Feazanthia
31-10-2007, 01:20
Tap. Tap tap.
Rain pattered against the transparent steel view port of retrofitted D77-DC. Its engine pylons adjusted for the wind now battering the titanium-A plated hull, bringing the dropship into a steady and smooth descent.
"Federation One, you are cleared for landing on pad C. Welcome to Asrend."
A quartet of HSF-25A fighters roared past the dropship, the cacophony of their fusion engines nearly overwhelming the soundproofing of the D77. A pair of military-issue D77-TC dropships flanked Federation One, deploying their landing gear as they passed the ornamented craft.
"This is Foxtrot-Two-Seven to Federation One. We are on the ground. You may proceed."
"Confirmed, Two-Seven," said the dropship's pilot into his helmet mic. "Touching down. Mr. Praetor?" The pilot looked back over his shoulder at the man in a formal, stark-white naval dress uniform. "We're landing, sir. Recommend you prepare to disembark."
---
Grace-028, fully armored in her powered combat suit, stared at the being in front of her through a yellowed visor. The creature was vaguely humanoid, possessing all the right number of appendages and standing in a bipedal fashion, but that was where the similarities ended. Its feet - if they could be called that, they were more like paws - were seemingly reversed and covered in beige-blue fur (which only was hinted at through the other being's own combat suit). It stood just as tall as Grace, which was an oddity seeing as Grace herself stood half-a-head taller than the largest marine while in her armor. Its head was elongated, its ears relocated on top while its nose and mouth were seemingly stretched by some invisible hand. Grace caught the hint of fangs within its maw.
She, along with hand-picked members of the 101st Tactical Airborne (dubbed "Helljumpers" for their often dangerous and suicidal missions), stood facing their alien counterparts across the rain-slicked tarmac. Hands were held loosely on their rifles which, though in parade rest position, were ready to be fired at a moment's notice. Grace noticed her counterparts were behaving similarly. There was no love lost between the Kiith Federation and the Asrengarde Hegemony, two groups that collectively made up what was known as the Feazanthian Dominion. Though technically allied and on good terms publicly, both races still held animosity towards each other. This was culled by the mutual, grudging respect in place from the Collective War. Sure, Asrengarde were becoming a common sight on some of the outer planets, drinking and even mating with humans, but they were still banned from the capital of Feazanthia Prime. Humans were, likewise, banned from Asrend.
We're the outsiders here, Grace found herself thinking uncontrollably. If it weren't for the delegation, they would be perfectly within their rights to shoot us on the spot.
"Praetor Halcyon," said the lead Asrengarde, his armor jet-black and gleaming as if it were made from obsidian. Grace fought the urge to wheel around to see the Praetor. How had she missed his arrival? Had she been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not sensed the man's presence? "It is an honor to welcome you to our glorious capital," continued the leader, "however unusual an honor it may be."
"The honor is all mine, Guardsman," said the young man now pressing past the human detachment in his too-clean uniform. Grace noted the careful choice of words. Guardsman. It was an vague rank designation, not recognizing the Asrengarde in his own peoples' tongue, but not insulting him by assigning him a human rank either.
"Her Royal Majesty," said the Guardsman in his deep, melodic tone, "is awaiting your arrival in the courtyard. She believes you will be most, ah, comfortable there."
Grace instinctively tensed at the Asrengarde's hesitation. She thought she caught a hint of the word "furball" - a derogatory and racist slur against the Asrengarde - being passed through the marines' private channels. However, the Praetor simply nodded and signaled for the guard to show the way.
Grace couldn't help but pray.
Koshiir Ra protect us, so we may see out this day.
Rain pattered against the transparent steel view port of retrofitted D77-DC. Its engine pylons adjusted for the wind now battering the titanium-A plated hull, bringing the dropship into a steady and smooth descent.
"Federation One, you are cleared for landing on pad C. Welcome to Asrend."
A quartet of HSF-25A fighters roared past the dropship, the cacophony of their fusion engines nearly overwhelming the soundproofing of the D77. A pair of military-issue D77-TC dropships flanked Federation One, deploying their landing gear as they passed the ornamented craft.
"This is Foxtrot-Two-Seven to Federation One. We are on the ground. You may proceed."
"Confirmed, Two-Seven," said the dropship's pilot into his helmet mic. "Touching down. Mr. Praetor?" The pilot looked back over his shoulder at the man in a formal, stark-white naval dress uniform. "We're landing, sir. Recommend you prepare to disembark."
---
Grace-028, fully armored in her powered combat suit, stared at the being in front of her through a yellowed visor. The creature was vaguely humanoid, possessing all the right number of appendages and standing in a bipedal fashion, but that was where the similarities ended. Its feet - if they could be called that, they were more like paws - were seemingly reversed and covered in beige-blue fur (which only was hinted at through the other being's own combat suit). It stood just as tall as Grace, which was an oddity seeing as Grace herself stood half-a-head taller than the largest marine while in her armor. Its head was elongated, its ears relocated on top while its nose and mouth were seemingly stretched by some invisible hand. Grace caught the hint of fangs within its maw.
She, along with hand-picked members of the 101st Tactical Airborne (dubbed "Helljumpers" for their often dangerous and suicidal missions), stood facing their alien counterparts across the rain-slicked tarmac. Hands were held loosely on their rifles which, though in parade rest position, were ready to be fired at a moment's notice. Grace noticed her counterparts were behaving similarly. There was no love lost between the Kiith Federation and the Asrengarde Hegemony, two groups that collectively made up what was known as the Feazanthian Dominion. Though technically allied and on good terms publicly, both races still held animosity towards each other. This was culled by the mutual, grudging respect in place from the Collective War. Sure, Asrengarde were becoming a common sight on some of the outer planets, drinking and even mating with humans, but they were still banned from the capital of Feazanthia Prime. Humans were, likewise, banned from Asrend.
We're the outsiders here, Grace found herself thinking uncontrollably. If it weren't for the delegation, they would be perfectly within their rights to shoot us on the spot.
"Praetor Halcyon," said the lead Asrengarde, his armor jet-black and gleaming as if it were made from obsidian. Grace fought the urge to wheel around to see the Praetor. How had she missed his arrival? Had she been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not sensed the man's presence? "It is an honor to welcome you to our glorious capital," continued the leader, "however unusual an honor it may be."
"The honor is all mine, Guardsman," said the young man now pressing past the human detachment in his too-clean uniform. Grace noted the careful choice of words. Guardsman. It was an vague rank designation, not recognizing the Asrengarde in his own peoples' tongue, but not insulting him by assigning him a human rank either.
"Her Royal Majesty," said the Guardsman in his deep, melodic tone, "is awaiting your arrival in the courtyard. She believes you will be most, ah, comfortable there."
Grace instinctively tensed at the Asrengarde's hesitation. She thought she caught a hint of the word "furball" - a derogatory and racist slur against the Asrengarde - being passed through the marines' private channels. However, the Praetor simply nodded and signaled for the guard to show the way.
Grace couldn't help but pray.
Koshiir Ra protect us, so we may see out this day.