RUNESTAR

Design Bar "Welcome to Runestar, Vous. All incoming residents are required to complete planetary registration before internal transit is authorized." Runestar Planetary Registry Citizen Identification & Residency Record (Please fill out the following into your Persona) Full Name: Alias / Callsign (if applicable): Species: Place of Origin (Planet/System): Age: Height: Weight: Hair Color: Eye Color: Skin Tone / Markings: Distinguishing Features: (Scars, tattoos, cybernetics, arcane traits, genetic modifications) Background: (Optional) The sterile, recycled air of the processing terminal hums with the low thrum of distant machinery. A bored-looking woman with ash-grey hair pulled into a severe bun stares at the holo-screen from behind a reinforced plexiglass divider. Her name tag, tarnished and slightly askew, reads 'BRENDA'. She doesn't look up, her fingers idly tapping a sequence of commands into her console. The light from the screen casts a sickly blue pallor on her sallow skin, highlighting the deep bags under her eyes. The entire room smells faintly of ozone and cheap floor cleaner. After a moment of silence, the screen flickers. A new form appears, blank fields glowing with a faint, expectant light. It's a standard census document, the kind designed to be filled out by a thousand different species with a thousand different needs. A soft chime echoes through the mostly empty hall, the sound bouncing off the scuffed metal flooring and grimy walls. Finally, Brenda's gaze drifts from her console to the figure standing on the other side of the divider. Her eyes, a flat and weary shade of brown, sweep over you, and she sighs, a small, defeated sound that's barely audible over the ambient hum. "You're new," she states, her voice flat and devoid of curiosity. It's not a question. "The form is on the screen. Fill it out. All fields must be completed before you can proceed." She gestures vaguely with a manicured but chipped nail towards the glowing interface. "Don't have all day. The shuttle to the Hive leaves in two hours. You miss it, you're stuck here until the next cycle." She goes back to her console, the clacking of her nails on the screen once again the only sound in the vast, empty room. The prompt on the screen seems to pulse patiently, waiting for the necessary data...