Hoshun Orbit

The Cadaver Crasher

Morwen marched the corridors of the Crasher at a clipped pace. Just faster than a walk, but slower than a run. She moved with purpose and direction. She held the principle of violence of action dearest to her heart, and employed it with virtually everything she did. Boarding a lift, she rode it down to the crew deck, where she marched towards the hanger bay. She found the mages standing around the survivors of Ominek’s attack. They were clothed simply, and much of their clothing was battle worn. They looked like they’d been through hell and back. They looked like those in the Prophecy. The two missing pieces she would need.

“Lt. Rayshe, report,” she said crisply. Folding her arms behind her back, she assumed her “command” pose. Chin up, chest out, arms clasped behind her back and feet shoulder width apart. It gave her a prim and composed, if slightly severe, look. She didn’t mind. It lent to the stature.

“They smashed the landscape into rubble. You wouldn’t have known a village used to exist there if it weren’t for the half buried bodies and small fires that were still burning. We found these three near the lip of a massive crater at the edge of the devastation. They claim a Sauridius strike force descended on the planet and destroyed everything.”

Morwen frowned. She’d been too late to help them. Though it occurred to her that perhaps she wasn’t meant to help them. That still didn’t stop her from taking on that burden herself, anyway. She gave Lt. Rayshe a bow of her head. “And do you think they could be of service to the ship?”

Rayshe turned to give them a withering look. “They look like mongrels to me. One belongs to the Order and is therefore exempt from writ of conscription. The other two? Difficult to say if it’s worth the time. Were it up to me, I’d say no.”

Morwen did her best not to chastize Rayshe for his casual racism. Though he was anything if consistent. Everyone knew how Rayshe felt about non-elves. Whether or not they actually wanted to. She gave him a crisp nod. “Unfortunately, it’s not up to you. Dismissed.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “You can’t be serious?” His voice shifted dangerously close to petulant. The indignation practically oozed from him.

“I am. Dismissed Lt. Or shall I have the Sergeant haul you to the brig?”

Rayshe straightened and swallowed hard, before offering a reluctant shake of his head. “No Sir.” His body snapped ramrod straight as and he offered her a salute with his spell rifle, before slinging the weapon and dismissing the troops. Everyone waited until he left the deck before heaving a sigh of relief. Morwen saw the tension level drop an octave in Rayshe’s absence and wondered what she could do about that. His father sponsored their crew and vessel in name, but that didn’t extend to flush financing. Blood from stone, that. She got the distinct impression that Rayshe was here as some kind of clout grab for the nobility dick measuring contests they frequently engaged in. She had to work around Rayshe and his obtuse personality for now.

“Stay close for now, Sergeant,” Morwen said to Sirsir who gave her an obedient nod and remained at her side. She knew he’d have done so without being asked anyway, but she figured it was best to extend the request anyhow.

She turned to face Akamori and the other two. “Sergeant, please see that someone can escort the Artificer to some guest quarters.”

“Private Sala, you heard the Captain.”

A massive soldier with red fur and jet black hair went to attention. She caught Sala’s primal eyes, the yellow iris’ rimmed by the red skin of his eyelids. When she’d first met Sala, he had wild black hair, but he’d cut it short so he could wear his spell armor more comfortably. His tail had taken a bit more work to get around, requiring an artificer to create a special set just for him. She endured a lot of ridicule for doting on the “most expensive slave on Eryn”, but Sala was her charge. She would see to it they afforded him every chance to be the best soldier he could be.

“This way, please,” Sala said to the artificer in a soft voice. The artificer had leaned closer to hear him speak before nodding and then followed the primal out of the hangar deck, leaving just the red-haired nomad and his female counterpart. She studied them for a moment and realized why they looked so familiar. She felt a pang of sadness for all the poor souls lost in the attack, wishing there was something she could have done for them.

These two Morwen would require for her success. Without a word, she went to work crafting the conscription spell. It was a unique shackling. It didn’t bind one’s soul as much as it marked them as Federation property. She executed the hand gestures and signed them with mind and soul runes, to mark the writ with her hand. This way, if anyone were to scry their souls and see the writ, it would bear Morwen’s name along with the Federations. The spells darted silently into Akamori and Amara’s chests.

System Info: You have been soul shackled! Writ of Conscription. Your soul is bound to a three contract of service to the Federation by order of Captain Morwen enacting the Wartime Powers of Conscription Act. Hope you like Federation Service Uniforms (used, of course). This does not count as a standard binding and therefore is not cleansed by your Gold Seal.

Akamori drew his blade, assuming a defensive stance. “What did you just do to me?” he snarled. Amara did her best to calm him.

Morwen understood the dynamic at play. She folded her arms behind her back. Striking the power pose again. “I’ve just marked you with the writ of conscription. You now belong to me, and by relation to the Federation. If you would seek to contest this conscription, you may file a protest with the Office of Personnel Affairs on Eryn when we return after our mission.”

“But not before, right?”

“Correct.”

She assumed the red head was going to be trouble. She got the sense he didn’t like to be told what to do. There was no mistaking that these two were from the prophecy she’d received. She didn’t know how or why these two mages were vital to her mission. Only that they were.

She regretted having to resort to the Writ. While she was legally within her right to use it, there was still an underlying layer of scumminess to the ability to just enslave someone for war. Especially against his own desires. She’d have to get Sirsir to break him of that, and fast if he was to be of any use by the time they carried out whatever save the day mission. It was that this prophecy expected of them. But it would be ideal if he saw and believed as she did.

She suspected the massacre of his people would help convince him. She only needed to show him that what happened to his home was happening to countless others. His suffering was a shared pain. He didn’t need to carry it alone.

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Slowly, Akamori slid his blade back into his scabbard. His feet stayed shoulder width apart, poised like a viper still primed to strike. Morwen’s brow lofted upwards. She got the impression he was a bundle of nerves. Always on the edge of a fight. But maybe he was just fiercely defensive of his personhood. Unfortunately for him then, that she had to deprive him of it. She needed him, and she couldn’t risk anything to chance. Not when the future of the Sector was riding the outcome of their actions.

Amara stepped forward, with a hand on Akamori’s shoulder, to calm him, “How long do these conscriptions last?”

“Three years is the average term of service, but they can be stretched longer if it’s deemed that the writ is not being honored in good faith.”

“And who determines if that’s the case?”

“I do.”

Akamori scoffed, “Wonderful. Not only does she enslave us, she gets to set the terms.”

Morwen frowned. She hoped this would not have a negative impact on their performances. She’d have to consider some way to smoothen this out in the future. “I understand this may not be the most ideal outcome. But there is a war going on, as you’re no doubt now aware. I need resources, and you’re the best I can find on short notice. While this is legal, I appreciate it’s not quite within the spirit of the law.”

She had to at least verbally concede and acknowledge their misgivings if she wanted to win their trust. She understood that. It was a natural part of politics. Loathe as she was to admit it, right now she had to play the part.

“Fine. Guess I’ve got no choice. For now.”

Akamori folded his arms, and half turned his back. Morwen saw Sirsir’s face go as red as the young air mage’s hair, and Morwen stifled an amused smirk. The Sergeant was going to have a field day working this one into shape. But for now, the NCO behaved. Corporal Yasiin seemed to hold him back, whispering to him out of earshot. Good, Morwen mused. It was good to see her company gelling. Or at least parts of it. Rayshe needed addressing, but the enlisted corps seemed to progress well enough at least. What remained of it, at least? She was still upset with Rayshe’s father for not funding replacements. What she had left now made little more than a squad, not a company.

“Agreed. Now then. I’ve given you a moment to let the gravity sink in. From this moment forth, I am your commander. You are a soldier in the Federation, and we are at war. Is this clear?”

“Clear,” Akamori said.

Morwen bit back the frown at the venom in his voice. She heard a hiss of air escape from Sirsir as he lost all ability to contain his bearing. She’d effectively pulled the floodgates of restraint free for him. Yasiin quickly withdrew from his efforts to contain the man’s ire.

“THAT IS SIR TO YOU, FUZZY!” Sirsir roared at Akamori. The big armored man wrapped a gorilla sized arm around the red-haired air nomad to aim his gaze at the Captain’s rank on her tunic. “Do you see the pair of gold diamonds on her collar? That means she’s a godsdamned captain. Do you know what we call captains? SIR! We call them Sir. Now, so help me in the godsdamned five hells, if you address the Captain as anything other than Captain, Captain Morwen or Sir? I am going to crawl so far up your fourth point of contact, you’ll have to open your mouth in a mirror to see me chew you out. AM I UNDERSTOOD?”

“SIR YES SIR!” Akamori shouted in response.

Morwen bit back a chuckle as she about faced to return to the lift. That was a button. He’d definitely pushed the button. She’d let Sirsir have his fun with them. They’d take time to whip into shape. In the meantime, she needed to tend to other duties.

“SIR? Do I look like a godsdamned Officer to you? No! I am a non-commissioned officer. Do you not see these finely crafted chevrons? They come in a trio. Not four because there’s no such fucking thing, not two because I’m not a godsdamned corporal, three. THREE. You will refer to me as Sergeant! Unlike officers, I work for a damned living.” He paused briefly to glance her way, “Uh-No offense, sir.”

She smiled and shook her head as she waited on the lift. “None taken Sergeant. Carry on.”

Sergeant Sirsir spun back on Akamori, ready to continue, but Akamori opened his mouth to speak, confusion etched on his features. “Oh, you have a question, private?” Sirsir cooed.

“I do, Sergeant. If you’re a sergeant, why is your name, Sirsir?”

Sirsir’s eyes narrowed to dangerously thin slits. He leaned so close that Akamori and he shared the same oxygen. They were nose to nose now. “Are you trying to be funny, private?”

“No, Sergeant.”

“Good. Because I would hate to explain to the skipper why I just broke one of her newest tech warriors before he got his first uniform. Now, if we’re done getting to know each other, follow me while I show you where you’ll be bunking.”

The quartet trotted off into the hanger deck towards the bay where the mage corps berthed. Morwen smiled proudly. Sirsir was a good soldier. Dedicated. She hoped she could make dedicated troops of Akamori and Amara. She suspected she was going to need that level of dedication if everyone’s lives were counting on their actions. The only question was how to accomplish this?

She entered the lift, chuckling softly at the way Sirsir’s voice could carry through the entire ship over the day to day sounds like power tools working on marine’s gear, and small arms going off at their firing ranges. Once the lift rose, she mulled over her other problem. Materiel. She might have the personnel she needed to prosecute a campaign against Ominek but she lacked for resources. Most of the non-magic weapons needed ammunition, the vehicles required fuel, food, potions, so on. She disliked how part of her job had become business manager, trying to solve problems no commander should have to face during a conflict of this type. But The Brotherhood lacked the knowledge, and The Federation lacked the fortitude to face the problem. Leaving Morwen smack in the middle, trying to save both sides with little but her own bare hands.

She could probably pull a few favors from the artificer. Returning him to the Order after the attack on Hoshun should merit her some good will. But she doubted she’d be able to finagle everything she required from them. If it were rations and potions, she’d lack munitions and weapons. And vice versa. No, she would need to source multiple supply points. A yawn crept up her throat and past her lips slowly. She checked her chrono and realized it was time she get some sleep. But first she would need to chart a return course home first. She could use the travel time to plan how to approach the supply issue.

The lift doors parted open, and she strolled onto the bridge, drawing in a slow, deep breath. Here she was supreme. She approached the controls of the ship and linked her energy with the ship. The shift in perspective was slow and clumsy. The Crasher was large and not built with the most advanced technology. A ship of Eryn’s Line, it was not. But it was still her ship. She stroked the controls the way one might a pet.

She positioned the ship to open a portal for the return journey, then pushed the magic to the ship, which translated the magic energies through specially crafted technologies to channel them into spells. Dark runes glowed on the console, and the system resolved the magic into a portal spell. She watched the small spiraling portal wink into existence, and then grow, billowing large enough to consume the entire ship. Once the vessel poured itself inside, the portal snapped shut behind them.

She angled the ship and set the speed, then disconnected from the ship to set it in Shadow Mode. The external running lights deactivated, weapons, electronic, and magic warfare systems went down. The ship then auto cast an enveloping shield that reflected all emissions back internally, making the bubble of space it occupied appear as black and empty as the rest of the void in which it was traversing. Once the heading and speed were set, the engines disengaged, going cold as well. They had become the magic equivalency of a black hole in a magical landscape where any hint of magic might act as a beacon. A landscape where the locals would eager set upon them.

Morwen had heard tell that the outcast Titans, former supreme beings of the galaxy, had been banished to the shadow plane they used to traverse the galaxy at FTL speeds. She wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but she understood that even some myths held certain kernels of truth to them. It would explain why vessels that failed to go in dark never returned, and why no one ever truly felt comfortable here. You always felt as though something lurked at the edge of consciousness and that it was watching. Everything was prey here. But prey to what? Even former draconic gods foolish enough to challenge the Umbral realm disappeared to never return. Everyone, god and mortal alike, respected the power of the shadow plane and its unknown masters.

Morwen patted the controls affectionally, “See us through safely,” she cooed to the ship, and retired to sleep for the night. Putting off what she could deal with tomorrow to rest for now.