for they are truly a comely people. Cindil, however, had been made ugly by war. A long, hideous scar cut down half of his face, making his unsightly even as it marked him as a man who had fought for his people.

“Gladly.” answers another, Isorfir. He speaks with a casual ease and very little pretension. He smiles charmingly, reassuringly, as he steps aboard.

OOC: Damn. Leave for a few hours and everything is almost decided already. Drat drat and double drat.

IC: Shortly after the transmission from the Elven fighters.

Darren frowned. The fighters were maneuverable no two ways about that. Frankly, he thought it was needless flamboyance. Aside from the sensor suite aboard the Seaking, there wasn't anything resembling a weapons package. After all, it had been configured for scouting and ASW detection, not outright warfare. Still, the forms had to be observed. He dialled into their frequency and pressed the transmit button. "This is Goblin 1 of the Commonwealth of Non Aligned States battleship Deliverance. We are here to provide provide aid to the refugees. We have no hostile intentions. I repeat, we have no hostile intentions"

Signing off, he wondered if the Deliverance would make it in time. She was a fast ship for her class but that monster in the sky could certainly outrun it.

Breaking his usual silence, his co-pilot might have been reading his mind. "By the time she gets here, those elves up there will probably have spirited away the whole fleet. Naval command is going to skin us for this. Besides, those elves down there (they were close enough to tell), are ignoring us anyway"

In the time that passed, they watched as the Elven dropship landed on the largest vessel.

It was also very unfortunate that the Deliverance had just entered visual range of the refugee ships at the same time as the captain disembarked, her engines going flat out and her gun crews on standby. A very sticky situation.

In the bridge, Carmella watched as the Elven battleship hovered in the sky like a massive bird of prey. The Elves were an aloof people. Most of them were anyway. They might be rather prickly about non-Elves appearing on what they might consider to be their show, even if it was International waters. "Remember people. We're not here to start a fight. Rules of engagement."

Still, it was worrying that there had been no response from the refugee ships. Goblin 1 and 2 hadn't reported any fighting but there had been a brief radio transmission from them so it was an obvious sign that they could. So why weren't they saying anything? Suddenly, that Elven battleship didn't look that peaceful. She tried once more. "This is the NAS battleship Deliverance to the elven sea going ships. We come in peace. We are here to render whatever assistance you may require. Please respond."

OOC: They speak english but cryptological equipment onboard can decipher the elven language given time. But for that, we need a transmission no?

Githraldur, a young Sindar, takes it upon himself to reply to the message from Non Aligned States, speaking in Doriathrin. "Greetings. We cannot understand you. Please translate."

The response sounds like gibberish at first. Perhaps even radio static. But a bright communications officer runs it through the extensive cryptological systems that the Deliverance enjoys. Before long, a rough message is heard, undoubtedly crude as a first time attempt. Hearing the message. Carmella looked to her Coms officer. "Do you think we can send back a message in the same language?"

He shrugged. "Its a 50-50 chance that we'll get the full message across but they should be able to get the gist of it."

"Make it so"

A new broadcast was sent in rough Doriathrin. It simply said. "We come in peace. We are here to help."

In the meantime, the ship rosters were being scoured for any sailor with linguistic skills.

At this point of time, the sillhoute of the Deliverance is close enough to the refugee ships that they can make its lines quite clearly. That and its escorts.

In the air, the Elven battleship waits in silence, secure in her might.

The response to the Non Aligned States is simple. "Thank you. Please stand by."
~
Ming pulled the needle through the fabric again and again. The dress seemed to be coming together well. It’s the first gown she’d made since the evacuation. It was almost a miracle that something so beautiful could be made in such wretched surroundings. The finely woven red cloth, the silver lining, the perfect cut designed to show just enough of a woman to show her beauty but not near enough as to compromise modesty. Ming thought it was the most lovely thing she had ever seen.

OOC: Me and MR did this on AIM. Enjoy.

IC:

The dropship's interior was long and sort of narrow; it seemed to be an 'executive' variant, as it had relatively few seats for the size of the ship, and everything was well-appointed. The pilot nodded. "Well, if you'll take seats - any will be fine - we'll be on our way to the Din-sûl in notime."

Palindë sat quietly near the front. Cindil and Isorfir both moved for the seat next to her, Isorfir a little faster. Cindil frowned, moving to a nearby seat.

The ramp lifted up into the hull, lifting off and moving swiftly - almost unnervingly swiftly, to one looking out one of the windows - towards the Din-sûl floating above. Yet though the ship tilted to a near vertical rate of ascent, there was very little apparent G-forces to those aboard - likely a product of the Vilyulairë's gravitic drives.

Isorfir smiled to the pilot as he looked forward. "This is a finely made vehicle, to be sure."

The pilot nodded. "She is indeed... been flying her and others like her for four years now. I'm looking to get into Thoron training - those are the fighters you might have seen earlier - but this is a good ship. Wait until you see Din-sûl, though. A work of art, she is." He adjusted the dropship's course so as to fly alongside the cruiser's hull, within meters of the galvorn-alloy armor, to give his passengers a close up view.

All three looked over. Cindil took in the vehicle slowly, with a scholar's eye. Isorfir just gazed in genuine wonder, pronouncing "She is a beauty."

The pilot smiled, guiding the dropship with a delicate touch, following the contour's of Din-sûl's hull, which is made with all the care and attention to detail that the dropship was. Intricately shaped, ovoid viewports; elegant, slender-barreled plasma turrets; swirling, intricate, pencil-thin golden markings over everything that one couldn't possibly see from anywhere farther than this. "So... where are you folks from?" he asked, as he peeled off from the hull again to get a better approach to a landing bay.

Isorfir smiled a little. "Well, we're from just about everywhere. Been wandering so long it's hard to remember. I was born in the area the humans call Rhodesia, not that long ago by the standards of our people."

The pilot nodded, pondering what a nomadic lifestyle must be like. He frowned slightly; if they were running now, they must have been running from just about every foe imaginable over a very long time. "I hope the Círyaran can help you find the peace you're looking for, then," he said. "You won't have to run anymore." As if on cue, the Vilyulairë nosed into the bay, its bladelike wingtips folding smoothly up and in, in order to save space in the hangar.

Isorfir nodded. "That is good to hear." There was no further comment from the refugees. As the ship landed, they prepared to disembark.

Inside, Din-sûl was every bit as impressive as outside. The hangar bay was cavernous, interspaced here and there with pillars rising to the ceiling, carved in the form of great trees, complete with branches spreading over the surface of the ceiling, with leaves of a silvery metal. The walls were of a smooth and seamless material painted in gentle colors and slightly warm to the touch, the room lit by crystalline globular fixtures on the walls and pillars, giving off light of a spectrum identical to that of natural daylight. The floors were painted in a colorful, almost random pattern, almost like a mosaic, which cunningly included markings denoting areas for craft and crew traffic, landing areas for ships, and areas for storage. The bay seemed to run the length of one of Din-Sûl's lower decks, with recovery at aft and launch at fore - an efficient and elegant design.

To one side of the bay a pair of carved oaken doors slid soundlessly apart, and Ciryaran Hathaldir came in, accompanied by several officers, and a pair of armored guards who took up position flanking the doors. The guards wore shimmering black armor of galvorn, and carried rifles of a similar sort to the pilot's pistol. Hathaldir and his officers were in dress uniforms, red and black and gold with sweeping crimson capes and longswords at the belt.

Isorfir walked through the deck, looking up with eyes wide. "With ships like this, Elves can secure their freedom and way of life throughout the wide world." Cindil nodded slightly, though almost relucatantly. Palindë inclined her head with an appreciative smile, though she did not let any of the awe she must be feeling show on the surface. Would hardly be seemly. `

Isorfir, as it would turn out, was not far off. Hathaldir smiled warmly as he approached. "I presume this is the illustrious Lady Palindë," he greeted her. "I am Hathaldir nos Círdan, Ciryaran of this ship. Welcome, welcome aboard the cruiser Silent Wind, and to the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar. It is my dearest hope that your difficult journey will soon be at an end."

Palindë walked towards the captain, smiling, her two companions flanking her. "It is my hope as well. Though I can never wholly rest as long as darkness in the world, anymore than I would wholly despair while there remained yet light. Nonetheless, it is a great honor to be here. I cannot express my people's gratitude and my own." Her voice was still raspy and malnourished, but still lovely for all that.

Hathaldir smiled, bowing slightly. "The honor is all mine, my lady. It is not every day, especially while on patrol duty, that humble Hathaldir gets the chance to aid his kinsfolk in distress. Come! There are more comfortable places than the hangar bay aboard, and you must surely be hungry."

She smiled in relief. "And it is not everyday that we find a possible end to our wanderings. But, yes, I am hungry." Cindil spoke up, one of the few times he'd said a word. "She has only been allowing herself half-rations, to ensure more for the others."

"Then you are truly selfless, my lady," Hathaldir replied. "How rude of me... my officers," he said, and introduced each of them in turn. "And your companions?" he asked.

"Cindil and Isorfir." she said, gesturing to each in turn. The men bowed as they were introduced. "They are two of my closest advisors and have been for many years."

"A pleasure and an honor to meet you both," Hathaldir smiled. "I hope you will all find our hospitality to your satisfaction. Shall we?" He gestured to the door, which opened, revealing corridor beyond, every bit as elegant as the hangar.

"We shall." Palindë said with a gracious nod, stepping into the corridor, the men trailing behind.

The officers fell in behind them, and as Hathaldir led the trio through the corridors, they peeled off one-by-one to return to their posts. There was, after all, still a ship to run. The corridor was decorated similarly to the hangar, except there were occasionally larger 'common areas' with benches and plants, and either a spiffy sculpture or some sort of water fixture, either a pool or fountain, kept serene in anything but the most furious combat thanks to the ship's gravitic drives. Finally, it was just the four of them, and Hathaldir led them eventually to a conference room, where food and wine were already set out. In the center of the table was a holoprojector, currently in its default mode - a slowly-rotating image of the Earth, with markings indicating the location of Menelmacari ships, as well as ships of nations Menelmacar was currently taking an interest in, one way or the other. One wall had wide windows, with a stunning view of the sea and whichever refugee ships were not directly under the ship. Hathaldir took a seat, and gestured to his guests to do likewise.

They sat, Palindë first, followed by her two companions. Isorifir dove in. He had a hearty, manly appetite and, while he ate politely, he was also rather unreserved. Cindil, on the other hand, ate with an almost dainty reserve, slowly chewing his food and sipping his wine. Palindë herself was somewhere in between. "Thank you for your most gracious hospitality. We do not wish to be a burden." She almost choked as she saids that. Even having never truly ruled a land, it was hard for a woman of her blood to ask for help. "We would desire only some few emergency rations and guidance to some uninhabited land in regions filled with the Elven nations."

"You are most welcome, and you shall have it, certainly," Hathaldir replied. The food is fine and varied, delicate salads, hearty steaks, seafood of various kinds. Everything is carefully spiced and bursting with flavor, and fresh fruits, mostly tropical, as befits the Menelmacari climate. There are three or four different wines available, all Menelmacari and all shockingly expensive; Hathaldir had been saving them for a special occasion. "That's likely the minimum, actually. We are a capitalist people, but a very compassionate one. We value the well-being of our kinsfolk, and the omótahorma are not popular in Menelmacar. He smiled, and leaned back in his chair, a wineglass perched in his fingers. "Do you have any questions? Anything you would like to learn about Menelmacar? Anything at all, you need just ask."

Palindë nodded, taking that in a moment. "The omótahorma...their policies are horrible. Still, I could have borne the laws of the land, however slavish and crass, had they not gone so far as to ask us to deny Eru. Our people told them we would die before we did that and..." she sighed heavily, looking down, "...well, many of us did." Gathering herself a moment, Palindë resumed her calm tone. "I suppose we will have to make decisions on an economy of our own. Isorfir and Cindil are both capitalists, as, I believe, am I. However, they differ significantly on matters of degree." She continued to eat. "Do you know of any other people who trace their roots to Doriath?"

"The Aelosian Star Empire," Hathaldir nodded. "Their ruler is Everqueen Elúrin, as direct a discendent of Elwë as yourself, though increasingly unstable of late, just between us. She is likely to abdicate soon, however, and the princess is engaged to be wed to the Lady Sirithil's only son, Maglor. They are mostly Sindar descended from Doriathrim, and they live mostly aboard a vast space-station they call a 'Craftworld'."

Palindë tilted her head. "The Lady Sirithil?"

"My apologies," Hathaldir replied. "Lady Sirithil nos Fëanor, Elentári of Menelmacar, High Queen of the Noldor, and long-ago wife to the Spirit of Fire himself. She has led us since the fall of Eregion thirty-two thousand years ago."

"Sounds like a most impressive lady," Palindë mused. Isorfir opened his mouth to speak, looking quite offended, before Cindil chimed in, thankfully interrupting him. "I take it from the title that her empire is largely in the heavens."

"She is," Hathaldir nodded. "I have never spoken with her, though I have seen her - in person, I mean, not just on holovision. Under Sirithil we have put the kin-strife in the past, where it belongs, and in Menelmacar, Kinslaying is greater a crime even than treason. The horrors Lord Fëanor perpetrated upon your people and others have never and will never recurred." Hathaldir nodded to Cindil. "It is," he replied. "Though we have extensive holdings here on Arda" by which he meant Earth, rather than the small portion of it under Morgoth's lordship "but we have indeed gone to the stars, and Menelmacari colonies flourish on over a dozen worlds, both orbiting Anár and beyond. In fact, this ship is space-capable..." he smiled, reaching for his comm. "Bridge! This is Hathaldir. Inform the refugee ships that we will return shortly. Then take us up into orbit, wait a few minutes, and return."

Isorfir relaxed once more as it became apparent that Sirithil simply was a Star-Queen. Perhaps he had been worried for a moment that she was claiming to be Varda. Palindë nodded. "It warms my heart to hear that." Her smile widened at the mention of space travel. "That does sound rather wondrous."

Outside, the sea seemed to drop away as the ship rose. "Then look out the window," he smiled, gesturing. There was little feeling of motion from the ship, only the very faintest vibration of the drives could be felt from the hull, not even enough to disturb an artist's brush-strokes. Yet the sky darkened, grew black, and was soon filled with stars, the space just beyond the ship filled with the traffic of a hundred realms, stations, satellites, ships... in fact, a recognizably Menelmacari satellite passed by less than a hundred meters from the window. And still the ship rose, beyond the congestion of low earth orbit, to an altitude of several hundred kilometers - Din-sûl was capable of moving vastly more quickly in space than in atmosphere. From here the earth spread below like a quilt, and the stars filled the sky, the stars which so many thousands of years ago had been the first word of the language of a newly-awakened people, and the stars to which those people had now spread.

"Elbereth..." Palindë's response was that simple, that one word, yet her tone, her sense of awed wonder, reflected in her now clear voice, a voice descended from the one which had once lulled Melkor himself to sleep on his iron throne before the world was changed, conveyed all that truly needs to be conveyed.

Hathaldir smiled, rising to gaze from the window with her. "It is truly amazing," he said softly, "that we did not fully realize the awe-inspiring enormity of Eä until we got up here. All That Is lies beyond Arda, and for what reason would Eru create so much, Palindë, except to bequeath it to his children. This is why we have not gone into the West, why we remain, why we have built our realm beyond any since Valinor itself. The stars are our inheritance, Eru's gift to his beloved children."

She smiled warmly, looking over at him for a long moment before looking back to the stars. "I will not claim to know the ends of Eru, but that does seem like a reasonable inference. His gift to us is this world..." she waved her hand out the window, "...not just Arda but Eä. We are bound to it, as Men are not." She paused, thoughtfully, and then lit up slightly. "I think I understand something about the Communists I didn't before and about why they are so often the enemies of our people."

"What's that?" he asked, curious.

"They reject Eru's gift to Men. They wish to be creatures of this world, as we are. Yet, they cannot be bound to it so closely. So, unable to care for it through art, they seek to master it by organizing themselves into industrial armies, by turning an entire nation into one gigantic factory where only a monstrous state built on power commands, built on the desire for power over something they can never truly know as we know it."

Cindil glanced over. "I believe an element of that might be found in all the lands of Men, though the Communists are the extreme."

Hathaldir nodded. It certainly made a good deal of sense. He sighed a bit, with a little sadness. Eru had given gifts to Men, but so many tragedies had been born of their jealousy of the gifts of Elves, from the fall of Númenorë down to the present day. "You may very well be right," the Ciryaran replied softly, "but it is a sad thing indeed. After forty thousand years, I would have hoped the Edain would have made progress..." The ship began to descend again. "Well. I am sure Lady Sirithil will wish to meet you at some point, and she will want to hear of all these things. But for now we should talk of more joyous things, as it is a joyous day, for both our peoples." Hathaldir pointed out a continent. "There is Tareldanorë, a region of nations largely aligned with Menelmacar, and there is Menelmacar herself." He shifted his finger, now indicating an archipelago relatively centered in the group of landmasses. "There the Lady rules, from the Eternal City of Vinyatírion... there is an empty region of land to the northwest that we maintain for times such as these."

Palindë looked carefully over the land. She really had nothing to add, though she did look particularly carefully at the northwest. "It is beautiful."

It wasn't long before Din-sûl had descended back into the atmosphere, and resumed her place above the refugee fleet. Hathaldir smiled. "You're among friends now, and your people are safe, and there will be no more days of half rations for the host of Palindë."

"I feel safe for the first time in...millenia. Though...there are other ships here."

"Our pilots are reporting they mean you no harm either, though we're familiar with neither nation. We'll see what happens, though, and in the off-chance they turn out to be hostile, Din-sûl is more than capable of ending the lot of them."

Palindë inclined her head. "That somehow doesn't surprise me. This ship is beyond anything I've seen before...and I am a very old lady."

Hathaldir chuckled. "You will see much more, I am sure... Tell me of your people." He returned to the table and politely pulled Palindë's chair out for her once more, before returning to his own seat.

She sat, speaking easily. "It is said that fearing the approaching fall of Doriath, Elured sent the infant Heril, my father, into hiding. Heril himself did not know his rank or heritage until he was a of age. Fearing the Sons of Feanor, Heril and a band of Sindar loyal to him, whose descendents would form the leaders of our people, set off eastwards, avoiding Men and Elves. At first he lived among the Nandor and added many of their number to his host. It was among the Nandor that I was born, raised amid the light and laughter of Greenwood the Great. Yet when darkness fell upon the woods, my father left, traveling east to lands then unknown and dwelt for a time among the true Avari, beset on all sides by Easterling Men and by many among the Avari who knew not the ways of light and love. Yet some among the Avari joined him, for it was there he dwelt the longest before the power of the Elves waned for a time and we were forced to live in hiding among human lands. We wandered the lands of Men for many years, struggling now with this sect and now with that. The last of many such battles was with the Communists, a battle where I lost my father, and thus we find ourselves here."

With the new transmission, further translation of the Elven dialect becomes possible. We won't be able to hold any intellectual debates anytime soon thought the communications officer in charge of finding out how to make sense of the language, but at least we won't be declaring war on them or something like that in a misunderstanding. He looked at the complicated algorithms before him. I hope.

Seperated by only 2 kilometers of sea from the refugee ships, the Deliverance came to a relative stop, the plutonium rods sinking into the heavy water, slowing the reaction and the relative force driving her screws. Likewise, the order for a full stop flashed through her escorts communications channels.

Back on the mainland however, several high ranking officials were holding a serious debate. No names were mentioned. They knew each other quite well.

"So, what do you think is going to happen?"

A grunt preceded the answer. "Knowing the Menalmacarians? They'll probably snatch the elves from right in front of us without so much as a hello and spirit them away."

"Well, its not like we're a more preferable host. Being non-elven and all that. You know how close knit they are."

"BAH! I don't care where they choose to stay. If they want to stay in Menalmacar then let them. But what I want to know is why their refugees in the first place!"

A quiet voice added to the conversation. "I agree. Elves are a hardy people. They wouldn't leave their homes unless they were facing extermination." A map of the world glowed in the darkness. Colors depicting borders and nations. "So where has the balance of power shifted I wonder?" Murmurs rose as they considered the possible events.

"It would appear that the young captain Carmella will have to be our ambassador for a little while longer. And perhaps, extend an invitation of friendship and hospitality. Not that it is likely to be accepted of course but there may be an off chance."

"What about that Menalmacar ship? What if its captain decides we're a threat?" Some of them shifted in silence. The NAS space program was proceeding smoothly but it had yet to reach the scale of the Menalmacar empire. Their power was quite clear.

"For that my dear General, the Deliverance has something that may give even their finest battleships a pause." A small smile. "Of course for that to happen, they will have to move first. We are after all, a nation of peaceable people are we not?"

"And what if they think we're not? And what is this 'something' anyway? Nuclear arms are strictly prohibited."

"Of course that 'something' is not a nuclear weapon. Far be it for us to build something that so goes against convention. No gentlemen. It is something much better than that. You all recall our latest proposed venture in the space program do you not?" As he elaborated, a few small chuckles emnated from the gathered officials. Yes, if the elves wanted a fight, they would certainly get quite a handful.

Of course none of them mentioned the one dominating thought. So long as they start it first.

Back on the planetary surface, Carmella watched as the Elven battleship re-entered low earth orbit and continued to descend. Of course she didn't watch it with her naked eye but rather, tracked its descent on the advanced holographic projector that displayed the entire area of operations.

"So, they came back. Hmph, probably tried to impress their leader with their technology." she muttered. And instill confidence on how easily they can remove us if we're a threat. Well, that confidence could be broken if actual war broke out. But probably at the cost of the Deliverance herself.

It still slumbered in the holding bay. No sense in bringing it out and giving the game away when it wasn't needed just yet. She was confident that the elves wouldn't know about it though. Its construction was a tightly held secret. So secret, that only her and the 2 other members of the bridge crew knew about its existence. In fact, they hadn't known about it until after she had left the harbor and opened her mission orders. Which had been encrypted to the combined biometric and cerebral data of all 3 of them. A lot of security to keep that secret. And the holding bay was shielded against all forms of sensors, both passive and active. Deployed, they might know what it was immediately. As it was, they even didn't know it existed. And that was how she wanted to keep it.

In the meantime, she contented herself with observing the refugees and continuing her conversation with the remaining elven representative on the refugee ships. She could send supplies to them, they looked like they needed it. But what if that Menalmacar ship took it as a hostile act? Well, she would wait until the representative agreed to the aid. If the Menalmacar wanted to percieve that as a hostile act, at least once the dust was settled, she wouldn't look like a fool in history.

TAG for now *sigh*

Githraldur, after awhile, decided that that simple having the humans wait about wouldn't quite do. Contacting the Deliverance again via the rundown radio, he made a simple request. "While Lady Palinde is meeting with the Menelmacari, we would wish to send a representative to speak with you. I am sure Lady Palinde will wish to thank you personally for your kind offers of help when she returns."

*bump*

*Wonders when the guys from Menegroth Reborn will meet the people from the Aelosian Star Empire*

((OOC: Whenever the charming but extremely busy lady who plays Aelosia has time to start a thread about it?))