Penny

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

Its not a physical wall! Its a wall of healthcare, education, infrastructure repair and investment in renewable energy! Right? MAGA! *looks around hopefully*

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

"I think we should head back to the Highlander and head for space," Taya put in from the bed. Junebug was shaking her head even before she finished speaking.

"No, it would look suspicious, it would be a golden opportunity for whoever is behind this to pin everything on us." Sayeeda didn't know what the reach of the Planetary Nobility was but she would rather not spend the next several years dodging bounty hunters and assassins at best and tedious legal proceedings at worst.

"It seems to me," Sayeeda said carefully, "that we should go and see Aiden. Seeing as we are stuck here until the ceremony tomorrow night, we ought to see what we can do to keep our patron alive."

"Alexia clearly had something important she wanted to talk to Aiden about," Taya interjected.

"Important enough to kill her over?"

@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla tasted blood in her mouth from where she hit the snow, sucking on her lip she scrabled on the ice till she found purchase and pulled herself up behind a tree. She needed have bothered concering herself with cover because it seemed like the enemy had decided that one volley was enough distraction from the real sport. The charged down the slope, hooves kicking up snow as the came on brandishing crude weapons red with rust and blood.

Rising to a crouch she pulled both pistols from her belt and leveled them. She shot the first enemy, an elk headed dwarfish thing, through the right eye, its head snapping back with a clack as the finely made pistol roared. The second shot, right handed and less accurate blew a gout of arterial blood from the neck of a second attacker. It made a gurgling bray as it staggered forward a few feet before tumbling into the snow. With no time to reload she dropped both pistols to the ground and drew her rapier with a crisp ring of steel.

Beside her the Justicar had unslung his great sword and made an experimental figure eight, whipping the great sword through the air with a speed that made the crip air sing. A half dozen stride before they reached her Camilla sprang forward in a cat like pounce, dropping under the blow of an ax and sweeping a spear point up and away with a precise parry. Drawing her weapon back she thrust into the belly of another of the creatures before spinning gracefully away from its companions blow. The stench of the things was incredible, damp fur and animal filth mixed with fungus and rotting milk. Open sores and buboes covered the wretched things. @POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug tossed a frosted bottle of vodka to Neil and then stared into space for a minute trying to fit the facts into some sort of coherent picture. It was no use, they simply didn't have enough information. It clearly wasn't Aiden personally, but it could have been done on his orders. What did he have to gain though, he was already the heir by all reports.

"Look this is all platoons in the valley," Sayeeda decided finally.

"It could have been anyone for any reason," she said wearlily.

"For all we know some jilted lover killed her over something purely personal." That didn't exactly explain the attempt on Aiden's life that had stranded him an an Alien infested peninsular.

"So long as no one puts Neil at the scene I don't suppose its any proper concern of ours."

__________________________________

The news broke the next morning as the Highlander crew was rousing themselves from alcohol fueled sleep. Taya had a holo news broadcast playing on the screen. Alexia Almaric found murdered! Images of the woman in life confirmed her to be the sister they had seen when disembarking from the Highlander. Tearful images and comments from the king and queen were played before it degenerated into a series of talking heads speculating on possible motivations for such a killing. They had just finished breakfast when there was a knock on the door.

Junebug took her pistol from her bag and held the weapon behind her back before pulling the great doors open. Ranald the grim faced advisor to Aiden stood there in a dress uniform that he looked distinctly uncomfortable in. A formidable row of metals and campagin ribbons stood out on the white and gold piped tunic. He glanced at her elbow, the veteran clearly aware that she was armed.

"Do you greet all visitors like this Captain?" Sayeeda let the weapon slide into view, a stark contrast to the almost see through silk nightgown she was wearing.

"Only on days I plan on surviving," she answered sweetly and swung the door fully open. Ranald steeped inside and his eyes went immediately to the holo broadcast. Sayeeda pushed the door closed with a click.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Ranald looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment and then produced a small holographic projector.

"Aiden is a good man and a smart one in his own way, but I fear he has many enemies here that he is reluctant to see." With that he thumbed on the holoprojector. An image of Alexia sprang to life atop the projector head.

"Aiden, I know you are busy with preperations for this ceremony of yours, but I have vital information about the wreck of your ship. Listen I'm not sure who exactly to trust, you need to meet me as soon as you can. Tonight if you can make it happen. This is important big brother." The holograph cut out.

"This came in while the prince was... entertaining you Captain," the old veteran said, his voice holding a hint of disapproval

@POOHEAD189.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

@ihinka@Amaranth

Not trying to force a connection but it seems like our two aristocrats might be a natural connection, but are they friends, or rivals....

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

I meant other pcs but if you want to think of a few npcs that is fine too.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla pulled her cloak tightly around her body. The wind whipped down of the eastern hills cold and slightly sour with some unidentifiable scent. Since meeting Cydric she had spent her fair share of time out in inclement weather but in her heart she never really grew used to it. From her point of view it would be much better to be passing the worst of the winter storms in the south, perhaps in Brettonia or among the Border Princes. Worst case in the taverns of Altdorf of Nuln, although that would have taxed their dwindling coin to the breaking point.

"C'era una volta un becchino che aveva una brutta moglie," she said to Cydric in her flowing Tilean. The Ostlander nodded thoughtfully at the words and responded in a mix of Tilean words and appropriately sounding nonsense sylables. Cydric knew some Tilean but could say little beyond conversational basics. Camilla giggled as though he had told a joke. The game was designed to make the Justicar, who did not speak Tilean, uncomfortable and judging by the restrained glare it was working.

Camilla was about to open her mouth and recite some poetry when she caught sight of something on the distant ridgeline.

"Cydric," she breathed and pointed at what she had at first taken for a misshapen tree. Silouteed black against the gathering darkness was a figure on horseback. At this distance it looked human, although Camilla wasn't willing to bet money on that. The figure seemed to know it had been spotted for it turned and vanished behind the distant rise. For a fleeting moment Camilla thought she caught he sound of laughter on the wind.

@POOHEAD189

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

@Hero@Dervish@ihinka@Amaranth@POOHEAD189

Ok, go ahead and migrate your characters across to the Character section.

Also I'd like everyone to come up with at least one past association with another character. It can be good bad or ugly. You don't need to limit yourself to only one.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Ripper Jack Buchannan, Wanderer

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Robert 'Ripper Jack' Buchannan

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Character Summary

Name:Robert Elliot Buchannan
Aliases:Ripper Jack
Age: 48
Nationality:Australian
Ethnicity: White
Current Residence: Wanderer
Gender: Male
Education: Spotty
Job: Jack of All Trades
Role:Muscle/Transport

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Appearance

Height: 5'11''
Weight: 190 lb
Build: Wiry
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Skin Tone: Tanned
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Numerous shrapnel and bullet scars.
Personal Style:
Jack is a pragmatic old bushman. He dresses in practical clothing for outdoor work, usually in a combination of khakis and leather all weather gear. He habitually carries a swag with a wide variety of gear and equipment. He is seldom seen without a battered slouch hat with one side pinned up in Australian military fashion. The fashion of his dress makes him appear uncouth in formal society and all efforts to clean him up have thus far failed.

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Psychology

Steady* Larakin* Tough* Heart of Gold

Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Widowed
Personality:
Jack is a rough and tumble bushman who grew up in the harsh wilderness of northern Australia. He comes from a tradition of rugged self reliance and practicality. He grew up droving and shearing and has imbibed the tradition of telling stories and tall tales. The sobriquet Ripper Jack actually derives from his fondness for telling stories, many of which are rooted in his own experience. Stricken with wanderlust from an early age he is restless by nature. While he is patient with a given task he is always eager to be on to the next one.

In his relationships with others he is no nonsense and can be a little standoffish at first. Once he gets to know someone however he is quite gregarious and extremely loyal.

Habits:
Smoking
Waking early to check the weather
Hobbies:
Whittles wood
Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged

• Aging - Jack is afraid he isn’t getting any younger
• Failure
• Disease
• Fire - All pilots have an atavistic fear of burning alive.

Likes:

• The Sea
• Adventure
• Whiskey
• Telling Stories
• Flying

Dislikes: 3 minimal

• Brits - Enough said.
• Causes and Idealists - Big ideas get good people killed by the thousands.
• The unexplained - In his line of work, what you don't know is probably a Russian Sniper.

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History

A Memory:

“What did you just say to me?” the voice boomed in the confines of the club. The french lounge singer tried valiantly to keep up the tune but the faltering pianist rendered it an impossible task. The Chanson de la Lune was packed with soldiers, it always was, every man in the mud dreamed of getting away from the line for a few days to find forgetfulness in booze and companionship.

“I said you are a liar sar!” a high pitched English accent shrilled. The source of the disturbance were a group of six men playing cards around a table. All of them wore khaki uniforms, three were British, and two were Australian and the fifth man a canadian. The larger and older of the two Australians had shot to his feet, knocking his chair over in his haste, and now leaned forward on his knuckles. He was in his mid thirties with features that seemed chiseled from granite and covered with the well tanned leather of the tropic sun. His uniform was disheveled and mismatched, RFC insignia pinned nonchalantly to the breast of his jacket.

“Steady Jack,” the seated Australian implored eyes glancing around the mass of suddenly interested British and French officers.

“You dare call me a liar you poxy pommey bastard?! We were fighting the Boer while you were cowering in Pretoria!”

“Listen you damn colonial, my father was at Mafaking …”

“Mafaking!” sneered the big Australian, “Doing what? Hiding in a hole like the rest of you?”

The lounge exploded into chaos at the not so subtle accusation of cowardice. The brit shot to his feet and swinging a fist at the big Australian. Jack swatted the blow away and responded with a roundhouse blow that sent the brit sprawling across the table. A half dozen men charged to the defence of their countrymen fists cocked. Jack grabbed the edge of the heavy table muscles bunching as he lifted the card table and hurling it into the oncoming ruck of men, scattering them like ten pins. A bottle bounced of the side of his head with an unmusical thunk. Jack staggered back with a vicious oath before spinning to catch his new assailant by the shirt front. The musached officer had a moment to yell in shock before Jack dropped him with a vicious head butt that was audible even over the tulmult. A chair crashed across his back as one of the brits hit him from behind. Roaring in pain and rage he spun about and drove his fist into the man's jaw, sending him tumbling glassy eyed to the floor.

“Come on ya bastards, one at a time or all at once!”

Jack stood amidst the ruins of the The Chanson de la Lune. Unconscious men lay amidst a pile of shattered furniture and broken bottles. The big Australian had lost his jacket and his shirt hung open. A pressure cut in his scalp dribbled blood down the side of his neck and one eye was blackened and swollen shut. Several of his knuckles were split and bleeding and his body shone with sweat in the flickering electrical lights. The lounge singer peeked from behind the piano, which had been incongruously spared the destruction of the brawl, with wide scared eyes. Jack tried to wink at her but the left side of his face wasn’t working properly.

“Put your hands up and come quietly!” a voice boomed through a megaphone. Jack swiveled his head to the door where a dozen MP’s stood, riot batons in hand. The Australian contemptuously hacked a glob of spit and blood onto the floor before lifting his gaze to meet that of the nervous looking MPs.

“Yeah?”You and what bloody army?”he laughed before vanishing beneath a tide khaki uniforms and swinging batons.

History:
Jack Buchannan was born in Brisbane Australia in 1883. His father was an itinerant drover and took only a periodic interest in the boy. At thirteen he left home to strike it rich on the gold fields in northern Queensland. When that failed he took work as a drover and a shearer, while he didn’t make his fortune he did get a first class education in riding, shooting, brawling and living rough.

At the age of seventeen Jack knifed a man in a drunken brawl. Rather than wait around to talk to the authorities, he signed on to a tramp steamer headed for Singapore. After nearly a year of knocking about Southeast Asia he landed in cape town South Africa. Without a ship and with his pay vanishing he found his way north to where the British were raising a colonial regiment for the ongoing war with the Boers.

The Bushvelt Carbineers were a temporary unit put together to fight Boer guerrillas and Jack, always pugnacious, got his first real taste of action. It was a brutal baptism of hard fighting, hard riding and constant ambush and counter ambush. When the war ended in 1902 Jack regretfully parted ways with his comrades.

Once again unemployed, Jack took work where he could find it. Travelling as a crewman on steam ships, he found work as a mercenary in half a dozen minor conflicts from Bali to Nicaragua. He won fortunes in the jungles and lost them at the card table and never stayed in one place longer than he had to.

In early 1914, assured by old comrades that his youthful knifing had been forgotten, he returned to Australia with the intent of settling down. He purchased a small farm and married (to considerable scandal) a Bengali woman he had met in India some years earlier. Unfortunately peace was already crumbling. When the August Crisis broke the call went out to raise colonial regiments and Buchannan, now 31, enlisted in the AIF and was granted the rank of lieutenant.

Decorated for bravery during the disastrous Gallipoli Campaign, Buchannan fought with mounted division and was seriously wounded during the battle of Magdhaba and shipped to England to recover. While in the field hospital he befriended a Major Wren of the Royal Flying Corp who, under irregular circumstances, waggled him an appointment in the RFC. As an experience machine gunner he was a valuable addition to Wren squadron. Despite constant disciplinary problems the high attrition rates of 1917 put a premium on experienced men and Jack eventually attended flight training in England. By 1918 the former drover from the bush was flying scout aircraft over France.

After the armistice Jack volunteered for and fought in the abortive allied intervention in Russia where he was once again wounded. With the allied withdrawal he mustered out and returned to Australia. Upon returning home he found that his wife had been carried off by the Spanish Flu and that his property was besieged by creditors. After a rash of mysterious deaths Buchannan decided that it might be best if he left the country once again.

Since that time he has worked as a pilot and a mercenary in a number of ventures in Asia, Africa and South America. An aging veteran Buchannan is viewed as a versatile and dependable, if somewhat irascible asset.

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

DK?

@Vera

It is you who say it ;)