The Incident of Starcrash Island IC

[Capt. Infinity]

Starcrash Island. The Prison Crater. The Mage's End.

There were a hundred and one names for this, the most secure facility in all the realms. Formed by the Thelessian Empire decades prior as an olive branch against those other nations which dispaired over their brutal and exacting dominion. A lynchpin solution to the worldwide problem of criminals too powerful to contain in mortal jails. Securing their Empire as a necessary evil for its control and maintenance of the asteroid crater-turned prison industrial complex. Cast amidst the limpid and gentle Sea of Gleeze, it was at one point an idle marvel for cartographers to labour over in their maps. A ridged pockmark of basalt and granite in an otherwise shallow and banal sea. But now, with the advent of the two-layered Imperial Ward, the most powerful restraining spell in the history of the realms, it had become a strange, puce-coloured pimple of fog in the near-waveless inland sea. A shimmering testament to the terrible might of high magic, fittingly used to contain the worst that magic had to offer.

As each of you were transferred towards this island's interstitial ring, the foundational convenience which allowed the Thelessian military to squeeze the prisoners of their mined resources without trapping themselves in the one-way ward, you felt the first barrier wash over you like a tingly wave. A translucent, shimmering wall which washed over you from wherever you sat in your holding ships upon entry. A minor prelude to the apparent crippling jolts of power felt when you broached the main line, and were cursed never again to leave.

...Or at least, that would have been the case, had you not been given your unique offers. Born of convenience and desperation. Your one chance at freedom.

The Thelessians needed disposable soldiers to enter the complex. Weaseling into the anarchic structures of the recently-mutinied isle. And sent in to figure out what allowed the mutiny to happen and, if whatever did it is a still present issue, destroy it with extreme prejudice. You were given this offer in hushed tones following a prolonged 'processing' stage amongst the jagged interstitial islands, where you were held back in waiting for your transport to the island proper. And, after an annoyingly long process of signing various waivers and swearing various oaths to the 'Might of the Thelessian Empire', you have each individually been ferried into the Overseer's Office. The nicest building on the largest island in the interstitial ring. A shining three-storey complex overlooking the main trade area, where prisoners once laboured what little leverage they had amongst their ramshackle clans to barter for trade goods from outside the isle. Now left completely abandoned and without purpose in the wake of the mutiny beyond.

You are each guided into the same room through a door which, for some of you, was rather tricky to get into. A large, plush, red-cloth-covered waiting room. About 25 feet by 40 feet long, with two, coffee table-accompanied couches spaced out the long way on either side. The right wall upon entry had tall windows looking out over the front of the office. Though the blinds were drawn in preparation for whatever clandestine operations were to come. Beyond being brought into the meeting area, you were simply told to stay put, stay civil, and get yourself acquainted with one another in preparation for whenever your 'handler' (their words, not yours) finally arrives. There are minor confectionaries and a tea set on each of the four coffee tables. Though they were all sized for regular humanoids, which left quite a few of you at a disadvantage.

Who is the first to enter the room? And what do they do upon arrival?

[Zelphas]

Not for the first time, Evan wondered how long, exactly, he had been a statue.

The entirety of his existence since waking up had been... irregular, first when his eyes were greeted not by the dense mountain forests of his temple's homeland but by the angular, strange buildings of an unknown city, then by the knowledge that his temple had been destroyed in his absence and therefore he was free of his bond to protect it. That had caused an odd sensation, which he was still processing; the concept of 'loss' was foreign to him, for he had never perceived of anything as his to gain or lose.

Coming swiftly from that revelation was the discovery that unliving facsimiles of his race had been made, which did not respond well to Stone to Flesh Castings (an oversight on his part, in retrospect, since the facsimiles upon closer inspection were poor replicas of his race, and a waste of his final use of Stone to Flesh for some time given current circumstances). Things became confused very quickly after that, with a large majority of Breathers shouting and carrying on in the way that they often did, and Evan had decided quickly to default to form: listen to and follow orders and wait for the Breathers to calm themselves down. Orders came soon enough, which simplified things somewhat; the correct forms and phrases were missing, but Evan had learned long ago to get the gist of what was being ordered rather than wait for the Breathers to explain themselves in a way that made sense.

The orders as they now stood were of the utmost simplicity: he was to escort a crew of Wards into dangerous territory and assist them on their mission. Similar (though much shorter) excursions had occurred at Evan's temple however long ago, so he was familiar with the custom, though the current set of Wards were more motley than the collection of priests and monks that he was accustomed to escorting. One, in particular, was treated sometimes as a Breather, other times nearly as a Gargoyle; the fact that he/she/it did not breathe complicated matters somewhat, but he/she/it was clearly not a Gargoyle. The designation, then, was tentative Breather, barring further information.

---

Evan skirts around the Wards, keeping to the perimeters to ensure that there are no unexpected surprises. Positioning himself at the head of the group just as they reach the door, Evan pauses for a second to survey the room his Wards were about to enter. Flexing his claws once, Evan settles his wings more firmly to his back and decides that the room contains no current threats to the Wards.

Stepping within the room that his Wards were directed to enter, Evan immediately takes one step to the left and goes still. He can observe the room and anticipate any attacks while the Wards take care of whatever business they are here for; Evan knows his place as the first defensive bulwark, and settles in to watch whatever the Breathers decide to do with detached interest--even if their actions and purposes were a mystery, they still put on an engaging show more often than not.

[Ridai]

The... humanoid had happily introduced himself as Legionnaire Lapio Graben, shocktrooper of the 31st Kagorian Assault Trenchers in service of the glorious Thelessian Empire in his muffled voice filtered through his full-face-covering mask. There was not a bit of skin to see, covered from head to toe in the dark-brown-and-black trenchcoat uniform, its surface oily and covered in traces of dirt and Earth, a metal helmet on his head, and a well-used shovel on his back. Lapio has been walking with a noticable spring in his step that does not quite want to fit someone sentenced to prison, as well as a dangerous mission.

In the sapper's mind, things are actually looking pretty well! Fighting the good fight for the people of the Empire with his comrades. An unfortunate long break from the fighting because of a straining uniform filled with noisy fat telling them to stay away from the front for the time being while the uniform played corrupt games, yeah, that was unfortunate. Being told that surely, remaining back in safety and relaxation must be what they wanted was what led to Lapio generously applying his shovel to the blob on top of the uniform, followed by him and his comrades cheerfully returning to the front. Some days later, he was taken away, which again was the source of sad mask noises, but these are servants of the Empire and he is sure they would understand if they knew that a bit of bending the truth made it so that only Lapio was taken away instead of the whole 31st, so they may continue the good fight. Turns out, he was not going to prison. He was going to super prison! And to deal with some rather unruly elements as well! All things considered, Lapio is a very happy shocktrooper, clearly blessed by the light of the Empire. Once all this is done, a bit of song and dance will get him "pardoned" (what for, Lapio is not entirely sure) and he can return to the 31st and thus the frontline.

In the waiting room, Lapio steps in and appears to be looking around expectantly (how the others can tell despite the jet-black lenses and the face mask with its angular breathing aparatus, they are not quite sure), only to find no one to relay the mission yet. He waits a little, but when still no one is coming, he walks over to one of the several coffee tables (gesturing to one of the three big folk accompanying him to take the couch for themselves, he'll be fine), opens the teapot, and starts adding conjured sand to the tea. Retrieving a tiny shovel from a pouch, he stoppers the spout with a thick-gloved thumb and mixes thoroughly, adding sand as needed, until the right consistency is reached. Lapio begins using his tiny shovel to heap tea-sand into the teacup, pressing it firm, and turning it upside down on the saucer, beginning to create his miniature sand castle on the saucer, retrieving more sand from the teapot as needed. One should always spend time to hone one's crafts, including working with earthen material. Besides, maybe he will even be able to add proper machicolations this time! Those are always tricky at this scale.

[Hyperbolic sine]

The next to step inside the room was a heavily armoured man.

Well, what could have passed for a heavily armoured man, anyway, were it not for the fact that that the helmet seemed to be completely enclosed; a fist-sized, clear and perfectly spherical crystal was set in its center, giving off a pretty strong cyclops vibe, and a smaller stone, gleaming in indigo hues, was encased a little higher, on the "forehead".

And the fact that each section of the alleged full plate was floating by itself, held together in a humanoid shape by shimmering magical energy.

...well, ok, there was no way someone could have mistaken the being for a man in armour. It was clearly a golem.

A golem that was grumpily muttering and hurling insults at unidentified third parties. A...mostly un-golem-like behaviour, which was interrupted as soon as it laid eyes (?) on Lapio.

"What is the meaning of this?" it asked, its voice carrying an unnatural reverberation. "Is this supposed to be some kind of trap? I need not breath any longer, you utter cretins, and I will still have your head when I get out of here." he then said, talking to the man but not really addressing him, as if it thought he was no more than a pawn following orders.

Un-golem-like behaviour, indeed.

[Starsign]

Konduk never expected himself to be here, of all places, in the span of a few weeks

He'd been a part of the Thelessian Empire for less than a month, traversing and leaving behind the stuffy, stubborn dwarves who originally found his kind and making a living out of being an explorer and dungeoneer. He was good at it; hell, any minotaur could do it and the Thelessians needed adventurers with an intuitive understanding of dungeons. He was quite popular among adventurers too, for those few weeks. Not just brave and skilled, but also a wielder of earthen and air magic, Konduk seemed like he'd make a promising, if not iconic explorer of the empire.

So a day of dungeoneering went wrong when he and his group failed to recognize a magical trap that dropped heavy boulders and the pathway into a lava pit below. That happens, it was fine. He'd learn for next time... Except his arms were crushed and shattered from the boulders... and the rest of the group fell and died in lava... and one of them just happened to be one of the empire's crown princes who was moonlighting in secret as an adventurer... and the royal guard had discovered the prince's position just as Konduk escaped alone. As the only survivor, he was immediately arrested and charged with assassination to take any blame away from the prince and throw it all on the minotaur.

...So that didn't go well.

---

Konduk gives a great huff from his bull-ish nostrils after being let out of the holding ship. seven-and-a-half feet tall, the brown-furred minotaur looks up at the sky with nothing but his weathered prison trousers for clothing. The stale air and dull grass and wood of the outer ring is a breath of fresh air compared to the sickening, half-leaking ships where his hooves had been chained to the ground; the semi-rough stems of grass feel more like a rug than solid earth. It feels like freedom.

Not that it actually was freedom, stuck on Starcrash Island for a job that he may or may not be able to accomplish. But being able to walk is a privilege he only recently been given back.

After struggling a bit to get through a door which barely fit his frame, Konduk takes a seat over by the larger, velvet-colored couch; the building's smell of exotic tea flavors and the general cleanliness is unusual to him, but not unwelcome. He leans back upon the plush back with his head up to the white-colored, round-shaped ceiling above. His brown eyes look briefly around the room at the other members: a soldier, a gargoyle, and a golem? What a curious group of people, all presumably here for the same purpose. At least they have all their limbs. "Can't you keep it down?" he says quietly to the golem. Konduk's voice speaks with a voice groaning in deepness. "Was hoping for a lil' peace an' quiet 'fore we gotta hear more yappin' from our 'handlers.'" He gives a deep breath in and out of his nostrils to take his mind off the momentary-but-frequent pain coming from his arm stumps, dark red in color after it had been cleaned, bandaged and stopped bleeding. "Hope you didn't get sick of boats once you got here."

[Ridai]

As he squats in front of the coffee table and starts to carve out the battlements on the outer wall, Lapio does not look at the golem-not-golem. There is a distinct feeling of a tongue peeking out of the corner of a mouth in concentration. "Oh no no," the soldier chuckles, waving the notion away with his non-shovel-holding gloved hand. "You can't have my brain-box. It holds my brain," he explains, adding two sagely nods, as well as tapping his helmet with his tool for a further emphasizing ting-ting, before pinching the tiny shovel with both hands for extra precision. It would not do to have the battlements not be as tall as the imaginary people who would man the walls. One has to have standards.

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Duly noted. Unfortunately, I care less about your expectations than this room's questionable choice of furniture." the golem snippily retorted, gesturing towards the gargoyle in the corner.

Though he was a bit curious. Why a gargoyle?

"...Yes. I'm...sure it does." it then replied to the weird soldier, sounding pretty unconvinced. "Well, it seems that this is not a trap after all. I suppose there is something to be gained yet." it then muttered to himself.

[Zelphas]

Evan remains still, simply observing his new Wards to note their quirks and temperaments. When he decides to speak, only his lips move, curling back to expose a double-row of massive, hooked teeth seemingly carved from alabaster.

"This room is currently bereft of tripwires, pressure plates, levers, or other mechanisms for springing or initiating traps, to the best of my observation," he states, in a monotone absent of living warmth and inflection. "Unsure of food safety; mine--correction for modern parlance, my form precludes testing traps of the poisonous/venomous sort." He grows still again, his grey'black lips sliding closed over his teeth once again.

[Starsign]

Keeping his bullish head leaned back against the couch's headrest, Kondur moves his head to look over at the respective members. "Bah, don't worry," he says grumpily, "Would've known from the start if there were traps." Not to say his sense of dungeoneering is foolproof, but Kondur has a lot of confidence in his own intuition.

"Just keep 'er head on, like... uh..." He lifts his bullish head from the headrest, the velvet color of the couch contrasting his worn, yellowish horns, and eyes Lapio curiously. "...That one. And maybe we'll come out with our lives." He shrugs, as if to point to his total lack of arms. "Or maybe we'll just have our limbs intact. One 'r the other."

He pauses, rests his head back on the couch... then finds his curiosity get the better of him. "...So we all in for the same reason? Shot at freedom through a bit of imperial work?"

[Ridai]

"Oh no no," Lapio is chuckling again, waving the notion off once again, but this time with a big "git outta here!" motion. "There's some unruly folks here to show whatfor, then it's back to the front!" Something Lapio sounds quite excited about, carefully carving out the roof of the central building of the sand castle.

[Capt. Infinity]

"I... Believe that is the best that I'll get for 'my cue'." A voice calls out from the doorway on the opposite wall from where the group had entered. The far more opulent double doors giving way to reveal the tall, slim figure of a blonde, Elven man, dressed in the fine, gilded clay-coloured tones of a high overseer of the Thelessian Empire's many holdings. Almost absentmindedly, he runs a hand through his hair, which was currently kept in a tight ponytail. Leaving his pointed ears jutting out for all to see. He smiles somewhat tentatively at the... Men(?) assembled here. A pen in one hand pressed up against a clipboard held in the other.

"Hello... Friends." He offers. Clearly struggling for a proper demonym for, in order, the mechanistic stone warden, the very ecclectic trenchman, the persnikity suit of living armour, and the recently-amptutated, justifiably no-nonsense Minotaur as a collective. "I am Overseer Salazar Virgil. Your... Director for your upcoming mission for the glory of the Thelessian Empire." He explains. His careful avoidance of the word 'handler' seeming to imply that he may have been eavesdropping from behind the door in preparation for entering. "I trust that you've been treated well since your arrival, and that you've made use of the..." He pauses, staring at Lapio's impromptu sand castle. Repurposing a rather exotic and well-prized tea and teaset as a means for creating a sandbox out of his fine china tea plates. "...Refreshments?"

[Ridai]

No time for machicolations, sadly. Lapio is standing ready from one moment to the next, giving a sharp salute, with a right crisp knock of his boot heels. "No complaints, and I have made use of the refreshments, sir!" the soldier responds. "Eagerly awaiting assignment!"

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Oh? It speaks!" the golem exclaimed, sounding plesantly surprised. Evan, if he was at all sensitive to this kind of thing, would feel himself under an intense and scrutinising gaze; then the construct began to inch closer...but nothing ever came of it, as the Oversser chose that moment to make his entrance.

"That," he replied, pointing at Lapio's sand scultpure, "is a more constructive use of your refreshments than anything I could do with them. Are there any more stupid questions, or can we skip to the part where you tell us how we can serve our oh so glorious Empire?"

[Starsign]

It takes another deep breath and several moments before Konduk turns his head toward the... "handler," or "director" as Salazar claims to be. How he wanted almost nothing more than to not listen to authority. The only thing he desires more is freedom... which is why the large minotaur is here in the first place. He briefly opens his mouth, intent to say, "Let's just shuddup and get on with it," then widely reconsiders. He'll have time to mouth off at people who he's free to punch.

Instead, to answer Salazar's question, the minotaur looks over to the couch's left where there is nothing but empty air. Quickly, and briefly, a chunk of rock forms five feet off the ground; its mass of pebble, rock and wet dirt adjusting from a simple clump and forming into an earthen arm which, conveniently, would fit the minotaur's arm socket. Held by telekinesis, Konduk slowly lowers the arm to one of the tea cups, gently pressing a stone finger against the cup's handle; the latter being half the size of the former. "Too small for me," he states plainly. "I'll pass on 'em."

He let's the stone arm dissipate; crumpling back into a ball before disappearing out of existence with nary a speck of dirt on the ground. "Ready to... work." That last word is a struggle for him to say; his excitement rounding somewhere between Lapio's genuine enthusiasm and the golem's genuine disgust. Konduk can't even imagine how they're all going to work as a group.

...Oh gods, he'll have to keep everyone together, won't he?

[Zelphas]

The silence extends for an uncomfortable moment, and then Evan realizes that the new Breather was expecting a response from him as well as from the other Breathers in the room.

...How long was I asleep, honestly?

"All has been either adequate or unnecessary, therefore irrelevant," he finally answers, unsure of how else to reply. The song and dance is for the Breathers; he already has his orders to follow, as long as things continue to be interesting.

[Capt. Infinity]

The Overseer seemingly took in stride the obtuse half-greetings of his many guests. Evidently not being all that unfamiliar with ungracious individuals in his house, or at least with the notion that few people in a room actually served him proper respect. Though he DID spare something of an astonished look at Konduk's sudden display of earthen magics... And no shortage of cringing expectation as he watches for the moment the dirt sullies his already exceedingly strained-from-weight couch, only to breathe a sigh of relief when the dirt vanished as soon as it appeared.

Altogether, he held back a dark chuckle at what appeared to be the entire spectrum of obedience displayed before him. From the manic zealotry and willful obedience of Lapio and Evan all the way to the apathetic adherence and barely restrained contempt of Konduk and the golem respectively. He shakes his head. Golden hair swishing behind him as he disperses the thoughts from his mind, and focuses on the task ahead.

"Right... Well, your obedience is appreciated, for what it is worth, during these trying times here on the isle." He explains. A perpetual song and dance unworthy of higher mention amidst the slurry of duty that was to come. "You have all been briefed on your mission, but as a final act of reiteration: Starcrash island has gone dark. A mutiny a week prior left us with many assumed casualties, and a complete dirth of information coming out of the middel and inner circles of the crater. At present, all we know is that the outer circles have assumed a marginal, balkanized independence. Fragmenting across gang-associated lines as the 'guilds' which held together trade with the interstitial ring have fallen into a near-tribal structure and stalemate with one another. Whilst simultaneously giving us nothing with regards to what happened..." He pinches his nose, clearly showing how much the current state of affairs has gotten to him more than he'd like, but recomposing himself shortly thereafter as he continues his spiel. "Now, in order to remedy this, we have you lot. You're going to be sent in along with a rabble of new prisoners for the isle,under the pretense that the Empire is still shipping off undisirables into the facility, whether or not they recognize our right to do so. Once inside, you are given a timer of 30 days to investigate what happened one week ago, report it back to us, and if necessary neutralize any factors which either helped cause this fiasco, or otherwise stand in the way of us retaking the facility. Once you do that, I have authorization to send in justicars to aid in your extraction, and summarily offer you 'amnesty badges' which, once worn, will allow you all to escape back out into the outside world."

The Elf man reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and produces a small, pen-like object with a sharp, syringe-like tip, and a glass strip along its length which shows off a strange, sparkling cerulean fluid within. "This is a Marking Pen. Typically used in Southern Thelessia as a means of conferring minor, cantrip-like boons through ritual tattooing. We on Starcrash have used it for decades as a way to confer a unique, divinable-at-close-range identifier mark on the back of the right ear of every occupant. As a sort of accounting measure for our prisoners." He gestures to the assembled group. "In you lot's case, however, we're going to interweave UNDER the identifier a sigil which will allow you to communicate with my office over a telepathic connection. As well as with each other, out to a close range. Though we will be monitoring such communications for security purposes, as you will undoubtedly understand." He gestures towards the lot of you. Not necessarily trying to be demeaning. But not doing a great job of being sensitive either. "You will use said connection to keep us in the loop on your investigations. Checking in regularly each night as to your progress. I recommend doing this somewhere safe, mind. As the sigil seems to glow somewhat when going out to the range of my office, which may well be suspicious to some onlookers." He looks around at the assembled masses, in particular the golem and the gargoyle. "Oh! And before it's asked: Yes, the ink adheres to any surface. So even our... Flesh-challenged compatriots can partake of the process." He looks to you all expectantly, hoping he's made himself fully clear. "Any questions?"

[Ridai]

"No questions, sir! The filthy traitors shall be smitten down forthwith and with extreme prejudice!" Lapio responds with customary verve to this most wonderful task of heading right into enemy territory to crush the recreant filth, and if he is lucky, extreme danger will be involved as well, making fulfilling his duty all the more rewarding.

[Starsign]

Thirty days? Sounds like a prison sentence in its own way.

Konduk couldn't argue; he signed up for this and he knew what he was getting into. The adventure, however, is all there. A prison dungeon? Mystery? Possible action and danger? That is far better than being imprisoned and stuck dealing with law and courts over some... damned... crime. In a way, he should be happier about this. It's an adventure for freedom, after all!

Maybe this Lapio has the right idea. A little eagerness could go a long way.

Konduk slowly stands up from the couch, feeling his heavy muscle ache without the plush cushion supporting him. He brushes one of his brown-furred legs with his other, feeling small bits of dirt and sweat flake off from his time in prison and on the boat; as much as he doesn't want to show it, he's probably the most anxious person in the whole room. "So long as I don't gotta sign anything," he says to Salazar. The minotaur shrugs his shoulders again in a restrained voice. "Nothing worse than trying to use a pen without fingers." The minotaur's large eyes locked toward the marking pen. "How far is 'close range' for that mark? May not be able to get back to you if the inner rings go deep."

[Hyperbolic sine]

Imaginos resisted the urge to point out that he did not have a right ear (or a left one, for that matter).

"I can't say I'm eager to be marked like cattle, but I suppose we have to fit in." he said. "Do not try to hide strange spells in there. I will notice."

[Zelphas]

Evan lets the words of the pointy-eared Breather wash over him, picking out the key points of importance. Thirty-day limit. No direct allies, but not completely hostile territory, so 'kill on sight' isn't a continuous option. The Breathers are to observe and report; with the way the conversations have been going so far, he's likely expected to do the same. As long as it isn't boring.

Ritual tattoos are noted and dismissed with a mental shrug; it will be removed in the limit if the Breather is keeping his word, and if not a chip or two is barely harmful.

Now that the details were done and the general formula of the orders have been filled out, Evan begins to take a closer interest in his new Wards. The one in brown is overeager and seems to disturb the others; keeping him alive may be a chore, but the comments on military operations are encouraging. The big one without arms reminds him of other hired Breathers he'd worked with when escorting the monks before; the pragmatism found in these individuals was often refreshing, but they tended to seek their own interests under duress, and this entire operation seemed to fit the model for "Breather duress". The iron Breather reminded him of the tourists that sometimes attached themselves to the monk caravans, or perhaps a bored noble out for sport. Evan flagged him as the most likely to either desert the mission or twist it to suit his own whims, and made note of the Breather's interest in himself before the pointy-eared one came in as a possible way to distract/entice the Breather to continue on the standard path.

Well, as long as the path remained interesting.

Belatedly, Evan remembered that the pointy-eared Breather seemed to expect him to respond to questions and concerns. "Observe, report, return. Simple enough."

[Capt. Infinity]

Salazar nods in time with Lapio's jubilations. Knowing better than to stand in the way of 'empire fever', as it was called amongst people who lived very, VERY far away from the zealoutry of the front lines. When Konduk made reference to fearing the distance the transmissions travelled, the elf tutted and shook his head. "The marks are limited in range in the immediate ability to communicate with each other. Transmissions to my office should work all the way to the center... Ideally." He shrugs. Acting as though such a half-commitment was enough. And hoping his confidence would make others believe it in turn.

He shook his head towards Imaginos. "I can assure you... Sir? Sir. I can assure you sir that no deception is afoot. Not to be rather crass with it, but we already have you in our direct employ, and have it on good authority you'd prefer discomfort, then freedom to a perpetual existence beyond the dome. We have no reason to deceive, and therefore we will not." He smiles, before nodding in appreciation of Evan's straightforward demeanour. "I couldn't agree more my stony friend. Simple, straightforward, and if all goes well, rather short-lived!" The sharp-eared people pleaser gestures towards the door behind him. Pointing towards it with the marking pen.

"Now then, if it's all the same to you lot, I'd ask that you follow me down the hall, where one of our officers will mark you with the necessary runes, and then escort you onto the next boat off onto the dome. Report back to me as soon as you find a safe space come the night with a full debriefing of the experience past the dome. Such a reference will be integral to our oversight going forward, as up till now, we've been flying blind." He smiles in an ameliorating fashion to everyone around the room. "Take heart, friends. Duty to the empire is always rewarded. And should you complete your tasks, you will have done quite the duty indeed!"

Spoiler: OOC

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Montage time! Lemme know how far along towards the island you want me to narrate come the next post. If nobody wants anything specific, I can take you all the way to the mainland. But I'd be happy to stop you beforehand if you wanna chat at the marking phase, getting on the boat, etc.

Thanks again for bearing with me! Speedier posts to come!

[Ridai]

"Understood! Looking forward to it, sir!" Lapio responds, undoes his almost-finished sand castle and the sand inside the tea kettle, leaving a little tea on the saucer and all of the tea in the kettle. The full-masked soldier turns on the spot and marches with a noticable spring in his step towards getting his mark and setting off towards his mission, shovel on his back, the motions of his arms only further underlining that today is a great day indeed.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm fine with proceeding to the island (I think you meant island when you wrote mainland?). I like talking while moving forward, more efficient that way, and it gets us to the actual playtesting sooner.

[Starsign]

Just smile and nod, or just... nod, Konduk thought to himself as Salazar gave around the orders. He just has to work as the forms said: follow your orders, do your job, earn your freedom. So long as the last of those is upheld, he'll work for it. It generally takes something worse than this for him to go along, kicking and screaming, like the golem is.

"I'm with the soldier" he speaks dryly, lacking Lapio's enthusiasm, but sharing the same willingness to move. "Let's get going." Walking behind Lapio, the minotaur's heavy steps are slower, lacking the same spring and energy as the soldier's. Instead, Konduk's hooves are heavy with a sturdy determination, heaving weight as if he still had his large arms.

And when he thinks about it, and compared to how the empire has treated him, a prison island turned mutiny can't be as bad as a dark, tiny cell.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm definitely good to proceed to the island. I'll be able to write and interact with the other PCs while moving forward on the island.

[Hyperbolic sine]

The golem made a sound that, uh...sounded...like a scoff.

"No reason you say. I can't tell if you're taking me for a fool or you're really that clueless."

It wasn't even a matter of personal circumstances. What if, after finding out what had happened, they became inconvenient witnesses?

"Well, whatever...you don't even seem to know who I am, so maybe the latter. Either way, you have been warned. Let's get this over with."

Spoiler: OOC

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Flank ahead! *shiphorn sound*

[Zelphas]

Ah, there they are again. "Duty" and "Reward". The things Breathers use to get other Breathers to act against whatever desires are driving them at the moment.

Evan has only had one desire (the desire to avoid boredom), so he can't be certain, but life seemed much simpler when one did without an excess of desires.

All the Breathers have said everything that's expected at this point, so Evan responds with merely a nod, waiting for the pointy-eared Breather to lead the way.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm good to move ahead as well.

[Capt. Infinity]

The prison industrial complex has never been a very forgiving, empathetic process.

Even with the notion that all of you were inherently important, cooperative, and (most importantly) useful members of their current efforts, the Thelessian government showed no special deferrence past giving you your own private rooms for the entirety of the processing process. You were swiftly, and in order: Placed into a small, well-lit room; sat down in an uncomfortable chair lined with suspiciously well-worn restraints they (mercifully) didn't need to use on any of you; forced to lay bare the flesh behind your right ear, up to and including submitting to a swift shaving of the offending area with a straight razor for those who had hair in the way; branded in a chilling, electrifying, and altogether painful process through the aforementioned Marking Pen, twice over due to the hidden communication brand beneath it; offered the chance to switch into moderately well-sized uniform civvies for your trip over the rim; and then summarily kicked off into an ever-growing herd of disheveled, branded ruffians and vagabonds who were thereafter summarily shunted into a large, rusting, creaky metal barge fitted with chains and armed to the teeth with beastly looking golems that stare wordlessly at all of you through the armored crystal balls they had in lieu of skulls and faces. It was messy, yet upsettingly clinical. Quick yet annoyingly time-consuming. And wholly impersonal whilst simultaneously teeming with an undismissable undercurrent of quietly boiling contempt.

The prison industrial complex has never been, and may NEVER BE a very forgiving, empathic process.

What followed after THAT was... A less than pleasant boat ride. After being ferried onto the boat up to, and likely over standard capacity (some of the more smallness-challenged of you being prodded with large sticks and shouted at during the process for the sovereign crime of being kinda hard to fit in a crowd) you were summarily greeted to the appearance of a designated Thelessian priest. A dark-robed, elderly bearded man with more holy symbols than could be counted strewn along his lengthy necklace, and a book thicker than his torso in profile shakily held in two thin, crinkly hands.

"Misbegotten children of the world!" He began. Putting on a textbook 'angry sermon' voice which was notably lessened by a thin raspiness that implied a lifetime smoking some manner of pipeweed behind closed doors. "Do not think of this as a banishment! Think of this as a privilege! A chance to offer the realms you have scorned something better to remember you by than the ignoble transgressions that landed you on this unhallowed shore! A chance to redeem yourself! As you make your life anew amidst a miasma of your own kind..." He huffs out his lines. Clearly not truly losing any love in bidding the off-colour, mystically overcharged rabble on the boat a final, forever farewell. A fact which was likely not dissuaded by the cacophany of boos, heckling, and sneering guffaws which emanated from the caged mass of convicts on the boat. Held back only by the cold glare of the automatons lining the perimeter. Fully prepared to kill everyone who stepped out of line, even at the cost of their meaningless, replaceable lives.

"I know tale has likely reached you that the inner dominion of Thelessia has been damaged beyond the veil of the wards. But I offer to you that this is not some sign of some macabre state of freedom! It is a final test by the gods! A chance for each and every one of you to PROVE to those you have forgotten high above that there is some speck of order within you! The time will come for each and every one of you to contribute to the rebuilding of trust between Thelessia and the worthy faithful within the prison! Be one of those faithful, I beg you! For only those who are faithful shall find peace in the light rebuilt!" He bellows. Threatening all of you with violence should you not fall in line, just with extra steps in between. Same as any good sermon made by a bad man for the wrong reasons. After that, however, the old preacher mercifully reaches for a large, partially rusted pull-switch. Gripping it hard as he heaves it towards himself, causing a great cacophany of noise as the hidden gearwork beneath the stone of the pier grinds to life. The massive guide chains on either side of the boat beginning to slide forward towards the smokey ward beyond. Dragging the chained-up boat along with it.

"FAREWELL, CHILDREN!" The old man shouts out from the rapidly shrinking pier. Clearly unwilling to let you leave without getting in the last word. "MAY THE GODS HAVE MERCY UPON YOU! BECAUSE I PROMISE YOU ALL: NOTHING INSIDE THERE WILL SPARE YOU A DROP!"

---

Rain made of nausea.

That was about the closest any of you could get to describing what it felt like to travel through the extended, foot-thick miasma of purplish fog that made up the inner ward of Starcrash Island. Like a moist, soggy wall of wet air, physically woven from the materialized sensation of vertigo and deep-seated nausea. Like someone had inadvertently punched you in the gut, if your gut was positioned everywhere on your body simultaneously.

As horrendous as the feeling was, and as worthy as it was of mention, the feeling washed over you and out of your bodies almost as quickly as it came upon your frame. Leaving you with nothing but the gentle uneasy tingle of a curse fully placed, and the sudden, unimpeded view beyond it of the stone-forged dismal majesty that was Starcrash Island.

All at once, you are greeted to what looked like a mountain with its top cut off. A MASSIVE perimeter of vaunted, sheer stone, littered along the top with small, delapidated buildings. Hewn from the igneous stone which made up this singular, cataclysmically large crater. Which stretched almost to the point of seeming fully horizontal to either side of you. Becoming a perpendicular horizon on your approach. Only growing more and more pronounced as your chain-boat dragged the lot of you towards a quiet, shredded shoreline. Covered in dismal outcroppings of jagged rock filled in-between with coarse, pitch-black sands. All surrounding a VERY old dock, which the boat slowly but surely made its way towards. Before finally coming to a slow, grinding halt. Silently bidding you all to step out, and subsequently off the dock, and onto the dark sands beyond.

Standing on this dark, sandy shore was a group of... Well, 'ruffians' seems redundant. Since everyone assembled was some form of convict or criminal. But, given the fact that every last one of them, either through scrawled tattoo or simple sewn-on patch, bore the marked crest of a serpent encircling a bag of gold, one supposes that 'gang members' would be the most adequately differentiating descriptor.

From amongst this assembled wall of criminality, which bid halt to the erstwhile convicts as they made their way onto the shore, a single figure emerged to stand in-between the two rabbles. A tallish, exceptionally muscular man with a dark horseshoe moustache, sideburns, and a tight black branded bandana holding back what was without question a mullet-esque mop of black, oily hair. The textbook prison tough-guy shouts out to everyone assembled with a thick, gravelly voice that held enough of a nasal edge to lend credence to the notion that his misshapen nose was the result of many fights, rather than the ill-grace of some petty god or goddess.

"Alright scrubs!" He shouts out. Already breaking out into a sneer as he looks over the assembled new convicts like a greedy assassin looks through a wall of potential weapons. "Back in the day, some fancy idiot in fancy clothes would give you a rundown of how things work around here. But that idiot's dead now. So you'll have to make do with yours truly!" He jokes. Crossing his arms as he raises his chin to further look down at all of you. "Long story short: Island's gone to hell, and now it's survival of the fittest. And, to that effect: We're the Gold Vipers. And while there may be bigger an' richer folks cutting their piece of the pie on this island, trust me when I say that they don't have HALF the ambition and upward momentum you've got a chance to get with us over here." He thumbs towards the assembled gang members behind him. All in various states of cracking knuckles, spitting into the sand, and other means of projecting a malefic energy.

"Now! We beat up a loooooot of people to get first dibs on the new blood. So rest assured that we aren't some pile of vultures when I make you this offer: Anyone who wants in with us, step forward now and get on one knee. If you look like someone worth a damn, we'll welcome you with open arms. If not, you'll be sent back in line with a black eye." He chuckles darkly. Though the glint in his eye tells all assembled it clearly wasn't a joke. "If you wanna take your chances with the other gangs, the path up's behind me. Though I can't make any promises about how you'll fare without our help." He gestures backwards towards a zig-zagging upward path carved into the side of the cliff, and up into what one assumes to be the rest of the prison beyond the rim. Before cracking the joints on his neck without moving his body. Holding a grin all the while. "And if any of you idiots have enough pride and stupidity to take offense at our ultimatum..." He swiftly enters a brawler's stance. Black wisps of dark energy emanating from his palms, and spiraling around his newly-clenched fists.

"Feel free to show me and my boys a good time. Who knows? Maybe you'll even impress some of the people you'll crawl up the path to meet after we kick you to the edge of the shore for not knowing your place."

[Zelphas]

Pain is always an interesting experience, and pain centered behind one ear and extended for a long period might actually be considered unique. For that uniqueness alone, Evan almost considered these new orders worth his time, though pain was as a rule not an experience to be sought after too often--Gargoyles were still able to die, after all, and the experience of death always seemed wasteful to Evan. If you experienced death, all other experiences ended, so it was best planned as a last resort.

The fire-and-brimstone shouting of the man at the docks was not a new experience, though it was interesting that such a speech was not addressed to him personally. Evan noted for himself that the worship of multiple gods seemed to be the accepted norm in this era, but otherwise ignored the man; having spent much of his time before his sleep among those of one faith or another, the life of a priest held very little of interest to him.

---

Boredom is familiar.

Evan is almost entirely still during the boat trip to Starcrash Island; he picks a corner and stands there, unblinking eyes surveying the overcrowding impassively. A scraping, grinding noise emanates from his corner approximately halfway through the trip, and anyone looking over at the Gargoyle would find his impenetrable gaze now fixed to the floor, two claws on his right hand scraping slowly back and forth over each other to make the irritating sound. The prisoners gave Evan a bit of room, unnerved by his constant stare, pressing against each other to stay away from him.

They were right to be worried. Evan had been considering punching a hole through the boat.

A large part of their mission required some element of secrecy, and Evan would have a much simpler time making his way to the center of the island if no one knew that he was there in the first place. A capsized boat would be suspicious, but the suspicion would center outside of the island, meaning that he would have time within the island to work in secrecy and silence. Breathers took their statues for granted; Evan was willing to bet this extended even to a prison.

Eventually, however, Evan's claws stilled, and he returned his gaze to the prisoners around him. Three things stayed his hand.

The first reason was too many unknowns. Evan didn't know exactly where Starcrash Island was, though he could guess by the movement of the boat. He didn't know how far away it was, and he didn't know what precautions there might be to prevent people from entering into it. With that many unknowns, capsizing the boat could endanger the time limit on the mission, which could be problematic.

The second reason was the Breathers he was charged with. The non-breathing Breather might manage well, but the other two would likely be unable to survive the boat's sinking, and that would jeopardize the mission in a different way. If a Gargoyle didn't follow his missions to the letter, he might as well not follow them at all, and Evan had decided to follow this mission for the moment--as long as it was interesting. So allowing his Breather wards to die or causing their deaths was out of the question for the moment.

The third reason was the simplest. He had already experienced a sinking ship, and if he broke the hole himself the circumstances would be basically identical. He doubted that prisoners drowned in any more interesting ways than anyone else.

---

Nausea is fascinating every time it comes, at least to a Gargoyle. With no need to eat (And quite possibly no stomach), nausea was always an induced, 'unnatural' experience. Evan treasures the moment of nausea as it passes, aware that he is likely unique among Gargoyles due to this particular feeling. That seems worth... at least another week of service.

It seems that stealth will have to wait until further into the island, judging by the reception at the docks. Evan considers his route had he sunk the ship: approach from the sea, burrow into the sand below the waterline, reach the nearest building, wait until dark, then climb out and begin infiltration. The same route almost seems possible here, but the Breathers he is connected to constrain him, as well as the golems still watching their movements. In his time, those creatures would likely have been Gargoyles... and he would never have been able to experience what it is to be considered a criminal in a prison. Perhaps sleeping was worth more than just the experience.

The Breather steps forward and demands new recruits. Evan stares at him, the claws on his right hand beginning to scrape slowly over one another. Joining this group seemed counter-intuitive to their mission; they admitted to not being the ones in control, and they kept to the outskirts of the island. Simply bypassing them would be simplest, but...

Question: Would eliminating 'Gold Vipers' be an unnecessary delay to the mission, or would it fulfill optional parameter 'neutralize any factors which either helped cause this fiasco, or otherwise stand in the way of us (that is, the mission-givers) retaking the facility'? Evan sends over the telepathic link to the Breathers, leaving the decision to them. He has never been in a 'prison brawl' before, but supposes that it's fairly similar to any other fight--that is to say, not boring, but not interesting enough to seek out for its own sake.

[Ridai]

The final shouted sermon as the ship drifted away was answered with a muffled, distant cheer and two gloved fists raised into the air. The trip was spent joyfully checking his equipment, the fit of his uniform, proper seals everywhere, and of course, sharpening his shovel. The tattoo is still stinging, but pain is just weakness leaving the body, so it's aaaaall good! Once they reach the shore, Lapio is among the first off the boat, still with that pep in his step and his arms moving accordingly, answering the "Alright, scrubs!" with a raised hand and a happy muffled "Hello!"

Once the man with the shiny angry rope on his person has gone through his spiel, Lapio steps forward without hesitation. "Yes, hello sir!" he pipes up enthusiastically. "I have no interest in joining other gangs, but would that be the path to where the island has gone the most to hell?" Even through the completely opague mask, it seems like the soldier dressed for a muddy battlefield with sour rain is positively beaming.

[Hyperbolic sine]

Fortunately such things as shaving and uncomfortable seats were a thing of the past, so Imaginos didn't nag too much; by the same token the branding didn't produce any actual pain, though he could feel it being etched on more than his mere physical form.

The golems were quite familiar and, as he was quite rudely herded with the other prisoners, he idly wondered if any of those had been crafted personally by him.

And, of course, as soon as the priest started his sermon, the man's voice was promptly tuned out.

---

The sensation of passing through the barrier was actually relatively familiar to Imaginos. Being torn from a body and bound to an unliving object was a pretty excruciating experience for the soul in question, but magnitude aside quite similar to what the barrier had induced. It was probably either coincidence or inevitability, but it bore investigating into once he returned to the civilised world.

---

Imaginos had given the Gold Vipers a thoroughly unimpressed look, though of course his face was unable to display any expression whatsoever. Kneel in front of that rabble? Over his dead body. Besides, being affiliated with a gang would probably just impede their movements through territories controlled by other gangs.

~Bah, getting involved now would just be a hassle. We can always deal with them later.~ he replied to Evan, then shambled after Lapio with the demeanor of one of his mindless creations. As long as he wasn't directly involved in the conversation, he could probably avoid making snide remarks.

Probably.

[Starsign]

The idle time after agreeing to everything could not have left a more painful impression on Konduk's mind. Where was he to begin? The marking pen was a good start, finding the fur behind his ear razed down to bare flesh. The sensation of having a part of one's body just utterly removed is painful and unnatural, even if not as severe as losing one's arms. The actual marking, however, felt far worse than having any sort of restraint placed on him. It was like something searing into his body, possibly permanently, and something no amount of his own magic can do to provide a momentary reprieve. The minotaur had gone into that room the most passively accepting; and he came out the most agitated of the four.

The boat ride had been... little better, and something Konduk was in no mood for another awfully shaky trip across the sea. The overloaded, overstuffed nature of the wooden boat left him close to panicking; an amusing and equally-embarrassing sight from the tallest creature on the boat. The creaking of wood and gears as it led off does nothing to ease him, tumbling his bovine head to look down at the blackened wood and lightly click his knees together in a fit of anxiety. He felt as if he was going through Hell, and the actual danger of this task had yet to begin.

Though, as the humans say, hindsight is 20/20. The one moment he remembers being stuck in a prisoner's cell, he remembers why he preferred this course of action. It's enough to keep himself from losing it before even reaching the island.

---

Having reached land, finally, Konduk looks amazed that he didn't vomit over his nausea-induced state from the boat trip.

Starcrash Island has a sense of scale and gravitas he didn't expect. It's massive stone crater appeared as the end of a world; as if a giant meteor had slammed down upon the mountain eons ago and obliterated all sense of life. He can feel a void of land from this prison, paired with the warm, deathly-black sand sagging through his hooves. Sniffing the air quietly, Konduk's mouth curls to a frown. A place where people go to die, he idly thought to himself, finding the putrid, stiff air at odds with the open sky above. The whole crater is inhospitable, and it's hard to say whether this is due to the riot, or simply a catalyst for it.

Whichever it may be, the former convicts certainly do not make it a better place. The arm-less minotaur must seem an easy target for these Gold Vipers. And the leader certainly acted as if he could take them. On one hand, they aren't worth it; on the other, the four need information, by any means necessary, and on the other, they can't just mindlessly go putting fists of flesh or stone in them.

Perhaps Lapio has the right idea, as the large minotaur walks behind the other three and certainly is far too proud to go down on one knee. He'd rather wait, partly out of curiosity, to see how the gang leader takes to Lapio's increasingly-encouraging optimism.