Kingfisher

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Dropping in to say, I'm still around, just busy.

@Strawberry425

Its cool, I think most of us are in exactly the same position.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Kingfisher Was hoping for a wolf based response to my post. XD

@DJAtomika

I'm working on it. Sorry for the slow response, I'm quite bogged down with coursework.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

@Flagg @Jbcool Just waiting for a response from you lovely peoples, then Nis can start putting things into motion.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Anyone want to bump into a slightly-pissed Adepta Sororitas?

@Durandal

I feel like she might try and purge Nisvillia.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

A game of chance

“Madame, you will find me to be of very little help in this, I am truly afraid. My brother would gladly kill me himself, or worse, just to dispatch the last of the Blissponii from this mortal coil.”

“Lead on, young – eeerrm...lady.”

Not QUITE what I was hoping for Nisvillia frowned inwardly, whilst keeping her slick smile very much present outwardly. A mewling little noble with strong family ties I could use...but this? This will take a greater effort on my part.

"If you two darlings would be so kind as join me." She gestured to Typho and Aryon with one fat hand.

Nisvillia led the duo upstairs, to where the recently installed board room was situated. A great glass table stretched across the room, and a drinks cabinet sat vigilantly in the corner. Four staff members dressed in smart attire, with laspistols holstered discretely in their dinner jackets, stood watch on either side of the room.

She poured three glasses of Amasecc, offering them to the gentlemen, whilst keeping one back for herself.

"So, we appear to be in a slight predicament, my loves." Nisvillia took a delicate swig of her drink, savouring the scorching taste as it burned and crackled at the back of her throat. "We have a gang war that needs defusing, and I believe it to be in our mutual interest that we don't all end up dead."

She sat down heavily in one of the slick metal chairs, which let out a moan of wailing protest beneath her ginormous weight, her ample rear-end spilling over the edges.

"I hear you like games of chance, Typho" she cooed with a sharp smirk "Well, I have the Emperor of all gambles right here for you."

She surveyed the pair, her narrow eyes sparkling with dark delight.

"I need you two to help me disrupt the Fist's Intel. I need your help shifting the blame off of the Blue Virus... and on to the Wicked Mob."

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Henning The Grim

Henning Maddirish felt the same cold throbbing clawing away at his innards as he had always felt, the same overwhelming emptiness in his chest, and the same dull pounding within the confines of his skull.

He pulled his Ninjatō free from the dying man’s stomach, letting a sudden surge of dark red blood spill forth with a wet splatter. The dying men let out a slow, bubble-ridden, gurgle before collapsing to the ground, clasping frantically at the new hole in his belly. He thrashed about in the snow, staining it red, but then his eyes lolled back into his head and his body went limp.

The steady fluttering of paper-like snow which fell upon Henning’s skin did nothing to stir his frozen soul, nor did the icy wind which was pounding against him as he stood on the mountain top.

He gave the dead man’s corpse a gentle kick, and he went tumbling down into the abyss, bursting into a bloody smear as he struck a jagged spike of rock on his descent.

A crisp white sky dominated Henning’s view when his earpiece began to chirp, a few rogue flakes of snow nestling on his armour-clad form.

He answered plainly with a click of a button “Stavon is dead.”

“Excellent work.” rasped the response “but it seems that the Circle already has another job for you.”

Henning laughed without humour. The Pale Circle’s desire to keep him from their precious and impressionable acolytes never ceased to amuse him. It validated his sense of power, and reminded him that they held him with just as much dread as they did contempt.

“Who might that be?”

“An old friend of yours; she’s been causing quite a stir.”

The Lich grinned darkly “Have your people arrange a plane to take me to Santa Somabra.”

*

The flight was faster than it ever would have been on a public aircraft. The private jet was furnished lavishly, and the extra legroom was always appreciated. The jet landed on the outskirts of the city, in a dark clearing amidst a clump of twisted trees.

“Mr Maddirish.” A plain looking man in a grey suit greeted Henning as he stepped down from the jet, his boot-clad feet pressing down on the wet grass. “We appreciated your punctuality.”

“I assume there’s a reason we’re not using the airport?” Henning replied dryly, more than a little jetlagged.

“They didn’t tell you?” The man frowned. Typical of the Circle to leave me in the dark. “The city is working through a slight Lycan problem.”

Henning let the frustration show clearly on his pale face. They hadn’t given him any silver.

“The Hunters are of no concern for me. I’m here for the Canoness.” he told the man bluntly.

“Of course.” The figure gave a respectful nod “If you’d be so kind as to follow me to the jeep…”

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

The Loft

"Typho Almano. Older brother, less successful.""

Well, she thought that IS interesting .

"A pleasure to meet you, Aryon Lex." She cooed, rolling the world pleasssuuuuure on her tongue.

"I feel like you and I will get along like shells in a bolter mag, should you continue to supply me with such utterly scandalous little secrets." She flashed him a quick wink, before turning her attention to the recently ousted Almano brother.

"I was planning on hauling myself up here and waiting out the storm, but it seems the Emperor has gifted us with a most scrumptious bargaining chip." She grinned broadly, smile lines creasing her fat face "I'd like to bring to your attention the fact that a good three quarters of the staff who've been serving you this evening are my people. They are well-armed, well-trained, and each and everyone of then has a major bone to pick with your brother and his ridiculous gang of up-jumped thugs.If you try and resist, them I'll be more than happy to have them illustrate the unfortunate consequences of being related to one of the most hated men on this space station. Am I making myself nice and clear, sweetheart?"

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

The Loft

The mechanical doors glided apart, opening up to the alleyway which lay beyond. After some time stumbling around in the dark, Nisvillia was greeted by a the sharp glare of Outpost 57's overhead lights.

She took a few waddle-like steps out into the open, covered in sweat and splattered with dried blood, before making her way over to the back entrance of the Loft, and venturing inside.

It was a small, quaint little establishment; with both roulette and drinks tables. The club was designed to have a laid back, relaxed atmosphere which was accomplished by the lush furnishings and dim lighting. The Loft smelt of booze and synthetic air fresheners, but not to an intrusive or overwhelming capacity, and the central heating kept the club at a warm, welcoming temperature.

She made her way over to the counter, ordering a glass of Amasec and a Snow-Ox burger, before whizzing upstairs to her room to get changed, exchanging a curt nod with one of the card dealers on her way up.

Her rented quarters were stylish yet practical, mimicking the overall tone of the Loft, and it did not take her long to strip down to her underwear and toss her stained clothes in a heap on the floor. She plodded over to her wardrobe, gigantic stomach spilling out over the waistband of her undergarments, and fished out a classy yet low-cut black and white dress, which she had some difficulty squeezing into.

Fixing her hair into an elegant bun, and applying the odd smattering of makeup here and there, it wasn't long before Nisvillia slipped back downstairs, presenting a far more presentable appearance.

Her meal was ready now, and she tucked into it ravenously whilst seated at a small table in a darkened corner of the Loft. She chugged the Amasec down in a several mighty swigs, stifling a throaty belch, before attacking her burger with furious gusto, her lips stained with thick grease and sauce.

Shortly after, a plain dark-haired gentleman in a red blazer slipped out of the delicate cluster of customers, pulling up a chair as Nis gobbled down the last few mouthfuls of Snow-Ox.

"I got your transmission," He informed her calmly "Smart move setting up camp here. Seems like the safest bet."

"My worry," Nisvillia replied, licking up some sauce "is that the Fist are operating on the exact same line of thinking."

The figure cocked and eyebrow "You think they'd try something here?"

"Just as much as they'd try it anywhere else. Almano isn't known for respecting other's personal space." Her voice was cool and smooth, with the entrepreneurial grace of a seasoned merchant.

"So...what does the Codex Blissponis advise in this sort of situation?" He asked dryly.

"We have the terrain advantage," she explained "lock this place down tighter than a sister's cunt, set some big guns up in the windows, and we may have a fighting chance."

"You're not hopeful?" He frowned.

"I'd be stupid to bring hope into this. Hope has no place in the war room. All it does is get soldiers killed."

The gentleman smirked "I never knew you to get compassionate about troops."

"I don't give a squig's arse about the troops." She stated bluntly "but if the Fist , or any of those other gutter-runners, make it in here then I'll be breathing out of several new holes in my head, so I'd say that warrants some careful planning."

Her slender eyes darted about the room, settling on a group playing cards at one of the tables. She heaved herself out of her seat, grunting as the dress squeezed at her enormous body, before making her way over to the gamblers.

"Excuse me, my darlings..." She said calmly "Sorry for interrupting whatever you've got going here, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in some mercenary work."

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Kingfisher I've been busy writing. Still here.

Is anyone else even around any more? I'm assuming no since this looks kinda dead.

@DJAtomika

Strawberry and I are still here and writing. Not sure about any others.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Mhh. All of this combat makes posts rather difficult to read. Having a hard time keeping track of who is where and doing what, and as such I can't think of much to post.

@Dead Cruiser

Nisvillia is heading to a club, if that helps. The Gentleman psyker is there, too