Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current I pretty much lived on various kinds of boiled and fried banana for about six weeks once. I will never intentionally eat another one!
1 day ago
eww down with bananas
1 day ago
I doubt it was accidental, roll for crucifixion.
2 days ago
I dropped 500 bucks on Kingdom Death, all social activities are canceled while I recoup my investment.
3 days ago
Saved a guy with CPR today, this is supposed to be my vacation!


Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.

Most Recent Posts

Camilla giggled and slid gracefully from the saddle. It never ceased to amaze her that anyone who could wield a sword the way he did could be so poor a seat on horseback. Her eyes flicked over the pommel of his sword, currently wrapped in leather to keep the distinctive wolf pommel hidden. Maybe it was more than his poor posture that was the problem. With practiced care she placed her palm on the horses white blaze. It immediately calmed, responding to the signal for quiet.

“Now see if you can slide down without complete wrenching the saddle off,” she advised with a smirk. Cydric slid out of the saddle in an ungainly half leap, the horse whinnying in protest.

“Better put ze hood up,” she said, her accent shifting seamlessly to Brettonian as she tugged her own hood up to hide her face. Oleg’s directions called for wearing a mask and she had such a mask in one of her pouches but she was unwilling to make a spectacle of herself until she knew for sure. Even as she took the reigns in her hand a handsome young stable boy, Cydric’s height though not as stocky trotted out. He was dressed in what was almost but not quite livery and had a strange odor about him, like cloves or cinnamon. He measured them with his eyes for a moment.

“ Are you here for the private event?” he asked gruffly. Camilla reached into her pocket and withdrew the sealed invitation passing it across the stablehand. He nodded and whistled and moment later a second groom appeared and led away their horses. The first performed a slight bow and led them into the tavern.

If Camilla expected scenes of orgiastic excess she was dissapointed. The clintele was clearly wealthy and they ate fine food at clean tables. In the corner a man played on a lute singing softly for the amusement of the guests. No one paid them any mind as the stable hand led them through the tables to an ornate staircase at the back of the tavern. More racous entertainment could be heard from above but it was muffled by some sort of sound proofing, perhaps straw or linen stuffed in the walls.

“Do you have masks patrons?” the stable hand asked. Camilla thought his voice sounded muffled like he had too much in his mouth to speak properly but she dutifully produced a masquerade mask and affixed it to her face. Cydric did the same, though she could sense his unease. The stablehand smiled and seemed to sigh before taking a large metal key from his pocket and unlocking the lock which sealed the door at the top of the stairs.

“Then let me be the first to welcome you to the Society, I hope you will find it is everything you have heard.” Somehow, the voice seemed to mock them.@POOHEAD189
Rene couldn’t help but smile, he could easily imagine the sort of clash of wills that might erupt over the issue of marriage in a family like the Falias. It was axiomatic that nobles were strong willed, but people rarely appreciated the reality of placing a group of iron willed individuals together in a family environment. Privately, he suspected it was one of the reasons that familial relations among the upper classes were so strained. It was hard to love the ideal to which they all aspired, but impossible to aspire to anything else.

“I’m not sure you mother would have approved of you marrying a disgraced noble who enlisted in the marines to avoid being tried for murder, maybe the janitor wouldn’t look so bad,” he joked, stroking her soft lustrous hair. It wasn’t really true of course, he might be disgraced but he remained of the correct stock and station. In theory at least his offspring would not share in his disgrace, it might be generations before either the De Quentains, or the Falia’s acknowledged the links but they would eventually form a link in the Byzantine chains of family and influence which kept the upper echelons of the Stellar Empire running. It was even theoretically possible that Solae might one day lay claim to some portion of the Du Quentain legacy, although unless it was specifically condoned by Rene’s father, it would certainly require years or decades of legal battles.

“My mother died when I was eight or nine, aneurysm,” he went on plowing through the unpleasantness while the topic was open, rather than risk revisiting it later. He remembered the funeral clearly, it had been an almost bacchanalian affair, a solem service in public followed by a bawdy affirmation of life in private. He remembered being sad because the house staff was sad. His mother had spoken to him rarely and then formally and her loss was more academic than practical. His father had been a little more hands on, although for most of his life it had been servants who tended him. He remembered his father being proud when he had won a fencing match, or scored well in some test or other, but he remembered weeping when Old Mae, their kindly cook, had passed away much more vividly.

“I think my father would have like you too,” he told her after a few moments of reflection. It was hard to know exactly what the stoic, dour, Alric Du Quentain would think about anything, but Rene suspected he would have approved of the fiery young woman, though the Falias and Du Quentains had few previous contacts.

“He is a very hard man to read, after I enlisted I held out hope that he would get in touch with me and… Stars I don’t know, anything really.” It had been painful weeks, then months before Rene had finally given up hope that his father would speak to him. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he couldn’t fault the man politically, but it still stung.

“There are no other loves to report,” he told her truthfully.

“During training there is no time and afterwards…” he trailed off considering the graduation festivities before the first posting. There had been ample opportunity, indeed some of the women who lived near Camp Able made their whole years salary by freelancing for graduation week, but Rene couldn’t bring himself to partake. It wasn’t that he was a saint, though he generally tried to do the right thing, but a sort of residual class loyalty. His fellow troopers had mocked him ceaselessly, and he had gained the nickname Galahad, which he supposed had died at the Rat Trap.

“It probably sounds stupid but I just couldn’t. I suppose I figured that even as low as I had fallen I was still a Du Quentain, and that so long as I acted like a noble ought, it couldn’t be taken away from me. He trailed off finding the words in adequate to describe the thought behind them.

“In any case let us talk of happier things. We are still alive, we have a ship, I think we need to consider that a win!”

Fashion was always a fusion. National dress tended to be a blend of various regional styles the more urban a location, the more trade it engaged in, the closer it was tied into the court fashions current in Correne or Altdorf, but no place existed without its regional influences. Kislivite women, for the most part, dressed in conservative styles, wives of merchants tended a little more towards the Imperial and those of the noble classes were able to borrow a touch from the almost mystic style of the Tzarina.

Camilla stepped out of the fitting room at long last. She wore a dress of fine blue silk with a long slash up the left side to allow her legs freedom of movement. Around her chest she wore a tightly laced corset of fine grey leather, which allowed her to display her figure without showing any skin. A mantle of a darker shade of the same material was fastened around her neck covering her shoulders. The leather mantle was intricately embossed with flowing stylized wind motifs that seemed to sweep from her neck down over her shoulders. It also incorporated a hood, though for the moment she was not wearing it. Unusually she had not opted for jewelry, instead selecting only a single silver and sapphire brooch to pin the mantle in place. Partly this was because she didn’t want to stretch their patrons credit to completely ridiculous lengths but it was also a strategic decision. If they were attending this alleged cultist meeting in the guise of up and coming merchants, it made sense to dress to impress, but they had to be careful not to be too impressive, lest their excessive means give them away.

“You think it needs gloves?” Camilla asked? Momentarily oblivious to the shocked reaction of the three males. She stretched out her arms and examined her fingers, considering again if she should have opted for a ring.

“Ummm…” Yantz managed after a moment.

“I think it looks fine,” he concluded lamely before clearing his throat. The clothier beamed in delight at the effect.

“Madam you grace my establishment, why I only wish you were on your way the palace so that my humble wares could dazzle the court!” Camilla bowed her head gracefully, feeling a little uneasy about Dietricha’s cryptic note. The wizard had never shown herself to be anything other than a, admittedly slightly deranged, friend, but it was clear she knew something she wasn’t sharing.

“What do you think?” she asked Cydric, “too much?”
Rene sat back squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to banish the last unpleasant effects of the jump. No one who had been bought up in the Imperial arisocracy was ever very far removed from the reality of their family lineages. Familal connections and marital alliance we're stronger and more binding than any legal or corporate contract. Even someone like Rene, who had spent half a decade trying to actively forget his family, was still much closer to the aristocratic ideal than he would like to admit.

He didn't want to talk about his family, particularly if it meant putting Solae in further danger, but she did have a right to know about her theoretical future marriage allies. Rene took a deep breath and squeezed Solae's hand.

"The Du Quentains are a old Capellan family, back to the Collapse." Most of the work old Noble families at least claimed to trace lineages back to the catostopic war which had ended the Terran hagemony over the human Galaxy. Rene had seen the ancient immigration records which listed a Major Leon Quentain as the second in command of Colonial security when the Cappelan colony was founded. He had also seen the after action reports which described how Julian Du Quentain had ordered his men to open fire on hungry citizens during the collapse. Maybe he wasn't so abnormal for his line, maybe the killing and the violence on New Concordia was true to his family rather than diverging from it.

"We are one of the old millitary families who fought in the Shism. My great grandfather was one of Kolvic's captains," he explained referencing the inner circle of commanders who had fought the bloody protracted war. He felt uncomfortable, feeling as though he was bragging even though he was only laying out the facts.

"There are too junior branches, minor Cappelan Lords, four or five first cousins. My father, he pretty much holds them in contempt, poor relations." Rene remembered the hard and envious glances at his mother's funeral, men and women with the family features but none of the gravitas his parents were careful to exude.

"I am... Or was an only child, though I suppose it is possible that my father has had another child since my enlistment." Rene hadn't heard from his father since Amelia's death buy it made sense that the old man had made some arrangement for the succession. Rene's exact legal situation was murky the legal protection of the Marines was not intended for Nobles. Whether or not Rene was disinheritred was a legal question which would be beyond the power of a peniless soldier to pursue.

"My mother died when I was nine, an anyrisim. The maternal line is Cassek, but mother came from a fairly junior branch. They are pretty far removed from the title." He quirked a grin.

"I don't know how much any of this is helping."
Camilla turned the letter over in her hands. It was thick vellum rather than the milled paper more common in the Empire and sealed with one of the Count’s seals, the heraldric device pressed into red wax. The whole group was watching her, even the bleary eyed Konrad, so without wasting time she broke the seal and unrolled it and began to read aloud:

Dear Companions,

You are requested and required to present yourself to the Counts palace for dinner tonight. He is eager to hear the tale of the Heroes of Nordland, which he expects will bring honor and luster to his hall.

Dinner will be served at the eigth tolling of the bell. YOU MUST NOT BE LATE.

Prima spilla grande prima spilla piccola seconda spilla grande media seconda spilla media

“You slipped into Tilean,” Cydric interjected. Camilla looked up in mild annoyance, shifting the uncomfortable blanket across her skin.

“No I didn’t, it is written in Tilean,” she responded, her tone a little vexed. Skaldi shook his head impatiently. He ground a fist against his eye with frustration. The dwarf was pulling on an apron in preparation for starting the lunch stew.

“Lets pretend we don’t all speak Tilean girl…”

Camilla looked around in wide eyed theatrical shock.

“Oh? People talking in a different language, that must be terrible…” she smirked. Skaldi growled but she was already going on.

“It is talking about pins and distances it sounds like…” she looked up in perplexity. Dietricha was cryptic and vague at the best of times but this seemed to reaching new depths. For a moment she considered what she would say.

“It sounds like instructions for picking a lock,” she admitted. It wasn’t really her area of expertise though as a child she had engaged in some petty thievery. Ricardo, her long time friend had been much more of an expert at this sort of thing.

“It is signed Dietricha...and Yantz,” she turned to the mercenary her voice taking on a sharper more accusatory tone. He clutched his own blanket to his body and held up a hand as though to shield himself from her words.

“Why is this dated tomorrow?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. The Imperial flushed.

“Why do people always assume that I know what is going on?” he protested rhetorically. Camilla sighed and tossed him the note. She didn’t know if they were supposed to be at the palace tonight or tomorrow.

“Then go and find out,” she said pleasantly before turning the blanket fanning up provocatively like a ball gown.

“I’m going to get dressed.”
I won't date anyone with less than a bachelors level education.
@Penny People who don't reply to my PM's are the downfall of RPG..... Do you want to RP?

I don't know, you seem a little judgey. Plus I doubt you are interested in a Viking era Rp.
Maybe you are all super creepy? After all you do have a blacklist...
Rene felt fear and regret coil in his guts. From the moment he finished speaking he realised that Solae wasn’t going to relent. Though she was as beautiful as a Sorrentian sunrise, there was a steel in her that he should have anticipated. What she proposed to do would put her in danger, not just here, although that was certainly possible, but when the reached Imperial space again. The thought of her being cut down by the same faceless assassins who had cut down Amellia filled him with an icy dread that tasted acid at the back of his throat.

“Solae…” he trailed off uncertain of how to go on. Of course she couldn’t let it go, he thought of her rage at the injustice done to the Syshin, at her determination to help them. But this meant more to her, she was willing to risk her own life to help ease his pain, to lift the burden of injustice from him. Love swelled inside of him like sunlight though a cloudy sky, brushing back the shadows of the past that his retelling had conjured. The fear was still there, opening these doors was dangerous beyond belief, but Solae knew that as well as he did.

“I don’t know what it would mean,” Rene admitted in a hoarse voice.

“Whoever did it might believe they have gotten away with it, they might not even be watching,” he went on. Rene didn’t really believe that, but it was possible that he needed it to be some dark conspiracy to justify what he been through. Maybe Solae was right and there was something that could be discovered. In any case the records they accessed out here would be archival, with communications down until the PEAs were unlocked by authorized users like Solae, word couldn’t get out of the Eastern Cross. Word could get in though, historical words at least. A little flicker of hope stirred inside of him. Of course once communications were restored …

“Solae, I love you,” Rene said earnestly. He reached out and took her hand, hoping he imagined the moments hesitation.

“Thirty seconds till transition,” Mia purred as though announcing she was almost in paradise. Rene cast a glance at the speaker but returned his gaze to Solae.

“If anything were to happen to you because of me I couldn’t live with myself.” The thought of the black depression that had seized him after Amellia’s death was nothing. Solae had come from nowhere a bolt of sunlight into his dreary existence, as dazzling as the stars. His love for her burned hot inside of him, and he was surer of it than any other fact in the universe. Amellia had been his first love but they had been children really swathed in tales of romance and the courtly games of the palace. What he had found with Solae was real and true, a fact that an older, more battered, but certainly wiser Rene recognized.

“Ten seconds,” Mia said with a breathless urgency. Rene pulled Solae close to him feeling her warm beating heart against his. He leaned in to kiss her as though by that act he could explain to her all the turmoil in his mind and…

The universe exploded. A billion billion Solae’s flew into a billion billion shards, like a stained glass window collapsing from a great height. Rene felt the flexing rip of reality all around him as the shards flew away in all directions like a dazzling mosaic painted by a mad man. Vertigo and claustrophobia screamed at his lizard brain to get down and jump up, leading to a sort of staggering tetanic convulsion that drove his head against the back of the bulk head. The jolt of pain reverberated for a moment and then the shards flew back together as though the whole scene played in reverse. He gasped as he came out of it. Entering jump space was always an unpleasant experience, though Rene would be the first to admit that this one was particularly unpleasant. You never got used to it, though veteran spacers grew better at dealing with the phenomenon. Jump space, the alien interstices between the quantum states of the human universe, was theoretically no different than regular existence but Rene knew that after a few days psychological problems would begin to develop. Crews that stayed under too long had been known to be driven completely insane. Marines jumped for short hops wherever possible.

“Solae… Solae are you ok?” he groaned.
The cock crowed with alarming volume and Camilla jolted awake. Even in her sleep her hand had found the hilt of the sword propped against the straw filled pallet she shared with Cydric. Her eye pierced the gloom well enough to see and she frowned at the sword. Privately, she had asked Dietricha to look her over for any ‘lingering effects’ of her sojourn to the North. The sorceress had touched her temples and spoken some words and then assured Camilla that she could sense nothing of Chaos. The answer struck her as vague in a way she couldn't articulate, but ‘vague in a way you can’t articulate’ was a pretty fair description of Dietricha herself.

“Va bene,” she whispered to Cydric as he groaned beside her, she leaned down and kissed his forehead trailing her slender fingers through the tangled hair of his chest absently. It was still dark outside, the days were short at this time of year and dawn came late. The dinner had run down pleasantly enough, though Oleg had drank enough Vodka to be slightly slurring his words by the time his wife ushered the out. The merchant had provided them with some gold, small enough, but a veritable fortune in their current impoverished straights, as well as a letter of credit to a local tailor with whom he had a long association and thus was fairly sure he could trust. It seemed like there was no end to the corruption and infiltration of Imperial society by cultists of the Ruinous Powers. She wondered if it were the same in Tilea, only less visible, or if the forces of the enemy were focused on their most immediate opponent.

The rooster crowed again rousing Cydric to half awakened. Camilla frowned peering into the darkness. A figure crouched by a post below, swathed in a grey cloak that looked ungainly and deformed. She sat up with a start and the figure flinched and tossed back its cloak. Cydric yanked her down to the pallet a moment before the crossbow twanged, the bolt logding into beam behind their pallet with a thunk, passing so close to her she felt the wind of its passage on her bare shoulder. Camilla screamed, loudly, to raise the alarm and shoved herself up off the bed and the struggling Cydric. She backflipped gracefully over the wooden railing at the edge of the loft and landed naked save for her sword on both feet and one hand in a collapsing tripod to spread the shock. Camilla pressed herself up, the tip of her weapon held parallel to her body and rotating horizontal incase she needed to parry but the figure was already fleeing. A big figure, Yantz, wraped in a horse blanket but otherwise naked, crashed through the side of one of the stalls they had converted to a bed. He leveled his pistol at the fleeing assassin but Camilla struck his hand hard with the flat of her sword jolting it free. She snatched it from the air before it could hit the ground.

“What in the name of,” Yantz trailed off as he realised Camilla was completely naked. He pursed his lips for a moment before going on in a more reasonable tone.

“What is transpiring here Frauline,” he said, his voice husky with amused innuendo.

“Someone just tried to shoot Cydric or me with a crossbow,” she said, making n move to cover up. Attitudes towards nudity were markedly different among Tileans than they were among stody Imperials.

“Ah and you stopped me from shooting this would be marksmen because…” Cydric returned from the street, having somehow gotten his trousers on and given chase. He held the big wolf pommeled sword in one hand, with negligent power. He blinked at the naked Camilla and the nearly naked Yantz and then picked up a blanket and tossed it to Camila who gratefully wrapped it around her. Modesty or not it was bitingly cold.

“I lost him,” Cydric admitted, “every one is on their way to the market.” Camilla nodded and sighed.

“So the not killing part?” Yantz persisted. Ivan emerged bleary eyed saber in hand. A dark haired girl many years his junior who Camilla recognized from the working girls above the tavern, looked about with scared dark eyes. Camilla dropped her voice into a whisper that only the two Imperials could hear.

“Bouncers are supposed to keep trouble away not bring it to the door,” she explained, “it isn’t much of a job, but I’d just as soon not be looking for somewhere else to lay my head.”
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