 08:45:17 Myth/Crowley/Grinch 08:31:56 Myth/Crowley/Grinch 08:31:41 Myth/Crowley/Grinch 08:21:10 Willow / ISH Hoarder -HEE Click-
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08:14:17 Wan | Wolf | Silver Morning Willow!
Thanks Min! IÂ’m still working on refining some of it! :D |
08:13:30 Min| Silver I love your pallette!! |
08:13:15 Willow / ISH Hoarder 08:12:45 Wan | Wolf | Silver| I finally finished updating my stable bio to include all my good horses 😅 I need to head to bed haha |
08:06:46 | Thanks everyone for the names^^ |
08:04:33 Willow or Mighty 08:04:12 Snow❆Gem @loaf
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@willow
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08:04:10 Willow or Mighty -HEE Click-
He could be Echosong |
08:03:33 Willow or Mighty 08:03:05 Willow or Mighty 08:02:39 Willow or Mighty 08:02:03 Wan | Wolf | Silver 1st - Spottedpelt, Leopardpelt, Sunspot
2nd - Sandbar, Dunecoat/pelt, Sanddune, Sandpatch |
08:01:55 | Thanks! She's really pretty |
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ROSALINE Rosaline followed Quixor into the shuttle bay, her steps slow and hesitant as her gaze lingered on the small figure of Neoma being escorted away. The little girl’s wide eyes, filled with fear, were still vivid in her mind as the door to the brig closed behind her. The tight knot in Rosaline’s stomach only grew tighter. "Quixor," she said softly, her voice steady but laced with concern. "What are you planning to do with her?" She couldn’t suppress the tremor in her voice. Neoma, so innocent, so fragile—trapped in a ship of steel and shadow. "You can’t just lock her away," Rosaline replied, stepping closer to him, her words sharp despite the growing fear gnawing at her. "She’s just a child, Quixor. She doesn’t belong in a cell, not like this. What if... what if she’s not what you think?" EON
Eon could feel the tension radiating from Tristan, even without the need to glance at him. The other was predictable, always fidgeting when under pressure, trying to bury whatever thoughts were rattling around in his head. He had seen it before, the subtle pull of guilt, that gnawing unease whenever the ethical boundaries of their missions started to blur. It wasn't hard to understand why. Tristan had a conscience—one that still tried to tether him to the notion of right and wrong. A moral compass that swung wildly when faced with the realities of the universe. Eon couldn't help but wonder if Tristan ever truly saw the bigger picture, or if he was too busy looking for the lines that separated him from the rest of them. The silence stretched between them, a thick and uncomfortable weight. Eon felt no need to fill it. Silence was often more telling than words could ever be, and he was content to let Tristan stew in it. It was a familiar game—one where the tension was its own reward. For Eon, the discomfort was a tool. A means of reminding Tristan that there was no easy way out, that they were both bound to this mission in ways far beyond what the doctor might ever comprehend. When the doors finally opened, Eon couldn’t help but let a slow, almost imperceptible smile creep across his face. The vessel waiting outside was a perfect reflection of the task ahead. The heavy weapons, the intimidating design—everything about it screamed of a mission steeped in uncertainty, danger, and choices that could twist even the most firm convictions into something unrecognizable. Tristan’s eyes flickered to the guns first, as if to anchor himself in something tangible, something solid. Eon, of course, noticed. There was a method to this—an understanding that came from the years they’d spent together. The guns, the cold metal, the intimidating vessel—they were all just symbols. Symbols of what was to come, and how soon Tristan would have to decide just how far he was willing to go. Eon stepped forward, giving Tristan a moment to absorb the sight. There would be plenty of time for questions later. But for now, there was only the mission, and the undeniable truth that there was no going back once they boarded. "Ready?" Eon’s voice was calm, calculated, the hint of a challenge in the words. Tristan’s response, as always, would be interesting. |
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Quixor
Quixor paused as he entered the lift and waited for Rosaline to enter so they had the privacy between the shuttle bay and his quarters. He sighed. "I don't intend to harm her" He tone dripped with boredom. "But we are at war with Coalition, she's the enemy, she's been trained by the enemy and she should be treated as such until we know more about her. She can't be trusted" He looked at Rosaline, concern laced her eyes and her tone. "What would you have me do?" He bites out. He closed the gap between them, his gaze boring into hers. He places his muscular arms either side of her, leaning on the side of the lift. "We can't just let her wonder about the ship, she is dangerous" He gaze softened, his tone dripping with venom. "There is only so many times I should feel the need to ask you to trust me, this is one of them" He stood up straight again and turned, his gaze flashing. "Besides, your a solider. Act like one" He said gruffly. And with that they rode the rest of the lift in silence. The doors opened and he stepped out into the hallway towards his quarters. He'd already started unclipping his armour. Experiment 42
42 swung its head to see that the entity had made a kill as well. It vanished from view when it spoke to it. "There are no escape routes on this vessel. My plan had always been to keep one alive to pilot me wherever I wanted to go" It paused in the hallway, memories flashing in its mind of the home it had built itself. A world where it could be free. "But the captain... He is mine" It said, the tone laced with venom. It clacked along the hallway with its talons, slithering along, the slime left in its wake. It reached the end of the corridor, he could sense the fear of the crew hiding, just from his gaze. It huffed and growled its annoyance. Maybe the entity would have better luck. Tristan
Tristan looked up watching the doctor's smile grow. He couldn't help but feel his gut twist at that smile. The one he knew too well. There was a hint of malice to it, especially when they both took in the sight of the vessel in front of him. This was one area, Tristan didn't want to show weakness, especially when the soliders had lined up to prepare to board. He eyed the doctor, the smile still spread on his lips. He couldn't help but almost shiver at Eon's words. "Ready?" A rheotrical question really, he would never be ready. Pulling his table tighter to his chest, he gave a swift nod, he board the vessel, taking up his usual seat in this missions, the one behind the doctor's. This vessel had always reminded him of the doctor himself, cool and calculating, the hum of the equipment onboard from scanners, to guns, he eyed it over before taking his pad from his chest and started to analyse the data again, right up until it had gone quiet. |
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ROSALINE Rosaline remained silent for a moment, watching the lift doors close behind them, feeling the weight of his words press down on her. His stance was rigid, as though the walls of the lift couldn’t contain the tension between them. She hadn’t expected anything different from Quixor, but the sharpness in his voice, the way he framed her loyalty, cut deeper than she cared to admit. "Act like a soldier," he'd said. The words stung because she *was* one. But she wasn't just anyone; she had to think beyond the uniform, beyond the mission. She could feel the heat of his proximity, the faint smell of sweat and steel from his armor. He was still unsettled, still clinging to the distrust that had tainted their every interaction since they’d found themselves tangled in this war. When the doors opened and Quixor stepped out, she hesitated for just a moment longer than usual. But then she followed him into the hallway, her boots echoing against the cold, sterile walls of the ship. The tension in the air between them wasn’t new; she’d felt it since the first time she’d been forced to work with him. The line between soldier and enemy blurred with every encounter, and the weight of her role only grew heavier. As she walked beside him, she carefully weighed her next words, not wanting to show weakness, but not wanting to add fuel to the fire either. "I *do* trust you, Quixor," she said, her voice steady but not without the faintest edge of frustration. "But trust doesn’t mean blindly following orders when there’s more at stake." She glanced at him, watching as he stripped off his armor with that practiced ease. There was a side of him she hadn’t quite figured out yet—a vulnerability hidden behind that intimidating exterior. But he’d never let her get close enough to see it fully. "She may be the enemy," Rosaline continued, her gaze fixed on the shifting weight of his armor. "But *we* aren’t the same as we were before this war. *You* aren’t the same. You want to hold her at arm's length, and I get that... but we both know that the world’s never that simple." The space between them felt charged, like a storm just waiting to break. She would wait for him to answer, but she already knew what he'd say. Something cold, something calculated. He’d never see her side. EON Eon didn’t look back as Tristan boarded the vessel, though the brief ripple of satisfaction at the man’s response curled at the edges of his lips. The boy always put up such a stoic front, but Eon knew—he could always see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, in the way his gaze lingered too long on things he couldn’t control. The vessel hummed beneath them, a mechanical rhythm Eon had come to appreciate for its precision. It mirrored him—controlled, cold, and without the messiness of human emotion. He could feel Tristan’s discomfort radiating from behind him. The guy was too predictable, too easy to read. Eon’s fingers brushed across the console, steady, deliberate. He didn't need to look at him to know the unease was creeping in, that familiar twinge of dread. The vessel was perfect for someone like him. Calm, efficient, without apology. It had been built to execute, to serve, and it would do so until the end. As Tristan fiddled with his pad, pretending to lose himself in the data, Eon allowed himself a brief glance over his shoulder, meeting the younger man’s eyes. “It’s already too late to turn back, Tristan,” he said, his voice low, almost a purr in the quiet of the ship. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Eon didn’t need words to make the weight clear. He already knew how Tristan would respond. The other's discomfort was his to play with, and he had only just begun. |
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The Voidcrawler paused at the end of the corridor, its tendrils curling in a languid, almost contemplative motion. Its voice, dark and unsettling, echoed through the ship's empty halls. "You need not worry about the captain, he's all yours. I can drive the ship. My tendrils know how to hack the control panels, infiltrate every system. It will bend to my will." The creature's eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction, its claws scraping the floor as it continued its pursuit. "As for you, Entity... you may have your way with them, but the ship—**the ship** will be mine. I'll drag it wherever I wish." With a final, venomous hiss, the Voidcrawler slithered onward, its hunger for both the vessel and its prey growing ever stronger. |
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Quixor
Quixor felt his patience wearing thin. He turned to the door of his quarters and let it slide open before stepping inside. He turned back to Rosaline. "Careful" He warned, his voice low "You're starting to sound like the enemy" His eyes flashed with malice at the thought. "If you care about her that much, why don't you join her" He bit out, his patience had finally waned. He closed his door, leaving her in the hallway on the otherside. He turned, taking off his long sword, his armour. He checked the maps on his desk briefly before he sent a command to the bridge "Take us to the gateway. Remember use our cloaking device for as long as possible to the gate" He said a warning laced his tone. He turned to the mirror beside his armoire, he turned to the bathing chambers to freshen himself up, wash the dust of Alpha-7 off his face and then got changed into a clean fresh uniform. It was dark green, woollen blend. The insigna of the Vanguard on his chest and shoulders. His lapels and cuffs carried gold symbols of the sovereign legion, whilst his collar bore his rank. He turned to the mirror again, straightening the pins and picking off a piece of lint from his shoulder. Tristan
Tristan studied Eon as he said his words before the jolt of the shuttle carried them out into the depths of space away from the Starstrider's gaze. He didn't acknowledge Eon but he resumed looking at his pad and then switch it off before looking out the window at the stars. The planet was about 15 minute approach from where the Starstrider was positioned at the edge of a star system. He played scenario's of how this would go in his mind. The pilots working the consoles to get them there. He watched as they worked. He rest his head back into his seat. He knew he wasn't in control here, so he decided to relax a little. Experiment 42
42 swung its head, looking for its next victim. The crew hid, working out a plan, it could sense it. IT growled in displeasure. It headed to where it last saw the captain. |
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ROSALINE Rosaline stood motionless in the hall, her chest tight with the weight of his words. She had never thought of Neoma as an "enemy"—she was a child. A frightened, lost child who had found herself caught in a web of things far beyond her control. Stepping closer to the door, her hand hovered near the handle, but she didn’t push it open. Instead, she spoke softly, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. "Quixor," she began, her voice steady despite the emotion stirring within her, "She's is just a child. She doesn't deserve this—she doesn't deserve to be treated like some dangerous weapon or pawn." Her words hung in the air, heavy with the truth. "You have the power to show her compassion, to treat her with some decency." She paused, her heart aching as she thought of the girl, locked away and alone. "At the very least, give her a room, something resembling kindness. She's not an enemy; she’s scared. She needs care, not cruelty." Rosaline’s breath was shallow, her pulse quickening as she waited for him to respond. She knew he could be harsh, unyielding, but still... she had to try. The girl was only a child. How could he not see that? EON The shuttle glided through the void with a smooth hum, the vastness of space stretching out beyond the viewport. Eon sat across from Tristan, his demeanor stoic and composed as always. He had been silent since their departure, eyes scanning the control panels with a practiced ease, his mind no doubt already focused on the task ahead. He said little, his words brief and pointed when spoken. Now, as the shuttle moved ever closer to Alpha-7, a planet marked by its inhospitable terrain and harsh atmosphere, his hand rested lightly on the comm panel. As Tristan stared out the window, lost in his thoughts and the seemingly endless stars, Eon turned toward the hatch. The shuttle's automated systems would guide them in—steady, unwavering—but the task at hand was not merely landing; it was finding Neoma's lost vessel, an unsettling thought that gnawed at Eon despite his calm exterior. "We are approaching Alpha-7," the pilot's voice crackled through the speakers. Eon glanced at the viewport, seeing the planet growing larger as they neared. The surface was a barren wasteland of rust-colored rocks, its atmosphere thick with swirling dust clouds, and nothing else seemed to mark its otherwise desolate landscape. Eon pushed up from his seat, securing his gear with swift movements. "I will disembark," he said, his voice flat, carrying no hint of urgency but a deep focus that marked his every word. "I’ll conduct a sweep of the ground. If Neoma's ship is here, it will be in a ravine or a cave system. The scanners won't pick it up easily." The shuttle began its descent toward the surface, and Tristan could feel the slight pull of gravity shift as they broke through the lower atmosphere. The pilot remained focused, hands moving swiftly over the controls, adjusting their trajectory to avoid the jagged peaks of the mountains rising from the surface. Eon stood as the shuttle’s landing gear touched down with a gentle thud. Without a word, he moved toward the airlock, his expression unchanged. A moment later, the door hissed open, revealing the barren, rocky terrain outside. He stepped off the shuttle, boots crunching against the cracked surface of Alpha-7. The air was thin here, and the wind carried with it the scent of something ancient—decay perhaps, or the traces of long-lost elements buried beneath the planet's crust. The desolation stretched for miles, interrupted only by the jagged outlines of distant hills and the occasional flash of strange, iridescent dust lifting off the ground. Eon scanned the horizon, narrowing his eyes against the dust. There was no immediate sign of Neoma's ship. The scanners back on the shuttle would have alerted them if it were in range, but nothing had pinged. That meant it was likely buried or shielded somehow. He adjusted the settings on his wrist device, setting it to a low-frequency sweep for unusual electromagnetic signatures. Minutes passed as he moved with purpose across the barren landscape. The only sounds were his steady footsteps and the faint hum of the shuttle's engines still audible in the distance. Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, he saw it—a small, dilapidated silhouette against the base of a rocky outcrop. Neoma’s vessel. He crouched, inspecting the spacecraft. "This is it," he muttered under his breath. The craft's engines were cold, its power core dim, but there were signs of recent disturbance. Scuff marks in the dirt near the wreckage suggested someone—perhaps Neoma herself—had been here recently. But no bodies, no signs of life. Eon continued his examination, checking the ship’s exterior for any signs of damage that could hint at what had happened to its pilot. Something was wrong here, and the answer lay within the wreckage. |
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Quixor
Quixor huffed. Rosaline's words on the other side of the door were sounding right through him. His impatience had snapped. His door slid open and his gaze cruel and narrow. "Get to the bridge" He seethed. "Make sure we get through the gateway undetected as quickly as possible" His words were final. He waited for her to leave and made sure she left before he closed the door to his quarters and turned to walk down the hall way towards the lift to take him to the brig. In the lift, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He paced until the lift came to a stop and he stepped out. The brig was empty, the cold walls of the cells stood tall, whilst one was fronted a blue energy wall. Inside the girl cuddled into the corner. He stood to attention in front of her. His arms laced behind his back. An intimidating sight he was sure, decked in full uniform, prepared for war. The one thing he wasn't sure on was the Coalition's movements and what wold happen next. He gazed down at her. "Tell me your name" He asked. Tristan
Tristan listened and watched Eon move with cold and calculated precision. "Sir, Neoma's signature was last detected inside the city of this barren planet, the ship was on a court yard" He said, showing him the data before he disemarked. Tristan stood up to follow, the soliders accompanying him. He looked around at the barren landscape, What was here wasn't here any more. "A storm must of past through, if Neoma is missing it'll be hard to track her based on footprints on even energy signatures..." He went to continue but Eon, waved his hand to silence him. He looked around. |
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EON Eon’s eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon with a sharp intensity. His mind was already working, piecing together the scattered details. Tristan’s words were important, but they were not the solution. Not yet. “Don’t waste time on the storm,” Eon replied, his voice low and controlled. He knew Tristan was trying to be helpful, but time was not a luxury they had. “The Sovereign Legion doesn’t leave traces; they don’t make mistakes. We’ll find her another way.” He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on the dried, cracked ground beneath them. Every movement of his felt deliberate, as if the very air around him demanded precision. Eon’s mind was elsewhere, connecting the dots faster than anyone else could see. Neoma’s disappearance wasn’t just an accident. The Legion didn’t kidnap someone like her without reason, without preparing for the consequences. They were targeting someone important, and Neoma’s position in the Galactic Coalition made her invaluable. Eon’s fingers danced across his wrist comm, pulling up the coordinates again. A quiet hum filled the air as the device processed the data. The signal was faint but still there, buried beneath layers of interference. He smirked to himself, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “I’ve got a lock,” Eon said, breaking the silence. He turned his focus back to Tristan, the fire in his gaze unmistakable. “We move now. We’ll follow the signal as far as it takes us. The storm won't stop us. If we lose it, we’ll find another way. But Neoma is not lost yet.” His voice was steel, unwavering in its resolve. Eon didn’t care about the storm. He didn’t care about the wasteland that stretched out before them. What mattered now was getting Neoma back, and no force in the galaxy could stop him from doing that. |
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Neoma sat in the corner of the cell, her back pressed against the cold, unforgiving wall. The blue energy barrier hummed softly around her, its faint glow a reminder that she was trapped. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, though no amount of comfort could make her feel safe here. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the ship. She had barely registered the approach of footsteps, the harsh click of boots echoing down the sterile hallway. Then the door to her cell slid open, and she stiffened. Her eyes darted up, meeting the intense gaze of the figure before her. A man, tall, imposing, clad in a uniform that screamed authority. His posture was rigid, his demeanor icy—like he had come to deliver some kind of judgment. His voice cut through the silence, sharp and direct. “Tell me your name.” Neoma’s heart hammered in her chest. She swallowed, her throat dry as she studied him. This man, with his cold eyes and tight control, was nothing like the others she had encountered. There was power in his presence, something unyielding. She knew her survival depended on choosing her words carefully. "Neoma," she said quietly, the name slipping from her lips like a secret. She straightened slightly, though she didn't dare move too much. The energy barrier between them was the only thing separating her from whatever he had planned. Her eyes never left his, trying to read him. Was he here to interrogate her, to break her spirit? Or was this something else entirely? She couldn't tell yet, but her instincts screamed that he was no ordinary officer. |
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Quixor
Quixor stepped closer to Neoma. His gaze sharpened. "Neoma" He repeated softly, playing each letter of her name across her lips. "Tell me... what were you doing on that planet?" A familiar groan stretched under foot, the Vanguard had jumped through the gateway. Rosaline had done her job. He was conscious of the fact that she maybe down here, quibbling at his side any second. He pressed hurriedly. "Tell me, what were you doing on that planet" He repeated, his tone flat. Tristan
Tristan stared at Eon. He didn't move with him as he moved around. He turned his attention to the pad that showed him the lock of Neoma's location, that had been shared with the doctor's own device. The strange energy signatures was definitely the work of the sovereign legion. "Clever" He muttered under his breath. The dust whipped up by the wind, the soliders tense at his back. He could feel a cold sweat start to build at the back of his neck with their presence. His facade starting to crumble. He knew if they didn't find Neoma soon, his life would be on the line. |
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