[Rage at the Eclipse] - The First Phase [Applications now Open again!]

"Only one way to find out!" Jones said, moving the ship to dock at the appropriate bay!

He was honestly quite surprised Wilnarr's boasting actually got them anywhere.

"Can we see about sorting out some stability before trying to inspect alien moss lifeforms?" Lucy was also suspicious about how they got in, but, whatever it was, they'd already stolen a ship so more crimes could always be levered to get them out.

Jones taxiied the ship into the primary docking bays, the traffic tightly controlled the closer they got to the station for obvious reasons. They were guided to a tertiary row of bays on the stellar side (the side of the station currently facing away from the planet) and was gently guided in on anti grav thrusters to docking clamps which gripped the ship to hold it steady, lowering it to the ground until it was safe to turn off the grav drive, in which the ship's gravity took over, the transition from one to the other was slight but noticeable to the occupants, feeling like a sudden jump one makes a misstep.

The comms chimed wherein a computerised voice notified them the docking procedure was complete and they could safely disembark.

Chroma wakes up after dozing off on the ship. She is one of those people who have the uncanny ability to sleep through a flight.

She grabs her Autodoc and scoots off.

Jones would head out onto the station and start looking for recruits! As well as ways for them to make MONEY!

BODIES AND BULLION: LIFE FORCE OF A WORKING SHIP.

Chroma comes along.

Lucy popped out, rubbing her face. She was going to need to do some shopping to make sure the ship was properly supplied. Petty ATM crime should be able to pay for that much. Actually tho, she'd follow Jones, see what kind of crew they'd get. "We should try to fix up the shit a bit before recruits, right? No one decent is gonna want to ride on that piece of crap as it is now."

Wilnarr started following everyone else! He probably thought they were going to help him look for space raccoons or something.

Jones put out a notice for crew!

Or well, the local mechanics did. Turns out docking ships looking for new crew is a common occurrence on starports, so the process was automated. The mechanic put out the notice on the starport's system that the ship, the Bandwagon, was looking for crew. Interested parties on the starport will have their communicators pinged with the notice and will likely start showing up at the specified dock to try to get themselves recruited.

There was even a table and a few chairs off in a corner for the exact purpose which a few of the mechanics dragged over, laying the chairs out for the ship's current crew. Zigrund seemed to take a liking to his chair and put it on his shoulder. He roared approvingly.

[APPLICATIONS ARE NOW OPEN! Post your application and when I close, all those who applied will be allowed to roleplay their characters as if they are being interviewed by the crew. Have fun with the consequences of that.]

WIP app!!

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Spoiler
Name: Elmas Beryl
Species: It's hard to call the Adalim a species, per-se. They are not biological beings in the traditional sense of the term, nor are they machines, but rather beings of hard-light emerging from pseudo-natural computing systems. They emerged from scraps of ever-evolving data, coded by some ancient race and stranded in cyberspace for god-knows how long. Eventually this data - programmed to continue swirling through whatever primordial internet they were created in - found its way into a hard-light recombobulator device, and the first of them emerged into the physical realm. A new generation of a new people was hit with the shock of consciousness in a cold, lonely, rubble world.

Their search for meaning led down only disappointing pathways at first. Their creators, it seemed, had wrecked their home planet via hyperconsumption. They themselves were originally created as highly advanced advertisement evolution software - designed to gather data on consumers, generate psychological profiles of those users, and procedurally produce new advertisements to suit those customers interests. When the society collapsed, the advertising programs continued generating, continued gathering, continued building some odd, nonsensical machine gestalt. It was not until these odd connections of neural pathways were given hard-light forms produced by semi-magic computers that they truly experienced actual living.

Adalim society at large did not react to this seemingly nihilistic set of circumstances with a dour attitude, though. Rather, they tended to themselves in more upbeat lights. Some said that the pointlessness of their existence liberated them to create new meaning. Others pointed out that their creation - life springing from such a jumbled mess of confused machinery and faulty programming - implied something greater than their biological creators had to be out there somewhere, influencing events for them. Others still shrugged their shoulders and agreed that whatever the case was, it didn't matter - they had better things to do, a world to fix, and a galaxy to explore.

The Adalim possess no tremendous physical capabilities, but can interface with their own technology and the technology of their predecessors incredibly well via physical contact. In addition, should they receive mortal injury in their hardlight bodies, they will simply poof out of existence and retreat into their shell computers and begin the lengthy process of reforming. Typically, a reforming will take about twenty-four hours, though it might be aided by a skilled (and particularly lucky) mage or technician. (read: if Galloglasses needs to get me back into the action quick or somethin').

Their forms vary vastly from individual to individual, and slight variations can exist between reformations - typically in what sort of 'clothes' they wear. They prefer taking on humanoid appearances, typically, though skin color can be any shade of any color on the visible light spectrum.

Description: Stands at about five feet tall with a rather tealish skintone. Has a short bob of hair of dark blue 'hair' and bright green eyes. Wears fairly wizard-y clothes, typically, because they like the aesthetic. Chooses a pretty femme form, and is chill with whatever pronouns.

Bio: Elmas was among the Fifteenth Gen of Adalim to be born from the Oldnet. Their chosen purpose is that of the Magitechnician - to blend magic and technology and investigate the ways they meld and mix, that they might better understand the nature of their species and of the catastrophe that befell their predecessors. To advance this purpose, Elmas set off across the cosmos, to investigate new technologies, interact with new species, and gain further insights into the nature of the universe as a whole.

Elmas is a bright young Adalim, fairly cheery and carefree, with high ideals, a friendly demeanor, and a cool temper. They're terribly curious, and can come across as rather rude with their tendency to ask far, far too many questions.

Skills: Techno-mage! A fairly skilled mechanic and mage who particularly enjoys mixing her hobbies together. In particular, has an interest in elemental magic and the experimental field of time magic.

Equipment: A magic techno-staff; a pistol; a laptop (not particularly fancy, for games more than anything); a backpack full of tinkering tools.

Several Hours Months Hours that felt like months later, while the crew rested and the mechanics got to work on sorting out the ship, a ragtag bunch of raggamuffins and the dregs of the station lined up in front of the docking bay, vetted by station security before being allowed through.

They looked exactly as how one would imagine a bunch of stationdweller spacers to look like, desperate, raggy, vaguely unreliable and dying to get off of the station. None of them where obviously out and out dangerous otherwise the station would never have let them sign up to the station's crew ping system as potential crew, they would have gotten out to space the traditional way - Airlock cycling without a spacesuit.

They gathered up in a semi-formal formation in front of the nearest desk which the mechanics had pulled out of a corner for the occasion, evidently this was normal procedure for crew enlisting.

There was only so much space on the ship, who would the crew pick?

Chroma points at the obnoxiously teal mineral-looking person.

"They. Look like they have potential."

"They look like they're blind. If they can't even get dressed in grown-up clothes, how are they going to handle working for a rag-tag crew of misfits bumming about space. Let the poor sap get lucky with some actual ship." Lucy countered. "We need mechanics, not, children's party magicians. We don't know how our ship works so as many hands we can throw at it, the better."

"I don't know, got good feelings about the teal person!" Shotgun announced.

"Well, let's see if they know things!" said Wilnarr, pointing to Elmas. "You! Do you know how fast a Rhygaxian Megaraptor can fly?"

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Spoiler
Name: Gunda "Divebomb" Holst

Species: Taurocs - Mean, lean, and very versatile, Taurocs were so-named because of their resemblance to the mythical Minotaur. They are a burly species with horns of varying shapes and sizes and hooved feet. Despite their appearance and physical capabilities, Taurocs are very suited to fine, detail-oriented work. They are very good at getting the best out of a bad situation, as their home planet was so shitty and hostile that growing any food there requires the utmost care and tolerates very few mistakes. Probably the reason why most of them emigrated to space.

Description: Gunda is a scarred and short member of her species, having survived a lot of scrapes in her life. She has a broad chest and wide shoulders, russet-colored skin, and the point of her right horn is chipped off. She also has surgery scars on her right arm and on her torso, as well as a bionic eye on that side.

Bio: She grew up on a Tauroc-crewed ship, working her way up as soon as she could. Gunda was pitied as a kid for being a runt, but she quickly showed that she had a lot of versatility that a bigger person did not. She could fit into tight spaces, fix things and withstand high g-forces in a cramped fighter cockpit, making her an excellent pilot and a great help to the flight engineers on board the ship. After growing up and moving around a lot, she realized that she wanted to take a different direction in her life. She saved up a lot of money and left her ship quite suddenly, leaving for a planet renowned for its biomedical expertise. Unfortunately, her old crew did not take kindly to her leaving - a bomb, a lot of stabbing, shooting, and goring later, plus extensive reconstructive surgery, she left feeling more like herself than she ever did before.

After that, Gunda wandered around, taking jobs, making a new name for herself, and putting her skills to use. However, she's hit a spot of hard times, and is pretty broke by now. She'll take any job at this point.

Skills: Gunda is an excellent pilot of both small craft and large ships, decent at crawling around the guts of a ship for maintenance and engineering, and a damn fine brawler to boot. She uses her short stature to her advantage, tripping up enemies with kicks to the leg and being nearly impossible to unbalance herself.

Equipment:

TX-87 Standard Space-Ready Handgun
Pressurized flightsuit
Mechanic's toolbox
Syntek Dynamics Personal External Engineering Craft - Basically a souped-up podcraft with multitool arms. It was designed for repair jobs on the exteriors of ships where going out on a spacewalk is too dangerous but sending a drone doesn't give delicate enough control.

Before Elmas could think of answering the question, a ragged and out of breath Tauroc stomped up to the gathered aspirants, evidently late to the whole endeavor, she took her place awkwardly to the side of the gathered group.

Zigrund roared cryptically in Space Bear.

Chroma also points at the formidable-looking bovid alien.

“They also look like. They have potential,” she curtly stated.

Honestly, Chroma just didn’t want to be the only nonhuman alien on board.

“Agreed! Like the look of her too!” Shotgun said. “Let’s interview them. Hey! Teal person! You first, what’s your deal?”

Oof. Starting out with the scorchers, eh?

Elmas pulls at their collar and gives a small bow, a polite smile following after. “Depends! Do you mean a Megaraptor from Northern Rhygaxia, or the south?”

THEN SOMETHING MORE GENERAL.

“Oh! Little old me?” A set of fingertips set themselves against her chest. “I’m a technomage - you’ll find none finer, sir! And an Adalim to boot!”

"Ah. Technomages, rare sight," Chroma said, writing down information on her hologram. "Plenty of arguments about combining technology and magic back at home. Boring arguments. Universe does not exist in a binary. My opinion."

"So what's your school of specialty." She pauses. "What pronouns do you use?"

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SpoilerName: Mnestia Laona

Species: Siphra, a species of shapeshifters from the disaster-stricken oceanic world of Zaraz. In their natural form, they look somewhat like large sea slugs, with modified cerata serving as limbs. The origins of the species is unclear - they appear to have arisen from an unclear source after their homeworld was stricken with a planetary-scale disaster that entirely wiped out its original intelligent inhabitants. Might have just been natural evolution influenced by the advanced contamination of the planet. Regardless, the Siphra are nothing if not resourceful, and they managed to rebuild their predecessors’ spacecraft and take to the stars. Much of their technology is based partly in magic, owing to the thaumaturgic traditions of the extinct civilization, and they understand relatively little of it.

The Siphra are a fairly uncommon sight in space - or at least, it seems that way. You never know with shapeshifters, and it is considered fairly rude in their culture to go gallivanting about in slug form. Rude on the level of “public nudity”, specifically. Culturally, the Siphra are heavily focused on analyzing and understanding the past in order to sustain the future, and they have both historians and engineers (or maybe reverse-engineers) in large quantities.

Obviously, their shapeshifting has its limits. Mass is conserved, so size is a definite limiting factor - anything under, say, the size of a large dog is too dense to function, and anything larger than a cow is likely to be similarly useless - or maybe blow away in a strong enough wind. The sweet spot between those two, fortunately for the Siphra, is where most of the galaxy’s sapient life falls. Even in the form of something like a human, it’s not too hard to tell that something is wrong - unless the individual in question has been particularly meticulous in their shapeshifting, some details won’t line up right. Plus, Siphra don’t have bones, even if they’re good at faking it. Stuff bending wrong is a pretty good indicator.

Description: In her base form, Mnestia appears to be a large, pale sea slug-esque creature about 10 feet long, vaguely reminiscent of Cratena peregrina. Of course, it’s not very likely you’ll see her in this shape. Instead, her current preferred form is that of a six-foot-tall humanoid, with pale blue skin, six purplish eyes arranged in two clusters, long and altogether too flowy dark blue hair, and two pairs of arms. This doesn’t really make her look like any particular species, but she’s not really trying that hard to blend in. Regardless of the form she takes, Mnestia also has pale markings in purple running vein-like across random portions of her body, the evidence of some past magical poisoning she’s never fully recovered from.

Bio: Mnestia, like many of her species, was born on Zaraz, near the shores of the Great Ocean - the magically-contaminated ocean that covers the vast majority of the planet. She grew up apprenticed to one of the world’s many historian-explorers, accompanying them on numerous dives into the contaminated waters to uncover remnants of the world that was lost for study and preservation. It was dangerous, of course - hazardous thaumic phenomena, deadly monsters, and even mundane things like collapsing ruins were always a problem - but this all fascinated Mnestia more than anything. As time went on, she grew from a salvager to a scholar of the occult, seeking to understand the mysteries lying beneath the skin of reality. This resulted in at least one severe case of magic poisoning, but you know, she lived.

Her tendency to dig a little too deeply into things led to her being strongly encouraged to leave the planet, which, you know what? Fine. There’s only so many occult mysteries to uncover on one planet, after all - and there’s a whole universe of planets out there! And so it was that Mnestia became a freelance occult archaeologist, seeking those mysteries lost to the ages, those left behind by wizards and liches and gods of old, or at least, whichever of those things actually exist! And… between those, taking on freelance mercenary jobs, because she was good with guns and archaeology pays miserably. Honestly, it’s mostly the latter these days.

Skills: Mnestia is an occult-focused archaeologist, and is thus well-versed in magic, thaumaturgy, the arcane, or whatever you want to call it. Practical uses of this mostly extend to various rituals she’s picked up knowledge of along the way, rather than, say, shooting lightning out of her hands.

More practically, Mnestia is skilled with weapons and their use, particularly the use of energy-based firearms. She’s also “skilled” at engineering, insofar as she’s good at jury-rigging things together from scrap and broken bits. MacGyver would be proud, but anyone with a degree would be so, so very sad.

Finally, like the rest of her species, she can shapeshift, within the bounds described above. She’s not great at it, so she’s not likely to fool too many people.

Equipment:

- Armored spacesuit designed to roughly fit her preferred form
- Refurbished datapad storing the bulk of Mnestia’s recovered occult data
- Jury-rigged ancient thaumic rifle, able to fire bursts of electricity, cold, or gravity-esque force, with at least four more settings of unclear purpose that have yet to be repaired. Tends to break down at inconvenient times.
- Two regular-ass laser pistols, because sometimes your fancy magic rifle breaks.
- A big, fancy cloak that just screams “I know about magic!”
- A random assortment of duct tape, glue, and various tools used for jury-rigging. And lockpicking.

Gunda brushes the sweat from her forehead.

"Hey! You guys looking for a pilot? Or a mechanic? I kind of need a job," she looks behind her, then back at the group. "Quickly."

"We could always use more help," Chroma says, matter-of-factly. "Co-pilots. A thing, yes? What is your name and your preferred pronouns."

Gunda seems a bit taken aback by the question on pronouns, looking down at herself and patting her chest and sides before looking forward again.

"Gunda, and I'm a woman so she if ye want to keep me onboard."