Topher Lydon
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I think I called up a random Turkish name list, and it was on that. Khalid was a character I used to play in an RPG years ago, my evil one... great hit... Romulan with a fondness for explosives... and Rashid was that right in the middle of something I heard once and also on the same list as Ishan. Kalijj Arslan's actual son was named Malik Shah, but Fadil flowed Prince Ishan ibn Fadil, ibn Arslan al'Kalijj. It's got a poetic ring to it, almost musical which fit our Prince.
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You made me think of this song, from nightclubbing in Brighton in the 90's
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You know Gremlin's going to find a can opener.
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You *know* Gremlin is in the vents with a camcorder.
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You know Isaiah is going to have to sit on Mickey, while Dimitri steals the paint brush and flushes it out the airlock. Of course you know Gremlin is going to sit with popcorn and scream about kicking the mean captain a few times.
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Colonel, sir! 07
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Because Mickey's last talk to them plan went soooo well
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For those that are interested, my son, Jacob, designed that. He's always been fascinated with the Amsus tech. His nickname for it is "The Super Raptor"
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You ALL know he's renaming the Havana VEGA VIXEN 5 I mean, it's him after all.
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The Spire of Silence The Gremlin had been waiting for three days. Not patiently. Gremlins were not patient. But effectively. There was a difference. It knew every vent. Every junction. Every place where the walls pulsed with that sickly blue light and the floor hummed with the footsteps of guards who never looked up. It had mapped the spire in its head—not with coordinates or labels, but with *sensations*. This corridor smelled like rust. This junction tasted like ozone. This ven
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Julian is the most perceptive of the group. A trait he keeps through what's to come. Next up "Making new friends and how to find them, with rope, a cudgel, and a whole lot of coercion!"
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Good morning
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The morning after the earthquake was the color of old bone. Julian stood at the entrance of the Vanguard's tent, his arms crossed against the cold, and watched the camp try to remember how to be a camp. Men were still digging, still pulling supplies from collapsed tents, still counting the dead. The sky had faded from red to gray, the aurora gone as if it had never been, and the only color left in the world was the brown of mud and the white of frost and the pale, bloodless light of a winte
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Yes teleportation is very limited. The Polians and Gorean have the technology which is stolen/ancient Peligian tech. They lend a set to the Amsus, who lose it to Darien Taine. The Kule used a GIANT set to send their planet to Peligia which resulted in the entire race of Kule being wiped from existence. Sephradon and Prince Edward (the BIG IE) have Peligian blood root running through them to near epic levels, causing them to have the same ability. Sephradon less so than Ed who is a Luck God Dammit!
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"Think I can repaint it yellow?" Mickey mused patting the bulkhead lovingly, already working out the paint costs in his head.
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Someone has to relax in the Harem and "ride the wave" while eating figs.
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Thank you, I enjoyed this one. Riley is one of those characters that earned his happily ever after.
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There are points where I swear, Dimitri is the only functional crew member out of the bunch... @9!
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Vega Vixen 4 because Mickey is bad at naming stuff
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Ishan has his own book. Set after the main story. Where he explores what it means to have survived his grandfather, Jerusalem, and the Crusade.
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This is going to be fun
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The Weight of Promises Three days. Seventy-two hours of running. The Alcubierre drive had been pushed to its limits, the rings humming a constant, exhausted thrum that vibrated through every deck plate. The Vega Vixen III was fast—faster than anything Mickey had ever flown—but even she had her limits. The reactor was running hot. The coolant lines were sweating. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Mickey knew they were pushing too hard. He didn't care. He sat
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Rashid will never allow this.
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I had one of these : Raleigh... a banana yellow one. Gosh this chapter brought back memories. Thank you!
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The darkness inside the Roman drainage culvert was absolute. Freezing runoff soaked straight through the heavy wool of Ashot’s stolen tunic, numbing his hands and knees as he dragged himself upward. The jagged, uneven stone scraped his shoulders. The air tasted of rot, stagnant water, and centuries of trapped dust. He kept his left arm tucked tight against his ribs, shielding the small clay jar of honey with his own body. He moved with the steady, blind rhythm of a boy who knew the dark
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