Initial adventure of Ramirez Illistrad.
Called to Nyx Infernus to bless construction of a new communications relay, inspiration struck on the long Warp voyage from Mars to Valis Augustena. The design for the communications satellite was a work of fevered genius, sketched out and mocked up in great detail before even setting down on the target planet; the final product included two servitors in orbit alongside it to continually chant in praise of the masterpiece into the vacuum of space. Work on the uplink was an unwelcome distraction from the interesting part, the resultant abbreviated rites raising some suspicion from the faithful that had seen many construction sermons before.
On route to Nyx Infernus itself, the pilot misinterpreted space traffic control and steered out of the planet’s umbra. The relatively light craft was not rated for full solar exposure, shorting out several sensors and overwhelming the pilot. The distraction provided by a passenger seizing the controls gave enough cover to entirely dispense with the liturgies and restore the ship to working order with the bare minimum of maintenance. When speed truly counts, Spare Me This Nonsense.
I [the pilot] bought passage aboard the Trireme Tranquilus, since it was headed for Nyx Infernus and I knew that information about the new communications relay would fetch a hefty price on the black market. To the right buyer, the information would go a long way toward settling my Lorasian debt. During the flight, the pilot lost contact with Nyx Space Traffic Control and steered out of the planet’s umbra. Idiot! The vessel was not equipped to handle full exposure to solar flairs at such close range: the pilot quickly lost control, and the ship’s navigation and communication sensors were fried. I had no choice but to take over. Flying blind, there was nothing for it but to take the ship into a lateral spin. Miraculously, I managed to get it back on track for a safe landing on Nyx. Sometimes you just have to roll the dice and hope for the best.
I was walking the promenade when leviathan whispered to me of the inspirations in the dreamspirit tanks below. The shadowy corners housed furious addicts instead, and then followed my hasty retreat. I thought leviathan had betrayed me, but Sisigmund staggered squinting into the sunshine; swinging his steely fists in a spirited waddle. They beat him within an inch of a lessor man’s life, but his inebriated indomitability won through. Intriguing. Leviathan was right again.