OrukamiUnicorn
08-30-2012, 08:18 PM
Cuhtor Baal Gyhgus was a decidedly impressive creature, even by Storgg’hi standards. His colossal frame was obscenely muscular and intimidating, his scales a slate grey with a slight iridescent emerald green sheen to their surface. His eyes were a glowing chartreuse, rimmed with darkest black and pierced through the centre with the same darkness in the form of a slitted pupil. His horns were varied, but plentiful, bursting confidentially forth from his skull in slight curves or complete twists, ranging from the short and knuckle-like to the brilliantly tall, whilst his wings spanned an impressive 23ft when fully extended, though currently they were swept tightly inwards against his shoulder blades, concertinaed as most Storgg’hi practically kept their flight-enabling appendages when grounded.
Baal’s knuckles crackled in quick succession as he closed his talons into a loose fist before extending them again; this assertive motion was met with a muffled whimper from the restrained ‘subject’ atop the operating surface, and a reactively cruel smirk from Baal himself. He enjoyed experiencing fear that he had personally induced; it reassured him of his power.
“Begin the procedure.” He growled, his voice infinitely deep and laced with the intonations similar to those of boulders shifting.
Doctor Morost, a male surgeon, unremarkable in appearance, nodded with curt, and decidedly sensible obedience. Morost was somewhat trusted by Baal, and therefore was held in a high enough regard to avoid most of his scorn and cruelty; Baal was a tyrannical leader, and was infamous for violently condemning most mistakes that were not his own, irregardless of their triviality.
Morost’s claws traversed the array of sharpened, yet delicate instruments at his disposal, hovering over each momentarily before selecting a pointed scalpel that glinted as he relieved the tool of it’s recumbent state. The subject’s movements grew more frantic, eyes widening with obvious, and perfectly rational terror. Prior to vacating the operating room, Baal turned to Morost, fangs glinting through the sneer;
“Should the subject struggle as much as the previous creature, induce them with Aphixade.” Aphixade, being most commonly found as a solid mineral in the oceans of Traplex 3 of the Vachnor System, emitted a naturally occurring gas at room temperature when void of a submerged environment. This gas had sleep-inducing qualities, but was unique in the fact that it was not an appropriate medical anaesthetic; it still allowed the patient (or victim) to experience every nuance of physical sensation undertaken when ‘comatose’, thus making it a cruel addition to Baal’s shadowy experiments.
Tightening his grip on the scalpel, the Doctor approached his bound patient smoothly, the cool calculation of a confident medical professor engulfing his demeanour. As he brutally but efficiently stayed the movements of the bucking human with his left arm, muscles rippling as he flipped over and pinned the creature’s wrist to the steel table, he visually selected a pulsing royal blue vein and directed the tip of the scalpel towards it.
Morost’s cold reptilian gaze displayed no remorse as he exerted gradual pressure upon the blade, slicing through each epidermis, causing millions of vibrant blood cells to inevitably spill forth. The resistance met against the Doctor’s restraining arm suddenly evaporated, frowning, the Doctor’s gazed flicked to his subject’s pale visage. The human had passed out.
The Horouts had willingly invited the epitome of unpredictable violence to their wedding reception.
She sat in a state self-initiated detachment, void of social interaction and surrounded by a throng of amiably chattering guests; she was unwilling to take part in such false and trivial conversation. Commander Dinh’Tara Mourrg was a practical beast at heart, and this heart she proudly wore upon her furred sleeve.
Kali and Norbus Horout, the flamboyantly united couple, had been married hours before and were now lavishly celebrating their partnership by doing what upper class Cainurian’s do best; displaying their vast amounts of wealth without contrition. Envy and terse competition were emotions much more savagely present during social circles such as these. Simpatico with this was the palpable gossip that wove itself in a consistent whisper throughout the guests’ conversations; ‘Would this by Kali’s last marriage? Had pre-nuptials been arranged? Were the jewels and gold leaf decorations all real?’
Hmm, unlikely, likely and very likely, thought Dinh’Tara as vignettes of speculations spiralled into her field of hearing.
Kali Hourout, a black-furred female , who was born with an impressively tight waistline followed by vivacious hips, was a distant relative of Dinh’Tara's, thus earning her the plausibility to warrant an invitation to the wedding.
Norbus was a short-snouted fawn and coffee coloured male, with a concsience as shallow as his bride's, and a wallet as extensively deep; he was the Chairman of Cainack 5’s leading restaurant chain.
Not one to be downright impolite, the Commander had accepted her invitation, upon the condition she could enjoy the company of an additional guest of her choice, of which she had chosen her close friend, and well-humoured Uncle Yerllichk.
It mildly amused Dinh’Tara that she and Kali both remained knowingly unspoken concerning the knowledge that her summons had only been born of Kali’s rampantly desirous social-climbing aspirations. Huh. As if she could be any more avidly spoken of. However there was an admirable logic to Kali’s shameless insincerity; the Commander was of prestigious kin, her mother and father both being in positions of power. Well, they had both been highly revered, prior to Stalus’ sudden death and ‘fall from grace’ as it were, subsequent by Dinh’Tara’s own disgrace via her Mother’s appointment of exile. Therefore, Kali had invited a scandal to her wedding; and enjoyed the disquieted gasps at the previously unknown extension of friendship towards the ’banished’ Commander.
Dinh’Tara’s exile in itself was not a wholly geographical one; she was indeed still quite welcome upon her home planet, and most other systems, but was void of any status and could not partake any longer in governmental regional affairs, and most importantly of all, could not legally continue with her mercenary band. The order of the of the ‘disbanding’ of the STMs had been official upon paper, but Commander continued to secretly recruit and arrange her group, carefully planning for action.
From the moment the wedding had unfolded itself, vows exclaimed in a melodramatic fashion for the benefit of the present tabloids, followed by the reception meal and ‘party’, Dinh’Tara had remained relatively unvolved, undertaking a silent spectactors role.
Upon arrival at the venue for the reception, she had retreated, not to her ‘appointed as-labelled’ seat, but to a chaise next to a window overlooking the glorious, and deservingly famous gardens of the venue; ‘The Pau-Pau-du-Coresette Hotel’, of which Norbus owned the adjoining ground-level restaurant.
In the background, the gentile melodies of a multi-levelled Hemsaft instrument (similar to a piano) interspersed the other sounds of the party, as the famous Hemniast player ‘Jor-Jor’ played universally well-known romantically-themed songs to the request of the bride.
Despite the clear jovial atmosphere of the occasion, Dinh’Tara was discernibly unamused; her large eyes were narrowed, whilst her sizable ears were flicked back against her skull, displaying her as rudely lucid and uncaring, concerning her boredom. The wedding had been horrendously overwrought and long, and the reception would most likely be the same, albeit with bought musical entertainment that she did not care for. Alighting from her seat, she smoothed the creases of her tailored black trousers, (worn with an ivory silk shirt and simple, modest gold accessories that complimented the shade of her fur, for Dinh‘Tara was not an eccentric dresser) and glanced about the well-accessorized room.
With walls that were painted white, with a dark-wood lamenate flooring, the largest room of the Hotel had been decorated in great detail with cascading lengths of satin adorning the walls between priceless works of art, whilst heavily arranged bouquets of exotic flora had been placed upon tables and crushed velvet vintage seating filled choice spaces.
Truffles, canapés and frittatas were heavily circled around the guests via polite Ik’Tahrian waitresses; aggravatingly so in Dinh’Tara’s opinion. False courtesy irked her greatly, but not as much as the downright prejudice Kali had demonstrated by knowingly hiring all Ik'tahrian waitresses; 'Such unnoticeable and docile yet gently pretty creatures - Perfect for menial distribution tasks,' she had laughed when confronted by Dinh'Tara before the wedding.
“Could I interest you in a refreshment ma’am?” An attractive young waitress offered, as she approached the white-furred Cainurian, her smile blazing invitingly. Dinh’Tara noted with distaste the unnatural white hue of her teeth; the human obsession with perfection in dentistry was indeed ‘on the rise’.
Begrudgingly, she accepted a morsel of Barhortian Seedcake; a deliciously tangy pastry parcel infused with herbs and seeds and a hint of salt, that crunched and burst multiple flavours across the tongue.
Dinh’Tara was suddenly elbowed in the ribs gently as a gruff male voice materialised at her right ear;
“Openly enjoying yourself during 'highly anticipated' social occasions as always, I see.”
“I simply can’t resist the temptation to observe how progressively Kali obliterates any dignity she might still retain,” she replied wryly to her Uncle, gesturing with a claw at the almost rabid couple, as they canoodled in front of some observing guests, no doubt simultaneously bragging of their achievements and largely publicised 'whirlwind romance'.
Yerllichk nodded and chuckled, knowing his niece's polite veneer was all that was preventing her from unleashing a torrent of brutal, but undoubtedly truthful insults upon her distant cousin.
"The nibbles make it almost worth the while, I think you'll agree though..."
Dinh'Tara met his eye and cracked a rare toothy smile.
***
A glorious city, the capital of Cainack 5’s largest region, ‘Cohorr’ was an exquisite behemoth of organic curves, gentle edges and soft corners that blended seamlessly into a rising and falling mass of structure; steeped in architectural and social history, it was an explorer‘s playground.
Commander Dinh’Tara felt strongly for Cohorr, though not always calling the place home, she found herself easily transfixed on a daily basis by the tangled web of connections between citizens. There was a social gulf between classes that was occasionally met with worrying animosity, but the Cohorrian Correctors adequately kept the peace through rigorous enforcement; if it was one creation the Cainurian‘s were proud of, it was their systematic administration of law and justice.
Proceeding the dispersion of the wedding reception and the chipper, and in some maternal cases, tearful farewells to the couple as they embarked upon an alarmingly indulgent 3-trimestre (equivalent to one month) honeymoon to the Ik’Tahrian ‘Resort Planet’ Palmus, the Commander had travelled to the opposing spectrum of wealth in the sprawling capitol; ‘Barratown’.
Her purpose had been a career-orientated one; she had been visiting a marginally trusted acquaintance, a notorious hacker and technological prodigy known as ‘Parasite’ . Parasite had agreed, upon payment, to ensure that should she construct an advertisement of recruitment, he would triply-encode and appropriately induce a viral-status of the said document, whilst keeping the ad out of the eyes of the law.
Upon sealing the deal, Dinh’Tara had paid Parasite and left his current business abode and was presently travelling to her apartment in wilful solitude, preferring to go by foot, as means of avoiding the pricey, overcrowded public transport available in Cohorr.
Still in ‘Barratown’ Dinh’tara’s coat was drawn close to her body, her shoulders squared and gait confident as a warning to potential muggers that she more than adequately knew how to take care of herself.
Rounding the corner of an isolated street, she paused for a moment to catch her breath, her unrelenting fast-pace finally catching up with her. There she found herself gazing eye-to-eye with a rarity; a human advertisement. The advertisement pictured a female human, posed in a dramatic seated position with her toes pointed and collarbones prominent, whilst she pouted, wide-eyed and coquettish at the camera. ’I’m so happy now that I’ve got the face I want.’ The ad proclaimed, promoting facial surgery that enhanced beauty to it’s ’potential maximum’ with ’minimal risk and cost’.
For some purpose, recondite to Dinh’Tara’s own species, humanity appeared to be obsessed with beauty and appearance. However their abstruse priorities were a reliable ‘cash-cow’ , which was admirable in the fact that any shrewd individual could take advantage of a race’s vanity and rinse it for all it was worth. In fact, beauty had slowly begun to become more widely agonized over by the Cainurians; the silkiness of their fur, the vibrancy of their eyes, the cut of the clothes they wore - humanity had influenced the species by bombarding them with advertising campaigns and new retailers that had been approved by the greedy government as a means of increasing the cash flow.
Dinh’Tara tapped a claw against the modified perplex, her saffron gaze narrowing with scrutiny;
“If I slashed that pretty face would you bleed? Or is there just more artificial poison underneath?” She thought, with a sneer.
“Commander Mourrg?”
A youthful voice piped up behind her, a hint of fear causing the stranger’s voice to waver; this was understandable, the Commander was an unforgiving sort when her patience was tested.
Dinh’Tara inhaled sharply and turned around, muscles defensively taut, her wiry frame somehow still impressive by the fluid grace of her body movements;
“Yes?”
The addresser was a male Cainurian by the name of Saltor, causing Dinh'Tara to relax somewhat. Barely into adulthood, his fur was a rich chestnut colour, contrasting in it’s luxury with the spacing armour he wore being obviously outdated and cheap, more than likely bought second-hand. This was not uncommon however, most Cainurian’s who chose the path of space-faring battle and conquest had no educational prestige or merit as a result of usually being born of little status and wealth; such an occupation offered these individuals a chance of avoiding poverty and turning to complete crime in places such as ’Barratown’.
Saltor was looking to be recruited by Dinh’Tara to the STM’s, somehow having heard about their need for knew members prior to advertisement and despite the fact of their exile he continued to desire an admission. However, he had consistantly failed to hold her attention for more than a few minutes upon each meeting with Dinh‘Tara, despite religious appearances in her presence that bordered upon stalking. It was not the fact that he was unskilled or unfit to become a member, but he was without any real experience, and Dinh’Tara knew this disadvantage was commonly fatal during the missions she and her band undertook. She had proposed he join the Cainack Military instead; his youth would ensure he was not assigned particularly dangerous missions, and he would most probably become part of a region-bordering garrison, post-training, both gaining him experience and testing his mettle gently without the danger of wasting his life away.
The visible tension in Saltor‘s frame intensified as he breathed deeply, hesitant as he chose his next words carefully; this ignited caution within the perceptive Commander‘s mind - Saltor was never quite so anxious in her presence, he had information of some importance to report...
“Commander, your life is in danger!”
Baal’s knuckles crackled in quick succession as he closed his talons into a loose fist before extending them again; this assertive motion was met with a muffled whimper from the restrained ‘subject’ atop the operating surface, and a reactively cruel smirk from Baal himself. He enjoyed experiencing fear that he had personally induced; it reassured him of his power.
“Begin the procedure.” He growled, his voice infinitely deep and laced with the intonations similar to those of boulders shifting.
Doctor Morost, a male surgeon, unremarkable in appearance, nodded with curt, and decidedly sensible obedience. Morost was somewhat trusted by Baal, and therefore was held in a high enough regard to avoid most of his scorn and cruelty; Baal was a tyrannical leader, and was infamous for violently condemning most mistakes that were not his own, irregardless of their triviality.
Morost’s claws traversed the array of sharpened, yet delicate instruments at his disposal, hovering over each momentarily before selecting a pointed scalpel that glinted as he relieved the tool of it’s recumbent state. The subject’s movements grew more frantic, eyes widening with obvious, and perfectly rational terror. Prior to vacating the operating room, Baal turned to Morost, fangs glinting through the sneer;
“Should the subject struggle as much as the previous creature, induce them with Aphixade.” Aphixade, being most commonly found as a solid mineral in the oceans of Traplex 3 of the Vachnor System, emitted a naturally occurring gas at room temperature when void of a submerged environment. This gas had sleep-inducing qualities, but was unique in the fact that it was not an appropriate medical anaesthetic; it still allowed the patient (or victim) to experience every nuance of physical sensation undertaken when ‘comatose’, thus making it a cruel addition to Baal’s shadowy experiments.
Tightening his grip on the scalpel, the Doctor approached his bound patient smoothly, the cool calculation of a confident medical professor engulfing his demeanour. As he brutally but efficiently stayed the movements of the bucking human with his left arm, muscles rippling as he flipped over and pinned the creature’s wrist to the steel table, he visually selected a pulsing royal blue vein and directed the tip of the scalpel towards it.
Morost’s cold reptilian gaze displayed no remorse as he exerted gradual pressure upon the blade, slicing through each epidermis, causing millions of vibrant blood cells to inevitably spill forth. The resistance met against the Doctor’s restraining arm suddenly evaporated, frowning, the Doctor’s gazed flicked to his subject’s pale visage. The human had passed out.
The Horouts had willingly invited the epitome of unpredictable violence to their wedding reception.
She sat in a state self-initiated detachment, void of social interaction and surrounded by a throng of amiably chattering guests; she was unwilling to take part in such false and trivial conversation. Commander Dinh’Tara Mourrg was a practical beast at heart, and this heart she proudly wore upon her furred sleeve.
Kali and Norbus Horout, the flamboyantly united couple, had been married hours before and were now lavishly celebrating their partnership by doing what upper class Cainurian’s do best; displaying their vast amounts of wealth without contrition. Envy and terse competition were emotions much more savagely present during social circles such as these. Simpatico with this was the palpable gossip that wove itself in a consistent whisper throughout the guests’ conversations; ‘Would this by Kali’s last marriage? Had pre-nuptials been arranged? Were the jewels and gold leaf decorations all real?’
Hmm, unlikely, likely and very likely, thought Dinh’Tara as vignettes of speculations spiralled into her field of hearing.
Kali Hourout, a black-furred female , who was born with an impressively tight waistline followed by vivacious hips, was a distant relative of Dinh’Tara's, thus earning her the plausibility to warrant an invitation to the wedding.
Norbus was a short-snouted fawn and coffee coloured male, with a concsience as shallow as his bride's, and a wallet as extensively deep; he was the Chairman of Cainack 5’s leading restaurant chain.
Not one to be downright impolite, the Commander had accepted her invitation, upon the condition she could enjoy the company of an additional guest of her choice, of which she had chosen her close friend, and well-humoured Uncle Yerllichk.
It mildly amused Dinh’Tara that she and Kali both remained knowingly unspoken concerning the knowledge that her summons had only been born of Kali’s rampantly desirous social-climbing aspirations. Huh. As if she could be any more avidly spoken of. However there was an admirable logic to Kali’s shameless insincerity; the Commander was of prestigious kin, her mother and father both being in positions of power. Well, they had both been highly revered, prior to Stalus’ sudden death and ‘fall from grace’ as it were, subsequent by Dinh’Tara’s own disgrace via her Mother’s appointment of exile. Therefore, Kali had invited a scandal to her wedding; and enjoyed the disquieted gasps at the previously unknown extension of friendship towards the ’banished’ Commander.
Dinh’Tara’s exile in itself was not a wholly geographical one; she was indeed still quite welcome upon her home planet, and most other systems, but was void of any status and could not partake any longer in governmental regional affairs, and most importantly of all, could not legally continue with her mercenary band. The order of the of the ‘disbanding’ of the STMs had been official upon paper, but Commander continued to secretly recruit and arrange her group, carefully planning for action.
From the moment the wedding had unfolded itself, vows exclaimed in a melodramatic fashion for the benefit of the present tabloids, followed by the reception meal and ‘party’, Dinh’Tara had remained relatively unvolved, undertaking a silent spectactors role.
Upon arrival at the venue for the reception, she had retreated, not to her ‘appointed as-labelled’ seat, but to a chaise next to a window overlooking the glorious, and deservingly famous gardens of the venue; ‘The Pau-Pau-du-Coresette Hotel’, of which Norbus owned the adjoining ground-level restaurant.
In the background, the gentile melodies of a multi-levelled Hemsaft instrument (similar to a piano) interspersed the other sounds of the party, as the famous Hemniast player ‘Jor-Jor’ played universally well-known romantically-themed songs to the request of the bride.
Despite the clear jovial atmosphere of the occasion, Dinh’Tara was discernibly unamused; her large eyes were narrowed, whilst her sizable ears were flicked back against her skull, displaying her as rudely lucid and uncaring, concerning her boredom. The wedding had been horrendously overwrought and long, and the reception would most likely be the same, albeit with bought musical entertainment that she did not care for. Alighting from her seat, she smoothed the creases of her tailored black trousers, (worn with an ivory silk shirt and simple, modest gold accessories that complimented the shade of her fur, for Dinh‘Tara was not an eccentric dresser) and glanced about the well-accessorized room.
With walls that were painted white, with a dark-wood lamenate flooring, the largest room of the Hotel had been decorated in great detail with cascading lengths of satin adorning the walls between priceless works of art, whilst heavily arranged bouquets of exotic flora had been placed upon tables and crushed velvet vintage seating filled choice spaces.
Truffles, canapés and frittatas were heavily circled around the guests via polite Ik’Tahrian waitresses; aggravatingly so in Dinh’Tara’s opinion. False courtesy irked her greatly, but not as much as the downright prejudice Kali had demonstrated by knowingly hiring all Ik'tahrian waitresses; 'Such unnoticeable and docile yet gently pretty creatures - Perfect for menial distribution tasks,' she had laughed when confronted by Dinh'Tara before the wedding.
“Could I interest you in a refreshment ma’am?” An attractive young waitress offered, as she approached the white-furred Cainurian, her smile blazing invitingly. Dinh’Tara noted with distaste the unnatural white hue of her teeth; the human obsession with perfection in dentistry was indeed ‘on the rise’.
Begrudgingly, she accepted a morsel of Barhortian Seedcake; a deliciously tangy pastry parcel infused with herbs and seeds and a hint of salt, that crunched and burst multiple flavours across the tongue.
Dinh’Tara was suddenly elbowed in the ribs gently as a gruff male voice materialised at her right ear;
“Openly enjoying yourself during 'highly anticipated' social occasions as always, I see.”
“I simply can’t resist the temptation to observe how progressively Kali obliterates any dignity she might still retain,” she replied wryly to her Uncle, gesturing with a claw at the almost rabid couple, as they canoodled in front of some observing guests, no doubt simultaneously bragging of their achievements and largely publicised 'whirlwind romance'.
Yerllichk nodded and chuckled, knowing his niece's polite veneer was all that was preventing her from unleashing a torrent of brutal, but undoubtedly truthful insults upon her distant cousin.
"The nibbles make it almost worth the while, I think you'll agree though..."
Dinh'Tara met his eye and cracked a rare toothy smile.
***
A glorious city, the capital of Cainack 5’s largest region, ‘Cohorr’ was an exquisite behemoth of organic curves, gentle edges and soft corners that blended seamlessly into a rising and falling mass of structure; steeped in architectural and social history, it was an explorer‘s playground.
Commander Dinh’Tara felt strongly for Cohorr, though not always calling the place home, she found herself easily transfixed on a daily basis by the tangled web of connections between citizens. There was a social gulf between classes that was occasionally met with worrying animosity, but the Cohorrian Correctors adequately kept the peace through rigorous enforcement; if it was one creation the Cainurian‘s were proud of, it was their systematic administration of law and justice.
Proceeding the dispersion of the wedding reception and the chipper, and in some maternal cases, tearful farewells to the couple as they embarked upon an alarmingly indulgent 3-trimestre (equivalent to one month) honeymoon to the Ik’Tahrian ‘Resort Planet’ Palmus, the Commander had travelled to the opposing spectrum of wealth in the sprawling capitol; ‘Barratown’.
Her purpose had been a career-orientated one; she had been visiting a marginally trusted acquaintance, a notorious hacker and technological prodigy known as ‘Parasite’ . Parasite had agreed, upon payment, to ensure that should she construct an advertisement of recruitment, he would triply-encode and appropriately induce a viral-status of the said document, whilst keeping the ad out of the eyes of the law.
Upon sealing the deal, Dinh’Tara had paid Parasite and left his current business abode and was presently travelling to her apartment in wilful solitude, preferring to go by foot, as means of avoiding the pricey, overcrowded public transport available in Cohorr.
Still in ‘Barratown’ Dinh’tara’s coat was drawn close to her body, her shoulders squared and gait confident as a warning to potential muggers that she more than adequately knew how to take care of herself.
Rounding the corner of an isolated street, she paused for a moment to catch her breath, her unrelenting fast-pace finally catching up with her. There she found herself gazing eye-to-eye with a rarity; a human advertisement. The advertisement pictured a female human, posed in a dramatic seated position with her toes pointed and collarbones prominent, whilst she pouted, wide-eyed and coquettish at the camera. ’I’m so happy now that I’ve got the face I want.’ The ad proclaimed, promoting facial surgery that enhanced beauty to it’s ’potential maximum’ with ’minimal risk and cost’.
For some purpose, recondite to Dinh’Tara’s own species, humanity appeared to be obsessed with beauty and appearance. However their abstruse priorities were a reliable ‘cash-cow’ , which was admirable in the fact that any shrewd individual could take advantage of a race’s vanity and rinse it for all it was worth. In fact, beauty had slowly begun to become more widely agonized over by the Cainurians; the silkiness of their fur, the vibrancy of their eyes, the cut of the clothes they wore - humanity had influenced the species by bombarding them with advertising campaigns and new retailers that had been approved by the greedy government as a means of increasing the cash flow.
Dinh’Tara tapped a claw against the modified perplex, her saffron gaze narrowing with scrutiny;
“If I slashed that pretty face would you bleed? Or is there just more artificial poison underneath?” She thought, with a sneer.
“Commander Mourrg?”
A youthful voice piped up behind her, a hint of fear causing the stranger’s voice to waver; this was understandable, the Commander was an unforgiving sort when her patience was tested.
Dinh’Tara inhaled sharply and turned around, muscles defensively taut, her wiry frame somehow still impressive by the fluid grace of her body movements;
“Yes?”
The addresser was a male Cainurian by the name of Saltor, causing Dinh'Tara to relax somewhat. Barely into adulthood, his fur was a rich chestnut colour, contrasting in it’s luxury with the spacing armour he wore being obviously outdated and cheap, more than likely bought second-hand. This was not uncommon however, most Cainurian’s who chose the path of space-faring battle and conquest had no educational prestige or merit as a result of usually being born of little status and wealth; such an occupation offered these individuals a chance of avoiding poverty and turning to complete crime in places such as ’Barratown’.
Saltor was looking to be recruited by Dinh’Tara to the STM’s, somehow having heard about their need for knew members prior to advertisement and despite the fact of their exile he continued to desire an admission. However, he had consistantly failed to hold her attention for more than a few minutes upon each meeting with Dinh‘Tara, despite religious appearances in her presence that bordered upon stalking. It was not the fact that he was unskilled or unfit to become a member, but he was without any real experience, and Dinh’Tara knew this disadvantage was commonly fatal during the missions she and her band undertook. She had proposed he join the Cainack Military instead; his youth would ensure he was not assigned particularly dangerous missions, and he would most probably become part of a region-bordering garrison, post-training, both gaining him experience and testing his mettle gently without the danger of wasting his life away.
The visible tension in Saltor‘s frame intensified as he breathed deeply, hesitant as he chose his next words carefully; this ignited caution within the perceptive Commander‘s mind - Saltor was never quite so anxious in her presence, he had information of some importance to report...
“Commander, your life is in danger!”