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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Gregor" data-source="post: 5812197" data-attributes="member: 11751">Thraxus sits, with one leg casually crossed over the other, upon the ancient and ornate Captain's throne on the raised central dais of the bridge.  As usual he is impeccably dressed: fitted black high leather boots and tailored pants, be-spoked shirt and leather captain's jacket.  Clasped at his shoulders with small golden claws and draping behind him is his black fur-cloak, an item that some in the mess whisper was skinned from some foul xeno by the Captain's own hands.  At his belt sit a number of antique weapons: a huge hand-cannon acid etched with filigree along the cylinder and a grip of polished white bone; an ancient plasma pistol resplendent in its constant bluish-white glow and detailed in platinum iconography of designs common in the Imperial Navy during the Age of Apostasy; and, a long rapier with an elaborate hilt in the shape of spread bird's wings and the head of a bird of prey for a pommel.  Thraxus idly rubs his perpetually manicured scruff along his chin with a sable gloved hand.  He occasionally pushes a strand of his long brown hair back behind his ears, and stares out at space with intense green eyes.  A cloud of pipe smoke hangs over his head, its source streaming gently from the ebony pipe clenched gently in the Captain's molars.  His unconscious gripping of his teeth sends minor wrinkles up along the handsome scar which runs from his jaw to his cheek bone.       The Captain ignores his brother at first, turning his attention to a display which sits at the end of one of the arm rests on his command throne.  Images of the Imperium and great voyages and victories of man are wrought upon the black and gold metallic chair.  The remainder of the bridge of antiquity is similarly appointed: embellished command chairs for officers perched before stations; bulkheads adorned with bas-reliefs of great captains of the Imperium's past, their heads anointed with laurel wreaths; images and icons of various ships through man's vast history - both from the age of sail and our journey to the stars; and, perched atop a small ionic capitol column sits an elaborately detailed golden globe of old Terra.Quite casually, and with his attention still fixed on the display near his left hand, Thraxus responds.  "I have no problems with you playing as an officer aboard this vessel Bromidus, so long as you finish what you start.  So, please report on our expected duration of stay here at Port Wander, our potential for obtaining contract work - requiring travel to the expanse - whilst here, and send a command to the crew that I expect our supplies at full capacity and our systems fully operational before we leave." He pauses to draw from his pipe and punches a few key strokes into the panel on the throne.  Idly again, "Oh and Bromidus, tell the crew not to forget to get extra recaf, wine and ale.  Ensure the wine is dry and from a good vintage and the ale rich in colour and balanced in flavour ... something cask aged if possible.  I'll not sail into an expanse fraught with savages without something to enjoy first thing in the morning, or whilst I read."Thraxus turns his attention back to the view of space. "Ah, how inconsiderate of me," he says leaning over his shoulder to speak to Mordekai, Zander and Macharius, "I do not believe you have met my brother.  Now would be a good time to introduce yourselves gentlemen."      </blockquote>

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