Friday, December 3, 2010

[USS Charon] SD241012.03 || Joint Log "The Bright and the Dark" Part XIV || 1st Lt Brent Warren, LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

 =/\=  Sas-a-Shar (The Forge), T'Karath Sanctuary =/\=

9th Day in the month of T'lakht, YS 9022


Brent eyed the large tiger like creature before he then gave Sakarra an appraising look.  "I've always been more of a canine person myself," he said before he nodded his head in an agreement before Brent moved down and lay up against the large hairy beast.  "Think he'll calm down now?  He is quite protective of you isn't he," Brent asked as he watched the large paw finally descend down and stop bothering Sakarra.  Brent decided that while he was willing to lay against this massive cat, he was not content to do without Sakarra on his lap.  He leaned over and picked her up and placed her on his lap.  "Yes.  You are surrounded by impossible males.  Better get used to it," he said before Brent closed his eyes, his arms wrapped around his beloved as he began to try to fall asleep.


"He is." And that was yet another understatement to be sure. Why Warya had gotten it into his head that this particular cub required his attention more than most, and continued to believe so even after she was long since an adult, Sakarra could not explain. But he had always been there, a massive grinning face peeking into her basket when she was but a babe, a towering mountain of fur and fangs, steadying her when she took her first enthusiastic steps and inevitably toppled over, caught by a gentle paw bigger than her head.

He had been there when she had gone exploring in the hills and fled into an old, dead tree after a pack of Kayren'tu had decided she would make a savory dinner, and had lent his quiet, steady presence when she had returned home, heartbroken, after …

"My oldest, dearest friend." Warm and comfortable between the Sehlat's fur and her beloved's sheltering arms, Sakarra relaxed. This time, her sleep was deep and without dreams.


=/\= Quite a bit later, somewhere deep underground =/\=


Sakarra respectfully rounded a massive sarcophagus that like as not held the remnants of an ancient warrior – at least judging by the dust-covered markings identifying his clan - and nearly bumped into a tall vase in the process. The torches were of excellent quality and burned bright and clean even after centuries of collecting their own mantle of dust, but one had to be careful all the same. The dry, unprotected mummies standing watch in some of the corridors would go up in flames in a trice, and Desert Spirits alone knew what else slumbered in these old catacombs …

"This is quite … oh. Look!" Armor. Actual battle armor as a Jarel would have worn, gilded and adorned with leather trappings, preserved to near perfection. "These chambers must have been sealed, or cut off by a collapsed tunnel. I do know there was an archaeological expedition twenty seven years ago …" amazing. Slender fingers traced the gleaming metal, engraved with intricate markings but so shallow no blade could ever get caught in them. How had they done it, without modern tools?


Brent turned and looked at the armor itself. "I assume this is armor for the nobles?" Brent asked as he looked down at the armor itself. "That much metal would have been rare to everyone but a Roman Legionnaire on Earth, or a nobleman. And Even then most of the armor on a Legionnaire would have been in his shield," Brent looked around trying to find a sword or something else. "So this active volcano were standing on probably opened it up at some point in time. Lovely," Brent said dryly as he thought of volcanic activity picking up again.

In his unamused state Brent peered behind what looked like a shelf. Which if Sakarra was to be believed was enough of a find all on its own.  The wooden side had collapsed some time ago, scattered across the floor.  As Brent peered into the little shelf he blinked, adjusting his light source before he had a second better look.  "Hey sweetheart? I found a couple of things in here. One looks like a sword, and... If I'm not mistaken the other looks like the head of the Vulcan equivalent of a Halberd."  He hadn't touched them yet, but the desire was readily there.


"Oh, yes. Most assuredly a noble, and a wealthy one at that if he could afford to outfit his mount in such a manner." It certainly lent credence to the assumption that this sanctuary had once been founded as a military outpost, though why they would have buried a person of such import here and not taken him home … a siege, perhaps? Ah, if only there were some writings to be found …

She caught sight of Brent examining a broken down shelf and smiled quietly at his restraint, even though curiosity shone in his face brighter than the torches.


"A sword?" How unusual. "It can't be his, they would have left it with him in the … oh." Sakarra sidestepped some detritus that blocked her view and for a second went positively wide-eyed.

"S'heshu. And … a combat Lirpa. Those were … those were taken from his enemies. Or one, whom he defeated in personal combat. Someone important, or a warrior worthy of respect."

Not to mention those were forged in the style of her very own ancestors, simplistic yet deadly in their stark beauty. "We should … can you reach it? There has to be a name, a clan symbol, somewhere."


 "Didn't know if I should touch them or not. I figured some archeologist would have a fit at me at a later date," Brent said half amused as he covered his hand with his long white clothing and slowly pulled the implements out one at a time.  He set the sword down on the side board of the shelf itself before extracting the halberd blade.  "Big bastard isn't it," he said as he set it down next to the sword blade.  He began to examine the weapons before he realized that he couldn't read modern Vulcan let alone Ancient Vulcan.  "Well I see markings," he said pointing out a few markings on the halberd blade.  "Damned if I know what they mean though," he said with a smirk.


"Even an archaeologist would have to retrieve them to examine the inscriptions." Sakarra pointed out quite reasonably and then sucked in a sharp breath. Markings indeed. Sa'arvan. Mother to Sa'aleh. These were …

"Brent, we have to take these with us. We can't … if another earthquake seals these tunnels again … they belonged to one of the last great Matriarchs of Sas-a-Shar. They are … they were believed lost."

There was awe and a good amount of excitement in the little Vulcan's voice as her fingertips carefully ran over the prominent Clan sigil etched into the Lirpa.

Barbarians indeed. Barbarians who made steel do magical things under their hands, formed it into beauty like a song frozen into solid form.



"Warya, I asked you to wait… no, no, you will get stuck again."

"Mew. Arrr."

"You are sure?"


"I meant no offense."


Torn between wanting to look for more unexpected treasures and imparting the good news, the young Vulcan met her beloved's inquisitive, deep blue gaze "Warya has come to tell us the storm has passed. Though I dread to think how much havoc he caused just getting here."


Brent looked at the weapons for a moment before he tore a piece of cloth away from his clothing and bundled up the weapons that he had discovered.  "Alright then we'll take them with us.  But if any archeologist gives me the business because I mishandled them I expect you to give them that look you're so fond of giving me when I annoy you too much," he said before he bowed his head to the large cat one last time.

"I don't suppose the large kitty told you if it was night time outside," Brent asked hopefully as he followed behind Sakarra and the large cat as they began to make their way out of the little tunnel they had found.  He took a drink from his pack and offered the hose to Sakarra.  "Here. Have a drink before we hit the surface. We'll need it, especially if it is still daylight out," he said stretching out a little bit as the hallways began to get wider and wider.  "So I imagine your father will be happy to see you again. Although I'm not quite sure if your grandmother will be happy that I ignored her and didn't let her in on the secret of where you were," he said unamused at the prospect of dealing with that Betazoid woman again.


"You may be certain I will, should any dare." It was rather touching, the way he so carefully bundled up the ancient weapons and handled them with respect. No, they would not 'give him business'. Logic alone forbid it. Better to have those long lost cultural treasures removed from their resting place than risk losing them again, this time perhaps irretrievably. Though the lava flow was currently not making the ground shake, it was close enough to present a constant danger. It could be decades before it caused mayhem again – or hours. In this one case, Sakarra preferred to err on the side of caution.


"Warya need not tell me, beloved. It has been thirty eight point eight v'hral since we took shelter here. Therefore it is zero point eight standard hours before sunset." She politely declined the water, having had her fill during the unexpected and delightful bath, and carefully navigated her way behind Brent's broad shoulders and Warya's shuffling mass of fur.

"But yes, I imagine he will. As I will be happy to see him."

It had been over two standard years since Rel Tyrax had seen his little one to the spaceport at Arandel and bid her fair travels. A lot of things had happened since then.


Up and up they went, following the Sehlat's impeccable sense of direction, gradual slopes giving way to stairs, until Sakarra could smell the clean, sharp scent of rapidly cooling air.


It was the last flash of Nevasa sinking behind the hills that greeted them and for a moment Sakarra stood blinking at the sudden brightness. Far in the east, T'Khut leaned over the parched plains, her bloated deep red shape bathing the sands in the color of alien blood.

Silence. Utter, complete silence.

It was passing strange after the howling of the storm and the ever present low rumble down in the tunnels, but the little Vulcan seemed to breathe more freely under the open skies.

"Shall we?"



=/\= End Log =/\=


Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Executive Officer


Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander


USS Charon