Dec 31, 2025 8:29 pm
YullyBear says:
OOC:
Somewhat absent until January 9. Expect slower replies and shorter posts.Chapter 1: Liberty
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Dec 31, 2025 9:04 pm
Liberty — District 3 (Second Stop)
2242 hours
The grav tube doors part and the first wave of the evening peels away.
Ruiha, Gansay Trah Noh, Dr. Shone, JEEM, and Wilber step into the GravTube and head back to the TRC Base and eventully the Ironhand Facility inside the IISS base.
20 minutes later the doors open and Dr. Shone moves with practiced economy, fatigue acknowledged and accepted. The doors close again, and the tube glides on, carrying the city back into motion.
Chaala and Virel continue their night in District 3 Entertainment district.
District 3 scrolls across their wrist comms in clean, layered tiles—establishments ranked by proximity, noise profile, clientele density, and peak hours:
They choose a place that promises conversation rather than spectacle.
The second venue opens outward instead of inward.
Warm lighting spills across polished surfaces. Glass and brushed metal frame an open floor plan where tables are arranged to invite overlap rather than separation. Conversations braid together and separate again without friction. Music plays low—present enough to shape rhythm, never loud enough to compete.
This is a place for voices.
Young professionals dominate the room. Jackets loosened. Sleeves rolled. The energy is buoyant but contained—the kind that comes from people who know they’ve survived the day and expect tomorrow to still belong to them. A small cluster of TRC Academy cadets occupies a corner table, uniforms partially obscured by casual layers, laughing too loudly and then correcting themselves with practiced restraint.
Drinks arrive quickly. Bright, aromatic cocktails balanced for flavor rather than impact.
Chaala’s glass catches the light as she lifts it for the first sip.
That is when it lands. The Gvegh words she heard when after Ghar Oulna entered the Red Howl
Not as a sound—but as structure.
The word surfaces whole this time, no longer fragmented by noise or motion.
Rokghiok.
Blade. meaning: Something that cuts clean.
The second half follows immediately, uninvited.
Zoukhin.
Presence. or is it Charisma? But the meaning is the same: The gravity that bends others toward alignment.
Chaala does not stop moving. Does not still her hand or change her expression. But something settles behind her eyes with quiet certainty.
Across the table, Virel is still working.
He leans back slightly, gaze unfocused—not on the room, but through it. His fingers trace the condensation on his glass as he tests the shape of the word under his breath.
"…Rok-ghiok," he says softly, the syllables slightly wrong.
Not a question. A hypothesis.
Chaala meets his eyes then. Just briefly. Enough to tell him that the word matters—and that the room is not where the explanation will finish assembling.
To Virel it is not the word that troubles him — it is who used it, and who did not.
Around them, laughter rises. A toast is made at the cadet table. Someone mispronounces a local drink and is corrected gently. The night carries on, unaware that anything has shifted.
But for the two of them, the name has stopped being a sound.
It has become a description.
And somewhere back along the line—at a different stop, in a different room—a Vargr with one eye and an easy smile continues to drift exactly as he always does.
2358 hours.
Actions? comments? Questions?
2242 hours
The grav tube doors part and the first wave of the evening peels away.
Ruiha, Gansay Trah Noh, Dr. Shone, JEEM, and Wilber step into the GravTube and head back to the TRC Base and eventully the Ironhand Facility inside the IISS base.
20 minutes later the doors open and Dr. Shone moves with practiced economy, fatigue acknowledged and accepted. The doors close again, and the tube glides on, carrying the city back into motion.
Chaala and Virel continue their night in District 3 Entertainment district.
District 3 scrolls across their wrist comms in clean, layered tiles—establishments ranked by proximity, noise profile, clientele density, and peak hours:
- The Glass Anchor
- Copperleaf
- North Current
- High Orbit Bistro
- Skyline & Cask
- Blue Horizon Izakaya
- Halo Apex
- Nightshift 13
- Gravline
- Low Orbit Lounge
They choose a place that promises conversation rather than spectacle.
The second venue opens outward instead of inward.
Warm lighting spills across polished surfaces. Glass and brushed metal frame an open floor plan where tables are arranged to invite overlap rather than separation. Conversations braid together and separate again without friction. Music plays low—present enough to shape rhythm, never loud enough to compete.
This is a place for voices.
Young professionals dominate the room. Jackets loosened. Sleeves rolled. The energy is buoyant but contained—the kind that comes from people who know they’ve survived the day and expect tomorrow to still belong to them. A small cluster of TRC Academy cadets occupies a corner table, uniforms partially obscured by casual layers, laughing too loudly and then correcting themselves with practiced restraint.
Drinks arrive quickly. Bright, aromatic cocktails balanced for flavor rather than impact.
Chaala’s glass catches the light as she lifts it for the first sip.
That is when it lands. The Gvegh words she heard when after Ghar Oulna entered the Red Howl
Not as a sound—but as structure.
The word surfaces whole this time, no longer fragmented by noise or motion.
Rokghiok.
Blade. meaning: Something that cuts clean.
The second half follows immediately, uninvited.
Zoukhin.
Presence. or is it Charisma? But the meaning is the same: The gravity that bends others toward alignment.
Chaala does not stop moving. Does not still her hand or change her expression. But something settles behind her eyes with quiet certainty.
Across the table, Virel is still working.
He leans back slightly, gaze unfocused—not on the room, but through it. His fingers trace the condensation on his glass as he tests the shape of the word under his breath.
"…Rok-ghiok," he says softly, the syllables slightly wrong.
Not a question. A hypothesis.
Chaala meets his eyes then. Just briefly. Enough to tell him that the word matters—and that the room is not where the explanation will finish assembling.
To Virel it is not the word that troubles him — it is who used it, and who did not.
Around them, laughter rises. A toast is made at the cadet table. Someone mispronounces a local drink and is corrected gently. The night carries on, unaware that anything has shifted.
But for the two of them, the name has stopped being a sound.
It has become a description.
And somewhere back along the line—at a different stop, in a different room—a Vargr with one eye and an easy smile continues to drift exactly as he always does.
2358 hours.
Actions? comments? Questions?
Jan 4, 2026 4:26 am
After the weapons turn in and debrief, Bohdie disappears for a bit. But he is at the transit tube station 5 minutes before most (if not all) the others and is dressed understated but immaculately, no sign of range time on him. A gold (looks almost like gold leaf) shirt with a Mandarin-style collar under a garishly blue short kaftan with gold and green buttons. A broad, bright yellow waist sash with tassels adorned the kaftan and he worn brown leather knee-high boots. He was wearing his own optics, the lenses nearly clear and understated, and the IH Wristband. He only speaks when spoken to while on the train or waiting for it. If he does, there is a tinge of Nordic accent, although just barely.
When they get to Red Howl, Bohdie walks in easily and confidently, the feeling in his chest from the music, familiar. The same with the smells. In fact, his appetite had been stimulated by those very odors.
His eyes clock around the room, not looking at all the vantage points, but the few spots where observation seemed improbable or impossible. His eyes didn’t linger, but instead, continued to scan the room as if looking for a long lost friend. He might not understand most of the Gvegh, but he gets the gist of the various body language movements. He notes without actually counting the number of Vargr clientele as well as the ratio to other races. He especially clocks the two Droyne, mainly because they aren’t doing anything but observing.
He follows their hostess to the table chosen. He orders a dish of Akanarzh with starches and gravy to go with the rest of the foods and a tankard of Adwuj. As everything arrives, Bohdie enjoys sampling the various foods, but it’s the Akanarzh he was particularly interested in.
He was sipping on his second tankard of Adwuj when Tsoukfaeks walked in. He noted the subtle change in atmosphere as she walked in followed by a less subtle change when her mate walks in… (any chance Bohdie recognizes Ghar Oulna?)
When Chaala greets Ghar in Gvegh, Bohdie just smiles and gives a little shrug.
"I am sorry, Ghar Oulna, I am afraid I don’t speak your tongue. But I am glad to meet you (again? If Bohdie recognized him)."
After Tsoukfaeks and Ghar Oulna depart the table, Bohdie continues to casually observe the goings on. As he finishes his second tankard of Adwuj, he orders a fruit juice cocktail (discreetly, non-alcoholic) and a glass of Altmac, which he sips on the rest of the time at the Red Howl.
When the group departs the Red Howl, Bohdie decides to remain with Chaala and Virel as they decide on and make their way to the next venue.
In the new venue, Bohdie’s practiced eyes dance around the room, his ears open, catching snippets of conversations. Again, he finds himself looking, as if searching for an old friend he expects to meet here. He keeps his drink orders light, but steady. He orders up some fried cheese curd-like snacks. His companions might be amazed at how much he has packed away between the two venues, both in food and booze. Yet he seems unfazed and unbloated. He hears the Gvegh words, like his companions do. He face remains passive, but he observes indirectly-looking at reflections on windows, drink glasses, serving dishes and the like to locate and track the speaker and whatever other sophonts who seem attached to the conversation. He’s heard those words before. He may not speak Gvegh, but a few words… especially important words… he knows. More importantly, however, he understands the intonation.
When they get to Red Howl, Bohdie walks in easily and confidently, the feeling in his chest from the music, familiar. The same with the smells. In fact, his appetite had been stimulated by those very odors.
His eyes clock around the room, not looking at all the vantage points, but the few spots where observation seemed improbable or impossible. His eyes didn’t linger, but instead, continued to scan the room as if looking for a long lost friend. He might not understand most of the Gvegh, but he gets the gist of the various body language movements. He notes without actually counting the number of Vargr clientele as well as the ratio to other races. He especially clocks the two Droyne, mainly because they aren’t doing anything but observing.
He follows their hostess to the table chosen. He orders a dish of Akanarzh with starches and gravy to go with the rest of the foods and a tankard of Adwuj. As everything arrives, Bohdie enjoys sampling the various foods, but it’s the Akanarzh he was particularly interested in.
He was sipping on his second tankard of Adwuj when Tsoukfaeks walked in. He noted the subtle change in atmosphere as she walked in followed by a less subtle change when her mate walks in… (any chance Bohdie recognizes Ghar Oulna?)
When Chaala greets Ghar in Gvegh, Bohdie just smiles and gives a little shrug.
"I am sorry, Ghar Oulna, I am afraid I don’t speak your tongue. But I am glad to meet you (again? If Bohdie recognized him)."
After Tsoukfaeks and Ghar Oulna depart the table, Bohdie continues to casually observe the goings on. As he finishes his second tankard of Adwuj, he orders a fruit juice cocktail (discreetly, non-alcoholic) and a glass of Altmac, which he sips on the rest of the time at the Red Howl.
When the group departs the Red Howl, Bohdie decides to remain with Chaala and Virel as they decide on and make their way to the next venue.
In the new venue, Bohdie’s practiced eyes dance around the room, his ears open, catching snippets of conversations. Again, he finds himself looking, as if searching for an old friend he expects to meet here. He keeps his drink orders light, but steady. He orders up some fried cheese curd-like snacks. His companions might be amazed at how much he has packed away between the two venues, both in food and booze. Yet he seems unfazed and unbloated. He hears the Gvegh words, like his companions do. He face remains passive, but he observes indirectly-looking at reflections on windows, drink glasses, serving dishes and the like to locate and track the speaker and whatever other sophonts who seem attached to the conversation. He’s heard those words before. He may not speak Gvegh, but a few words… especially important words… he knows. More importantly, however, he understands the intonation.
Jan 4, 2026 6:46 pm
Red Howl House — Bohdie
Bohdie’s arrival does not register as an intrusion. It registers as alignment. The Red Howl absorbs him easily—the cut of his clothing, the confidence of his stride, the way he carries himself without advertising awareness. To Vargr eyes, he does not read as decorative. He reads as intentional.
As his eyes move, the room resolves cleanly. Roughly a hundred sophonts tonight: about twenty Vargr—a high number by local standards and enough to represent the bulk of the enclave present—while the rest are overwhelmingly human, split between ship crews in utility wear and younger professionals treating the place like a controlled indulgence. Two Droyne sit apart, small and still, observing more than participating. The ratios hold steady; no clustering suggests tension. No pocket feels closed.
The staff move with quiet competence. Vargr and human servers rotate naturally, redirecting attention where needed, smoothing moments before they sharpen. No bouncers. No posturing. The room self-regulates. Behind the bar, Bohdie notices what others might not: hands move too often, inputs too frequent. Drink orders alone don’t explain it. The bar is busy—but it is also working.
The food arrives dense and unapologetic. Akanarzh, rich and fermented, paired with starch and gravy that carries the weight properly. Adwuj, heated and bitter-sweet, settles into the chest like a remembered thing. This is not novelty cuisine. This is sustenance served honestly.
When Tsoukfaeks enters, Bohdie feels the shift before he sees it—attention realigning without anyone turning fully. When her mate follows, the change is sharper. This one does not simply enter the room. The room makes space.
When Chaala greets him in Gvegh, Bohdie only smiles and gives a small shrug. He doesn’t need the language to understand what the room is doing.
Ghar Oulna’s remaining eye finds Bohdie shortly after. There is the briefest hesitation—no more than a heartbeat—before he steps closer to the table.
"…Forgive me," Ghar Oulna says mildly, voice warm. "For a moment, I thought I knew you." His gaze sharpens—not searching, but confirming. "What name do you use now?"
If Bohdie answers with his current name, the Vargr studies his face—really studies it—then smiles. Not broadly. Precisely. As if the face doesn’t match the memory, but the presence does.
"Ah," Ghar Oulna says, amused. "Faces change. Presence does not."
Nothing more is said. Nothing needs to be. They part easily, the way professionals do when acknowledging a shared past that does not belong to the present.
As the evening wears on, Bohdie continues to observe—not hunting for contacts, not pressing advantage. Just measuring potential. Gauging which Vargr speak to whom, which humans are listened to rather than merely tolerated. Where information might pass later, if needed. When the group rises to leave, Bohdie falls naturally into step with Chaala and Virel.
District 3 — Second Venue (Bohdie)
The second venue feels different immediately. Where the Red Howl watched itself, this place talks. Voices overlap freely. Laughter rolls without caution. Young professionals dominate the floor, the tension of the day already spent. A handful of TRC Academy cadets occupy a corner table—loud enough to draw glances, disciplined enough to correct themselves when they do.
This is not a place of secrets. It is a place where truths slip out sideways.
Bohdie’s eyes move continuously, never settling. He watches reflections more than faces—windows, polished surfaces, the curve of a glass—tracking conversations without appearing to listen. He maps clusters, notes who speaks and who others defer to without realizing it. Food arrives fried and indulgent; it disappears at a rate that would surprise anyone watching closely. Drinks stay light, steady. Bohdie seems to take it all in stride.
Then he hears it. Not clearly. Not fully. But clearly enough. A fragment of Gvegh, drifting through laughter and glassware—two words that carry weight even without the rest of the sentence.
Rokghiok…
The intonation is wrong for casual speech. Too precise. Too careful.
Bohdie does not react outwardly. His face remains passive. His eyes continue their lazy circuit of the room as he tracks the speaker by reflected movement alone. Across from him, Virel is still circling the meaning, testing the sound of it. Chaala’s realization has already settled; Bohdie can see that much.
For himself, Bohdie doesn’t need the translation. He knows what the word means. And more importantly, he knows who it describes.
The room keeps laughing and talking over itself, unaware that anything has shifted. But for Bohdie, the night has quietly confirmed something important:
Rokghiok Zoukhin is not a rumor.
He is here.
And he is still cutting cleanly.
Bohdie’s arrival does not register as an intrusion. It registers as alignment. The Red Howl absorbs him easily—the cut of his clothing, the confidence of his stride, the way he carries himself without advertising awareness. To Vargr eyes, he does not read as decorative. He reads as intentional.
As his eyes move, the room resolves cleanly. Roughly a hundred sophonts tonight: about twenty Vargr—a high number by local standards and enough to represent the bulk of the enclave present—while the rest are overwhelmingly human, split between ship crews in utility wear and younger professionals treating the place like a controlled indulgence. Two Droyne sit apart, small and still, observing more than participating. The ratios hold steady; no clustering suggests tension. No pocket feels closed.
The staff move with quiet competence. Vargr and human servers rotate naturally, redirecting attention where needed, smoothing moments before they sharpen. No bouncers. No posturing. The room self-regulates. Behind the bar, Bohdie notices what others might not: hands move too often, inputs too frequent. Drink orders alone don’t explain it. The bar is busy—but it is also working.
The food arrives dense and unapologetic. Akanarzh, rich and fermented, paired with starch and gravy that carries the weight properly. Adwuj, heated and bitter-sweet, settles into the chest like a remembered thing. This is not novelty cuisine. This is sustenance served honestly.
When Tsoukfaeks enters, Bohdie feels the shift before he sees it—attention realigning without anyone turning fully. When her mate follows, the change is sharper. This one does not simply enter the room. The room makes space.
When Chaala greets him in Gvegh, Bohdie only smiles and gives a small shrug. He doesn’t need the language to understand what the room is doing.
Ghar Oulna’s remaining eye finds Bohdie shortly after. There is the briefest hesitation—no more than a heartbeat—before he steps closer to the table.
"…Forgive me," Ghar Oulna says mildly, voice warm. "For a moment, I thought I knew you." His gaze sharpens—not searching, but confirming. "What name do you use now?"
If Bohdie answers with his current name, the Vargr studies his face—really studies it—then smiles. Not broadly. Precisely. As if the face doesn’t match the memory, but the presence does.
"Ah," Ghar Oulna says, amused. "Faces change. Presence does not."
Nothing more is said. Nothing needs to be. They part easily, the way professionals do when acknowledging a shared past that does not belong to the present.
As the evening wears on, Bohdie continues to observe—not hunting for contacts, not pressing advantage. Just measuring potential. Gauging which Vargr speak to whom, which humans are listened to rather than merely tolerated. Where information might pass later, if needed. When the group rises to leave, Bohdie falls naturally into step with Chaala and Virel.
District 3 — Second Venue (Bohdie)
The second venue feels different immediately. Where the Red Howl watched itself, this place talks. Voices overlap freely. Laughter rolls without caution. Young professionals dominate the floor, the tension of the day already spent. A handful of TRC Academy cadets occupy a corner table—loud enough to draw glances, disciplined enough to correct themselves when they do.
This is not a place of secrets. It is a place where truths slip out sideways.
Bohdie’s eyes move continuously, never settling. He watches reflections more than faces—windows, polished surfaces, the curve of a glass—tracking conversations without appearing to listen. He maps clusters, notes who speaks and who others defer to without realizing it. Food arrives fried and indulgent; it disappears at a rate that would surprise anyone watching closely. Drinks stay light, steady. Bohdie seems to take it all in stride.
Then he hears it. Not clearly. Not fully. But clearly enough. A fragment of Gvegh, drifting through laughter and glassware—two words that carry weight even without the rest of the sentence.
Rokghiok…
The intonation is wrong for casual speech. Too precise. Too careful.
Bohdie does not react outwardly. His face remains passive. His eyes continue their lazy circuit of the room as he tracks the speaker by reflected movement alone. Across from him, Virel is still circling the meaning, testing the sound of it. Chaala’s realization has already settled; Bohdie can see that much.
For himself, Bohdie doesn’t need the translation. He knows what the word means. And more importantly, he knows who it describes.
The room keeps laughing and talking over itself, unaware that anything has shifted. But for Bohdie, the night has quietly confirmed something important:
Rokghiok Zoukhin is not a rumor.
He is here.
And he is still cutting cleanly.
Jan 6, 2026 3:53 am
Virel glances at the time display on his wrist—2358—then lets his hand settle back on the table. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t rush.
Instead, he shifts slightly in his chair and meets Chaala’s eyes, just long enough to be understood. A small, deliberate motion of his fingers, subtle, practiced and poses the question without asking it aloud.
Tonight, or another night?
There is no urgency in the gesture, only awareness. Whatever has surfaced this evening will not vanish if they leave now and staying longer risks drawing attention neither of them wants.
He waits for Chaala’s answer, perfectly content to let the room continue believing he is simply another offworlder lingering over a drink.
Instead, he shifts slightly in his chair and meets Chaala’s eyes, just long enough to be understood. A small, deliberate motion of his fingers, subtle, practiced and poses the question without asking it aloud.
Tonight, or another night?
There is no urgency in the gesture, only awareness. Whatever has surfaced this evening will not vanish if they leave now and staying longer risks drawing attention neither of them wants.
He waits for Chaala’s answer, perfectly content to let the room continue believing he is simply another offworlder lingering over a drink.
Jan 6, 2026 5:55 am
Chaala smiles and gently slaps the table. She appears to be enoying herself but lets signs of tiredness signal the end of an evening. She returns Bodhie's gesture talk.
We have time. We don't know where the battle lines are.
The vocabulary of gesture talk is limited, but she hopes the message is clear.
She signals to the staff that she is ready to settle her tab.
We have time. We don't know where the battle lines are.
The vocabulary of gesture talk is limited, but she hopes the message is clear.
She signals to the staff that she is ready to settle her tab.
Jan 6, 2026 6:26 pm
[GM Comment] Any more actions once the Trio returns back to the Ironhand facility? Discussions or pulling of old data from your personal files?
More importantly.... how much of the information you learned is shared with the other members of the team?
More importantly.... how much of the information you learned is shared with the other members of the team?
OOC:
I am hesitant to close this chapter and start the next one as @YullyBear is still out until the ninth (FRIDAY). Unless if you the players are ready to start the next Chapter of the Adventure and move onto Marinagua? Let me know so I can post the next chapter this week or wait. A simple 'Ready' response or 'I would rather wait' is sufficent Jan 7, 2026 6:51 am
Chaala will wait until the group is back on base to mention what she saw of concern.
"Anyone else notice the Droyne taking notes on everything that was going on? I'm curious where the main clan is, since that didn't seem like they are here randomly. Something has there interest here." She opens with one observation.
"Anyone else notice the Droyne taking notes on everything that was going on? I'm curious where the main clan is, since that didn't seem like they are here randomly. Something has there interest here." She opens with one observation.
Jan 7, 2026 11:19 am
OOC:
Since Wilbur will be asleep when the others return, I’ll assume the discussion takes place the following day.When Chaala asks her question, he replies evenly:
"No, sorry. I didn’t see any of that. Must’ve happened after I left."
At breakfast, Wilbur greets the robots and cooks with a firm nod and a clear, respectful:
"Good morning. Appreciate the work you’re doing."
OOC:
We can continue. I’ll have some internet access, but I’ll be less available than usual. My stay has been extended until January 14th.Jan 8, 2026 2:03 am
Packratt66 says:
OOC:
I am still working on a reply, please give me 24 more hours.Jan 8, 2026 4:28 am
At the Red Howl
When Ghar steps forward, "…Forgive me," Ghar Oulna says mildly, voice warm. "For a moment, I thought I knew you." His gaze sharpens—not searching, but confirming. "What name do you use now?"
Bohdie looks at Ghar, squinting slightly, remembering a face and trying to age it mentally. "I was someone else before. But now, I am known as ‘Bohdie’ Hokuanokada by those who know me now," he says softly, not revealing his old legend. "If I may, you, too, look like somebody I used to know."
"Ah," Ghar Oulna says, amused. "Faces change. Presence does not."
"Indeed not, Ghar Oulna. Words have meaning and names have power. But Presence transcends both." Bohdie lets the conversation end naturally as Ghar begins to circulate once more.
——
Second Venue
At the second venue, Bohdie notices the cadets right away. Cadets have always been so, since the beginning of recorded time, he processes in his mind.
When they all sit down, Bohdie will order some fried fruit floop rings and local "Bavarian-style" pretzel with extra salt. He’ll offer to get more food for the others. "Sorry guys, I’m famished," he says, even though he had already eaten heartily at the Red Howl. With the food, he orders some sort of dry malt beverage.
When he hears the words in Gvegh, Bohdie quickly locates the speaker and tracks him or her in the various reflection. The watches to see how quickly moves are made, what direction, and even what purpose. He also looks around to see who else might have reacted upon hearing the words.
When Ghar steps forward, "…Forgive me," Ghar Oulna says mildly, voice warm. "For a moment, I thought I knew you." His gaze sharpens—not searching, but confirming. "What name do you use now?"
Bohdie looks at Ghar, squinting slightly, remembering a face and trying to age it mentally. "I was someone else before. But now, I am known as ‘Bohdie’ Hokuanokada by those who know me now," he says softly, not revealing his old legend. "If I may, you, too, look like somebody I used to know."
"Ah," Ghar Oulna says, amused. "Faces change. Presence does not."
"Indeed not, Ghar Oulna. Words have meaning and names have power. But Presence transcends both." Bohdie lets the conversation end naturally as Ghar begins to circulate once more.
——
Second Venue
At the second venue, Bohdie notices the cadets right away. Cadets have always been so, since the beginning of recorded time, he processes in his mind.
When they all sit down, Bohdie will order some fried fruit floop rings and local "Bavarian-style" pretzel with extra salt. He’ll offer to get more food for the others. "Sorry guys, I’m famished," he says, even though he had already eaten heartily at the Red Howl. With the food, he orders some sort of dry malt beverage.
When he hears the words in Gvegh, Bohdie quickly locates the speaker and tracks him or her in the various reflection. The watches to see how quickly moves are made, what direction, and even what purpose. He also looks around to see who else might have reacted upon hearing the words.
Jan 8, 2026 4:44 am
Bullseyepsa says:
Chaala smiles and gently slaps the table. She appears to be enoying herself but lets signs of tiredness signal the end of an evening. She returns Bodhie's gesture talk.We have time. We don't know where the battle lines are.
The vocabulary of gesture talk is limited, but she hopes the message is clear.
She signals to the staff that she is ready to settle her tab.
Jan 9, 2026 3:08 am
Packratt66 says:
Bohdie did not start the gesture talk, but he understands the gist. If there had been any doubt, he was certain when Chaala settles up her tab. Bohdie does likewise, "cashing out" with the wrist chip. After a brisk walk to the rail pickup, Bohdie lets the other two board first, the looking around carefully, he boards. He remains stoically silent on the return trip, only speaking if spoken to. He takes the time to catalog what he has seen and heard. He had seen and heard much. Did he really see Ghar show up at their second venue? Where was his mate, if he had? How come the title, Rokghiok Zoukhin, followed him here? How long had he been here? And what happened when he disappeared?OOC:
Just to be clear Ghar Oulna was not present at the second venue. If I had given that impression by what I wrote, that is my fault. Again he was not present at the 2nd venue.Jan 10, 2026 1:17 am
Ironhand Facility — Mess Hall
0600 hours
The Ironhand mess hall is already awake.
Lights are set to early-cycle brightness—enough to work by, not enough to pretend it’s later than it is. The smell of hot food hangs in the air: protein-heavy breakfasts, breads, oils, and something sharper that doesn’t register as Terran.
Tsoufaeks is already seated when the doors open for the morning rush.
She eats with the easy efficiency of habit, posture relaxed but alert, one boot hooked lightly under the bench. Her tray holds a Vargr-style breakfast—dense cuts of meat, grain mash, and a steaming metal mug filled with something closer to broth than coffee. Whatever it is, it smells faintly of roasted fat and bitterness. She drinks it without hesitation.
Across the hall, automated service units move in practiced paths, trays sliding into place, surfaces cleaned almost before they’re used. The kitchen staff—human and non-human—work with quiet precision. No chatter. Just the sound of preparation.
Wilbur arrives right on schedule.
He looks rested. Clean. The faint tightness of someone already well into the day’s rhythm rather than just starting it. He acknowledges the cooks and service units with a firm nod and a clear, respectful greeting before moving down the line. Routine matters here, and he treats it as such.
Others filter in more gradually.
Chaala arrives composed, expression neutral, eyes already taking in the room. Virel follows not long after, unhurried, scanning out of habit rather than concern. Bohdie appears as if he’s been awake longer than anyone else, demeanor unchanged, appetite clearly intact.
Dr. Shone makes it as far as the entrance before pausing.
He doesn’t say anything about it, but the hall is too bright, the air too sharp. His movements are careful, deliberate—the unmistakable sensation of a hangover kept just below the threshold of complaint. He selects food conservatively and sits where the light is less direct.
Gansay Trah Noh, JEEM and Ruiha enter afterwards.
Tsoufaeks glances up as the group gathers, ears flicking once in acknowledgment.
"Morning," she says evenly, already halfway through her meal. No briefing tone. Just presence.
The mess hall continues its quiet work around them. Trays clink softly. The smell of food deepens as more stations come online.
Whatever was learned the night before hasn’t surfaced yet.
But it hasn’t gone anywhere either.
0600 hours.
Actions?
0600 hours
The Ironhand mess hall is already awake.
Lights are set to early-cycle brightness—enough to work by, not enough to pretend it’s later than it is. The smell of hot food hangs in the air: protein-heavy breakfasts, breads, oils, and something sharper that doesn’t register as Terran.
Tsoufaeks is already seated when the doors open for the morning rush.
She eats with the easy efficiency of habit, posture relaxed but alert, one boot hooked lightly under the bench. Her tray holds a Vargr-style breakfast—dense cuts of meat, grain mash, and a steaming metal mug filled with something closer to broth than coffee. Whatever it is, it smells faintly of roasted fat and bitterness. She drinks it without hesitation.
Across the hall, automated service units move in practiced paths, trays sliding into place, surfaces cleaned almost before they’re used. The kitchen staff—human and non-human—work with quiet precision. No chatter. Just the sound of preparation.
Wilbur arrives right on schedule.
He looks rested. Clean. The faint tightness of someone already well into the day’s rhythm rather than just starting it. He acknowledges the cooks and service units with a firm nod and a clear, respectful greeting before moving down the line. Routine matters here, and he treats it as such.
Others filter in more gradually.
Chaala arrives composed, expression neutral, eyes already taking in the room. Virel follows not long after, unhurried, scanning out of habit rather than concern. Bohdie appears as if he’s been awake longer than anyone else, demeanor unchanged, appetite clearly intact.
Dr. Shone makes it as far as the entrance before pausing.
He doesn’t say anything about it, but the hall is too bright, the air too sharp. His movements are careful, deliberate—the unmistakable sensation of a hangover kept just below the threshold of complaint. He selects food conservatively and sits where the light is less direct.
Gansay Trah Noh, JEEM and Ruiha enter afterwards.
Tsoufaeks glances up as the group gathers, ears flicking once in acknowledgment.
"Morning," she says evenly, already halfway through her meal. No briefing tone. Just presence.
The mess hall continues its quiet work around them. Trays clink softly. The smell of food deepens as more stations come online.
Whatever was learned the night before hasn’t surfaced yet.
But it hasn’t gone anywhere either.
0600 hours.
Actions?
OOC:
I figured I had to set the table to allow any discussions of last night...and... to let the bottle breath before the next chapter so any information can be exchanged by Player Characters prior to moving into the next chapter. Jan 10, 2026 4:10 am
Virel offers Tsoukfaeks a brief nod as he enters the mess hall, then moves through the line without comment, selecting his breakfast with practiced restraint. He joins the others at the table and eats quietly, listening more than he speaks.
He lets others set the tone of the conversation and keeps his contributions light with brief observations, neutral replies, and nothing that would draw attention. Now and then, he redirects with a small gesture or a carefully chosen phrase, gently steering talk away from anything that might carry weight beyond the table.
A glance toward the surrounding hall.
A pause before answering.
A quiet, almost offhand remark:
"Perhaps we can discuss further later..."
It’s never said directly, never pressed. Just enough to signal that some discussions belong somewhere more private than the morning mess.
Intent is a hope that enough of the group could meet up after mess in private to share their impressions and findings from the evening before.
He lets others set the tone of the conversation and keeps his contributions light with brief observations, neutral replies, and nothing that would draw attention. Now and then, he redirects with a small gesture or a carefully chosen phrase, gently steering talk away from anything that might carry weight beyond the table.
A glance toward the surrounding hall.
A pause before answering.
A quiet, almost offhand remark:
"Perhaps we can discuss further later..."
It’s never said directly, never pressed. Just enough to signal that some discussions belong somewhere more private than the morning mess.
OOC:
Intent is a hope that enough of the group could meet up after mess in private to share their impressions and findings from the evening before.
Jan 11, 2026 3:44 am
Muns says:
[GM Comment] Any more actions once the Trio returns back to the Ironhand facility? Discussions or pulling of old data from your personal files?More importantly.... how much of the information you learned is shared with the other members of the team?
OOC:
I am hesitant to close this chapter and start the next one as @YullyBear is still out until the ninth (FRIDAY). Unless if you the players are ready to start the next Chapter of the Adventure and move onto Marinagua? Let me know so I can post the next chapter this week or wait. A simple 'Ready' response or 'I would rather wait' is sufficent Regardless of the response, Bohdie will, after getting back to his bunk, he will access his "Hrut" files on Rokghiok Zoukhin.
Jan 11, 2026 4:49 am
Bohdie had been up all night, double checking facts, updating his files, especially on Rokghiok Zoukhin. He leaves Ghar’s name out on purpose. Frustrated, around 0330 hrs, he goes for a run, then hits the workout equipment, letting his body work while his mind ruminates. As he hears the first stirrings of the team waking up, he moves to take a quick, cold shower and slides on a clean uniform. He moves quickly, but not in a hurry, making sure he arrives in the mess hall right on time, but without haste and pulling a completely normal mask on his face. He gets a protein-dense breakfast and just enough carbohydrates to give it some form of balance. He takes advantage of the fresh-brewed coffee and grabs a concentrated juice.
Seeing Tsoukfaeks already eating, he nods to her, his manner curious but neither questioning nor disrespectful. He ponders where she currently sits in regard to the Vargr community (read: charisma) and whether he should hold her in higher esteem. Though he says nothing, he decides it is worth further thought on the subject later. He finds a seat with the rest of the team and looks around, trying to read their faces. He waits for anyone else to begin examining their excursion last night.
Seeing Tsoukfaeks already eating, he nods to her, his manner curious but neither questioning nor disrespectful. He ponders where she currently sits in regard to the Vargr community (read: charisma) and whether he should hold her in higher esteem. Though he says nothing, he decides it is worth further thought on the subject later. He finds a seat with the rest of the team and looks around, trying to read their faces. He waits for anyone else to begin examining their excursion last night.
Jan 11, 2026 5:46 am
Bohdie will, when an opportunity presents itself, ask about how to access personal (read: pre-employment) funds. He has a few things he’d like to procure on the local economy without tagging IISS, TC or IronHand in the purchase. Not things that are illegal, just some personal stuff.
OOC:
This next entry should be plugged in at a convenient break where the characters have some individual time. This is not intended to be a secret, per se, but neither is this something Bohdie is wanting to make some sort of team exercise.[ +- ] Bohdie’s research into Local Commerce
At some point during the current wake cycle, if time permits, Bohdie will begin to research the various vendors at the Starport. He is looking at several things, including, IronHand rating, how well visited they are, published reputation and reviews, what services and products they provide, prices compared with the average, known custom creations, and (using his innate knowledge of the streets) the potential for having underworld contacts.
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