Jb

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

T'ish knew he could do little more than put his focus into finding the way out, and this is exactly what he did, weaving through the various tunnels known to relatively few of the Order considering how many they were...how many they had been. Some, such as he, knew of the labyrinthine constructs running beneath and now all around them because of their position within the Order-that-was-no-more, others may have discovered some way into them by accident, and there had even been those unfortunates that had entered through no fault of their own but never left again.

In his mind he formed a blueprint of the tunnel network as he knew it, pondering only for a moment whether they would meet any clones in the 'confined' passages - though large enough for four to walk abreast between the thick walls - and, if so, how many could possibly have found and made use of the tunnel system by now? He thought on this only a moment and no longer because, like the complete shock and swirling emotions of losing his entire life, he tried to distance all thoughts and actions from the past few hours as far away as possible.

Remain focused, stay in the here and now, forget all else.

With a short bark to the others, really unknowing of how many were even following, though he could feel the life force of every one, he swiftly turned another corner...then another...then another...seemingly going around in circles to the uninitiated, a deliberate ploy to put off interlopers and infiltrators; he knew, should they keep going the way they were, that all would eventually reach a small 'panic room' - nothing more than a small stop-off point for Peacekeepers and Temple Guards before they exited the Temple, filled with some supplies, clothing and so forth - and from that point it was only a few more yards before the option of two different escape routes became within reach.

The first, and perhaps the easiest, went directly into the underbelly of Coruscant, connecting directly to the various sewers and tunnels that criss-crossed the bowels of the planet above.

Second, tunnels which would lead up and out to disgorge any Jedi back onto the streets of Coruscant about a mile or so from the walls of the Jedi Temple.

There was a third, which would take the group to a hangar and possibly escape into space, yet he believed that the clones would already have seized such an obvious commodity.

Once they reached the small room there would be schematics showing the routes to each of these, and once there they could decide which route they would take next; not far now!

431 BCE - An NRP of the Peloponnesian War

@Louis Dabout@UltikanaRe

You both seem to want Athens, how about rival political factions within the democratic goverment of Athens?

On the other hand, if Sven is alright with it, you could always be one of the two Spartan kings.

Just spitballin' here.

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

He did not have sexual relations with that woman!

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

Cool wind brushed the rough cheek of a stout blonde man, the driver of the wagon which he directed skillfully through the three-hundred and more miles between Galveston and Laredo, a dry Protestant dirge upon his thin lips as he eyed his rather similar surroundings uneasily; spitting out those thick Germanic syllables, tinged with the dialect of far-away Saxony, Herman Beringer could not shake the feeling that something round abouts was not entirely right.

During the Civil War, the middle-aged Saxon had fought on the side of the Union, much like all of Galveston, using the skills he had learnt while growing up - most of them in some way connected to hunting in the dense German forests of his homeland - to scout and track for the blue-coated victors. Sadly Galveston had fallen to the Confederacy after a siege, knocking the port town and its inhabitants out of the war for good. With the defeat of the Confederacy, Herman had gathered up his family - his wife and three children - all as blonde and blue-eyed as himself, hitched up a wagon to his oxen and taken off in a south-easterly direction.

Now he was not the first German Texan, and nor would he be the last, but he would be one of those that would never actually make it to their destination. Yes, the years of childhood and military experience had moulded him well, and there was indeed something wrong with the spot he now found himself in; it was a trickling river around six or seven miles north of Laredo, no-one else around as far as the eye could see, and Herman made the fateful decision to bring his wagon to a halt that he and his family may gather water and rest.

What happened in the next half-an-hour or so would be plastered on the front pages of American papers the very next day.

One moment Herman was splashing about in the stream with his eldest son, an eleven year old with the sweetest smile, and the next a group of specks appeared on the horizon and began to close with them at considerable speed. At first he was unsure of what to do, his rifle laying on the riverbank, his wife and two other children playing unawares in the back of the covered wagon, and at least eight separate blotches getting larger with every passing moment.

"Hanz," he hissed urgently to his half-naked son, "look toward the south, do you see?"

Although confused, not seeing what his father had seen, Hanz Beringer nodded his hea and followed his father's pointed finger.

"Start running in that direction," commanded his Papa, "keep running until you come to a village, a town, or a ranch...do not turn back, and do not stop until then. Tell whoever is there that we are here, that we are under attack, you understand?"

Hanz did not really understand, but he had never refused an order from his idol; without thinking and without goodbyes he climbed out of the river on the other bank, his bare feet finding firm ground and beginning to pound earth in a southerly direction. He did as his father said, ignoring the screeches and whoops that reached his youthful ears, the screams and yells of his family, the gunshots and then the terrible silence that followed...and followed...and followed him all the way to the outskirts of Laredo itself.

By the time he reached the settlement he was half dead, having run with all he had, his trousers covered in a thick later of dust and his lips dried with dehydration, the topless form of this young boy causing ladies to move back in fear and men to cease their idle chattering.

"Help me!" He yelled in near unaccented English, "help..." at first he stumbled, nearly tripping, but righted himself long enough to yell again, and with a sharp intake of breath he fell to the ground in the main street of Laredo. He was not dead, for he continued to breath, but coaches halted and horses reared, voices rising that someone should do something for the clearly delirious...and clearly terrified...boy.

PLEASE READ!

Here we are then.

Now, you have a couple of choices here...

You could be in Laredo, maybe help the child or even ignore the child, or if you'd prefer just be doing something else then go for it. Maybe you were asleep and didn't even know it happened, maybe you're too drunk or high? Who knows?!

You could also have discovered what remains of the Beringers and their wagon - the mutilated and scalped corpse of Herman, the fact that his wife and two daughters have disappeared without a trace, and the slaughtered bullocks full of arrows...Injun' arrows...possibly Apache.

How you came upon them, if you have, is up to you; maybe you heard the shots? Maybe you were on your way to a ranch north of Laredo? Tis up to you.

@Kingfisher@Sterling@bluetommy2@PhoenixWhite@Sombrero@idlehands@User@Monochromatic Rainbow

No Masters or Kings - ON HOLD

After following and observing the group for far longer than he wanted or needed to, Hemi decided that enough was enough, and from that point on took matters into his own large hands; it would be a lengthy process, setting up some semblance of what was needed to survive out here in the woods, but, he chuckled to himself, if anyone could survive then it wouldn't be those clowns who had firstly gone back into a wreckage of a space prison to find supplies, or secondly the walking sick and wounded - and deceptive - who he had last seen sitting around outside the Boss Ladies cryochamber. Eh, fuck 'em! He would rejoin them when and where he saw fit, if he ever did, after all they would be easy to find and he had few worries now that he was here in this world.

The first thing he did, once deep enough past the treeline to remain unseen, was slink back to the groups original starting position and make sure he was not being observed...once sure of this, he proceeded swiftly out of cover only long enough to grab the still-cooling carcass of the dead inmate, sling it over his shoulder, and retreat back into the forest with it.

Upon finding a clearing not too far from where he knew his fellow inmates - at least a few of them, not counting the other seventy or so still on the loose! - to be, he marked it with strips of material from his own prison suit and pondered on what to do next; he could either go in search of a water source, leaving the body there for the moment, create a lean-to shelter from the bountiful supply of wood and branches hereabouts, or start a fire and get the cooking process going. Each option seemed like a good one, but it was a while before he finally settled on going a wee bit deeper into the forest and, gods willing, getting to grips with the first drink he would have had for a century.

It did occur to him to return to the Apox, find a melting cryochamber, and simply drink some of the liquid from there, but who knew what chemicals it might contain or what foul things the UN might have done even to the icy traps of the prison.

Time seemed to move forward almost in slow motion, the senses of the free Maori prisoner open and alert to there fullest extent, listening for the sounds of wildlife or more preferably of running water - whether from a river, a stream or a spring it really did not matter. Yet, as time went inexorably on, he had been walking for a good half hour (according to his wrist device anyway) and found nothing that looked remotely like a water source.

That was until he did...

It was not much, not much at all, a trickling sliver of water squeezing between two slabs of rock - barely enough for him alone, although he drank his share as swiftly as he could.

Now, back to the clearing.

Thankfully his stiffening buddy had not seen fit to move anywhere, which was as it should be - he might have been legitimately afraid if it had been any other way - and with a self-assured ease of movement went about attempting to create a fire from whatever he could get his hands upon.

Fuel? Check.

Kindling? Check.

He had no lighter or source of igniting the driest wood he could gather in a short space of time, but this was no real problem; he used a method traditional to the Maori to create an ember, akin to the bow used by many brushcraft experts, but requiring much more effort on his part. In short, a stick was stuck into the groove of a flatter and blocker piece of wood, then scratched back and forth at speed. It took a lot of strength, and Hemi was not all that thrilled with using so much energy, but once an ember was slipped into his handful of tinder and exposed to plenty of oxeygen, well, he had fire! True, it was only a simple and small one, but the thrill of creating it never left you...not even after a hundred years in an ice-block.

Without a pot and plentiful water to boil the body in, the usual way to strip it of flesh, he might need to cook it in a more simple way; slowly his eyes looked from the flickering flames and back to the body, then back to the flames again.

Why are things never easy?!

431 BCE - An NRP of the Peloponnesian War

@UltikanaRe Any chance you'd settle on another polis or nation/kingdom?

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

Righto, since no-one's decided to take me up on my offer, I shall get a post up within the next few hours.

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

@The Grey Warden@RoadRash You're both welcome, just get those character sheets to me as soon as ya'll can.

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

@User Yes you did, but do not. :)

Six-Shot Story - An RP of the American Old 'Wild' West (On indefinite HIATUS)

First things first, KingFisher got two characters because I know he can RP two, and he asked me first; unless I know your RP'ing quality and you request it, don't bother even thinking about another character.

Secondly, User, I'm going to be keeping an eye on you - this is an advanced RP, and as such I expect good spelling and grammar (not perfect, but good.)

I'll get around to changing the OP eventually...

Lastly, we'll begin in the 'mildly warm' season.

Oh, and @User, don't ever assume anything is fine with me without checking first. ;)