This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Xavier attempts to open the dead pirate's briefcase, and is surprised to find that it doesn't seem to open, but rather is a single block just made to look like it opens. Miffed, he gives the standing reaver next to him a good wallop with his quarterstaff, but can't quite finish the enemy off with his kick.
7
Yet another reaver jumps down to replace the dead not-a-briefcase carrying one! It has four arms, two of them holding the same scimitar and crossbow as most, but two of them are just making a series of threatening, insulting and obscene gestures.
[Zaius is up]
As yet another reaver leaps down, to land right next to him,. making some pretty insulting gestures, Xavier gave a nervous laugh, and gestured to the newest reaver. "These guys really don't like me so they?"
Zaius cuts down the pirate with a savage blow, almost separating its metal jaw from the rest of its body, which falls to the deck.
16
An untended coil of rope slides across the deck and slams into Rel, unfurling and tangling around his feet. [Your speed is reduces by half until the end of your next turn]
[Enarie is next to act]
Xavier looks in awe as the Hadozee which he may or may not have any connection to, be wasn't sure,. completely destroy the newest guest. He gave a nod towards the Hadozee. "Thanks friend, these guys really want to kill me for some reason. Was briefcase their leader or something?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Enarie runs though the fish-faced reaver, but doesn't quite get the kill, before blinking away.
event: 15
Rel cuts down the pirate in front of him even as yet another, blue skinned with a single large horn on its forehead, swings down to the deck between him and Gloix.
The fishlike reaver steps toward Roy, intending to attack, but as he places his foot down, the residual charge left by Enarie's attack arcs to the deck, there's a smell that is all the more disturbing for not being particularly unpleasant, and the reaver falls dead.
The scaled reaver and the most recent arrival step toward Gloix and Enarie and both hit, as does the four-armed one attacking Xavier. All do significant damage but not quite enough to take any of you down.
As the reavers make their attacks, a thunderous explosion shakes the ship, filling the air with splinters of wood. Bodies are hurled into Wildspace—and then
everything
stops.
Wreckage hangs motionless. Reavers freeze in the middle of their attacks. Even the stars stop twinkling. A hulking figure emerges from the center of the explosion: a hadozee with a missing wing flap wearing a military uniform bristling with medals. The air around her smells like cigar smoke. "As you can see," Boatswain Tarto growls, "the battle of H'Catha didn't go so well for Captain Sardax and her crew. But her last battle makes a good testing ground for new recruits."
The illusion of Wildspace melts away: first the reavers vanish, then the Moonraider and the attacking ship, leaving you seeming standing in empty space; even the weapons in your hands and the armor on your backs evaporate. Finally the starry background of Wildspace itself fades away, and you find yourselves in one of the magical chambers of the Simulations Deck, your memories slowly fitting back into place. You recall being warned that your first experience of a Wildspace simulation would be disorienting—to test your ability to function under pressure.
[Everyone regains all your hit points, spell slots and other limited use powers.]
Looking around, you find yourselves in a large circular space with rune-inscribed walls and dotted with a handful of unusual-looking chairs that Gloix and Enarie, at least, would recognize as slightly modified spelljamming helms. Your "crewmates", far from being long-trusted allies, are people you've barely met—perhaps a few days ago on the ships that brought you here, perhaps only today.
You arrived this morning: some on Belligerence, a chartered galley out of Waterdeep, which picked up passengers and crew in the Moonshae Isles, Baldur’s Gate, Candlekeep, and Port Nyanzaru; some on Reflection, a spelljamming cruiser out of the Rock of Bral, bringing passengers from far stranger origins. You’ve come to seek fortune and glory at Spelljammer Academy: a secret enclave of spellcasters and swords-for-hire on the mysterious isle of Nimbral. Graduates from the academy join the Spelljammer Fleet, a magical navy sworn to protect Toril and explore worlds far beyond.
The academy is carved into a two-thousand-foot-high column of rock that juts up from the cliffs of the island’s west coast, its multiple levels connected by stairs, ramps, and magical lifts. After docking, Belligerence in a sea cave at the base of the column, Reflection in berths cut into its very tip, you were marched to the Simulations Deck midway up the academy spire for an "aptitude test".
"Well, I can see some of you still need to get your space legs," Boatswain Tarto comments drily, "but you can certainly dish out the damage. Decent teamwork, albeit with a little too much banter for my liking," she glares at Relonius, "though I'm given to understand some species use that as a form of social bonding."
"Some of you need to work on your situational awareness; don't get so distracted by the enemy right in front of you that you fail to notice the environment around you, both for dangers and opportunities to take cover or gain a tactical advantage. Remember to fight with your brains, not just your weapons and spells; did any of you try to come up with a plan other than to continue fending off an everlasting supply of boarding troops until you were completely overwhelmed?" She looks over the group. "Leave the heroic last stands to the amateur adventurers; make no mistake, your primary mission is always to come back alive."
"Still, none of you died, which is more than I can say for some of the cadets that have come through here, so there's that at least," she admits grudgingly.
Xavier was full of terrified energy as reavers swarmed the ship. His group couldn't make it, he was going to. Everything stopped, and he was back from the simulation. Everything came back in a rush. What the heck was going on, who his crewmates were, enrolling in spelljammer, the whole shebang. He looked down at his plain tunic, then looked back at the boatswain.
"Um your boatswainship? There must be a glitch in the system. All my armor is still here."
Not expecting a positive reaction, he pulled out an opaque wine flask, and drank in quick gulps. It was full of water, but he wasn't sure if anyone actually knew that. He ran his fingers through his hair, and grinned. "Well that was fun huh? I didn't know wildspace was so pretty."
Rel's heart is still pumping wildly with adrenaline, even after the simulation ceases. As his awareness of his surroundings returns, he practically hugs himself with excitement. Wildspace! And the Academy! Can it really be true? How did a lowly bard like him get so lucky? When the Bos'n glares at him, Relonius is completely unrepentant, dropping into a faux curtsey.
As he reflects further on his performance in the simulation, he realizes he could have done more to support his teammates... but there were just SO. MANY. REAVERS. He vows to himself to follow the Bos'n's counsel and try to use his wits more and his fists less in the future.
Gloix lets out a cry as his blood splatters onto the ships deck from the reavers attack. He hisses out an arcane word and reaches out towards the reaver, hand already crackling with energy.... and then its frozen. Gone. The simulation stops and the thri-keen takes a small step to recenter himself and regain his balance while one of his arms moves to where the reaver had cut him to feel unbroken chitin as it reality, the true reality, sinks in.
The Academy. His chance to maybe finally really learn something, to be something, and if his face was capable of a smile he would be, but it is more a twitch of facial pinchers. "I think we have much to learn," he says in that odd warbling voice of his, but full of excitement at the prospect.
Zaius throws the Boatswain a sideways glare “Didn’t figure they were a never ending supply. Thought we were holding our own.” The old ape has a point, I will have to remember that in the future, he thinks to himself.
He shakes off the criticism and puts on a happy face, looking around the simulation deck with wide eyes “So, what’s next? When do we get our ship?”He was finally at the academy and soon would be back in the Astral Sea, nothing would keep him in a sour mood for long.
(OOC so Thri-keen only speak telepathically, right?)
[They do, but unless there's a specific reason to care about it (like, you're in a silence or outside the air envelope of a ship in wildspace), I for one am mostly not going to bother making the distinction (read: I'm definitely going to forget). I figure the experience of a thri-kreen "speaking" to you is no different from anyone else, they just didn't bother with the "making air wiggle, eardrum, auditory nerve" part of the process.]
Tarto's expression softens for just a moment. "Aye, Cadet Imwe, some of the most beautiful sight's I've ever laid eyes on were in the empty reaches of Wildspace," she says, almost wistfully.
"Next, Cadet Zaius, I give you the history speech I am required to give every group of new recruits, and then I send you down to Administration for them to sign you up and make you someone else's problem for a while."
Her voice takes on the tone of someone repeating a litany they've recited a hundred times. "Spelljamming ships have plied the currents of the Astral Sea since long before anyone can remember—and when 'anyone' includes elves, solar dragons and actual literal gods, that's a very long time—but the Spelljammer Academy in its current incarnation was founded by Mirt the Merciless some decades ago, to train both Spelljammers and members of the Spelljammer Corps, the two branches of the magical navy we call the Spelljammer Fleet. The Fleet is dedicated to defending Toril from cosmic-level threats, much greater than the run-of-the-mill warlords and demon-summoning cults that you might be used to dealing with, as well as to exploring the worlds beyond this one. Few people outside the Fleet know of its existence, and we'd like to keep it that way, so watch who you talk to.
"The 'Old Wolf' is still the Academy's chief financial officer. He manages the institution's operations alongside a small group of powerful high-ranking officers, known collectively as 'the Bridge.' He also keeps our biggest investors out on the Rock of Bral happy, which might just be a tougher fight than any pirate battle.
"Those of you with some magical ability may qualify to join the Spelljammers 'proper': to learn to operate the helm of a spelljamming ship to navigate between worlds through Wildspace and the Astral Sea. The others, or those who prefer not to sit around watching the starts go by all day, may join the Spelljammer Corps," she stands a little straighter as she says the name, "charged with doing the actual work when you get where you're going.
"All right, class over, your mettle has been tested, off to Administration with you if you still want to sign up. Once you're done with their little orientation routine, report back to me here. Oh, and stay on the marked paths, the security detachment are even twitchier than usual at the moment. Dismissed!"
Rel veers over to walk beside Enarie and Xavier. "Serious?... Why? Laughter and playfulness doesn't mean we're not paying attention. It is SO. FREAKIN'. AWESOME. that we're here, and get to go into space! I mean, you can be an old sourpuss if you want to, but frowning and being sad all the time doesn't make a person a better spelljammer or crewman. Just makes them unpleasant to hang around." And with that, he mirthfully skips ahead on his goat-legs, gawking at all the sights and sounds on the way to Admin.
(I totally blanked on that. Just pretend all that talk was telepathic then. clicking and clacking otherwise)
Gloix adjusts his robes after the speech given to them and makes his way towards the admin area as well. His insectile eyes gleam as his head turns this way and that to take in the sights.
Rel smiles at Gloix and pats him on the back. "Hey, good work back there! Having all those arms sure is handy in a fight! (Get it? Handy? Hand-y?) Anyway, I'll have to remember to stay close to you next time we face down hordes of bizarre-looking pirates. "By the way, that telepathic speech thing you do is pretty cool. Can you read my thoughts, too, or can you only project? Just askin' cause I wouldn't want to get into a game of Three-Dragon Ante with someone who knew what I was holding, know what I mean? But might be 'handy' to know what the bad guys are planning before they do it..."
The satyr says all of this in a cheerful, non-threatening, non-judgmental voice. He's brimming with curiosity about everything and everyone, and not great at respecting personal boundaries.
Roy listens with quiet interest to Tarto's litany, absorbing all the information it provided. Once she was finished he followed her directions, looking (but not gawking) around taking in everything he sees cataloguing it and filing it away in case there was use for it in the future. At some point while walking the appointed path he trips and ends up straying from it.
Zaius moves down the path toward the administration building with the others. Finally, a chance to join the Corps! He thinks to himself, he has no interest in being an actual spelljammer. No, the life of a deckrat would suit him just fine. “That’s right, Rel. Nothing wrong with enjoying life!” He encourages the Satyr with a loud laugh, and then looks over to the others with a serious expression “So, why do you think the security is all up in a twist? Is there trouble afoot?”
One of the security personnel standing by the door out of the simulation chamber hands you back the green leather cap you were given when you deboarded the ship that brought you here, marking you as a visitor with restricted access. A second security officers posted outside the door escorts you out of the simulation area, down a corridor cut into the stone of the island. As you approach the set of stairs down to the next level, you notice a passage off to your right whose entrance is rimmed with purple; the passage you just came from is rimmed with green. The officer leads you down the stairs, then through several more levels of corridors, off which branch other passages and doors marked red; at one point Roy mistakenly tries to turn down red-coded corridor, but is stopped by a security guard who half-draws a shortsword that glows a slickly-green color, and in no uncertain terms points him back in the right direction.
Eventually you are led through a green door, into the Administration office. Behind the reception desk is a thri-kreen with white chitin mottled with patches of brilliant blue, and matching blue eyes. One of her arms is filling out a form, two are sorting though some incoming correspondence, and the fourth picks up one of several of sending stones arrayed in front of her. She speaks into it, "Academy accounts payable, yes? Please hold," then replaces the stone and looks up at you. "Ah yes, today's new recruits, yes? I am Sor'kur. You have decided to join us? Yes." With two hands she places two sets of forms on the desk in front of you, while a third hands out pens. The fourth picks up a different sending stone, into which she says, "Apologies, yes, but Mr. the Merciless is not taking calls at the moment." Turning back to you, she instructs, "Those joining the Spelljammer Corps please fill in this form, yes? Those for Spelljammers, yes, this form."
[Time to declare which track you're taking; other than the fact you have to be a caster to attune to a helm and therefore get the pilot training, there's honestly not a lot of practical difference, so it's mostly a question, for the casters, of do you think you'll ever want/need to be able to fly a ship? Also, it's highly recommended that at least one of you does take up piloting.]
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As yet another reaver leaps down, to land right next to him,. making some pretty insulting gestures, Xavier gave a nervous laugh, and gestured to the newest reaver. "These guys really don't like me so they?"
Xavier looks in awe as the Hadozee which he may or may not have any connection to, be wasn't sure,. completely destroy the newest guest. He gave a nod towards the Hadozee. "Thanks friend, these guys really want to kill me for some reason. Was briefcase their leader or something?"
Enarie runs though the fish-faced reaver, but doesn't quite get the kill, before blinking away.
event: 15
Rel cuts down the pirate in front of him even as yet another, blue skinned with a single large horn on its forehead, swings down to the deck between him and Gloix.
[Reaver's turn:
Reaver 5 scimitar vs Enarie: 8 Damage: 2 slashing damage
Reaver 7 scimitar vs Xavier: 16 Damage: 4 slashing damage
Reaver 8 scimitar vs Gloix: 7 Damage: 3 slashing damage
]
The fishlike reaver steps toward Roy, intending to attack, but as he places his foot down, the residual charge left by Enarie's attack arcs to the deck, there's a smell that is all the more disturbing for not being particularly unpleasant, and the reaver falls dead.
The scaled reaver and the most recent arrival step toward Gloix and Enarie and both hit, as does the four-armed one attacking Xavier. All do significant damage but not quite enough to take any of you down.
As the reavers make their attacks, a thunderous explosion shakes the ship, filling the air with splinters of wood. Bodies are hurled into Wildspace—and then
everything
stops.
Wreckage hangs motionless. Reavers freeze in the middle of their attacks. Even the stars stop twinkling. A hulking figure emerges from the center of the explosion: a hadozee with a missing wing flap wearing a military uniform bristling with medals. The air around her smells like cigar smoke. "As you can see," Boatswain Tarto growls, "the battle of H'Catha didn't go so well for Captain Sardax and her crew. But her last battle makes a good testing ground for new recruits."
"End simulation!"
Episode One: Orientation
The illusion of Wildspace melts away: first the reavers vanish, then the Moonraider and the attacking ship, leaving you seeming standing in empty space; even the weapons in your hands and the armor on your backs evaporate. Finally the starry background of Wildspace itself fades away, and you find yourselves in one of the magical chambers of the Simulations Deck, your memories slowly fitting back into place. You recall being warned that your first experience of a Wildspace simulation would be disorienting—to test your ability to function under pressure.
[Everyone regains all your hit points, spell slots and other limited use powers.]
Looking around, you find yourselves in a large circular space with rune-inscribed walls and dotted with a handful of unusual-looking chairs that Gloix and Enarie, at least, would recognize as slightly modified spelljamming helms. Your "crewmates", far from being long-trusted allies, are people you've barely met—perhaps a few days ago on the ships that brought you here, perhaps only today.
You arrived this morning: some on Belligerence, a chartered galley out of Waterdeep, which picked up passengers and crew in the Moonshae Isles, Baldur’s Gate, Candlekeep, and Port Nyanzaru; some on Reflection, a spelljamming cruiser out of the Rock of Bral, bringing passengers from far stranger origins. You’ve come to seek fortune and glory at Spelljammer Academy: a secret enclave of spellcasters and swords-for-hire on the mysterious isle of Nimbral. Graduates from the academy join the Spelljammer Fleet, a magical navy sworn to protect Toril and explore worlds far beyond.
The academy is carved into a two-thousand-foot-high column of rock that juts up from the cliffs of the island’s west coast, its multiple levels connected by stairs, ramps, and magical lifts. After docking, Belligerence in a sea cave at the base of the column, Reflection in berths cut into its very tip, you were marched to the Simulations Deck midway up the academy spire for an "aptitude test".
"Well, I can see some of you still need to get your space legs," Boatswain Tarto comments drily, "but you can certainly dish out the damage. Decent teamwork, albeit with a little too much banter for my liking," she glares at Relonius, "though I'm given to understand some species use that as a form of social bonding."
"Some of you need to work on your situational awareness; don't get so distracted by the enemy right in front of you that you fail to notice the environment around you, both for dangers and opportunities to take cover or gain a tactical advantage. Remember to fight with your brains, not just your weapons and spells; did any of you try to come up with a plan other than to continue fending off an everlasting supply of boarding troops until you were completely overwhelmed?" She looks over the group. "Leave the heroic last stands to the amateur adventurers; make no mistake, your primary mission is always to come back alive."
"Still, none of you died, which is more than I can say for some of the cadets that have come through here, so there's that at least," she admits grudgingly.
Xavier was full of terrified energy as reavers swarmed the ship. His group couldn't make it, he was going to. Everything stopped, and he was back from the simulation. Everything came back in a rush. What the heck was going on, who his crewmates were, enrolling in spelljammer, the whole shebang. He looked down at his plain tunic, then looked back at the boatswain.
"Um your boatswainship? There must be a glitch in the system. All my armor is still here."
Not expecting a positive reaction, he pulled out an opaque wine flask, and drank in quick gulps. It was full of water, but he wasn't sure if anyone actually knew that. He ran his fingers through his hair, and grinned. "Well that was fun huh? I didn't know wildspace was so pretty."
Rel's heart is still pumping wildly with adrenaline, even after the simulation ceases. As his awareness of his surroundings returns, he practically hugs himself with excitement. Wildspace! And the Academy! Can it really be true? How did a lowly bard like him get so lucky? When the Bos'n glares at him, Relonius is completely unrepentant, dropping into a faux curtsey.
As he reflects further on his performance in the simulation, he realizes he could have done more to support his teammates... but there were just SO. MANY. REAVERS. He vows to himself to follow the Bos'n's counsel and try to use his wits more and his fists less in the future.
Gloix lets out a cry as his blood splatters onto the ships deck from the reavers attack. He hisses out an arcane word and reaches out towards the reaver, hand already crackling with energy.... and then its frozen. Gone. The simulation stops and the thri-keen takes a small step to recenter himself and regain his balance while one of his arms moves to where the reaver had cut him to feel unbroken chitin as it reality, the true reality, sinks in.
The Academy. His chance to maybe finally really learn something, to be something, and if his face was capable of a smile he would be, but it is more a twitch of facial pinchers. "I think we have much to learn," he says in that odd warbling voice of his, but full of excitement at the prospect.
(OOC so Thri-keen only speak telepathically, right?)
Zaius throws the Boatswain a sideways glare “Didn’t figure they were a never ending supply. Thought we were holding our own.” The old ape has a point, I will have to remember that in the future, he thinks to himself.
He shakes off the criticism and puts on a happy face, looking around the simulation deck with wide eyes “So, what’s next? When do we get our ship?” He was finally at the academy and soon would be back in the Astral Sea, nothing would keep him in a sour mood for long.
Roy silently nods at Tartos admonishment rubbing where the recently vanished wound had been and looks to the others to see how they are taking it.
Oriovar - Wood Elf Cleric (1) - Sword Coast Campaign
Roy Quigley - Human Artificer (1) - Karrion's Spelljammer Academy Starboard
[They do, but unless there's a specific reason to care about it (like, you're in a silence or outside the air envelope of a ship in wildspace), I for one am mostly not going to bother making the distinction (read: I'm definitely going to forget). I figure the experience of a thri-kreen "speaking" to you is no different from anyone else, they just didn't bother with the "making air wiggle, eardrum, auditory nerve" part of the process.]
Tarto's expression softens for just a moment. "Aye, Cadet Imwe, some of the most beautiful sight's I've ever laid eyes on were in the empty reaches of Wildspace," she says, almost wistfully.
"Next, Cadet Zaius, I give you the history speech I am required to give every group of new recruits, and then I send you down to Administration for them to sign you up and make you someone else's problem for a while."
Her voice takes on the tone of someone repeating a litany they've recited a hundred times. "Spelljamming ships have plied the currents of the Astral Sea since long before anyone can remember—and when 'anyone' includes elves, solar dragons and actual literal gods, that's a very long time—but the Spelljammer Academy in its current incarnation was founded by Mirt the Merciless some decades ago, to train both Spelljammers and members of the Spelljammer Corps, the two branches of the magical navy we call the Spelljammer Fleet. The Fleet is dedicated to defending Toril from cosmic-level threats, much greater than the run-of-the-mill warlords and demon-summoning cults that you might be used to dealing with, as well as to exploring the worlds beyond this one. Few people outside the Fleet know of its existence, and we'd like to keep it that way, so watch who you talk to.
"The 'Old Wolf' is still the Academy's chief financial officer. He manages the institution's operations alongside a small group of powerful high-ranking officers, known collectively as 'the Bridge.' He also keeps our biggest investors out on the Rock of Bral happy, which might just be a tougher fight than any pirate battle.
"Those of you with some magical ability may qualify to join the Spelljammers 'proper': to learn to operate the helm of a spelljamming ship to navigate between worlds through Wildspace and the Astral Sea. The others, or those who prefer not to sit around watching the starts go by all day, may join the Spelljammer Corps," she stands a little straighter as she says the name, "charged with doing the actual work when you get where you're going.
"All right, class over, your mettle has been tested, off to Administration with you if you still want to sign up. Once you're done with their little orientation routine, report back to me here. Oh, and stay on the marked paths, the security detachment are even twitchier than usual at the moment. Dismissed!"
Rel snaps what he believes to be a crisp salute at the bos'n, and walks with the others along the indicated path to the Administration area.
While walking she moves next to Xavier
Can‘t you take this a bit more serious?
You get the feeling that she doesnt takes this opportunyty for granted
Olloray Dim - Limbo's Pit
Gunther Korroden - Nightmares in the Mist
Rel veers over to walk beside Enarie and Xavier. "Serious?... Why? Laughter and playfulness doesn't mean we're not paying attention. It is SO. FREAKIN'. AWESOME. that we're here, and get to go into space! I mean, you can be an old sourpuss if you want to, but frowning and being sad all the time doesn't make a person a better spelljammer or crewman. Just makes them unpleasant to hang around." And with that, he mirthfully skips ahead on his goat-legs, gawking at all the sights and sounds on the way to Admin.
(I totally blanked on that. Just pretend all that talk was telepathic then. clicking and clacking otherwise)
Gloix adjusts his robes after the speech given to them and makes his way towards the admin area as well. His insectile eyes gleam as his head turns this way and that to take in the sights.
Rel smiles at Gloix and pats him on the back. "Hey, good work back there! Having all those arms sure is handy in a fight! (Get it? Handy? Hand-y?) Anyway, I'll have to remember to stay close to you next time we face down hordes of bizarre-looking pirates.
"By the way, that telepathic speech thing you do is pretty cool. Can you read my thoughts, too, or can you only project? Just askin' cause I wouldn't want to get into a game of Three-Dragon Ante with someone who knew what I was holding, know what I mean? But might be 'handy' to know what the bad guys are planning before they do it..."
The satyr says all of this in a cheerful, non-threatening, non-judgmental voice. He's brimming with curiosity about everything and everyone, and not great at respecting personal boundaries.
Roy listens with quiet interest to Tarto's litany, absorbing all the information it provided. Once she was finished he followed her directions, looking (but not gawking) around taking in everything he sees cataloguing it and filing it away in case there was use for it in the future. At some point while walking the appointed path he trips and ends up straying from it.
Oriovar - Wood Elf Cleric (1) - Sword Coast Campaign
Roy Quigley - Human Artificer (1) - Karrion's Spelljammer Academy Starboard
Zaius moves down the path toward the administration building with the others. Finally, a chance to join the Corps! He thinks to himself, he has no interest in being an actual spelljammer. No, the life of a deckrat would suit him just fine. “That’s right, Rel. Nothing wrong with enjoying life!” He encourages the Satyr with a loud laugh, and then looks over to the others with a serious expression “So, why do you think the security is all up in a twist? Is there trouble afoot?”
One of the security personnel standing by the door out of the simulation chamber hands you back the green leather cap you were given when you deboarded the ship that brought you here, marking you as a visitor with restricted access. A second security officers posted outside the door escorts you out of the simulation area, down a corridor cut into the stone of the island. As you approach the set of stairs down to the next level, you notice a passage off to your right whose entrance is rimmed with purple; the passage you just came from is rimmed with green. The officer leads you down the stairs, then through several more levels of corridors, off which branch other passages and doors marked red; at one point Roy mistakenly tries to turn down red-coded corridor, but is stopped by a security guard who half-draws a shortsword that glows a slickly-green color, and in no uncertain terms points him back in the right direction.
Eventually you are led through a green door, into the Administration office. Behind the reception desk is a thri-kreen with white chitin mottled with patches of brilliant blue, and matching blue eyes. One of her arms is filling out a form, two are sorting though some incoming correspondence, and the fourth picks up one of several of sending stones arrayed in front of her. She speaks into it, "Academy accounts payable, yes? Please hold," then replaces the stone and looks up at you. "Ah yes, today's new recruits, yes? I am Sor'kur. You have decided to join us? Yes." With two hands she places two sets of forms on the desk in front of you, while a third hands out pens. The fourth picks up a different sending stone, into which she says, "Apologies, yes, but Mr. the Merciless is not taking calls at the moment." Turning back to you, she instructs, "Those joining the Spelljammer Corps please fill in this form, yes? Those for Spelljammers, yes, this form."
[Time to declare which track you're taking; other than the fact you have to be a caster to attune to a helm and therefore get the pilot training, there's honestly not a lot of practical difference, so it's mostly a question, for the casters, of do you think you'll ever want/need to be able to fly a ship? Also, it's highly recommended that at least one of you does take up piloting.]