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+--- Thread: Byzantinism (/showthread.php?tid=145753)
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Byzantinism - Thunderer - 11-27-2016
"Come on, wench!", yelled one of the soldiers who tossed her through the doorway with a very rough manner, certainly rougher than her starved out body could resist. "You weren't so bloody slow when you shot my wingman down!"
"There, the antique chair. It will suffice", said a deeper, but much calmer and nobler voice. It was followed by a short pause of both sound and movement, as if someone was confused. "Don't worry, there are always disobedient soldiers around to wash it."
The armchair almost broke apart when she was thrown into it. The calm voice hummed imperatively, but casually: "You are dismissed. If I catch you outside eavesdropping, you will be sent to the Gallic front." She could discern a salute of four or six heavy boots. After that the door was shut. The calm voice, which stayed inside, opened it again, looked around the corridor outside and, obviously satisfied, gently closed it and locked it trice.
The fabric sack around her head was finally removed. It revealed Admiral Sir George Richard Hall sitting on a piano chair in front of her, and leaning onto what was in fact a harpsichord. The light was as bleak as her mood. The wall behind had a fresco of the Ancient Egyptian god Osiris painted over it. The ceiling was decorated with arabesques. She could recognize one of the sculptures near the doorway, a replica of "The Thinker" by Auguste Rodin, this specific one looted from a burning Obstinate-class. The opposite wall housed a column of filled out bookshelves. On the harpsichord, there stood a stuffed parrot in colours that once used to be vivid. If its appearance had some life left at all, it was restrained by the wooden cage.
"Good morning, Ms Lachance", said Hall, with as powerful a friendly mask as he could muster over his barren soul. He gently removed the piece of tape that was adhered over her mouth with his cold fingers, whose nails appeared to have accumulated beneath them the dirt from all the schemes whose dirty threads they pulled.
"I am Admiral George Richard Hall, Knight of the Bretonian Empire, and in charge of the Southern Defenses. Refer to me with "Sir". I hope that they treated you humanely during the interrogation?", he said without even heeding the condition of her apparel and hygiene. He could guess the answer to his question, but it was only a formality and he was not interested in the answer whatsoever. It only mattered that it wasn't his fault.
RE: Byzantinism - Ramke - 12-03-2016
Lachance took the moment to finally get a grasp on her senses once more. She had been dragged around for the past hour while having her eyesight and ability to speak taken away. Her hands were still bound by short chains with cuffs behind her back. After her eyes adapted to the bleak lighting, she surveyed the room, recognizing some of the Gallic artwork.
The whole situation was a mess for Ambre, she was told absolutely nothing, only thrown around and about from one station or ship to another. Looking at her was more than enough to answer Hall's question, her messy hair and baggy eyes encouraging the notion. She could only wish for some peace and quiet to recover...
Ambre glanced at Hall with empty eyes, discerning his appearance. It would be hard to mistake him for anything other than an aristocrat, posh clothes and all. Not to mention the fact that he is an admiral, what made them bring a Gallic prisoner to him?
"Why am I here? she spoke in a silent voice, her Gallic accent still shining through her words.
She ignored Hall's question, given that it's pretty evident by itself.
RE: Byzantinism - Thunderer - 12-04-2016
"Right, straight to business then", he says as he gets up. "Direct, laconic. I am already starting to like you". He doesn't, but he does get optimistic about profiting off of Ambre. He starts walking to and fro, more around his mind than around the chamber.
"I am going to give you a chance, an opportunity you will never get again. You might have been told that your mission would include spying on your comrades for Bretonia, but that is only a cover -- which I expect you to adhere to. It was me who interrupted the negotiations: I needed you and, if you want to take this chance, you will need me."
He suddenly stops and approaches her. The angle of the lighting enforces the shadows looming over the austerity of his face, resembling heavy clouds of decaying oil. His voice exudes a short fume of words with the quiet and severity that evaporates from coffins:
"Do you know who is Admiral Jacob McIntire?"
RE: Byzantinism - Ramke - 12-04-2016
Ambre thought about the name, it tickled her memory, but nothing came out of it. Perhaps she just heard it from a passing comment from one of the Sirians, perhaps she had saw his ship once, in the midst of the operations she participated in.
"Non." she said, hanging her head downwards to hide her conflicting emotions.
She kept quiet. Normally, she would have just insulted the admiral, yet she was afraid of the consequences that would follow. The last thing she would have wanted was to return to that place or suffer the same experiences yet again. The only option was to be obedient and listen until an opportunity appeared. If her comrades had seen her acting like this, she would have been booking an appointment with a guillotine, the ticket bought by the Roi himself.
RE: Byzantinism - Thunderer - 12-05-2016
"In short", Hall proceeded casually, almost mechanically, as he leaned onto the harpsichord, "He commands the forces in Dublin.
In detail, however...", he gave out a sigh laden by disappointment. "He once used to be my apprentice, same as a few other members of the Admiralty Board. He was promising at start: he completed tasks efficiently, executed orders obediently, and supported me. He was a very good and useful commodore. But when he was promoted to an admiral, on my recommendation of course, he started to get overly confident and independent. Not only that he is not supporting me any more, but he has segregated from my influence entirely, and now the majority of the Board support him -- including the Admiral of the Fleet. It is, in fact, me who is becoming isolated. I have worked so meticulously to attract supporters, but my most promising one has defected." He shakes his head, almost in disbelief to see his elaborate scheme fall apart. "He is lining up success after success", his injured soul glances at Ambre, "at this time when Michelle O'Brien, the current Admiral of the Fleet, is being more criticized than ever.
You see, life is not worth living if you don't have an aim. I do. But look at me: I am almost sixty, and I am not even the Admiral of the Fleet yet! To climb to the top is the only logical aim there is, moving fleets is just a hobby. What do you think, who will be chosen as the next Admiral of the Fleet when O'Brien is forced to step down? And which one would suit you better, an ambitious, patriotic mind whose only purpose is moving fleets?"
He raises his chin as his pride soars above the swamp of self-pity it has been soaked in so far. He utters two words that descend from the heights like frozen vapour:
"...Or me?"
RE: Byzantinism - Ramke - 12-07-2016
Ambre could only stare confused with her tired gaze. She didn't expect this pleasant meeting to be the result of some ambitious depraved Bretonian commander pulling his strings.
"What are you suggesting?" she replied in a more hopeful tone, aiming to encourage the admiral to continue his rant.
RE: Byzantinism - Thunderer - 12-08-2016
Hall's pupils explosively narrowed, as those of a wolf that is about to snatch its prey. They hid an eruption of hateful urges that rampaged free around his soul, a firewall that slowly burned through its last bits, but also protected its sensitive core from any strikes mounted by the outside. It was a battleground between the forces of good and evil, Hall's soul, for most of his life. And while it was under siege, his reason flourished. It had just made a calculation.
The expression of his face made no insight of any internal or other struggle whatsoever. It was fluctuating between stone and frost.
"I want to give you the chance..." His eyelids dropped half down and cast the shadow of Mephistopheles over Ambre. He slightly lifted his head, as if he wanted to prevent the salty potion of hate that was driving him forward, from leaking out. "The opportunity to murder Admiral McIntire". He said murder as it was any other, everyday word.
RE: Byzantinism - Ramke - 12-11-2016
Ambre was left speechless. To think that the Bretonians would be that corrupt at the top preceded even what the Gallic news spoke of them. She stared at the admiral dumbfounded, having expected something incredibly different. Yet this could be the most appropriate opportunity to escape and deal with a crucial admiral of the Roi's enemies. It would be beyond stupid to decline. A small, unnoticeable smile painted over her usually depraved facial expression.
The thought of the welcoming and awards she would receive crossed her mind. She might even meet the Roi directly if all were to go well. To escape captivity and assassinate an admiral along with it...
"I'm interested, admiral."
RE: Byzantinism - Thunderer - 12-11-2016
The flaming fiends that besieged Hall's soul froze still. Ambre caught their attention. Hall, content and composed, began to utter their breath.
"Very well. Now I will call the guards to lead you to your cell, but don't worry. It is only for a week. The guards will have orders to treat you fairly, feed you well and even keep you amused, so that you are ready for your upcoming mission. I have been informed that Admiral McIntire will be in a vulnerable position in a week. That is when you will be taken to Manchester, and dropped in space in an escape pod. A very special pod: it can be opened from the inside easily, whenever you want, it is not cryo-inducing and, most importantly, it will hold a small laser pistol in a compartment. Do not open it in space at any cost. You will have a small window that will allow you to be aware where approximately you are. I will hire a mercenary to help my forces out in that specific sector, but of course, he will see no one there. Except your escape pod. As a bounty hunter, he will not resist beaming it in. As it will not carry any identifications, he will have to take a look at who he's caught manually. That is when you strike. I don't care what happens to the mercenary, but you must seize his ship any way you can. The ship is your weapon and your way out.
Then, you will head to New London as fast as possible, and wait in the middle of the trade lane leading from the Planet to Southampton. If a patrol comes by, identify as the person whose ID card you will have stolen. When McIntire arrives, don't say anything to him, but attack him at once. He will be flying a Templar with only one fighter escort, as New London is considered safe, but you must do it quickly, as patrols are frequent. Worry not about his skill and that of his escort, as he hasn't fought in a fighter for years, and his escort will most likely be a recruit on training. You are only required to shoot down McIntire, and destroy his escape pod. Do NOT get shot down: flee immediately if you can't handle them.
I know this is a lot of information at once, so would you like me to repeat anything?" Having finished the verbal marathon he had been looking forward to for so long, he asked Ambre as if he cared about her. Of course, he only heeded about the mission.
RE: Byzantinism - Ramke - 12-11-2016
Ambre listened to the admiral talk with great interest. Despite the seemingly impulsive move, the plan was already quite thorough. Did he gamble on Ambre accepting beforehand?
The thorough plan left some concern for Ambre, since of which she wouldn't dare mention as it might mean throwing away the opportunity.
"Is the mercenary going to fly a Gallic ship?" she asked. Ambre had no experience flying Sirian ships, and they are remarkably different in control compared to their Gallic counterparts.
"You also said the mercenary will find me and pick the pod up. What if he fails that and doesn't?"