NationStates Jolt Archive

A giant, armored machine rolled in vacuum silence under an irradiating, light-filled sky. Tread segments taller than a man sank into the soft dust that covered the ancient world's surface as the behemoth clawed its way to its destination.

At the lowest point on the planet, at the bottom of a shallow basin in an otherwise featureless landscape, the machine stopped. It unfolded, spider-like, eight padded bracing legs extending outwards and planting themselves in the dust. A derrick hoisted itself into the air, trailing dust from long-unused joints.

Cold machine thoughts measured, considered. The drill bit was slid into the derrick, lowered into place. There was a hint of an unnecessary dramatic pause - even machine minds develop a sense of theater after a while - and then the bit of the ion drill ignited with searing blue light. Spoil rocketed into the air as it touched the surface and bit in, cutting through the rock like a needle through butter.

Construction on Gceilok, homeworld of the Ordo Decemus, had begun.

******

The first phase of construction proceeded quickly. After Earthworm, the automated derrick, reached the end of its range- a full twelve kilometers into the ground- it lowered a fusion warhead into the hole, rolled to a safe distance, and pulled the trigger. The resulting blast jolted the surrounding area sickeningly, sending cracks throughout the basin. A quick seismic scan confirmed that the underlying rock was fractured. Phase Two began.

******

The Augmented factory ship Citymaker loomed over the cracked basin. Powerful gravitic fields tore chunks of rock from the weakened ground below and hauled them up into its greedy maw, where they were refined and spat out again as spun-silicon girders, which were used to reinforce the rapidly growing hole. The process was repeated twice more, until the bottom of the borehole was searingly hot from the underlying mantle and the silicon girders, thick as mountains, groaned under the immense stress.

Then it was time for a different kind of drilling.

The Graveyard, that was the name given to the collection of make shift barracks that had been dug into the hills near the drill site. The workers within had to sleep on poorly made cots, thin as paper over the dirt floor. Many slept without a blanket, not that one was really needed; the innards of the Barracks were extremely hot, and to make things even more uncomfortable, also extremely humid, making the barrack a sauna of sorts, albeit a poorly lit one.

The power generators didn't work half the time, and the ones that did could only be operated during the day to operate environmental controls, and lighting so that the workers could see as the milled about inside. At night, the only source of light came from the metal ceiling, which glowed a shade of eerie green from the radiation that it had absorbed during the day.

This once quiet and forlorn place was now a furor of activity, the workers - a mixture of the poverty stricken and the disenfranchised, the criminal and the outcast of society, all were here under the banner of Electron - scurried about, readying themselves for the task now at hand. "Get ready boys, it's finally time to start digging!" Radislav exclaimed, "So pack up your things, don your suits, and let's get the fuck out there!

Radislav was from Delinaii, born into poverty and raised on the streets, he had gained himself a reputation as a trouble maker: robbery, assault, a conviction for murder, and three counts of rape which he was acquitted, some say on a minor technicality. It was only through the good graces of the Electronian Department of Justice that he was stayed an execution, and instead sent here, to Gceilock, to work off his debt to society. He was a leader, and if he had not been born into poverty, perhaps he would have been one of Electron's great corporate powerhouses.

It was this quality that saved him from being executed by what the Wardens had affectionately named, The Grinder, and landed him on this forsaken rock of a planet: He would lead a team of engineers, - a term which the corporation leading this dig used loosely - down into the hole that the Khrr had just dug, and finish digging until they reached the asthenosphere, an area where the seismic activity was less intense, and await further orders.

_____________

Radislav's team arrived at the basin about three hours later. Many of the other teams had arrived earlier to hook the drill up to the Derrick that the Khrr had already setup, with incident of course.

About thirty people had died already; most falling into the power processor when it was exposed, a few others fell straight down into the bore hole, and a couple had died when their pressure suits failed, cooking them like food over a roaring fire. Despite this, things were going relatively smoothly.

Radislav's team boarded the drill vehicle, a titan whose length dwarfed that of largest valleys, and stood as tall as the mightiest tree, almost to large for the bore-hole for which it was destined.

_____________

The Drilling began about another hour later; the drill had been hoisted vertically above, and then lowered into the bore-hole, fitting tightly in the narrow space.

The energy absorption beam was powered up and ready to fire as the Drill neared where the Khrr had stopped, "Alright, hit it!" The beam fired, waves of blue oscillated into the soft mantle as the main drill bit began rotating.

The beam cooled the nigh molten mantle down, enough that they hardened and became brittle, making the job of drilling far easier.

"`Adislaa, E`ve fund so`ethin." One of the engineers said.

Radislav looked at the view-screen, "What the fuck is that?" Radislav yelled, a massive black blob in the middle of the screen signaled the presence of a massive cavern. "Get ready, once we hit that thing we're going outside to check it out."

As good a leader as Radislav was, he was not always very smart as to how he went about things. If the cavern weren’t cooler than the surrounding mantle, his men would surely die once they left the safety the drill vehicle from the searing heat of the mantle.

They arrived just short of the main cavern, leaving the vehicle and entering a sub-cavern leading into the main-cavern. Their headlights barely kept the tide of darkness at bay as they neared their destination, the eerie cool of the area dug deep into their nerves.

"Radi! I tells you I see something, out the corner of my eye I know aint clear, but I sees it I tells you!" Another one of Radislav's engineers exclaimed, quickly loosing his composure, whipping about in his search for this cavern phantom.

"Shut the hell up or I'll save the ghost the trouble of killing you." Radislav angrily bellowed as he knocked the man upside the head with the butt of his gun, "We're almost done, and I won't have you fuck this up." He continued.

Radislav and his team made it into the main cavern, standing in awe at the size of it, "Base, this is Radislav, you wont believe what I just found!" They continued standing there, still comprehending the magnitude of the titanic cavity they had found in the mantle of the planet...

The man was not incorrect, he had truly seen something, lurking just beyond his line of sight. Indeed he had. Quite a few Dusk Elders had received two simple orders from Xirrath, to follow the creation of the base as it proceeded so that they could begin working on their own part of it as soon as the work is done far enough, and to remain unseen. They were allowed to take as many shadow creatures with them as they liked - thus, there were quite a few of such, even if it was for no apparent reason.

But things changed once the Electronians hit the strange, ominous cavern. The Dusk Elders and their underlings spread into the darkness, to see what it might or might not contain, for it was impossible to tell whether it was natural or not.

But still, the Dusk Elders could tell. A cavern of this magnitude would remove months, maybe even years from the time needed to make the seat of the Order's power.

"Desrijya-Dakal!"

The curse brought a wince to the eyes of the two Void Strikers of the Graceful Blade Legion. Of course, once could not tell -- the visors were down and thus the face was quite concealed.

The female, however, in her stand-out small suit of body armor and transparent pre-visor, did not have that luxury -- her fear and rage was quite evident.

"Get me the Mage-King! NOW!"

The guards looked at each other over her head and shrugged, then one flicked to the proper channel and murmured a message...
---

Torquemada had come to hate this place. I just felt...wrong. It did not resonate as it should -- did not live. He had said as much the first time.

'This place...this place is wrong. There is only Death here. No life, no hope, no future. Only an end.'

He himself had a task to complete, independent of the Sevle who wandered the planet, safe from its harshness in their powered armor...and if they were not responsible for the discovery of the large cavern -- which He had known about but had left to the others to find -- they were performing a much, much more important task.

They were doing what Sevle did -- Enable.

The ritual platform had been constructed at the proper point with exquisite care -- and extreme haste. Which were not mutually exclusive -- to a Sevle. Of course, the platform and the instruments and the whole damn thing wasn't as perfect as it would have been given the leisure of time -- as it would be once the time was had.

As it was, it was good enough, and he watched the displays set about the platform, watching as his Sevle completed the net. And when that net was complete, he muttered into his comm...

"One."

There was an onrush of..breeze, but that was impossible...all over the planet as suddenly every comm link and every communications device shrieked out with a single command --

"BE PERFECTLY STILL! DO NOT BREATHE! DO NOT MOVE! VIOLATION IS DEATH!"

Void Strikers in armor of all different colors appeared seemingly out of nowhere, their weapons held at the ready...and they would ruthlessly eliminate any who moved the instant they moved. Irregardless of rank, station, nationality. It did not matter -- movement was death, not just for the individual...but possibily for all of reality.

Tick

It only took an instant or two. Torquemada flung his arms out, the crackling energies that were normally kept to a minimum by his armor now unrestrained entirely -- for the armor did not impede the active.

His ears were filled with a noiseless roar, and his vision blurred -- his hair whipped back from his head as if he was facing into a storm, and his eyes blazed with chaosfire...

And then he placed one foot forward, and dropped his hand to the sword sheathed at his side...and drew.

And sliced.

And cut through reality itself.

Destruction poured from that tear -- Force Itself seeking to destroy all that was in its path -- hungry now, ever hungry, screaming its mindless rage and expanding, expanding to fill a new space...an unstoppable force.

Met by a single man in black and gold power armor.

Met and stopped.

Stopped and gathered, flicked about, angrily...but could not escape. There was some, of course, that got away, and there was the danger -- for Torquemada could not be distracted at this critical moment.

Sevle he could work around, or draw from if necessary...others. Others were unknowns.

He flung himself out, catching the leakers, returning them to the whole...and shaped...and molded...

His feet were no-longer contacting the platform, as he rose slowly, a tiny ball of incredibly rapidly changing colors -- no order, no reason -- centered between his two outstretched palms.

He rose upwards, upwards...

His eyes burned with a cold fire, hot fire, orange-flavoured fire...

His soul burned.

His jaws were clenched tightly, he tasted blood...

The world was aflame...

And then he was free, and he opened his hands, and that tiny ball of hell floated before his face, winking at him...

He place a hand under it, and it came to rest on the palm of that hand, and he brought that hand in close to his face, and took a breath...and blew.

Chaos.

Hell.

The explosion of sensation was enough to threaten the sanity of those on the planet below -- even the undead, even the silent ones, even the mindless, the soul-less, the bodiless.

The Sevle gritted their teeth and opened their minds, letting it pass through them, become part of them -- and thus the others would survive, for The Sevle took that lethal sensation upon themselves, shaped it, formed it, kneeded it, then when it was too much -- tossed it on up the chain.

Until it came back to Torquemada, who let that tiny ball of utter madness alight upon his palm again, and he took in a breath, and he blew...

And again.

And Again.

Until finally all was right, the steel was ready...ready to become the sword.

He gathered that lethal little ball into his hand, drew back his arm, and hurled it with all his strength...up..up...up.

He went with it -- but not with his body. Guiding it, shaping it, but mostly just spurring it on -- for that ball was as much him as he himself was.

Until it reached the proper point...or one of them...or maybe it just decided that it liked it here.

Then all hell truly broke loose.

One Chaos Storm, made to specification by Torquemada Illyrian and Assoc.

Specifications to be announced.

The Chaos Storm -- and that was a truly poor term for it -- did not just engulf the planet, or the system...it engulfed everything. Everything that is, was, could be, should be, would be...for maybe an instant.

Then it retreated -- back, back, back...back to the creator, and Torquemada screamed.

He screamed and he screamed and he didn't stop screaming for an eternity or four. And then all was quiet, and around him raged the stuff of chaos itself -- creation and destruction all at once. Everything possible to exist existing and vanishing...

Nothing could live within that. Nothing at all -- because everything already did. And did not.

And in the eye of the hurricane, so to speak, floated Torquemada Illyrian, sweat beading down his face -- though the surroundings were quite cold at this altitude. He wasn't exactly in space -- but it didn't really matter. Such things as air and pressure had long since ceased to bother him.

He slumped forward, collapsing...and he fell. Not a serene float back to the ground, but a plummet...and the universe tooks its revenge on the being who had raised its ire.

He never hit the ground, per-se. He might have survived -- but whatever he hit wouldn't have. He stopped about a foot from the platform he had once risen from, rolled over, and fell the last foot to hit the cool stone with a thud.

He could feel it was cool because his cheek rested against it. Atmosphere was for the weak.

And then his eyes flickered open, flickered shut, then a gasp-groan-exhalation of pain...and his eyes opened to look upon his work -- and the heavens were alight with the most brilliant lights imaginable.

Glimmering happily and in harmony with the universe around it, having found -- created -- seized its niche.

It was beautiful. Truly, truly beautiful. He wept.

And then he laughed. And then he screamed as he pushed himself up, up, to his feet.

One step, another, then a few more, and he slumped back into the chair at the base of the massive monolith that towered over the platform. The blackish-red stone monolith that gleamed at its apex, where shone a brilliant sphere of ever-changing energies...

His throat was dry, but he could not stop yet. Not yet -- not when there was nothing left to enjoy his creation. Or hate it. Irrelevant.

And so he closed his eyes, and he began to sing. Wordless. Beautiful.

And he brought his hands up from the arms of the chair, brought himself up from the chair, and strode forward to the center of the platform again.

He pressed his hands together before him, brought his arms back so his hands ran down the center of his chest, parallel the spinal cord -- or where it would have been, were he human.

His hands moved apart, slightly, ever so slightly...

He brought them together with an incredible force, and the clap resonated. Resonated through his body, through the ground, through the planet, through the stars, through the universe...

And again.

And Again.

And the borders were defined -- and then he slid back, back...and he gathered, and he returned, and he scattered.

Nobody, Nothing, could have done what he had done. Not even he.

The Universe could not be destroyed -- and so it wasn't, and never was.

Or rather, it was...but since it was, there was nobody around to record that it was...except for Him, of course.

Thus when He brought everything back and pressed play again...nothing had happened. Except for death, which always happened, but that not anybody's concern and was quite invisible and quite normal.

Well, that and the brilliant new astronomical object visible in the skies of certain planets...many planets. No doubt someone would find a logical explanation that had something to do with black holes and super novas and dark matter and molecules and blah.

And of course, they were perfectly correct. That was exactly what had happened.

Until you actually went -inside- that magnificent but quite opaque...cloud...of light and sound and feeling. Then, no doubt, one would see the truth -- all laws are lies, there is no truth. There is merely what you believe and what you do not believe.

And then one would die, and if one wished, be awakened anew on the other side, on some side...without the knowledge of what, but with the knowledge that, (something) had happened within that cloud.

Or something like that.

The spatial measurements were small enough that they wouldn't really bother anybody -- a light year, give or take ten, and in a quite barren patch of space with nothing of any importance within it...

Torquemada Illyrian slumped back into his chair, drained, his consciousness fading in out...but it felt better. Much better.

He needed sleep...only for a little while...really. Just shut his eyes for a few minutes.

Outside of time, he slumbered. Minutes, seconds, hours, days, years, millenia, eternities.

And then his eyes opened, and he smiled.

Everything was as it should be -- completely and utterly screwed beyond belief. If one ever needed evidence that Chaos was kicking the living crap out of Order...the universe was a good place to start looking.

But that Chaos was a tame Chaos. He did not -recreate,- after destroying, that tame Chaos. He simply...shoved it back into the ring.

Metaphorically speaking.

It was still a masterpiece. Nobody else could have done it, really...nor ever will. There were Mages who almost equalled Torquemada in power -- Mages who could have created the same Storm...but none of them, none of anyone, could have created that Storm, that civilized but uncontrolled Storm, quite content at its place in the world, without destroying everything...permanently.

But the only noticeable effects of the entire work was the appearance of the Storm, of the Tear.

The Tear.

He worked the name over his tongue, then smiled.

"The Tear. Thus Named."
Tock
His voice cracked, barely understandable...and he laughed, and it hurt, and that made him laugh more. Alive. He was Alive.

Then the moment ended, and he rose, and his voice rose to a roar.

"Friggtarklph Krtrrka! Void Take You All! BRING ME SOME VOIDBLASTED WATER!"

They came from the cracks, or from nowhere. Serene in their armor, pleased for their King but more worried about simple things, mundane things...

And they brought water, and he drank. Then he stooped and retrieved his sword from whence it had gone, and murmured into his comm...

"Two."

And the Void Strikers lowered their weapons, slung their carbines, holstered their pistols, sheathed their swords, so on...

And then they backhanded the confused workers -- a tender caress, really -- even unarmored, a Sevle Void Striker could break a man's neck with a backhand -- but the tenderness was no doubt lost on the recipients, who would have never felt what the Void Strikers considered to be proper chastisement...

Which wouldn't kill them, exactly. Seriously. Swear to god.

Then with the proper "Back to Work"s, the "You're kinda Cute, y'know? You ever get bored 'ah this place..."s, and so forth, the Void Strikers would return to whence they came.

And the sky was alight with glittering lights. Magnificent.

The Khrr operations continued, oblivious to the Sevle work except for some mild grumbling as the warp storm started to futz with their already radiation-addled sensors and communications.

Citymaker fabricated four copies of Earthworm from asteroid rock and dropped them unceremoniously onto the planetary surface, then promoted Earthworm's AI mind to control of all five bodies. The set of machines spread out across the landscape around the borehole, drilling carefully spaced networks of three-kilometer-deep holes with large chambers at the bottom.

Superconducting coils were slid carefully into each hole, followed by autoloading missile racks and a pack of twenty freshly fabricated Mark IV "Acid Trip" distortion-warhead missiles. D-sink batteries and fusion generators were rigged to power the launchers.

The first line of Gceilalok's defense was set in place.

The Osage asteroid-ships materialized unceremoniously around the dead planet, dropping down to the surface with a casual acceleration.

The fleet-general in charge, the 8th, a relative unknown in the Osage Empire, was quietly and politely made obsolete by the directing presence of Monhin Dapa's consciousness among the fleet and shipminds.

The Osage fleet pauses carefully, each ship covering a massive surface area to itself, extremely scarcely placed around the surface of the small planet.

Then, as one, they released an expanding cloud of tiny, fist-sized violet-enshrouded projectiles that searched out barren sections of rock and plunged into them, deep beneath the surface.

The ships lay dormant for awhile, as did Gceilalok, and then in one, brilliant instance, hemispherical webs of color-shifting light bloomed over its surface, crackling as they beat back and then withstood the devastating radiation that came with the starlight.

Following this little detail, huge, writhing masses of biometal were catapulted into the soil, where they quietly went about seeping deep beneath the surface and creating an ever-expanding network of biometal tendrils.

Unencumbered minds went searching through the fabric of Gceilalok, and the Osage ships carefully withdrew back into orbit after dropping off a few hundred wakongi, about the same number of golems, and almost fifty thousand miloliths, who went about constructing vortices and raising biolithic constructions that spread and germinated within the dead surface.

It would eventually become obvious to the others, that irritating but inescapable truth -- while The Tear was, indeed, the ultimate defense against outside aggression -- it had a side effect. You see, not only would The Tear serve to isolate Gceilock from enemies -- it served quite admirably at isolating Gceilock from everything.

No way in, no way out. At least, on any practical scale...

Torquemada Illyrian was quite aware that he could bring a ship through the Tear...but only one ship. And he wasn't about to spend the rest of eternity ferrying people to Gceilock on some bulk freighter. This would be why the Greatheart was in orbit around another dead planet, dubbed "Fissure" by the Black Night Scout-Seeker who had first located it.

On the surface, Void Strikers in the black and gold armor of the Immortals were putting the finishing touches on a ritual complex practically identical to the one constructed on Gceilock. It would be perfectly identical, once the Stone Brethren pouring over the complex on Gceilock finished their work...

That moment passed.

Torquemada sat on the chair placed at the base of the monument and cleared his mind. Difficult enough, even now. It never got easier.

This particular maneuver involved much less in the way of theatrics and fireworks. Torquemada simply achieved the proper state of clarity and there was a thickening of air and something felt wrong for all of an instant...and then there was a crackling rush of energy up the length of the monolith in perfect parallel to the energy running the length of the monolith on Gceilock.

Then the monuments flared, and the smell of burnt ozone permeated the atmosphereless surfaces of both planets.

Then he stood slowly and walked down the primary ramp that led to the monolith, made a sharp turn, and walked inside the complex itself. The cavernous primary hall of that complex featured a massive arch as its primary occupant -- that arch was now filled with swirling energies.

He smiled and motioned one of his attendants forward -- not because he was afraid of the results of stepping through that arch, but because one could not immediately turn around and step back through such an arch...and he had to be here.

The attendant took the arch at a run, hurling himself through -- and through -- and through. Because he was Sevle, he experienced the journey...and it was quite disconcerting, but this was not the attendant's first such journey, and so he burst through the other side with a slight grin, meeting the waiting unit of Graceful Blade Void Strikers by falling face first onto the ground.

Then an awaiting messenger hurled herself through the gate, overjudging her leap...the consequences were delayed by the transit, then she shot forth from the gate, straight into the armored form of the Mage-King.

Who moved with the smooth surety for which he was known, catching the messenger and pulling her in to his breastplate, rocking backwards but letting his not inconsiderable mass absorb the blow...

Then he set her down and smiled. She had no verbal message, her arrival being the only message needed.

"Gentlemen, we have an operating Freegate."

There were cheers and shouts and hugging and shaking of hands. Then there was business.

Fissure wasn't protected by The Tear...to the same extent. It was within the boundaries of that great storm, but far closer to the edge. A skilled Sevle Navigator or extensively trained pilot of another species could arrive at Fissure...not so at Gceilock.

Thusly, as soon as construction was confirmed, the Fissure system found itself filled with Sevle warships -- the flotillas of at least ten Legions -- and the construction began.

Fissure was to become victim to a particular Sevle characteristic. Sevle didn't often claim ground -- but when they did, they defended it with a ferocity that had to be experienced to understand. Fissure was Sevle territory now...and damn anyone or anything that thought differently.

Biggest Space-Time Ripple to Date Recorded
WN3: Wye City

The Deep Space Isotemporal Watcher (DSIW) system reported a large disruption in space-time fabric out of line with known causality. The disruption, unlike most recorded by the system, did not occur in the Sol system, but rather appears to have originated close to the local galactic core, prompting speculation that the disruption was caused by intent, rather than as a natural byproduct of multiverse splicing. The disruption achieved a near-infinite duration by approaching zero-limit, before collapsing into a small pocket of space, which is currently considered to be its point of origin.

The DSIW system was constructed as a joint effort by the Self-Defense Forces and the Tower at Wye, and has been operational for two years. It has monitored semi-thaumaturgic astronomical phenomena with 65% greater precision than previous systems located on Terra. Its secondary mission to collect additional data on various superluminal transit technologies has not been successful, and will not be funded this fiscal year. The current disruption is its first major discovery.

The disruption has not caused any adverse effects, thus far, although the high entropic values of such disruptions have been known to cause failures in fusactors and firien cells located close to the disruption origin. The Tower announced that it will continue to investigate the disruption based on collected data, although a mission to investigate the region where it originated from appears to be unlikely, since the disruption appears to have had no physical effects, and is unlikely to maintain much interest outside of the academic community.

The Azim Amir-Al-Kawakazim paced his stateroom, walking on the Persian carpet in his slippers. His scimitar hung on the wall. 'I wish the Kaffar would hurry up and dig our tunnels so we may move into place.' He looked down at the planet. 'Dreadful place.'

He had already decided that he wasn't going to land his personnel until the diggings had been completed. It was too risky to take any other action.

Dateline, Imperial City

...Astronomers at the Imperial City Institute for Observational Matters have recently reported that an unusual space-time event (details are not forthcoming at this moment) has occured less than 100 Light Years away, in the direction of the core. This information has lead to concerns that a person, or persons, unknown could be engaged in unlawful research into the core, perhaps endangering the galaxy at large.

Certainly, any such event so close to Rudan Prime is worthy of investigation, and it's been reported that recently a starship has left the system to investigate and if possible take action.

Theories include a warp storm, either intentional or natural, a core flare, or 'just one of those things'... in other news, the Roslin City Gladiators beat the Port Agua Protusuchians 22-5 in...

Bridge of the Undying, a Strike Cruiser of the Immortals Void Striker Legion

"My Lord Warknight! My Lord Therys, Sir! Trace Signature, bearing Eight-Two-Four-Jjit-Katk-Yri!"

Therys Casleriy directed his attention to the small tracer-screen that was repeating the primary area-contents-tank. Even now, few enough Warknights could read a tracer-screen -- the 3d-2d transferrence had some...quirks...to say the least. Therys, however, had learned. Just as he had learned everything about his ship.

He figured that if he was going to spend the majority of his existence on the Undying, then he had better understand how the derned thing worked...because he rather enjoyed his existence and not -knowing- was the surest way to shorten that which he so enjoyed.

At any rate, he calculated a course vector in his head, shrugged...

"Maintain quiet running, Helm. They'll hit the Tear and bounce if they maintain current course. Comm, burst the Seeing data back to the Greatheart. though, just in case."

The comms officer, a small-statured Void Striker with her helmet down, stripped the sensor data from the tac system and fired it off to the current Sevle flagship in the area of the Tear -- and coincidentally, of anywhere...seeing as the Greatheart was not only the flagship of the Immortal's Warmaster, but also of the Mage-King of the Sevle.

Who just happened to be the same person. One Torquemada Illyrian. Convenient.

"Transmitted, Krasjkre."

Therys nodded absently, "Thank you, Comm."

Business as usual.

Bridge of His Supreme Majesty's Ship, the Heavenly Redeemer.

The Heavenly Class of ships was unlike any others in the Imperial Armoury. As opposed to being a vast cube like the Imperial and Divine classes, the Heavenlies looked more like traditional space units, being built on a horizontal axis with the usual external ray of scanners and weapons. Primarily a scouting ship, their existence was the closest the Empire of Shadow got to specialisation. Like all Roanian vessels, there was no window and the preference was for heat-shielding and camouflage rather than cloaking technology

(OOC: Heat-shielding is what I'm calling the process of hiding exhaust and heat signatures to almost match background levels. And active camouflage means that the scanners on one side pick up the image of what's on that side, and transmit that image to appear on the other side of the ship and vice-versa. I'm sure it's more technical than that but I'm going from what the scrawled notes I have on this laptop say.)

"Sir, the Disturbance scanners are overwhelmed. Whatever's out there is definitely chaotic in nature." The Lieutenant checked the readers again, and rubbed the back of his head. "According to the star charts, there's a system corewards of our current position, maybe 2 light years away. That's where this...event...seems to be."

The Captain frowned and leaned forward in his seat, then placed his hands on the armrests. The ship slowed down and slid out of FTL, changing to sublight drive. As soon as the deceleration process was completed (1/15th of a second) 360 degrees of scanning appeared. "Open a commlink with Pinnacle 1." A seventh screen joined the 6 others, with the Imperial Navy's Jack on a black background. A loading bar appeared beneath it as the ships communication array strove to find a safe FTL-Talk route.

'Come in, Heavenly Redeemer. This is Pinnacle 1. Your pattern is weak, but we read you.'

"We have arrived at Point 8.4213 on the Imperial Standard Core Map. Our scanners have begun..." Then it suddenly appeared before them on 4 of the 6 monitors. The vast 'tear' in the universe's fabric stuck out like a . "...Pinnacle 1, we have a warpstorm. It seems to be covering a vast area of space, there's no way forward. Requesting permission to withdraw from this mission."

'Captain, can your sensors detect if its natural or unnatural?'

"Pinnacle 1, negative. Our scanner arrays are overloaded at the moment. Detecting nothing but the tear itself. I recommend a Battleplate be sent to invest..."

'That's a negative for the moment, Heavenly Redeemer. You've done your job, return to Home and await further instructions'

"Preparing to make the jump to Rudan Prime. Heavenly Redeemer out." He shut the communication signal down, and ran his hand over the symbols along the handrest. The ship reversed its direction and accellerated into FTL, leaving the core for Home.

(Just as an OOC note, since it seems that some people didn't quite get certain things.

The Tear is an anomaly that exists within a section of space roughly 1.5ly in diameter and centered on the Gceilock star system -- though, of course, that is far from common knowledge. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is, y'know, unknown. Anyways.

There are no "small tunnels" or "Gaps" in the Tear. There is no way to bypass it and travel to Gceilock. Because I am not particularly interested in the 40k overtones that people seem to be pressing on ze Tear, I am also noting the effects -- or allowing a generalization of said effects.

FTL travel through the Tear is impossible. In fact, STL travel through the Tear is impossible. Need not go into -why,- because that involves tentacly monsters and radiation and tears in reality and other nasty things.

Hope that clears things up, since it seems that Roania's Player was suffering from the delusion that The Tear was much smaller than it was.)

(Edited, then.)

Dst: James Rese, Imperial Department of Science, Roania
Src: Institute for Entropic Studies, The Tower at Wye
SubjLin: Coreward Disturbances

Your expedition's findings into the coreward disturbance are alarming, to say the least. This institute believes the disturbance is artificial. Although its purpose isn't clear, we doubt it is entirely bening. The Tower at Wye is prepared to render full assistance to any further expeditions you may wish to undertake in the future regarding this disturbance. While we do not have any resources in the region, we can offer equipment and expetise in dealing with entropic disruptions.

From: James Rese
TO: Weyrik Embassy, Imperial City, Roania.
CE: Institute for Entropic Studies, The Tower of Wye
Subject: Coreward Disturbances

Hum? Ah, yes. The trip to the Core. You received our report. Well. We would appreciate any assistance you could render, though obviously having a member of the Institute on board our ships would be preferable. Certainly, the evidence points to an intentional tear in the fabric of Reality.

The question of why is unknown, though obviously we hope to find that out on our next trip. We will of course reimburse you for any trouble.

The Heavenly Redeemer returned to the Tear a little less than 2 months later, this time carrying a special cargo. In addition to an Inquisitorial delegation, the Roanians were bringing with them a group of Weyriks. A group of magically inclined Weyriks.

Everyone's nerves were on end. Their guests made the Roanians physically uncomfortable, and the wizards no doubt felt slightly insecure on board a ship of people who actively hated them and all they stood for.

The Captain leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. His entire body itched from contact with the Weyrik mages, and his eyes still had that subtle glow that all Roanians developed when forced to spend too much time close to magical object. And of course, he had a migraine. Most of them did, though not, it seemed, the Inquisitors. Damn them. He flipped open a communication switch. What was the man's title? Damned if he knew. "Archmage, we've arrived at the Tear. Your presence is requested on...nngh...command deck."

Bridge of the Undying, The same damn Strike Cruiser as earlier.

"Well, like Command said...they're back." Different tac officer, this one a much more experienced male. With a sense of humor. Oh, the horror.

Therys nodded, "Very good. You know the drill -- passives only, full silent running, the works. Not like we need anything fancy to track the fools, seeing as they're conveniently blasting out emissions. I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm just saddened."

His Exec, one Warknight Damiro Aslaevyris, handily not engaged in weight lifting this go around, snorted.

"Well, Boss...the brief Command sent us highlighted that the Roanians weren't exactly what you'd call a people possessing of any particular...finesse -- and I'm still curious as to how the Black Night identified that dern thing as Roanian so quickly."

He paused, realized what he'd said, then shuddered.

"That didn't come out right. I meant to say 'The Black Night continues to confound me.' Or something."

There was some nervous laughter -- it was quite well known that Therys Casleriy and his Exec were two of a kind...and both of them valued knowledge above all else. Which tended to make certain people wonder why they weren't in the Black Night, instead of sitting around wondering about it.

At any rate, the Undying would shadow the Roanian vessel from extreme distance. Comparatively. Extreme distance for the Undying's Seers was...quite extreme, indeed. This type of 'Extreme' was a range, specifically the maximum recommended distance at which one could shadow a starship.

Unlike the aforementioned Roanian vessel, the Undying did not bother with active camouflage or any such idiocy -- the sleek Strike Cruiser -might- be given away because its black hull eclipsed a faraway star...but the chances were minimal. Within the tear, such things didn't matter. If you could see -anything- with straight visual spectrum sensors, you were incredibly, incredibly lucky...or somebody else was incredibly, incredibly stupid.

The Tear limited straight visual-spectrum to maybe a kilometer out.

At any rate, the Undying, under Silent Running, became something quite different from the "stealthy" Roanian vessel -- it became nothing.

It was a property of the hull metal -- most active sensors bounced off of it at incredibly bizarre and often impossible angles. Like one hundred eighty degrees. Such were the blessings of being Sevle.

So that left only passive emissions, which was the reason for "Silent Running." The point of that protocol was to cut the passive emissions down to nothing, and the protocol worked very well -- the propulsion methods used under Silent Running were quite different from the comparatively "noisy" combat drives.

Nothing in, nothing out. Worked.

From three hundred thousand kilometers away, the Tear was a constant presense in Kazushi Hagiwara's mind, floating just out of sight behind bounds constructed over decades of training and practical experience. He comes into the command deck in what very well may be the same outfit he had worn since coming aboard. It was not. Weyreans in general and thaumaturges and alchemists in particular traveled light, but there was always a change of clothes for times when micro- and nanomachines built into the bulletproof fabric could not keep up with the load of accumulated dirt, dust, and sweat, among other unwanted residue.

Seniority among the eight members of The Tower's Institute for Entropic Studies present aboard the Heavenly Redeemer gave thaumaturge Kazushi Hagiwara theoretical command rights. He acted as liason to the Roanian crew because unlike him all other members of the Institute's team filled specialist niches. That was why Sayoko Tsukinomori was working with the Roanian torpedo crew to figure out how to best mesh the Weyrean-made probes withthe Heavenly Redeemer's weapons systems. Alchemist Tsukinomori had little innate magical ability, just like the probes she worked with. Most of the equipment the Institute gave the Roanians for this mission had little, if any, real magical alignment. Tsukinomori was, Hagiwara reflected, the only Weyrean onboard not bothered by the proximity of the Tear. She was, unlike the rest of the Institute's team, also apparently unbothered by Roanian inherent hostility towards her.

Hagiwara entered the command bridge, running through possible reasons he could be wanted.

The Captain studied his instruments and then settled back, rubbing his head again. "Well, my fine Weyrean friend." The Roanian said as the mage entered. "We have arrived at what I choose to call a 'veil'." He waved his hand towards the area of the space-time disturbance, revealed on one of the monitors. "Do you have any special requests?"