Log:Knights of Ren: At The End of the World

Knights of Ren: At The End of the World

OOC Date: March 11, 2021
Location: Carkanis
Participants: Knights of Ren: Tamsin Cas, Tarq Najjic, Sebek of the Desert, Flagbearer of Coronet, Imani, Malik Ren, and Errod Zand

THE CALL HAD GONE OUT FROM CARKANIS:

Knights of Ren: this is our hour of need. Things are not as they appear. I cannot speak more of it on this channel; it is not safe. Come and meet me here. Go to the street that is not straight and look for me there. You will know by the mark of the dewback.

Riding the currents down towards the Oana City, the Night Buzzard descends on noxious wings, spewing its persitent fog behind as it circles in to land at the port. Errod Zand pulls on his gloves, tucking a cig in the corner of his mouth beneath his horseshoe mustache in between robing hands, and moves towards the landing ramp. "Now I know what you all are thinking. Not a lot to go on. Sort of suspicious. And it is. Out here at the edge of space and time, things are altered; a place I hate, filled with ghouls twisted by their distance from the core, the weird bends of the continuum riding out this far on the border of the great expansion towards cold stasis. And it's true."

He steps out onto the ramp, thumping down into the dark streets of the great city, the air cold, the towering buildings dim and sparsely occupied, the shell of something meant to be greater than it ever became. "But I have a feeling we can't sit this one out. You with your glitch of evolution should understand."

When Errod Zand had relayed the message from the Ren home world, Tamsin Cas had not asked any questions. She had done what Tamsin Cas always did. She had prepared her supplies, added as much extra as she could fit into her bag, and she had boarded the Night Buzzard for the flight. In flight, she had prepared the medical area, ensuring that it was ready to receive any potential patients. In a word, Tamsin Cas was entering her happy place. And when the ship made its arrival, she gathered up everything she might need and stepped down only a few paces behind Errod. "I am barely familiar with this place." For a moment, Tamsin was silent, looking with that part of herself that was not strictly herself, before she spoke again, "Something is amiss here. I do not know what, or from where, but some wrongness lingers here."

"Is fine," opines the resident Kuati ex(?)-thief. "Sebek /loves/ springing traps. Tarq Najjic brought flask. Grab takeout; make it dinner and a show." Jocularity and pointed remarks about taking the stairs notwithstanding, Tarq's eyes are roving and one hand is always close to his belt as they leave the safe confines of their horror-forge space transport and enter the dimly-lit not-ruins of Oana City. "Is not cheerful. Feels like is just waiting to become archaeology dig site in thousand years."

"Tamsin, are sure wrongness is more than..." He waves a hand. "You know. Normal?"

"A street that is not straight! Truly a portent from the wise and studious!" Sebek of the Desert, Flagbearer of Coret, Conqueror of the Sixteenth Deck, Consumer of Hounds, Wielder of Tei Tenga, He Who Hunts was yet to realize that sarcasm was unbecoming of him. He wielded it as one used a cudgel, with little regard for anyone around him in his thorough dismissal of other people's problems. "Fetid. At least the promise of slaugher awaits." There was no promise of slaughter but part of being within Sebek's mildly unique mindset was knowing that a good time was just one lightsaber activation away and, when all you have is a hammer...

The Falleen was clad almost-fully in his armoured battle cassock, dispensing with the screaming-faced helmet because WHO WEARS HELMETS ANYMORE. "A trap is merely battle you must not arrange on your own, He Who Jests. There is value in making the fools do the work."

It is with weapons strapped on and travel kit packed that Imani steps down the ramp after Errod, armor on save for the helmet which she has clipped to her hip for the time being. "I have no idea what might be amiss here, but if you say something is I believe you." Not being one of those glitches of evolution, she cheerfully accepts their word as fact. Her chin length curls are loose, falling into her face until she rakes them back with the sweep of one hand. "So," by the time that word passes her lips, hair has fallen back into her face. "Where do we go now?"

Malik Ren was made here. Died here? It's complicated. The king is dead, long live the king! When Tamsin says something is wrong here, he doesn't disagree, though his voice is distorted by the black and silver mask that he did acquire... here. "You can and you should," Malik agrees about feeling like the place is Wrong. "This is a dangerous place, and one with the power to hurt you, or change you. Many places in the galaxy are balanced, inert, within the Force. Some are unbalanced, volatile. This is one."

Whatever he thinks about answering a call for help is left unspoken. "Search for the street that is not straight, and for 'the mark of the dewback.' Whatever that may be."

"This is not the first time we've been here," Errod remarks to the newer Knights, heading deeper into the city. "Though it is not a pleasant memory. Few are, and this one stands out even amongst the banks of things I wish I could forget."

Utilitarian and sparse, the streets are all straight, here, a planned city with meticulous dedication to the idea that everything should come together in clean, neat lines, despite their age and semi-disrepair. Passersby glance suspiciously at the heavily-armed crew of Knights, most of them human but dressed in the plain attire of industrial workers, grey jumpers, grey coveralls. Most hurry on, finding plain doors to vanish into, out of sight. Here and there, though, splashes of color do penetrate the gloom and monochromatic palette, holoads flickering in small, staid displays advertising the occasional restaurant, inn, bar. Even in a place like this, the business of living must continue.

In a place as unfamiliar as this was one to Tamsin, she was glad of the company of her fellow Knights, "I do not know if it is the same as always, Tarq. I have not been here before. It takes time to learn the soul of a place." But, as she walked, Tamsin looked, and learned, a frown crossing her features as she listened to the words of the Knights around her, "If this is our world, why are so many of the people here afraid of us?" Her eyes followed a woman and what was likely her child, as they ducked into a building along one of the side streets, and she held out a hand, pointing further along the street the house was laid on, "That road, there. I cannot see the end of it." And that was an odd thing, in a street grid built in perfect lines and crosses.

Tarq walks with the other Knights, half-closing his eyes. When Tamsin points out the street that doesn't end, he turns to start walking down it without stopping, scanning the buildings on the left side, then the right. "Plenty of signs for business establishments. Maybe one is dewback? Inns have odd names." Still, he doesn't notice one as he walks, and he's looking, both thumbs hooked behind his belt. "Maybe." Just because he doesn't see it doesn't mean it isn't there!

"Oh, is it truly?"

And now that it twigged where they were, for some reason, Sebek of the Desert was the only person happy to be here. He was practically beaming. He should never beam. Ever.

"Great battles took place upon this blasted planetoid! The slaughter of heretics strong and weak!" he regaled the younger members of the Knights, practically salivating with glee over the thought of a repeat occurrence. "A duel most profound, akin to living memory! Ahai, perhaps we shall have an interesting day after all! Now let us devour this dewback and commence the glorious hunt!"

It's not true that Sebek is the only happy person here. Hello, let me introduce you to Imani. It takes more than this place to completely dim her cheer, though it helps that the oppressive feeling in the force isn't quite so nagging for her. "I can see this place not being a happy one for you, Errod. You sacrificed for the greater need, and won't forget what you gave up." For just a moment she sounds solemn, but the momentary shadow over the sunshine passes. The mention of a street that's more of an alley has her spinning on her heel to give the stretch of 'road' a curious look. "Tamsin, have you seen us? We're pretty scary looking individually." Most of them anyway. "All together? I get why they aren't too keen on us."

If this is our world, why are so many of the people here afraid of us? Malik Ren hah's, very briefly. "Because they know what we are."

He seems to think Tamsin is on the right track and heads that way, colored lights of the occasional holosigns glinting off the silver of his mask as he looks around! Eventually Malik spots a green one, and points at it! The sign depicts a large lizard crawling over a dune. There is an arrow under it, pointing back an alleyway more cramped and less well-lit than this.

"Should anything attempt to ambush us in this alleyway, that's more of a problem for them than us. All the same, keep your wits about you, hmm?" He heads that way!

"Prey know when they are facing a hunter," Errod growls quietly in response to Tamsin's question. "And here, of all places, the prey have fangs. Never underestimate a cornered creature, no matter how plain or unremarkable. Nature loves a sudden turn of the tables."

Turning down the path Malik indicates leads the Knights into closer confines, requiring them to walk in a line two wide rather than in a broad clump. It is into these tight quarters that a small man, with a shrewish face, short stature, and the ordinary worker's clothing inserts himself. "You came," he breathes, in awe, staring at the group. "You actually came. The Knights of Ren, because of me." The nervous greeting has an undercurrent of panic as he quickly scrambles for his identification, holding it out to Tamsin. "Ars. Ars Gallia. I am a shipwright in the yards here. Under the ocean. There is a problem, and it threatens the entire First Order Navy. I didn't know who else to contact." His eyes are wide and earnest. "And I would not lie to you."

"Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cockcrowing, or in the morning." Tamsin's words followed after Malik and Imani's, the words having a almost poetic cadence, as though she were reciting something she had heard or read and taken for her own just now, "I would rather they helped us out of whatever emotion we engender in them than run away. A tool is only useful in the hand."

Tamsin continued along the path, not seeming to mind that the narrowing of the alley put her near enough to the front that the group. Neither was the dimness of the light a problem either, for her vision was as capable in low light as in any other time. When the shipwright offered his identification, she took it, if only to read it, and then pass it off to Malik, "And what precisely is the problem? And why the Knights? Why not the First Order, for whom those ships are being constructed?" Despite the distortion of her voice, her tone was not unkind, but curious.

Tarq intercepts the identification, looks it over with the eyes of a practiced professional, turns it over, looks at the back, and then passes it on to Malik, making a thumbs up with his other hand. Totally legit, guys. Then he goes back to staring at the man, deliberately not blinking.

Sebek, being of sound mind and body, leaned in /uncomfortably/ /close/ to this errant shipwright. Personal space was breached, faces were dangerously close to faces, and amber eyes were locked on to possible prey.

SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIF.

"Alas, no falsehoods," he confirmed, stepping away now that his role of That Guy Who Pretends To Have Keen Smell was done. "We shall find battle elsewhere."

"I don't know, they can be pretty useful tools even if they're afraid," Imani inputs cheerfully. "You just have to give them the right incentive." She doesn't name the incentive, but she's really good at violence so it's not a big leap in logic to assume that's what she means. The greeting on the alley surprises her enough that she rests a hand on the hilt of her favored weapon, but she's not quite so jumpy that it's pulled free. "Yeah, what's the problem," she echoes the question that Tamsin asks, and then squints a little as she studies Ars trying to decide whether or not she trusts him. It'll take a little time.

Malik Ren does not remove his helmet once they're within the bar, and thus his study of Ars (and his ID card) is necessarily inscrutable. The card is handed back, not kept, and he greets, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Shipwright Gallia. I am the Master of the Knights of Ren - for now - and these are, of course, my associates. I can tell that you're nervous -- it is not an unreasonable reaction, but please take care to be honest in your dealings with us as we continue. I will be honest with you, and I expect the same in return. A lie of omission is very much still a lie, and I will know if there are gaps in your narrative. Deliberate or otherwise."

With this warning politely issued, Malik gestures with one hand. "Now, by all means, please continue?"

"We have to go down. We have to go under the city, down to the shipyards. I'll show you." This doesn't raise any warning signs at all, as Ars Gallia shoves aside a rickety cage door that it just so happens leads to a turbolift, dilapidated and not originally installed in this section of the city. It's a large lift, big enough to shuttle equipment down underground, and the caging can open much wider but since there's only people riding this time, Ars doesn't bother.

When everyone is inside, he slaps a big red button and a light flashes inside the lift once as it lurches into motion, moving down and laterally at the same time. "They put this in a few years back, when a bunch of us were making noise about the, well, you know, how hard it was to get to the job. Workers can't afford a good speeder no more. All the real money goes into the ships. And it should be!" he hastily adds, not wanting to be confused as a libertine. "But we gotta be able to /get/ to the things to work on 'em."

The uneasy silence that follows is mercifully brief, and they arrive at the bottom with another flash of red, with Ars shoving the cage back. Ahead is a technological marvel in its own right, though the marvel is more of scale than design. A mammoth cave, carved not of rock but machinery, stretches out far enough that the colors shift to that distant shade where there's too much air between the eye and the object. The bones of multiple star detroyers, the Resurgent class most common in the First Order's navy, lie immobile in the midst of the huge shipyard. Workers and droids crawl over them, mere ants from this distance. From the ceiling, arms and cranes hang down, constantly damp from the moisture seeping down through the porous rock.

"It's this way," Ars announces, waving them along, squeezing through a narrow gap between pipes and venturing out onto a catwalk with a noticable lack of FO-SHA-approved safety railings. There is a gap in the catwalk, and he takes a short run to fling himself over it, landing on the other side and glancing back at the Knights. "Uh, watch your step. We lose a couple guys a week down here."

Tamsin, falling silent to allow the necessary conversation to continue on, leaving aside other talk for later, followed on with the group once they were on their way. She returned to what she was perhaps best at, which was watching and observing, listening and thinking. And then, it was into the cavern and through the gap. A frown crossed her expression, as she saw the state of the catwalk. She clearly had thoughts, but then, it was time to move, and she did, focusing on the point where she intended to land as she took the leap. She was not far off. But, no matter. She was on the other side. "And it is impossible for you to give us some idea of what is happening before we arrive?"

Tarq's eyes widen as he looks at all the ships being built and the infrastructure to support it. "Under ocean," he says quietly, then more loudly, "Why /under ocean/? Have seen larger ship works-" Kuati pride! "-but never so ... oddly placed." He shakes his head once. They're not here for that.

When he reaches the gap, he pauses to stare down. "Errod!" he calls out. "Found abyss for you to stare into." Then he straightens, starts to lean forward, and leaps, landing on the other side. He dusts off one shoulder and marches onward. He does pause to look back and see Errod Zand's expression, though. Seeing it is definitely part of the satisfaction of saying things like that.

Kids, did I ever tell you about the time I tried to jump a chasm on Alpha Prime?

Sebek's leaping technique left a lot to be desired. What started as a bunnyhop became a full blown mid-air planking maneuver as the Force gripped him by the midsection and threw him the rest of the way across the gap. He landed on his stomach, cursing something in some strange made-up space language about bottomless pits and how they couldn't be happily slaughtered. "It is designed for frustration! To incite anger into the weak and baseless! For only the strong may build war machines! That, or it is completely stupid and the designers should be slow-roasted for consumption." Three guesses as to which one Sebek believed.

"Under the ocean," Imani repeats this with some real wonder. "That's so impressive." Her awe seems earnest in nature, the might of the First Order is a thing to behold and she spends a moment to marvel at it. She's pulled from her thoughts as they approach the gap, leaning forward to get a good look at it before she takes off running, leaps, and lands on the other side.

Malik Ren's leap over the gap is all about enhanced Force freak mutations and not about natural ability here, folks, natural ability would have his aristocrat ass falling down down into a bottomless chasm. "FIX that or answer for why it isn't," he snaps a to-do list for Ars later, before the helmet swivels to eye Tarq. "Carkanis's shipyards have always been operated with a need for utmost secrecy. The planet's remote location was not considered sufficient, when a degree further could be obtained."

Errod, for his part, is staring into the abyss at the edge of the catwalk, looking all the way down into the tangled heart of darkness made of twisting machinery below. He glances up for a moment at Tarq, but then his eyes turn downward again, lured by the seductive potential of all that metal. "I could just step off here," he murmurs to himself, and a foot hangs over the edge for a moment before he reluctantly pulls it back and hops forward instead, where more of a leap is required. Rather than landing on the platform, his boots land in empty air, and his hands catch at the edge, but the slippery metal has nowhere to latch on and his hands are tired. Silently, with only the squeak of leather on durasteel, he begins to fall.

"It's to keep it secret. Even more secret. So that if ever a spy were to stumble onto the planet by happenstance, they'd see the city, but never know this was here. Supreme Leader was very wise," Ars enjoins the questions on the shipyard's design, pulling his true believer card and brandishing it high, metaphorically. He watches in a moment of terror as it seems one of the Knights is going to fall, but regardless of however that plays out, he has to nod profusely at Malik's instruction. "Yes, yes, we- yes sir." It's never getting fixed, but you don't say that to the guy in the mask.

The gangplank runs onward, dangling from cables of twisted steel, and eventually depositing them on the massive wing of one of the Resurgent classes. "I can tell you," Ars says to Tamsin's question, "But I thought it made more sense to show you." He swings open a hatch, dropping down into the body of the wing, a corridor lit by dim strips of light that look like they've seen better days. "Do you see now?" he looks around, then looks at the Knights, as though the answer is obvious. "Do you see? Someone is sabotaging the ships. Look, here." Without the panels installed, the walls are an organized chaos of exposed girders and bundles of wiring. The shrewish shipwright indicates one of the girders. "This is the standard weight-reducing pattern. Three round punches every meter to lighten the frame without sacrificing strength. And here?" He points to a different girder. "Seven punches. SEVEN. They're practically overlapping!"

Tamsin had no true knowledge of the Supreme Leader. She was a new Knight, not at all the same as the old Knights, and so, she simply let the man get on with getting on, following in his wake. Through the shipyard, onto the wing, into the area where he wished to show them what he had called them for. She was, sadly, no shipwright herself, but she could at least grasp what he was speaking of. less metal meant more likely to buckle or break. It was not dissimilar from the sort of considerations one made when designing a limb that needed to be both strong and light. As Ars described what he was seeing, Tamsin moved in to see what there was to be seen. perhaps fresh eyes, who did not know what to expect might pick up something. She frowned, as she took a knee, pointing, without touching to the deck plating, "There are metal fragments here. Is this normal?" And then, "Do you need thorough records on who comes into the area, when and what they are doing?"

Errod had every bit of desire for self-destruction in his expression that Tarq might have wanted to see. When his attempt to jump ends with him dropping from the side he can't catch a grip on, Tarq's hand rises immediately to catch him in the air, and move him carefully to the proper side of the catwalk gap. "We are not done yet," he says, voice gentle, and then pats Errod on the shoulder before walking on. It's not clear whether he means with /this/ mission or the entire cause.

Being Kuati doesn't automatically make you a master craftsman, engineer, or designer of ships. It doesn't even make you a shipwright. So while Tarq follows along Ars' explanation, he isn't sure where to go with that. He looks back at the seven punches, looking for something else off. "Seven punches /seems/ like obvious thing. Are drawing attention from something more subtle, maybe?" He crouches next to the next set of girders, running a hand along them. Another set of seven. "Not seeing anything else, though."

"Hm."

Sebek gazed upon the holes in the walls and, in perhaps a strange moment of introspection, he placed his hand against it. With his mind, he reached out and snared the wriggling nothingness that was the Force and consumed the knowledge it bore. The Falleen was silent for a moment. A long moment. It was the most peace he'd given anyone here in... well, ever. Then, his eyes snapped open. "Behold the truth-teller, He Who Informs." Oh, the guy that led them here had obtained a name! "One comes here alone and wrought this damage. His soul... fat. Stinks of righteousness and arrogance. So convinced is he that he lies not in error that he has deemed himself a..." there was a hacking noise from Sebek's throat, then a glob of spit landed on the deckplates, "hero. Use your minds, Acolytes. Find for us amongst the stalls of the workers the ranat amongst the midst."

Imani glances back in time to see Errod slip out of sight, back going straight with the shock of seeing something happen that you're completely helpless to stop. A held breath is released when one of the fancy pants wicked space wizards grabs the misanthrope from the claws of the eternal embrace. "Errod, are you okay?" He's eyed with suspicion as she tries to work out whether or not this was intentional, and lands on inconclusive. She doesn't fuss, exactly, but she does seem to be sticking to her fellow mundane a little more closely now. When they're finally down the hatch and looking at the damage that's presented as an intentional sabotage attempt, she studies stretch of holy wall over curiously. "Yeah, that's a lot of holes." Helpful.

Malik Ren sighs. His touch to the metal of the ship has not yielded any insights, but it's clear that mischief was done! "Who did the work?" he asks. "Surely the work is not conducted unsupervised, or without recording or record of some sort? Who was here before there were holes, and who left after they appeared? Why did you bring this to us instead of to your supervisors, do you imagine they are complicit in this wrongdoing?"

"I'm alive," Errod responds to those who express concern, which is as close as they're liable to get to an answer. Whether it's considered a positive or a negative is left ambiguous. He follows along with the others into the hatch, looking around at the walls as the shipwright explains and the others deduce and connect the punches.

"It's not normal," Ars tells Tamsin. "Normally we sweep up as we work. Debris is a serious issue in space. And that's what worried me," Ars replies to Malik, pleased mostly to have found an open ear, even if it is inside a helmet. "I don't know how far up this goes. I reviewed the worker logs we pass on to the next shift and there's no record of anyone here after the wiring crew. There are droids that buzz around the ships, watching and recording, but my report wasn't answered. I tried to follow up on it, and the incident had been wiped from the system completely."

"Someone on the inside," Errod rasps, crossing his arms over his chest with a rattle of weaponry. "No real leads. You wanted a hunt, Sebek. Seems we've found one."