NationStates Jolt Archive

"Speak"

The voice of the great being boomed about those attendants who gathered at the base of the immense throne. A chill wind seemed to encircle them, the very essence of Icecrown bleeding through as though to ensnare them. The Lich, Kel'thuzad, stood stalwart before the power of his terrible lord, gazing up at him with a stilled admiration.

Anub'Arak, an immense Nerubian Crypt Lord, stared at the Lich King from countless eyes, gleaming orbs set in his scarred and bandaged flesh. He clicked his assent, remaining silent for the time being. Insects scuttled at his feet, teeming where no other life dared, in the shadow of their monstrous patron.

One of many Death Knights waited at the sides of these champions, he a mighty warrior in his own right. He was known as Lord Deathhallow, for he had put aside mortal concerns upon pledging himself to the Scourge. His great powered armour shifted, each plate like that of knightly mail, black as night. A great runeblade hung at his side, alongside an antiquated pistol. He too, said nothing.

Ymiron of the Vrykul was last, a hulking half-giant figure. Runic patterns adorned the leather armor that he wore, his beard one of the few features that showed beneath the great horned helm he wore, save for twin black eyes. His flesh pulsed with an unnatural vigor, resiliant before the chill of Icecrown. His resolve spoke of unyielding power, the pursuit of eternal glory and a place at his Masters side.

"I have called you all here, as you shall stand with me when he recieve the guests to come. Too long have we idled, preparing, readying our defences. Now we must look to the future. I shall signal the universe, and they shall have their treaties and trades with us."

"As you will it Lord." The voices of all in attendance rose as one.

People of the Universe, hear me. I am the Lich King, ruler of the Scourge, Commander of its Armies, the thought in each empty mind and the life behind each pulseless heart.

I invite you to meet with me upon my Capital, the Scourge vessel of Icecrown. It orbits the world, Northrend, the coordinates of which are contained herein this message.

Fear not. You are as children in the ways of understanding. I shall enlighten you.

UNS Valhalla


"Uh... sir?" General Edward Harker approached the comm officer. "Yes?" The comm officer flicked his finger across the control panel. "We've got an incredibly powerful transmission coming in, its overiding all broadcasts." Edward noded Grimly. The comm officer flicked a switch, and a deep voice boomed throughout the bridge.


People of the Universe, hear me. I am the Lich King, ruler of the Scourge, Commander of its Armies, the thought in each empty mind and the life behind each pulseless heart.

I invite you to meet with me upon my Capital, the Scourge vessel of Icecrown. It orbits the world, Northrend, the coordinates of which are contained herein this message.

Fear not. You are as children in the ways of understanding. I shall enlighten you.

Edward noded."We go to the source, maximum speed."

OOC: Haha, I know I'm not part of this thread, but I have to say, someone has been playing Warcraft lately huh?

The crater dominated the landscape for miles around, on the lip stood a massive edifice, the Sanctum, home of the 7 most powerful figures in the Andermani Empire, after Gustav Anderman himself. Today, but three resided within. The Void Dragon, last of the Order, and their so called Shipmaster, The Fossil Dragon, ancient beyond imagining, and the Shard Dragon, his mind damaged by the human onslaught, born again as a Dragon, he eternally watches the Generator that is their gate to otherwhere.

<You have heard his words. The relays heard him, and now the Emperor requires us to send one of our own to speak with him. Joram is away, embroiled in that mess with the automatons. Shiana is out of contact, as usual, her Destroyer reports she has gone planetside for some reason. Ferrik is possibly going to be inconveniently discorporated if he isn't careful.[\B]

<You are surprised by any of this? Well, Joram is slightly surprising, but that's the only one. Shall I go, or shall we send our elder companion here?

[B]I have other business to attend to. You may go. It will be quite interesting to see how this all plays out.

Then open a gate to the other location, and I will go.

Minutes later, a tiny shuttle emerges from a nearly undetectable gate in the system, and heads swiftly towards the waiting vessel of this so called Lich King.

((IG! Long time no see! Last time you and I met, my boys were big, green, and were about to strafe your armies with air cover

Then we miracuously became allies.))

IFN Sword of Karetia, Praetor-class CVGH
Flagship of the Third Bombardment Group, Second Fleet
System G-13 (Dominion Designation)

Jak'sa Mikael S'jet hung, weightless, in the vast expanse of space. Around him soared the planets of this system - codenamed G-13 by the powers-that-be - as they continued the orbits they had started millenia ago.

Beneath him slid a warship. It was of the Arbiter class, Mark Four. D configuration, if he was not mistaken. His neural implant sifted through the data provided to him.

Yes...the Rakaj. Her Anamehej is a good one. Pity he's stuck with a light cruiser.

"Jak'sa," said a cool, femenine voice. The image of a young maiden cloaked in a tight, yet distinctly Victorian-style powder blue dress shimmered into existence next to him. Her auburn hair was bound into a bun with a string of holographic diamonds which culminated into a teardrop crystal that hung just above her eye line.

The Jak'sa opened his pale eyes, disturbed from his musings.
"Yes, Tyra?"

"The Cal'adash picked this up a few moments ago, broadcasting on several channels. She beamed it to us just before we received it as well."

With a nod, the transmission began.

People of the Universe, hear me. I am the Lich King, ruler of the Scourge, Commander of its Armies, the thought in each empty mind and the life behind each pulseless heart.

I invite you to meet with me upon my Capital, the Scourge vessel of Icecrown. It orbits the world, Northrend, the coordinates of which are contained herein this message.

Fear not. You are as children in the ways of understanding. I shall enlighten you.

Mikael S'jet, son of a Collective War veteran and a member of the Intergalactic Feazanthian Navy for over twenty years, scratched at his scraggly beard.

"Have we traced a source yet, Tyra?"

"We are triangulating the transmitter now, but at the moment it appears the coordinate data is correct."

"Tyra, please return tank gravity to Concordia Norm."

The Jak'sa felt himself grow heavier, felt himself slowly floating towards the ground. He angled himself to elegantly be lowered into the padded command couch of the Sword of Karetia, the warship named for the tumultuous brushfire war in his home system of Karetia between the IFN and the rebel elements of Kiith S'jet. Seeing the awesome might of the Dominion's navy against the wayward rebels had inspired him, and he had immediately applied to the academy on Feazanthia Prime. Now, he was in command of a warship so new that he wondered if all the paint was dry, and leading a bombardment group on a survey of unknown systems far beyond the "red line" borders of the Dominion's Milky Way holdings.
"What is the status of the fleet?"

Tyra, the Sword's A.I. construct and heart of the entire warship, once again shimmered into existence in front of him as various displays appeared around him in the holotank.

"We are almost finished with the survey, Jak'sa. We have uncovered evidence of intelligent life on the fifth planet, apparently at the Fifth Tier of development. Our survey teams were not detected."

"I should hope not. It would be an embarassment for trained experts to have their cover blown by a people who have barely mastered metalurgy."

The A.I.'s avatar broke her porcelean face with the slightest hint of a smile.

"Indeed, Jak'sa."

"How long until the fleet can be rallied for a priority jump?"

"Two hours, sir, should energy conservation protocols be observed."

"Oh, no reason to rush. Still, have the fleet begin spinning up their Slipstream drives, and make sure each Cee-Oh gets a copy of that transmission."

"Sir...it could be a trap."

The Jak'sa laid back and closed his eyes.

"If that is the case, I feel very truly sorry for whatever race this 'Scourge' is."

OOC: *sniffle* I miss you Gaia...

And yes, I am a bit of a Warcraft nerd, but I loves it and it makes for funs...

IC:

Icecrown was immense, a Scourge construct beyond reasoning. Caked in eternally glacial ice from whence it had been plucked up from the poles of Northrend, governed by arcane sciences and magicks that were at once foreign and their own...It stood as a symbol of Scourge power. Defensive positions crackled with unknowable powers, soulless defenders stood ever at the ready, staring blankly out for wars that may never come.

It was a citadel given flight, a chunk of a world made into one of the largest ship-things in the Scourge navy. Other, lesser Necropoli Class Star Fortresses, could orbit it, even dock with it. Even the mighty Naxrammas paled before its power.

This was the edifice that beheld those that approached in such subterfuge, ready and waiting for whatever end would come.

<This is Kyrin, the Void Dragon, repreeesentative of the Anderman Empikre, seeking audience with the Lich King. Please direct me to a place where I may land my vessel.

The tiny shuttle sped towards he massive hulk that was Icrcrown, holding off in an attempt to not provoke the gargantuan vessel, even as it got closer to land as soonas it was given clearance.

0932 hours/ February 24th, 2554 (Military Calender)/
UNSC frigate Courage, Scourge

Space screamed as the physics of the universe were twisted and distorted by the Shaw-Fukijawa drive, and the UNSC frigate Courage shot out of Slipspace. The UNSC, despite their rebuilding efforts and being preoccupied with them, had foreseen it would need allies in order to safeguard their nation. They could not take another Human-Covenant War. And, with the discovery of the Covenant, it was apparent there was intelligent life out there. They had planned on getting an expedition going by 2565, but the message by the Scourge had sped up the timetable for it. So far, the UNSC Courage was the only one tasked for this group, and had been on assignment patrolling the outer borders of the UNSC.

Captain James Foster was the commander of this ship, its crew, weapons, A.I., Longswords, and all of its equipment and soldiers. When an UNSC ship deployed, it could fight a small war by itself, the capabilities to do so only growing as you went up the ship classes. Surprisingly, Foster was awake and alert, a sharp contrast to those in his crew, whom were sluggish and still depressed. The loss of countless billions on Earth, and throughout the UNSC, to the loss of their hero and icon for survival, Spartan 117, humanity was stuck in a gripping lethargy. The only thing keeping them moving was the need to rebuild, to ensure their future, and their race, would continue. Foster picked up his PDA and gazed at the message being displayed.

People of the Universe, hear me. I am the Lich King, ruler of the Scourge, Commander of its Armies, the thought in each empty mind and the life behind each pulseless heart.

I invite you to meet with me upon my Capital, the Scourge vessel of Icecrown. It orbits the world, Northrend, the coordinates of which are contained herein this message.

Fear not. You are as children in the ways of understanding. I shall enlighten you.

His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the message. Something about this didn't feel right; it felt downright evil. But FLEETCOM had issued the orders, from Fleet Admiral Hood himself, so he had no choice. The frigate moved towards the massive hunk of rock that was Icecrown. They had identified it as the source of the transmission. The holopad beside him flickered an a young woman appeared, with code flowing down her body.

Foster glanced at her. “Hello, Samantha. What do you have for me?”

“Well, the ship is massive, I am detecting immense power readings and the sight of the damn thing is sending chills throughout my programming. In short, big, scary as shit, and where we have to go.”

He sighed. “Understood; have the Pelican and an ODST escort readied for me.”

“Yes sir.”

Soon enough, a Pelican shot out of one of the hangar bays and was heading for Icecrown.

OOC: Tag for possible interest..

Power thrummed through every facet of the mighty vessel-thing. Runic patterns pulsed and danced in languid rhythm, fed by the deep heart of the construct. The finest tech-smiths and Magisters had raised it from the ice of Northrend, just as they had coaxed the Necropoli into baleful flight. They had plied the tides of the Nether, fighting the Legion with sound and fury.

Now it hovered over the world that had once borne it, a child returning to suckle at mothers milk. But there was no warmth here, no love. Simply the implacable will to vengeance, the will to power. To survive was enough in these tumultuous times.

To survive was all...

Technical Adept Simon Starwalker strode through one of the many corridors of Icecrown, taking a long slim wand to consoles and readouts. The pulsing heart of the Citadel, fuelled by the very essence of the Nether, its every function mediated through the "well water" vector which saturated so much of the current Scourge iteration of "technology", was doing well. He gazed through cataracted eyes, smirking wryly as he noted the incoming signals. His Master would be pleased, he thought to himself (in so much as he was able), rejoicing at the eternal necrosis that lay within his veins.

Somewhere in his thoughts he felt his Master feed on his observations. The intrusion was short, direct, taking what was needed in a shuddering moment, before he returned to his duties.

The rape of everything he was did not phase him, just as it had not phased him in the years since the Scourge had "redeemed" his world. It did not strike him as being an abomination. To him it felt like love.

Far above, in the great audience chamber of the Lich King himself, he waited. His eyes were closed, pallid flesh aglow with ferocious energy. He was one with the Citadel, one with the mind of every being within it. He let the sensors become his eyes, staring out at the vessels that approached. Necropoli hung about Northrend like bloated flies adhereing to a corpse, the great Battlestations serving as one of many defensive fortifications of the very heart of a Scourge Empire. Nerubian Hiveships had implanted themselves upon the cold northlands, vast spires stretching up and into space, able to disgorge a mighty swarm in defence of their undying Master.

His voice, brimming with power, echoed forth across space, speaking to those who came before him.

It is good to see that some have come. You have permission to dock with the edifice of my might, requisite facilities have been designated for your use. Come forth that we might have words.

Come forth and taste the power that is the Scourge.

UNS Valhalla




It is good to see that some have come. You have permission to dock with the edifice of my might, requisite facilities have been designated for your use. Come forth that we might have words.

Come forth and taste the power that is the Scourge.


Edwrad leaned forward in his chair. "Bring the ship to tactical alert, do not engage COmbat alert unless provoked, understood?" The bridge crew saluted. "Get the deltas to the hangar bay, they're going to be my escort." Within fifteen minutes, the transport had been dispatched and was nearing the ship-thing. "I don't like this." Said Delta lead. "Thing doesn't seem natural." Delta 4 laughed. "Boss is always doing some kind of forboding, relax." Edward gripped the bulkhead as the tansport landed. "I'm getting the feeling boss is right on this one."

"Action stations, action stations. Set condition two throughout the ship. This is not a drill."
Tyra's liquid voice took on a shriller tone, reflecting the increased readiness of the Sword as well as the Third Bombardment Group.

Jak'sa S'jet felt his consciousness assaulted by sensory input, a veritable torrent of color and images, of sights and senses, as the Sword of Karetia cut its tiny slit in the fabric of space-time and slid seemingly effortlessly from the twisted dimension of Slipspace. Reports filled his vision.
Production...100%.
Nanite Foundries...92%.
Weapons...100%.
SENTINEL...100%
Quantum Plate...Online
Power Levels...Nominal

He quirked an eyebrow at the lowered output rating of the foundries, as their full capacity would be needed if this turned into a shooting match. The percentage ticked up a digit to 93, and he issued a barely-noticeable nod recognizing Tyra's near prescient computing abilities.

Around the flagship, the warships of the Third Bombardment Group emerged and, he noticed with a sense of satisfaction, had already upgraded their status to condition two. The battleship Sajuuk's Arm accelerated ahead of the Sword, taking point with her thick ring-carbon armor and heavy 1200mm bombardment cannons. The heavy cruiser Ajax and the battle carrier Cal'adash took up flanking positions on either side of the supercarrier, keeping their turrets locked but hot at the same time.

S'jet was suddenly stunned as he gazed at the source of the original transmission. It was huge...massive. Larger than an Empress. Tyra hadn't managed to get a full tactical readout on it yet, but its energy signature was vast as it was. Smaller, diamond-shaped constructs orbited around it, each one also seeming to be a powerful warship.

"Incoming transmission, Jak'sa. Patching it through."

"Thank you, Ty-"

It is good to see that some have come. You have permission to dock with the edifice of my might, requisite facilities have been designated for your use. Come forth that we might have words.

Come forth and taste the power that is the Scourge.

The voice, clearer than it had been several dozen systems away, chilled Mikael to the bone. He recalled the holorecords of the Collective's "leader", commonly known as the "Gravemind", issuing warnings to stand down in a similar voice.

"Options, Tyra."

The beautiful artificial image of the carrier's brain shimmered into existence again.
"Well, sir. They have not flooded the system with any known inhibitor fields as of yet, and my sensors are detecting no incoming particles, charged or otherwise. We could still escape back into Slipspace."

Mikael S'jet leaned back in the command couch, feeling the force-absorbing memory foam envelop him. He rubbed his fist with the palm of his other hand, gazing at the colossal construct that could be none other than this "Lich King's" flagship, the Icecrown. It certainly deserved the title.

"Prepare a standard diplomatic data package, and send down to the good doctor," said S'jet, his eyes narrowing. The "doctor" was what the Sword's crew commonly called the ship's resident exobiologist, exoarcheologist, diplomat, and all-around over-achieving know-it-all. Dr. Sandra Paktu was, undoubtedly, the very definition of an ONI officer.
The S'jetti commander then added "...better send a team of marines in with her."

A pitch black ship appeared without a warning from beyond this plane of existence. Outwardly the ship seemed battered, beaten out of its shape, and scans would state it to be devoid of oxygen, devoid of warmth, of life. The vessel was as cold as the space surrounding it.

For a moment, it seemed as though the odd ship was simply a wreckage, but once its engines began spewing forth green flames and it began creeping closer to the Icecrown, it was obvious that was not the case.

Whether the so called Scourge remembered them or not was of little consequence. What mattered was that they remembered them.

Soon after the arrival of the ship, something took place in the designated location at the gargantuan vessel. First, it was nothing but blinding white light, which shortly after turned into sickening green flames.

Then the flames turned black.

A humanoid creature appeared from these black flames which now simply seemed to burn harmlessly on its black powered armor. On its back it had a tattered purple cape, and beneath it a large two hand sword, as black as the armor itself.

It was none other than the Arch Censor of the Ashen Empire, Caractor.

Death had once again found the Damned.

((OOC: Yes, this is the player of Ashen Empire of Ermor. I'm not in control of Ermor-the-nation anymore, so I'm using this nation to continue where things were left. So in effect, EmeriKa = Ermor, but not the other way around.))

((Oh NOW things are going to get interesting.))

Foster sat in the back with the five ODST troopers whom had been assigned to be his escort. They were from the 103rd Eagles Division, one of the hardest hit units from the Human-Covenant War but they had fought well and had a record that was just under the Helljumpers and the Spartans own war records. He was in good hands; he knew that from experience. The Pelican jostled and he was thankful for his safety belt or he may have been sent flying across the room. The comm crackled and the pilots voice came on.

"Sir, we're receiving a transmission from that planetship."

"Understood; patch it through."

It is good to see that some have come. You have permission to dock with the edifice of my might, requisite facilities have been designated for your use. Come forth that we might have words.

Come forth and taste the power that is the Scourge.

Foster resisted the urge to shudder. The raw power and the evil he sensed from it was immense, but he took it as its message was intended for. Come aboard and talk.

"Alright, get us aboard that thing."

"On it, sir."

The Pelican flew closer and opened a channel to the ship. Icecrown, this is Pelican Epsilo-867, requesting permission to land and docking coordinates, over.

Message from Alexander Kazansky

“I have heard your message, Oh Lich King. I shall honor your request.

I shall dispatch my trusted apprentice, Shiunji Watanabe, post-haste. Fear him not, he is kind, and understanding in the ways of the dead. But know that he and his entourage are equipped with Athan technology, and though their bodies may be destroyed, they will not die, but will be restored in new bodies immediately, and once that happens, my wrath shall know no bounds. Thus, I ask you not to fear my men, but also not to try and harm them.

I shall dispatch missile cruiser Violent Death to the location of Ice Crown Glaciar, bearing Marshla Watanabe and his henchmen to you.

That is all.”

Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, Fieldmarshal of the Republic, formerly Emperor of Greater Prussia, Count of Centreville, Sword of the Queen.

((Bumped for ICG))

The three vessel squadron (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y90/DominionofRS/attackship.jpg) was on patrol at the outer fringes of Dominion Space when it picked up the message.

The lead vessel, the DSC Zeta, processed the transmission.

"What do you suppose it means?" the Communications Officer asked.

The Captain's expression showed no curiosity, rather it held a somber expression, "It sounds like we may have a culprit as to the recent rash of 'outbreaks' in ours and allied space. Listen again, he refers to lifeless hearts and empty minds. For all intents and purposes, he's talking about the undead."

"If I hadn't seen the holo-images from Starbase Sentinel I'd never have believed it," the Tactical Officer chimed in, "They are a clear and present danger. I suggest we divert the Squadron to investigate, but proceed with caution. If these zombies are sentient, they're a much bigger threat than the ones we have dealt with."

"Comm, send a message through the TacNet," the Captain spoke up, "Tell them we're off to check it out and relay the message. I don't like this one bit."

The message was sent and an Omega Cruiser (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y90/DominionofRS/battleshipside.jpg) was placed on standby, just in case.

OOC: I know you have nothing to do with what I'm talking about, just factoring in other happenings in my nation and their effect on the crews.

Space was the newest of frontiers for the Argonian people, their newly established one-system 'Empire' barely freed from pirate tyranny before they'd branced out further into the universe, seeking new allies amongst the stars.

While their fleets were small, their crews were well-trained and their marines numerous, warriors in the Argonian tradition of honor and courage in mortal combat, unafraid to close with the enemy, stare into his eyes, and carve the life from his body, having lost the fear that death brought long ago. Most were veterans of the brutal ship-to-ship combat and close-quartered firefights the 25th Space Marines had endured during their bloody pirate campaigns to make Argonian space safe again for open trade and prosperity.

The 'Shadow of Intent' was a mid-sized 'Basilisk'-class cruiser, packing a variety of kinetic firepower and missle-based weaponry, it wasn't a force to be feared, but was able to hold its own against most vessels of similar size. The hull bore the emblem of the 25th Space Marine, a simple Argonian skull emblazoned in black across a background of bloody red and flanked by a pair of issue MBREV battle-rifles. The number '25' was situated in white arcoss the forehead of the skull, plainly visible in stark contrast to the black and red emblem and the gunmetal-gray hue of the starship's hull. It drifted slowly, on a simple patrol around the edges of Argonian space, its unit's legendary status among the Argonian Space Fleets the source of its solo flight plan.

The captain was of the battle-hardened variety, a scarred veteran of numerous engagements between vessels and a few corridor-firefights. He was older, but that meant little. Argonians were a combative breed, having evolved in harsh conditions in unforgiving environments, and didn't begin to show the symptoms of aging until their one-and-a-half century mark, which he was rapidly approaching. The captain was pleased, however, to have one of the greatest veterans of the 25th's brief service career, on board his vessel...

"Captain? We're picking up something on the distance comm system..."

The captain adjusted his black cap, rimmed with red, and leaned in closer to the comms officer...

"What is it saying?"

The comms officer didn't answer, only pressed a few buttons and the message repeated louder than before...

"People of the Universe, hear me. I am the Lich King, ruler of the Scourge, Commander of its Armies, the thought in each empty mind and the life behind each pulseless heart.

I invite you to meet with me upon my Capital, the Scourge vessel of Icecrown. It orbits the world, Northrend, the coordinates of which are contained herein this message.

Fear not. You are as children in the ways of understanding. I shall enlighten you..."

The captain stood, somewhat shaken by the message. Here was a mavolent presence, far more advanced than their own, seeking to meet with the peoples of the universe. The message smacked of power, ancient power without bounds, if it was indeed true...

"Get a message out to Fleet Command, we're going to follow up on this. Get that special ops team in from their training op, too. We might need their talents..."

The comms officer's short-clawed hands flew across the key panels, carrying out his commander's orders. Command issued back a confirmation, allowing them to continue on their course of action, and the ARC team, which included the aforementioned decorated veteran, docked shortly before the vessel shot of into Slipspace, shortly afterward another ship from a less-decorated component of the Intersteller Fleet replaced them on their patrol route.

The several hours-long journey saw much activity onboard the 'Shadow of Intent', marines began running combat drills and gearing up for possible action, ordnance crews began loading misslie bays, and all onboard personnel donned combat equipment, prepared for the worst. The ARC team would comprise the captain's escort should it come down to that, meetings with maveolent forces usually required an armed escort of some sort, for safety's sake...

"Captain? Commander Jarri has arrived on the bridge..."

Commander Vek Jarri was a decorated officer formerly of the 25th's marine component, and had seen quite a bit of combat during boarding actions on pirate vessels, a few of which had been repaired and added to the small Argonian fleet. Jarri was something of a tactical genius, a vicious warrior with a creative flair that escaped when a solution was needed to a big problem, like a heavy support weapon had the next turn covered, and hostiles were flanking around to meet them from behind...

"Send him over, I was needing to speak with him anyway..."

Jarri appeared a moment later, dressed in the gray off-duty fatigues of the ARC program. His POV sidearm hung in the thigh-rigged quick-draw style favored by his organization...

"Commander Jarri, it's a pleasure..."

"I'm sure, Captain... I'm not really too keen on this operation, I'm not risking my men's lives on some ridiculous diplomatic rendesvous with an undead, possibly hostile force..."

The Captain had to admit that the Commander had a point, but the point was that he was in charge, and he needed a competent escort...

"I know, I know, but I'm not taking an entire complement of marines on board their vessel either. You're the best we've got, and I'm settling for nothing less. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to issue a direct order if you're not going to come willingly..."

Jarri's eyes went cold at the mention of pulling rank, it was the ultimate cop-out...

"Then consider it issued, sir. I take my leave..."

The comment was followed with a sharp salute, and Jarri spun about on his heel to remove himself for the bridge, a hot knot of rage burning in his gut. This wasn't going to end well, at least in his eyes...

"So many gather to witness the ascent of our power. Welcome them all. Use caution with those others who are as we, those who would decry us as heathens." The cold voice slid forth from the Lich King's pale lips, his words laiden with primordial power. His was the cold heart at the centre of Icecrown, his the slow ambition that would see the universe tremble.

At each point where those who had already docked gathered, the corridors chill yet insulted by the corridors of rock and steel that twisted throughout the vessel, a single ambassador waited. They were among the most human of the Scourge, those who could still be called living. Clad in black garments, their flesh marked with runic patterns that spoke only of death and devotion to it, they gathered.

"Greetings, we welcome you in the name of the glorious Lich King. This is Icecrown, the centre of Scourge power and a symbol of the better world to come. Worlds devoid of fear or pain, worlds devoted only to his glory and the betterment of our races.

We are to escort you to the central dining hall, where our Lord and his attendants shall meet with you. First, some details of your peoples, of who and what you represent, that our Lord might better know you."

"... Betterment of our races?", murmured Caractor rather silently, as he listened to the human. It had to be some kind of pointless tripe for the living whom these renegades were luring to their midst. The dead do not care for the "betterment" of such things. The dead did not care for the values of the living. They only cared for bringing forth an age of death - one way or another.

He let out a short, cold, disheartening laugh.

"Your master should know where I am from," he continued while keeping his distaste for the man and those he represents and his urge to kill the said man like the insect he was at bay, "He should that know we have come as well as why we have come, and he should know what that means. And your simple duty is to take me to him."

And, as Caractor had noted, the Icecrown, while it was indeed quite massive a ship, it still was smaller than the Ashen Empire's Trismegistus. But then again, the Trismegistus was supposed to be able to take even the largest of stars in its grasp - it was not a mobile capital like the Icecrown.

((OOC EDIT: Well, as Ruthless Slaughter said, I guess here you take him to the dining room. ;p))

The squadron had not docked, but rather beamed Captain Steven Jones of the Beta and two of his Lieutenants aboard Icecrown. They heard the 'Ambassador's' speech and purposely hung back.

"Sir," murmured Lieutenant Guiles, "What does he mean by 'betterment of our races?"

"Probably infection and eventual conquest. What I can't understand is why their ranks haven't all rotted away. It's been my understanding that the average lifespan of a zombie is about five years. Given the preserving effects of the unnatural chill aboard this vessel they would be preserved here but I'll bet they're susceptible to the same limitations of the zombies we've faced in a more...natural climate."

"This probably goes unsaid," Lieutenant Anderson chimed in, "but I suggest we pass on their food. I'm not all that comfortable with rotting hands touching my soup."

Guiles spoke up again, "Captain? You don't think they'll try to infect us, do you?"

"Doesn't matter. We've got a squadron outside monitoring our vitals constantly and we can identify seven different strains of the virus. Should it happen, we'll be beamed out through biofilters and administered nanite therapy to attack the viral cells. All the same Guiles, don't touch the food."

They nodded, a little uneasy as they continued to the dining hall.
----------------------------------------------
Aboard the Zeta, a constant channel was kept open between the squadron and Dominion Fleet Command. The Omega Cruiser was kept on standby and every Dominion vessel within forty light years was on alert, though there weren’t many.

Transporter lock was kept on the away team and the Holographic Medic in sickbay had three injections of nanites at the ready. They weren’t taking any chances with the undead, especially if they were sentient and called themselves ‘The Scourge’.

General Harker stepped forward and popped off his helmet. "We," he gestured to Delta squad. "are Humans. We represent the Union of United Human colonies, and we believe that all human colonies must be unified, by force if neccisary." He smiled. "As for who we serve, the military serves no one, the people serve the military."

Foster quickly landed and was followed by the five ODST soldiers. He wasn't taking any chances either, and by looking around, he could see others shared his thoughts of protection. He walked out and was met by the single ambassador of the Scourge assigned to him.

"Greetings, we welcome you in the name of the glorious Lich King. This is Icecrown, the centre of Scourge power and a symbol of the better world to come. Worlds devoid of fear or pain, worlds devoted only to his glory and the betterment of our races.

We are to escort you to the central dining hall, where our Lord and his attendants shall meet with you. First, some details of your peoples, of who and what you represent, that our Lord might better know you."

Foster had to keep delicate control of his face, and prevent himself from breaking his calm. What they said for the betterment of all sounded much too like the Flood...if they found this race to be like the Flood, they would immediately begin enacting protocols to contain them. He nodded his head in assent. "Understood. I am Captain Foster of the United Nations Space Command, and we watch over Earth and all her colonies. We have recently suffered a war and are looking for allies to rebuild."

Foster quickly landed and was followed by the five ODST soldiers. He wasn't taking any chances either, and by looking around, he could see others shared his thoughts of protection. He walked out and was met by the single ambassador of the Scourge assigned to him.

"Greetings, we welcome you in the name of the glorious Lich King. This is Icecrown, the centre of Scourge power and a symbol of the better world to come. Worlds devoid of fear or pain, worlds devoted only to his glory and the betterment of our races.

We are to escort you to the central dining hall, where our Lord and his attendants shall meet with you. First, some details of your peoples, of who and what you represent, that our Lord might better know you."

Foster had to keep delicate control of his face, and prevent himself from breaking his calm. What they said for the betterment of all sounded much too like the Flood...if they found this race to be like the Flood, they would immediately begin enacting protocols to contain them. He nodded his head in assent. "Understood. I am Captain Foster of the United Nations Space Command, and we watch over Earth and all her colonies. We have recently suffered a war and are looking for allies to rebuild."



Edward chuckled. "Origon? Thats under Union control." He turned to face him. "How is it possible Earth exisists under two flags?"


OOC: I posted not to start an argument, but to start an interesting side plot, if the thread starter agrees.

OOC: Sure, no problem. Feel free to interact with each other, makes it all the more interesting.

IC:

They were led, silently, through the many corridors of the immense construct, past frozen rows of preserved specimans. Some had the frail physique of humans or elves, while others were possessed of a more durable nature, some twisted beyond the capacity of their living flesh. Frigid Vrykul warriors gazed out in morbid contemplation, unmoving next to the skeletons of their kin, all armored for battle. Immense spider-like abberations slid forth, watching, tending to those entombed within the very structure of Icecrown, chittering through sluggish mandibles, bandaged flesh livid with ancient wounds.

"As you may notice, the majority of the personnel here contained are preserved at present. They dwell in stasis, awaiting times when a more robust command and war-crew would be required. At these times, more of a skeleton crew would be in operation, pardon the pun" Each tittered as though speaking as one, leading them without breaking stride, gesturing here and there at arcane or technological wonders.

The great hall rose, the roof suspended by the bars of immense ribs, strengthened by steel and countless other metals. Skulls adorned the walls, be they natural or carved from the solid ice. Ranks of wooden tables greeted them, each with living attendants fussing about them, while the Lich King and his closest advisors dwelt nearby, gazing down upon them from a raised dais.

"Welcome, children of the Universe. I am Ner'zhul. I am the Lich King. I greet you in the name of my Children, the Scourge, and welcome you to Icecrown. I trust you have many questions, you have heard my call and I am grateful that you have come."

Edward knelt and motioned for delta squad to follow. "Great Lich King, I have but one question, has your call echoed to every corner of the universe, as well as its parallels?"

The Leuitenants lowered their eyes and Captain Jones bowed his his head. The gestures were purely out of politeness and etiquette, however, as they had lost many comrades to the the undead and respect would be a little forced at first. Though, Captain Jones observed, they seemed very different from the mindless armies of zombies he'd fought in several outbreaks in the Dominion. These creatures had...sentience of some kind; at least moreso than what he'd faced.

He did indeed have questions to ask the Lich King, but he would wait until after General Harker had his questions answered.

Shouldn't be stereotyping, even though until now I thought there was only one kind of undead. At least they have living people preparing the food, so we may be able to eat after all.

OOC: Hey RS, didn't see you there.


Edward stood and looked around the room before his eyes settled on the dominion soldiers. He smiled. "Ah, dominion soldiers, nice to see friendly faces."

Unlike the others, the Arch Censor did not flinch as the Lich King introduced himself to the group of people from various nations. He did not say a word as the living began talking, one asking a question and another socializing with another, obviously separate party. He simply looked at the Lich King with contempt in his mind - contempt and pure hatred. Indeed, momentarily, sickly green flames came forth from the joints of Caractor's power armor, which signified a sudden increase in the power levels of his armor.

But he was not there to end the unlife of the Icecrown Glaciar's undead, nor kill those who had arrived there, so he remained passive. And for one with as much practice in the issue as himself, it was not a problem.

OOC: Hey RS, didn't see you there.


Edward stood and looked around the room before his eyes settled on the dominion soldiers. He smiled. "Ah, dominion soldiers, nice to see friendly faces."

Captain Jones smiled and walked over, offering his hand, "Likewise. I'm sure the message intrigued you for reasons similar to those that brought us here. We'd just finished mopping up an outbreak on a trading outpost when the Lich King sent his transmission. We came seeing if there was any connection, but as of yet there doesn't seem to be. They seem genuinely interested in trade and politics, which aren't exactly the MO of the zombies we've faced."

Captain Jones smiled and walked over, offering his hand, "Likewise. I'm sure the message intrigued you for reasons similar to those that brought us here. We'd just finished mopping up an outbreak on a trading outpost when the Lich King sent his transmission. We came seeing if there was any connection, but as of yet there doesn't seem to be. They seem genuinely interested in trade and politics, which aren't exactly the MO of the zombies we've faced."

"Yes." Edward glanced at the various undead. "Seems they're actually sentient. Still, its better then shooting the place to pieces I suppose."

Jones stifled a laugh at that for fear of offending their hosts too much, "Oh, but it'd be barrel of fun wouldn't it! Either way, we've all been called for a reason and I have to say I'm quite curious as to what that is and what 'The Scourge' has to offer. Needless to say, they've got a pretty massive communications array hidden somewhere to reach so many people."

Jones stifled a laugh at that for fear of offending their hosts too much, "Oh, but it'd be barrel of fun wouldn't it! Either way, we've all been called for a reason and I have to say I'm quite curious as to what that is and what 'The Scourge' has to offer. Needless to say, they've got a pretty massive communications array hidden somewhere to reach so many people."

Edward noded. "It has to be, have you noticed how many people have claimed they represent Earth? Not your traditional subspace relay."

((Sorry to interrupt, but I believe the NS Earth, or "Terra" as it is commonly referred to in FT, is in fact one of the centers of human civilization and is "claimed" by countless thousands of nations. No one nation represents Terra as we know it.

There are, however, many planets and systems that bare a striking resemblance to Terra and Sol. In fact, they are identical in almost every way to Terra except its exact galactic location. We call this the "Multi-Earth Phenomenon". Or at least I do.))

"Clear!"

Three marines, crouched with BR-55 battle rifles pointed straight ahead, swept the room with the spotlights slung beneath their weapons' barrels. They were fully armored in black "Shamshir (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=1434)" personal armored combat augmentations, and thus their movements were quick and fluidic yet nearly silent. A fourth soldier, this one a non-commissioned naval officer, followed behind in her "Khopesh (http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/halo/images/0/0d/Halo3_Spartan-rocket-launcher-03.jpg)" PACA. As one of the elite Janissaries of the Dominion, Janice-018 was one of the most skilled warriors to come out of the "Gifted" program. It seemed almost a joke, then, when a fifth figure followed in white "Shamshir" armor almost completely at ease while her compatriots were obviously in combat positions. However, she halted at the sound of rifles cocking and the sight of the pale acolyte in the marines' spotlights.
"Hold!" Dr. Sandra Paktu commanded, mere moments before the marines could make a mistake and pump hot metal into this Scourge ambassador. Doctor Paktu depolarized her faceplate, revealing her soft-yet-bookish features beneath. Her deep cinnamon eyes scanned the acolyte as the suit's sensors gave her a quick bioscan. "Marines, at ease! He's unarmed."
Rifles lowered from the acolyte's face, but the keen observer would be able to tell that there had been no drop in tension.
"I am Doctor Sandra Paktu, ambassador from the Feazanthian Dominion and representative of the Kiith Federati-"

"Greetings, we welcome you in the name of the glorious Lich King. This is Icecrown, the centre of Scourge power and a symbol of the better world to come. Worlds devoid of fear or pain, worlds devoted only to his glory and the betterment of our races.

We are to escort you to the central dining hall, where our Lord and his attendants shall meet with you. First, some details of your peoples, of who and what you represent, that our Lord might better know you."

Dr. Paktu quirked an eyebrow at the strange, black-garbed man. She caught wind of private transmissions passing between the marines - some disquiet over the phrase 'betterment of our races', but that could be passed off as first-contact jitters in her mind.

"Excellent. Please, lead on. Marines, form up!"


And so they journeyed through the cavernous expanse of the Icecrown, their suits having to work overtime to keep their environment systems at Concordia-norm. Janice-018 couldn't help but shiver involuntarily at the cryogenically frozen "crew", and wondered why no attendants had been by to remove the poor souls in those that had obvious malfunctioned. She reached out with her mind, attempting to probe the thoughts of their temporary guide, but to her horror found him to be almost a void to her senses.

"As you may notice," continued the acolyte, "the majority of the personnel here contained are preserved at present. They dwell in stasis, awaiting times when a more robust command and war-crew would be required. At these times, more of a skeleton crew would be in operation, pardon the pun."

The Janissary opened a private channel to their civilian leader.
"Sir, it seems to be a multi-species federation of sorts, but what about their dead? They seem to have simply left them there to rot as their cryogenic cells faded!"

"Easy, Janissary. We cannot presume that all races follow the burial traditions laid out by our ancestors. It's probably out of respect for their fallen crew."

"If you say so, sir. Still, those insect-men look injured. Perhaps they need medical attention?"

"The Sword is not equipped to treat non-human species. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

It was at this moment that the quintet arrived in the great hall and froze in place as their guide moved off.

It appeared the Sword of Karetia's scans were right. There were multiple parties assembled at this gathering. They already were huddled amongst one another, engaged in quiet chatter. Still, the armored marines of the 82nd Tactical looked out of place amongst the delegates. Dr. Paktu, in an attempt to ease any distrust created by the presence of the armored warriors, undid the airtight clasp at her neck and slid the carbonan-plated helmet from her face.

"Well. Guess we might as well make ourselves at home."

((Sorry to interrupt, but I believe the NS Earth, or "Terra" as it is commonly referred to in FT, is in fact one of the centers of human civilization and is "claimed" by countless thousands of nations. No one nation represents Terra as we know it.

There are, however, many planets and systems that bare a striking resemblance to Terra and Sol. In fact, they are identical in almost every way to Terra except its exact galactic location. We call this the "Multi-Earth Phenomenon". Or at least I do.))

OOC: Just to clear it up, I wanted to start an interesting side plot where the scourge's call went cross dimensional into parallell universes.

The Argonians, like usual, arrived later than almost everyone else, and the delegation was quick to get from their ship to the station itself, as odd-looking as it was.

Commander Jarri had selected his three best ARC operators to accompany him, and had laid aside the massive squad-level support autocannon in favor of the less-intimidating MBREV rifle like the rest of his troops. The captain remained in his uniform, unarmed, content to trust his life to the ARC's. Jarri, however, had changed from his off-duty's to the white Plastron-plated combat armor of his profession, complete with a helmet that protected his fin-ears to a degree. That particular feature, while seemingly minor, had been the biggest accomplishment of the armor's designer. It should be apparent at this point that the Argonians have just entered the future-technological spectrum.

Each commando carried the Main Battle Rifle Elite Variant (MBREV), as well as a knife sheathed at the small of their back and a sidearm on the right thigh. The armor had been polished to a white sheen, the black spandex-like material in between offering a sharp contrast and giving the ARC's as dignified an appearance as possible...

"If you're wrong about this sir, and we both survive, I'm going to kill you myself..."

Jarri's voice had been contained by his helmet, so only his fellow ARC's could hear. There were silent nods between the four. Contained as they were inside their armor, breathing through sophistocated nano-filters, they weren't in danger of catching anything from the recycled air, and that was a small source of comfort for them. The captain, however, had nothing to protect him. Led as they were by the odd-looking human in black, the four commandos branched out in a box formation around the captain.

'Jesus, look at this place... It's a drifting grave-yard...'

Jarri had seen death in numerous forms throughout his military career, but that was mostly of the recent kind. He'd only seen decaying corpses twice, and never preserved in that state through cryo-stasis. It was a little disgusting, but the kept any remarks to himself. This was another culture after all, and he didn't want to be responsible for starting an interstellar war, as unprepared as his people were for such a thing. They were still relying out outside aide from their current allies, and adapting their technology was a difficult thing to do.

They arrived, finally, in what looked like a dining hall, and the Captain strode forward with a confident air in his step. He bowed low, a sign of the utmost respect...

"Great Lych-King, I bring you greetings from the young Argonian Empire. We have heard your message, and have come forth to greet you in the warmest of fashions..."

Jarri rolled his eyes behind the black slit he stared out of when inside his helmet. The captain had added a little too much ham to his opening, and he hoped that it wouldn't erode things too badly. He was also glad to see another group had come armored-up as well. There was an exchange of nods between the two, at least on Jarri's part, before turning back towards the captain, watching as the man rose from his feet and returned to the place they'd chosen on the array of tables...

"I think that went well..."

The comment was to no-one in particular, and Jarri just shook his head in disgust. He was going to ask to be assigned to a different vessel for any further training missions. This new captain was starting to irk him...

Caractor noted the new arrivals, whom had had the sense to wear combat gear. He found this most sensible. Although, he mused, had the Ashen Empire made a similar attempt at pointless diplomacy with the living, they would probably already be dead. If not, and the attempt was actually genuine (which hardly would be the case any time soon) at least they would have the sense to hide the most grueling parts of the Empire from the eyes of the living. He had noticed, although not cared about it a whole lot, that the living were distraught by the corpses littering the walls.

And that was natural. Those who were alive were not fond of seeing corpses, not of other species, and especially not of their own. Why would they? The dead reminded them of their own mortality - and when they saw them in the fashion the damned of the Icecrown Glaciar showed their dead to them, it should be an evident sign of potential danger to their own well-being. It would require complete lack of common sense on the part of the living to not be wary after seeing what they had already seen.

((OOC: Oh yes, if you hadn't realized it, please note that Caractor, too, is in full power armor, but unlike most of the others, he's alone. His armor is pitch black and it looks like it's been in use for ages (which would be true), with superficial cracks (as in, they don't go very deep) caused by sword-like weapons and dents (some caused by weapons' fire, others caused by uncertain sources) all over it. And he has a torn purple cape which sort of covers his back and a large black sword which has runes all over it.

I said most of the things earlier, but... Well, I dunno if anyone actually read it.))

((This still alive?))

((OOC: I'd guess it is. IG is known for these lapses in posting. The longest one I remember took a year. ;p))

((OOC: I'd guess it is. IG is known for these lapses in posting. The longest one I remember took a year. ;p))

OOC; A year? Wow, I'll probably forget all the plot points I wanted for my little group.

OOC: Well i will add. Its been a while.

ICC:

A heavy class battleship, two heavy destroyers, a heavy carrier and two light carriers jumped back into normal space. The light Earabian Navy was spectacular with the heavy battleship already but with the support ships it was a more spectacular. A transmission was sent out from the heavy battleship:

"Greetings,
I am Captain Joshua Hepner of Skyland of the 9th Earabian Fleet. I am here because of the message you sent out. Please accept our landing arrangements."

Joshua then turned to his second in command, Commander Hioke,

"Please get a squad of four of your best men to go with you down to this...place. I want to find out all about this empire and what they have to say."

"Yessir. But wouldnt it be more prudent to send more of a diplomat down there?" responded the commander.

"It would be, but I need a military mind down there."

"Yessir." Hioke salutes and leaves the bridge.

"Our message has touched many worlds, many places, many planes. We know there are worlds beyond these, locations touched by the potency of our call." The Lich King's voice rasped forth, a cold chuckle echoing upon the frigid air as he continued.

"I bid you all welcome, even you who have spurned our brotherhood and thought us renegades or traitors. We are simply ourselves, warrior of the Ashen Empire. We are simply the Scourge, forged by hands from beyond the reckoning of this reality...Made simply to kill, and to conquer.

We are free now, to pursue our own ends, our own agendas, to bless those willing living who recieve our touch, and to marshall the dead. Such is the glory, the power, the unity."

A shudder ran down Jones' spine. The very implication of people willing to be a part of this striking a pang of fear through him on a primal level. The natural human fear of death was trying to wrap itself around the proposition of anyone willing to sacrifice themselves in this manner.

The two Leuitenants took a reflexive step back.

"Doesn't sound very peaceful if you ask me. How would anyone win a fight against this...this Scourge?" one asked, his voice a combination of fear and awe.

"One corpse at a time," Jones replied, "Although they are not being inherently hostile toward us, so I wouldn't worry. Remember the Dominion First Contact Directive: Never meet in hostility; always pursue peace first."

But he himself was worried. An organized force of the walking dead out to conquer, their ranks bolstered by every fallen enemy. He was certainly not about to open alliance, but at the very least a treaty or agreement could be reached. In the meantime, he would continue to listen. It would be best to learn all he could about this new power on the galactic stage. Dominion Intelligence would have a field day over all of this.

A shudder ran down Jones' spine. The very implication of people willing to be a part of this striking a pang of fear through him on a primal level. The natural human fear of death was trying to wrap itself around the proposition of anyone willing to sacrifice themselves in this manner.

The two Leuitenants took a reflexive step back.

"Doesn't sound very peaceful if you ask me. How would anyone win a fight against this...this Scourge?" one asked, his voice a combination of fear and awe.

"One corpse at a time," Jones replied, "Although they are not being inherently hostile toward us, so I wouldn't worry. Remember the Dominion First Contact Directive: Never meet in hostility; always pursue peace first."

But he himself was worried. An organized force of the walking dead out to conquer, their ranks bolstered by every fallen enemy. He was certainly not about to open alliance, but at the very least a treaty or agreement could be reached. In the meantime, he would continue to listen. It would be best to learn all he could about this new power on the galactic stage. Dominion Intelligence would have a field day over all of this.

Edward stepped towards the group of Dominion soldiers. "Wonder if these guys are as hard to kill as their counterparts." He whispered. "And from what I can tell from what the lich king said, appearently their is more then one earth." He shifted his rifle to where he could easily sling it into ready position. "I still don't trust these guys."

Jones nodded, "Yeah, our scientists all but proved string theory using our wormhole tech to open up transdimensional rifts. What shocks me is his ability to reach those dimensions without physically entering them. That'd take more power than even all of our arrays linked and at at full power."

"We have such power, focussed and harnessed, my message touches all worlds, all places. This is not why you have come, not to marvel at what can be, but to see for yourselves what we are. What we have become. Entire races have lain down their lives, paving the way that has taken us to these Stars. We have seen wonders, horrors.

And still we endure. You must have many questions. I will hear them. Speak."

OOC: a bit late to the party, but my only star Empire should be here as well i think!

IC: On the outskirts of the area where Icecrown was floating, a slight distortion of space occured, barely noticeable and gone in the blink of an eye. Anyone who looked at the area would think it empty of anything.

They would be wrong.

Aboard the DIFS Might of the Empress, flagship of the Seventh Fleet Cluster of the Imperial Fleet of the Empire of Diclonus, Fleet Admiral Ebony vel Tearis surveyed the ships floating before her. She didn't recognize the majority of them, though the hated Dominion Scum were in evidence, as well as several other ships that bore the distinctive human touch in their design. They were all of them dwarfed by the mighty Star City where the myterious message that had led to Ebony's arrival had originated.

Ebony's Cluster Fleet was smaller than the others, only having fifteen vessals, but it made up for a lack of numbers with an increase in the number of heavier ships. Only one Queen Lucy class Fleet flag ship, upon which she stood, but seven Mariko class Captiol ships and seven Onslaught class Assault ships. The fleet was nicknamed the "Tip of the Spear" and its primary duty was to bring the Will of the Empress, may she live forever, to anywhere that it was lacking.

That hadn't stopped the surprise Ebony had felt when the Empress, may she live forever, had sent her presence upon her and ordered her to come to this place, from which a pyschic message had originated that matched even the Empress herself in power. Her orders were to find out the goals of this "Lich King" and determine whether or not he was a threat to the Diclonius people and the Diclonus Empire.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Ebony bowed her horned head, her ebony tipped red hair that had earned her her name falling to cover her crimson eyes. Slowly, she extended her vectors from her back and inserted all fifteen of them into the console before her. Immediatly she felt a surge of power enter her body, boosting her own psychic presence enough to allow her to send a message to this "Lich King". The message was simple.

"Attention Lich King of the Scourge. Your call into the void has attracted the attention of the Empress, may she live forever. As per her orders, I, Fleet Admiral Ebony vel Tearis of the Seventh Fleet Cluster, have come to investigate who and what you are. Are you willing to cooperate?"

When the message ended Ebony withdrew her vectors and closed her eyes, slightly drained form the strain of using more energy than her body could natrually handle. Now all she had to do was wait for a reply.

Jones turned and faced the Lich King directly, "Just what is it that you are using to broadcast a message with that kind of range? Is it a massive trans-dimensional communications array? Wormhole technology modified to carry signals?

In a medical context, how is it you can exert control over the reanimated?"

And... he wondered could a cure be found for those who are infected but still alive in the early stages?

The Captain had his own questions, mostly about how one would want to be part of such an... organization? He had no idea what to call it, but the state of things was grim-looking for partner races and empires. The damned seemed to assimilate anything of value into their own culture, if you could call it that, instead of using any sort of diplomacy. Then again, there could have been an exchange of corpses that he was unaware of, like other empires exchanged gifts.

Samples of whatever genetic modifications the damned underwent to remain animated would also be of value, since his people were just now making great strides in decoding the Argonian genome, and modifications were becoming more and more viable...

Caractor had no questions. In fact, being in the presence of the Lich King and listening him speak had only confirmed his suspicions. He could now see why, or how, these damned could "resist" the will of the Lord.

He had heard a rumor that the Lich King was not willed by the Lord, although He had not objected. The king had not been brought to his status by Him, but by a creature which had been affected by the Infernal forces. Be it those of the Abyss, Kokytos or whatever, it did not matter. What did matter was that the Lich King's merely a mockery created by something which was closer to a fallen angel from Inferno than to the Lord of the Underworld.

But still... There was something underneath the noise caused by the demonic influence. He could feel that there was a connection... A connection to the Underworld in the dead around him. A very weak one, yes, but still, it was there.

Maybe it would be possible to strengthen that connection.

"It is an array, modified to broadcast across a number of frequencies; echoed by our arrays which touch the Nether. Through the Nether, all things are touched, linked. It is power, yes."

He paused, this immense being, this power beyond powers, the light to which billions of damned souls gravitated and bowed, as if considering what to say next.

"In a....Medical context, I exert my will over the lesser beings while allowing more willing subjects to retain the majority of their free will. My Death Knights, my Liches, my Majordomo Kel'thuzad, all serve me willingly. The Cult of the Damned worship my manifest divinity.

It is only the more debased, more feral intellects that I find it necessary to...Restrain"

"Strange that it makes all too much sense. It could be anything from psionics to the Force..." Jones muttered to himself, "This would mean that those who are turned still retain some semblance of their former selves? A stray memory or two?"

"What was theirs becomes mine; memory, thought, emotion. All are taken, all preserved. Eternally, within me. I can engender them with what I have taken, certainly. Just as I take, so too do I give. Some are better deprived of thought or memory, some are better locked in servitude.

What purpose would it serve to give all their own thoughts? Wasteful, certainly, when I can read minds as you would read books. They live through my will, they are animated by my power" Laughter, cold as the vessel itself, drifted about them.

"Does this shock you, Jones?"

Jones concealed the involuntary chill through years of training and mental conditioning, having dealt with races of similar abilities, "It does, though not so much the ability itself as the scope and manner in which you use it.

I'm sure I'm not the only one here who finds thousands of reanimated dead from equally as many worlds...unsettling. My race values free thought as a great asset; so many fresh perspectives on how to address new situations allow us to adapt. The idea of stripping someone of that individuality strikes me as unspeakable. Truly, it does turn them into drones. Do they, those who have not been permitted to retain themselves, go as willingly as your other followers?"

"Some have not been willing. Some have been enemies; turned against their fellows and the ungrateful overlords who abuse them. You cannot countenance this perceived evil, and yet Chaos and Darkness reign across the galaxies. We have seen into the closed minds of Dratherians, we have learned much from our time among the GFFA.

We have seen only madness, seen Empires rise and fall, alliances clash and fray against each other. Should I lose their minds to see such evil? Should I let the feral minds walk free, to beat their heads against walls, claw at their own skin, to greive for the universe that is already lost to shadow?

Should ever soldier be forced to feel pain? To suffer as they did in life? Better to shelter them from the storm."

"I suppose, in that context, it would appropriate to save them from themselves. However, I must disagree with your assessment of the universe. Yes there is a fair share of darkness and choas, but one does not have to looke hard to find order and goodness either," Jones's junior officers nodded in agreement, surprised that their Captain would be so bold as to debate philosophy and the universe with one obviously older and more powerful than he.

"This is true, but we have seen how the great darkness loom. We have suffered at the hand of the Legion, I knew servitude and turned those I minister too against the Universe. I broke free, I spurned their control, and set out to forge my own path in this universe.

I set out to purify those who wished it, and to vanquish those foes who would oppose me, oppose my vision. This has led me to this point, this has led me to you."

OOC: Is it too late for me to send a delegation?

OOC: The more the merrier!

Quite suddenly, two more vessels appeared in the system, waves of roiling green light surging out from the point of their arrival. The first was a sleek, black dagger-shape, a precise kilometer in length, its dull and battered surface marked only by gun ports, a number of curving bands of glowing green, and countless tiny dents and scratches. The second was... different. Though similar to the first in volume, it had no distinct shape. Instead, it was a vaguely oblong tangle of weapons decks, storage compartments, and enormous, jutting blade-like structures, the whole of it bristling with metal rings and meter long spikes. It had no life support systems; the interior of the ship was, by and large, open to the vacuum of space. A close examination of its myriad weapon platforms would reveal a surprising sight – most of them supported devices that looked like nothing more than enormous metal crossbows! Such anachronistic weapons would have looked downright absurd, were it not for the grimly professional appearance of the vessel’s companion, and the eerie green glow that flickered about its jagged structure.

After a moment, pulses of light began flowing along the green bands that marked the first ship, and it accelerated smoothly toward Icecrown. Its strange companion drifted behind it like a cloud, or a shadow, without any indication of its propulsion. As they drew near the enormous capital of the Scourge, both ships halted. A landing bay slid open in the underbelly of the first, and a small craft with the appearance of a shuttle dropped toward the icy surface of its destination. Once it had reached its designated landing point, four figures disembarked.

First of these was a tall, thin man dressed in a hooded robe of deepest black, marked with strange symbols in a vivid shade of green that seemed almost to glow against this background. His hands were gnarled and bony, his face was worn, and such of his hair as could be seen was pure white, but he moved with easy grace despite his obvious age. Following him were two soldiers in dark green power armor, with highlights of a lighter shade. This armor hid their features completely, although its shape suggested that one of the two was female. Both carried odd looking black guns, which had what appeared to be a narrow secondary barrel and a double line of green crystals set along the top of the weapon. They also bore long knives, pistols, and what looked like extra ammunition clips. The last to emerge was the strangest looking of the lot – a humanoid figure composed of jagged black metal. Its face was angular and simple: eyes that glowed green in deep sockets, and a rudimentary mouth. Its fingers and toes were blade-like; its body resembled archaic plate mail, but was too slender to have room for a wearer inside. It bore an elegant katana and a black crossbow slung across its back, along with several smaller, but equally anachronistic, weapons. Whenever it moved, green light glimmered dimly around its joints. An observer who had seen the accursed ships that now waited outside Icecrown would have no difficulty in concluding that this final visitor had come from the second of the two.

Anyone attempting to use mind-reading powers upon the Accursed Legionnaires would find the thoughts of the two soldiers oddly shallow. They had no worries, no ambitions, no thoughts for anything beyond the duty of the moment. The robed leader of the group would seem more ordinary, if one could get past the mental shielding of a powerful and experienced wizard, except that even then, it would be remarkably difficult to get any distinct impressions from his memories. A passive examination of the metal figure would reveal only that it certainly had a mind of its own, although distant from this world in a way that physical location could not match. Any attempt to scan it more thoroughly would almost certainly draw the attention of the being itself.

OOC: I’ll let you decide if you want to declare this to have happened when the others were arriving, or deal with the Accursed Ones somewhat differently as late arrivals.