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Nar Shaddaa

Nar Shaddaa - Thrax and Sena

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"Just throw your gear in here. I hope you don't mind sharing a cabin...?" Telsa looked painfully awkward as she pointed Thrax and Sena toward a small two bunk space. It seemed that the Raven Trespass was not what you might call "roomy".

Thrax stuck his head inside and took a quick look around before turning to face Sena and holding out a closed fist. "I'll toss you for top bunk."

Sena raised an eyebrow at him. "Promises, promises." She replied, extending her own closed fist. Telsa watched in amusement as the two adults quickly hammered out a best of five rock paper scissors. Sena won handily, three to zero. "I do love being on top." She practically purred the words as she swept into the cabin and tossed her duffle onto the upper bunk.

"I'll, uh, leave you two alone then?" Telsa interrupted. It was clear that the two were close friends and making the leap to lovers wouldn't take much.

"Nah, I want to explore this baby. Good to know where the escape pods are. Safety first." Thrax said with mock seriousness. He exited the cabin and glanced back at Sena, who winked and made to follow him. She stopped as her comlink buzzed and she glanced down at it before casually waving him onward.

"You go ahead. I'll be there in a moment." She retreated into the cabin and sat on the edge of the bunk. Thrax nodded, blew her a kiss, and padded after Telsa. Sena sat a more more seconds staring at the comlink before raising it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello Sena. Listen carefully. All you need to do when I am done speaking is answer yes, or no and then hang up." The voice was female, though deep and sultry. "I represent Jasts employer, a certain Hutt who has a rather sizeable investment tied up in this operation. He would like you to report in to him only if any hinky business occurs and his investment is... mishandled. In return, he offers you 20,000 credits, even if things go smoothly. An additional 50,000 are offered if you are injured or killed as a result of representing said Hutt, secretly of course. I will call you back in one hour for an answer. Are you interested?"

The Origin - Kade Ritgar

---

Kade sat at the lounge window, watching as the whirling beauty of hyperspace tumbled away while the Origin hurtled toward Nar Shadda. He was alone on this trip, or as alone as any man in his position could be. Just him, the ships captain, twenty crew, his bodyguards Ogint and Hishembi, and Cinna Ovarug, the Togruta who oversaw his vast business portfolio.

"A credit for your thoughts?" Cinna was sitting across from him on another lounger. She wasn't even looking at him but they had worked together long enough for her to know when he was being pensive.

"You ever feel like having to do business on Nar Shadda is... How do I say it, dirty?" He glanced over at Cinna who looked over her shoulder at him. Both literally and figuratively. The planet is a polluters paradise. He shuddered at the thought.

"All the time. The first thing I do when we get back onboard is hop in the refresher. Unfortunately..." She tapped a datapad sitting next to her. "The credits are excellent. I suppose we could pull up stakes but that mean quite a financial loss."

"Yes, yes, and Hutt space allows us to do business in the Sith Empire as well." Kade waved his hand through the air. They had had this discussion multiple times and it always ended the same way. He hated Nar Shadda, but he loved the credits that could be found there.

This particular trip included a tremendous business opportunity. Nar Shadda was famous for a number of things, casinos, loose morals, discounts on anything and everything. Basically, if you wanted it, it could be found in Nar Shadda. Even Kades luxury clothing line, Scarifs Styles, could be found in several boutique stores. The only real cost to the business were taxes levied by the Hutts.

As a result, Kade had been intrigued when Khulbe the Hutt had contacted him and offered a deal. The Hutt wanted the latest launch of Scarifs Styles for his slave girls. Not the day of the launch, but a month early. In return the Hutt had offered Kade the opportunity to import further product for a significant decrease in the taxes usually levied against them.

He had been on the fence until Cinna had crunched some numbers and showed him the profit that was to be made on the deal. That had decided it for him. He had agreed to attend Nar Shadda, though he would not meet with the Hutt directly. The crime lord indicated that he would be sending several representatives to meet with Kade in order to finalize the deal.

He shrugged. Credits were credits.

The Vampire princes

Ser Erik Tallboy, sworn knight of Baron Ulrek Bathroy, champion of a dozen tournaments, Lord of the Western Wastes, screamed into his visor as he stabbed frantically down into the open mouth of a peasant whose eyes were bulging from his face like something out of a nightmare.

"GOD WILLS IT!'

The battle cry came from every side and Tallboy watched in horror as three of his men-at-arms were simply buried beneath the weight of the dead, their horses tumbling into the melee so that peasants could drive blades through the gaps in expensive armour. His own horse was moving, constantly shifting its hooves, lashing out to break bone, even sinking its teeth into the shoulder of one peasant to shake the woman like a broken doll.

His own breathing was loud inside his helmet, a hollow panting noise, as he slashed down to separate a hand from an arm. The fear he felt when the peasant ignored the wound and continued to pound at his armoured leg with a bloodied stump was real. He could feel a warmth running down his legs and he knew it wasn't blood. He was terrified. He had never encountered any real fighting before, and never with a mob who showed no fear or pain.

He twitched his reins even as he beat down another of the mob, shattering the womans skull so that she sank to the ground with a strange mewing sound. His horse seemed sluggish however and he twisted to look over his shoulder. The narrow view of his visor allowed him just enough of a view to see a pair of peasants hacking at his horses hamstring with wicked knives. Already the beast was beginning to sag and kick in pain.

Tallboy frantically kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dropped to the cobblestone. He landed awkwardly on a body and felt his ankle give a nasty click before pain shot up his hip and he staggered. It was enough for blood stained blacksmith who stepped forward and drove his mace down onto the knights head.

* * * *

The knights helmet gave a satisfying crunch as Devon stove it in with the mace he had made only a year before, possibly to sell to this same knight. He turned away from the downed man and looked for another enemy. Part of him knew he should be terrified, that he should run away. But the memory of Kane, glided in white armour, the power of God blazing in one hand, served to fill him with further zeal.

There was a roaring sound in his head. It could have been his own voice. He didn't know. He gave cry once again and stepped past the dying knight to slam his mace at another mounted man. The heavy head was turned aside by a well placed shield and Devon gave a cry of frustration before trying to smash the wood apart once again.

This time the knights sword deflected the blow and Devon felt the blade whisper down the side of his face. Pain shot tore through his skull, or it might have if he was normal Devon. The loss of his ear did nothing to slow his next blow as he hammered the mace past the shield and sword, smashing the blunt head into the saddle. The cantle shattered and he smiled in satisfaction just long enough for the knight to kick him in the jaw and send him staggering backward.

The feel of pain was distant in his brain and he ignored it as he raised the mace, preparing to throw himself on the knight once more. A heavy blow struck him in the back and he staggered forward a pace, noting with an almost detached interest the several inches of pike head that had appeared out of the front of his chest. He coughed and blood spilled over his lips as he crashed forward into the bloodied street.

* * * *

Gord ripped the pike out of the back of the dying peasant, pausing long enough to stomp on the mans skull to keep him down before driving the pike into the chest of a frail old man who was busy biting the throat of a warhorse. The man looked almost comically surprised before collapsing beneath the horse.

The pikeman ignored the shouted thanks of the knight and hunted after another peasant. This one was a pretty little thing, perhaps fifteen years old. She was stark naked and blood ran in rivulets down her breast and thighs. He could see where she had already taken a wound to her leg but she seemed oblivious to it as she watched him come.

She smiled at him, a coy look, her eyes regarding him playfully beneath jet black lashes. It was enough to make him pause. In a world where most women looked like they'd been kicked in the face by a horse, this little beauty was something else. Perhaps it was why she had lived so long. Amazing what a pretty face did for you.

Gord's thoughts were rudely interrupted as the smile turned into a feral scream. She had somehow gotten close to him and now drove a dagger into his groin. He felt pain blossom as she twisted the blade, still screaming in his face. He gave a sort of hiccup sound as he sank toward the ground, hands clutching at hers, trying to pull the blade free. Still she twisted and laughed in his face.

She was still laughing and twisting when his eyes closed for the final time.

* * * *

She stood, the small knife clutched in one hand, the other pushing back the blood slicked hair from her face. Before Kane had come, Beth had been a whore. Someones whore. A man who had forced himself upon her when she was a child, tearing her insides and leaving her broken on the floor. He had come back again later. And then again. Violating all of her orifices. Then when she had no more fight left in her, he sold her to other men.

The coming of Kane had filled her with righteous vengeance. She had known it was permitted to take revenge and so, when the city went mad, she killed them all. The men who had raped her. She would never be able to remove the stink of their bodies nor the taste in her mouth, but she was able to remove their manhood.

Now she metted out the same to the dying pikeman. Slicing his balls off and hurling them at the horrified knight. She could see his eyes wide behind his visor and she gave an open mouthed laugh before ducking beneath his sword and stabbing his horse in the gut. The beast gave a horrible scream and kicked out. The blow struck her full in the chest and she was thrown into a nearby wall. She felt her back crack and could feel the pain in her chest immediately. She tried to claw her way back to her feet, her wicked little knife reaching for the knight. But her strength was gone and she sank to the cobblestone, aware for the first time how cold it was to the touch.

* * * *

Ser Vinicus managed to get clear of his downed horse and he frantically looked around for the girl who had run beneath him. He had watched her slaughter the pikeman and was determined that no such thing would happen to him. He finally caught sight of her slumped against a nearby wall, her chest caved in, her beautiful breasts destroyed.

He didn't have time to think further on the subject as someone slammed into his shield. He hacked down without thinking and a small boy, no more than nine, teetered away with half a shoulder missing. This was madness.

All around him the street had broken into a thousand individual brawls. Men at arms struggled with enraged peasants who died in twos and threes, holding the knights weapons in their own flesh so that others could bring down the more heavily armoured enemy. One small knot of men-at-arms had managed to get their backs to the wall of a nearby house and were fending off the horde with expert lunges. A dozen men, with three others behind them, taking turns in the wall. Even the mindless mob was starting to grow wary of them.

Vinicus began to cut his way toward them. He smashed his shield into the face of cobbler, stomping on the mans throat to keep him down. He took the hand of a tailor, the nose and lower jaw of a baker, all of them requiring at least two blows to finish. The men-at-arms had seen him and were shouting at him to make a run for it, a small gap opening to allow him access. Safety was but three strides away.

Then Kane came. Vinicus did not know how he knew the mans name but the instant the white clad figure appeared, he knew. The peasants around him gave a moan of ecstasy, almost like Kane was to much for their eyes and began to chant his name.

"Kane! Kane! Kane!"

The men-at-arms quickly relocked their shields, one of them managing to spare Vinicus an apologetic look. It turned out, he would have been no safer behind those shields than he was in the middle of the street. Kane struck the wall like a storm and Vinicus watched as fully armoured men-at-arms sailed through the air. Kane never even drew the sword at his side as he tossed men like leaves before a storm.

Vinicus was still staring in abject horror when a stone block thrown from a roof above caved in his skull and the world went black.

Formaroth Part 2: Throne of Lies

FOUR MONTHS AGO

The Prisoner

For the first time since he could remember, Daichi was in a hurry. His usual measured pace, a consistent tap, click, drag; right foot, cane, left foot; was almost frantic now. Sweat was beading his brow despite the cold emanating all around him. Gone were the white paper walls with their fragile bamboo frames and the polished teak floors. In their place was black volcanic stone, the cracks between blocks the size of wagons filled with green moss; water dripping here and there or running in small rivulets down the stone.

I always expect it to smell of the ocean down here but it never does. At least the floor is smooth. I should thank whoever built this. The same stone had been used on the floor, gleaming beneath lanterns that hung from the ceiling.

Tap. Click. Drag.

Behind him, moving with a lethal silence, came Mamiko. If it hadn't been for her shadow flickering across the walls, Daichi might have thought he was alone in the black corridor. A corridor broken every twenty paces by iron banded doors, the wood treated with honey and ash to preserve them amid the damp.

He thought he could detect screams behind some of the doors as he passed but encountered no one else in the long passage. Tap. Click. Drag. No passages branched off anywhere and he often marvelled at how the effect of the volcanic walls and floor made it look as though the lanterns were nothing more than small fireflies glimmering away into the pitch darkness.

"Here, Daichi-sama." Mamiko broke in on his thoughts. She has quite a habit of doing that. I wonder if she does it on purpose. He stopped abruptly in front of the final door in the long corridor. Beyond the small of pool of light he now stood in was a single iron gate was set into the rock. The very end of the passage. It led to a cave many steps below large enough for a single boat to access. The only way any of the prisons ever arrived.

He turned to the wooden door and tapped his cane on the wood. It was opened at once by a man who looked as though he had been carved from granite. Like Mamiko, he wore the deep red kimono and half face mask of the Kempeitai. He bowed low.

"Kai-san." Daichi nodded a greeting as he limped into the room. It was not more than twenty feet across, completely square and even the cracks between the stones had been cunningly sealed with a mixture of volcanic ash and plaster. In the middle of the room, on a platform raised a single step off the ground, was a large stone table. To one side was a wooden chair with pillow. He had never been so glad to see a pillow. Across the table was a matching chair and, slumped in it, head lolling against its chest beneath a woollen bag, was an Elf, still in the uniform of an Imperium officer.

I would drool in anticipation if I didn't think it would just dribble down my chin. It took him a moment to ease into his chair. He shifted around for a moment or two, his neck clicking and his hip popping, until he was as comfortable as he was going to get. Kai had moved behind the prisoner and was watching Daichi for a sign that he was ready.

At least I have the attention of someone. No grimaces or looks of pity from either of my trusted watchers. I wonder if he can smile. I thought I was a serious one. He nodded and Kai took the bag between finger and thumb before whipping it off the elfs head. I always expect them to sit bolt upright when that happens but not once has it ever happened.

The elf did not move. Dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth and an impressive black eye was forming. Daichi knew that he had been captured by Wokou, or pirates, in the Eastern Sea. It was no secret that Sadatake Daichi paid gold for such prisoners. The Wokou had made contact a day earlier and, in exchange for a license to hunt the enemies of Akaiba, they had turned the elf over to the Kempeitai.

Daichi ran his tongue over the broken stubs of his molars and clenched the fingers of his right hand until they hurt. There had been a time when he would have tortured the elf simply for the fun of it. Now, however, he needed information.

"Wake him up." Daichi glanced at Kai who nodded, his face still impassive behind the black mask. The big man stepped in front of the elf and gently began to pat the prisoners cheek. It was a tender touch, almost like a mother trying to wake a sleeping child.

He does that so well. He has no children as far as I know. Perhaps he is a closet father. Daichi would have giggled at the thought if he wasn't in public.

The patting worked. It always did. The elf began to nod his head, his eyes blinking in the light cast from the lantern above him. He coughed once and the spittle came out clear. Good, no internal injuries then, perhaps a cut cheek. Daichi felt the scars on his own cheeks and relished the coming conversation.

"Who..." The elf didn't get another word out as Kai suddenly pulled back his hand and administered an open palm slap to the side of the the prisoners head. The elf gave a surprised scream of pain as the blow lifted him and out of the chair, which rocked for a moment and then remained in place.

How does he do that? To knock a person out of a chair but leave the chair in place. That is skill. Daichi waited patiently as Kai knelt and easily lifted the elf back into the chair. The elfs eyes were rolling widely around the room now as he took in the two masked Kempeitai, the black stone and finally Daichi who stared back without expression. Fear blossomed in the prisoners eyes.

"Your name?" Daichi asked the question carefully. Getting smacked upside the head tended to disorient prisoners.

"Who..." An open palm slap interrupted the question. Not hard enough to knock the elf from his chair this time but enough to snap his head back so that the blue skin of his throat gleamed in the light.

"Your name?"

"Xilra..." The elf muttered the name. "Fleet..." The slap again.

"Just answer the questions I ask you, Xilra." Daichi noted Mamiko out of the corner of his eye taking notes. Good girl.

"Who are..." This time the blow was strong enough to toss the elf from his chair again. Kai moved quickly to prevent Xilra from hitting his head on the ground. He did nothing to prevent the elfs shoulder from striking the edge of the platform, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain.

Music to my ears. And this is only the beginning."Just answer the questions I ask you, Xilra." Daichi repeated himself slowly and this time the elf nodded. A shame. I would have liked to see you get smashed out of that chair at least once or twice more. "Your rank?"

The elf looked at him with something akin to exasperation before replying. "Fleet-Captain."

"Good." Behind him the quill scratched on rice paper. Daichi thought he detected a whiff of rose water with the movement. Interesting. "Fleet Captain Xilra. You are going to die down here." Eyes bulged in Xilras head. "The only thing you have a choice in right now, is how long that is going to take and how much pain you wish to undergo."

The elf licked his lips but didn't speak. A fast learner. Will wonders ever cease. Then a nod. Poets and storytellers always portrayed the subjects of torture as brave and courageous right up until the bitter end but Daichi had always found things to be quite the opposite. Tie someone up in a chair in a dank dungeon, slap them a few times, tell them they are going to die slowly, and most will tell you anything you want to hear.

"In case you are wondering what the alternative is..." A heavy wooden chest had been placed at one end of the table and Mamiko set aside her scribing tools to open the case. It had been built so that the back was raised, allowing anyone to look into the interior with ease. An array of tools lay before them. "Unlike some of my colleagues elsewhere in the world, I am not one for pulling finger nails or gouging eyes. No. I learned from your people that the teeth are a wonderful conduit of pain."

The elf paled as Daichis lips peeled back from his broken teeth into a snarl. The closest his he ever came to smiling. The movement alone caused his own gums to flare with pain and he grimaced. He cracked his jaw with a deft movement of the lower mandible and the elf shuddered at the sound.

"So. Keeping all of this in mind. I want you to tell me all about your fleet, Fleet-Captain. Spare no detail. I intend to compare it to what I already know and, who knows, if you know something useful I haven't learned already, I might even let you see the sun one more time before you die."

The Vampire princes

I’m just one road trip through Europe and will post when I get back, no fear.

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

Hey gang, I was hoping to get six and without that number I won’t be continuing this. Thank you for your interest and I will try again in September.

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

@Andreyich, looks good! Well done!

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

@HotDogLad, not to shabby. Welcome to the RP!

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

@CaptainBritton, I have found a discord great for exhausting peoples ideas and tanking an RP. That is why I am going to send out the link when we have six accepted characters (Other than myself).

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

@BingTheWing, well done, thank you. Welcome to the RP!

Victory: The Cost of Freedom (Cancelled)

Here is my own piece, so you don't think I am being unfair to anyone!

War!

BRITAIN AND FRANCE AT WAR WITH GERMANY

Paul Chappel felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he read the words. He had been five years old when his father returned from the Great War a man broken in body and spirit. He had been ten years old when his fathers demons got the best of him and he blew his head off in the old barn. He had never forgotten the haunted look in his fathers eyes that morning, a man seeing beyond, a man reliving a horror Paul could never have understood.

Only it seemed that he might understand at last. But where his father had served in the trenches, Paul was determined to take to the skies. He slapped the paper down on the rack and turned from the store without a word, ignoring the query of surprise from the shop keeper. He stepped into the early morning of the capital, already the heat was rising and he was beginning to sweat in his tweed suit. His footsteps seemed loud on the pavement as he wove his way through the early morning carts and pedlars.

Ahead, tucked into the face of an attractive brick building, as the recruiting office, a union jack hanging limply in the motionless air. Tall posters, clearly scrounged from some First World War stockpile, were plastered in the tall windows. The door was open and Paul strode in without so much a knock.

A huge Sergeant, his walrus moustache hanging down past his chin, looked up from the papers on his desk. The days newspaper lay beside him as well and Paul thought that the man looked a little sick.

"I have come to enlist." Paul said the words before his brain could stop him. It might be a bit rash to come so early but he had nothing else in South Africa. His elder brother had inherited the farm and Paul had been making a living flying small parties here and there across the country in a small bush plane.

"You're that young pilot fellow aren't you? Works all over the territory. Paul isn't it?"

"Yes sir." It was all Paul could say.

"Well, if you've come to join up, good thing you came early. We only have room four six pilots. Everyone else is going into the army." The Sergeant muttered as she pulled a sheaf of paper from one immense desk drawer. He drew out a form sheet and quickly added information into the blanks. Occupation was entered as pilot; military trade as pilot; height and weight were random guesses as best Paul could tell.

"Sign here." The Sergeant pushed the document across the battered wooden surface and held a pen out to Paul.

It suddenly seemed immensely hot in the small room and Paul found himself very aware of the huge moustache as it loomed over the desk, the two blue eyes above it watching him with an almost detached interest. He reached out a hand, willing himself to not start shaking in front of his huge man, and took the pen. He quickly dashed of his signature. It was done.

"Good. Report to Pretoria Airfield at the end of the week. 9 A.M. sharp. Ask for Captain Prescott. Welcome to the South African Airforce." The Sergeant held out a huge hand and shook Pauls hand so violently he thought his arm might tear from its socket.

He turned from the office with a sort of dazed look on his face and stepped out into the sun where he was shocked to find a small line had already formed, waiting for him to leave.

"Well done Paul!"

"There's a good chap!"

"Plucky chap, well done, bru!"

"Good on you, mate!"

He forced himself to smile as he shook hands with the other men in line; moving as quickly as he dared he hurried around distant corner and ducked into a small alleyway. He had done it. He had signed up! Would his father have been proud? He didn't know, instead he turned and vomitted into the gutter.

@CaptainBritton, I added yours to the first post as an accepted sheet.