Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda cleared her throat the only obvious sign of embarrassment at the situation. The only way to be sure you wouldn’t be embarrassed was to be dead. She shifted her rump into a slightly more proper position, cursing the way the most fabric clung to her body. The porno finally blanked to a peaceful holographic tableau. For someone who was normally a technical wizard it took a suspiciously long time for Taya to make the transition.

“Ok?” she asked, momentarily confused. Her eyes followed the Prince’s to the staple sutures that the provost's had applied to her forearm. The graze was nothing serious, a piece of a bullet had shattered against steel or concrete and drawn blood. She probably wouldn’t have bothered with it even if they didn’t have a badly wounded merc to stick in the medi-comp. A few treatments of stem-gel would close it up without even a scar.

“Oh this, nothing to worry about,” she reassured Aiden. What would Aiden have thought about the time she got hit on Beta Aquilla? Stomach muscles contracted involuntarily in recollection of being slammed back into the fighting compartment of her skimmer. The Prince looked unconvinced but chose not to pursue the matter further.

“I’d be honored to attend the coronation with you… if that is politically advisable?” she cocked an interrogatory eyebrow. Aiden’s gaze lost some of its suspicion and he smiled with genuine amusement.

“Oh perfectly acceptable Say… Junebug,” he replied, stumbing over the nickname despite her permission to use it.

“I’m not the King yet, besides there are few highborn ladies who would care to be compared to you if I opted not to attend with the beautiful and deadly Captain Cyckali.” As far as flattery went it worked better than most though the implied political complexity made her slightly wary.

“We had a date tonight didn’t we?” Sayeeda asked. Pausing to run her fingers through her short hair before wrapping a white linen towel around her midsection in belated modesty.

“We do, though I thought perhaps since the attack on your ship..”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted curtly. Aiden smiled wickedly.

“The we best get you to the Royal Clothiers, the hairdressers at the least will be tearing their hair out with frustration. They normally demand several hours for the Pinnacle Opera.” Aiden’s eyes shifted to Neil and became a touch less mirthful.

“And what will you gallant companies be doing while we are enjoying the splendour of the Opera? I suppose I could arrange tickets for the two of you?”
@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug sniffed with derision as the trio headed down a long marble hallway. Mythotlogical scenes adorned the walls in bas relief. A particularly intricate carving showed a half man half spider threatening a naked woman. A nearby armored figure raised a shield in symbolic protection.

“Your father is a powerful man Taya,’ Junebug observed as they turned a corner into a more familiar passageway. She supposed she could call up a map on her PDU if she really needed one, but they weren’t in any particular hurry.

“Do you think he would happily fall into line if he had a chance to be on top?” The question was somewhat rhetorical as Lord Cho-Lan had been more than happy to plunge his planet into fire and blood in order to claw his way up the social ladder.

“Well, maybe if he had someone like Aiden to follow,” Taya responded sounding more than a little unsure of herself.

“Sure and maybe that RIP will be calm,” Junebug retorted. It was the nature of humans to fight for a bigger share, even if their share as already vast. Mercenary soldiers got plenty of opportunity to see that. Sure they always dressed it up as some sort of injustice but at the end of the day it was always ‘that bastard has more than I want him to, go kill him’. They reached their room and opened the door with a thumbprint to the identification pad. The room had been restored to pristine condition, empty bottles and food wrappers whisked away by the staff while they had been gone. Junebug would have liked to have found something to eat out in the city but that didn’t seem like a good idea with the crowds and media swarms. She unhooked her weapons belt and tossed it the floor beside one of the embossed leather chairs. The familiar feeling of well being was stealing over her. There was nothing in the galaxy to match the feeling of surviving a firefight. For a moment she tried to imagine a different Sayeeda Cykali, one who had gone on to some pedestrian civilian occupation rather than shipping to the military academy. It was like trying to imagine a fish that as also an elephant.

Taya made a bee line for her corner of the room where an unlikely series of computer terminals hummed. She immediately began paging through the various news channels, giggling at the more salacious or ridiculous stories. Junebug was happy to discover that the bar had been restocked. Reaching into the artfully arranged ice chest she pulled out an amber bottle twisted in a series of interconnected loops which vaguely suggested a tree. She pulled the stopper free with a sharp twist of her left hand and took a drink from the neck. The dark brown liquor had a cinnamon burn to it that she wasn’t expecting but it beat the industrial alcohol which techs used to bleed from hydraulic lines and cut with water by several orders of magnitude.

“This place is getting weirder and weirder,” Junebug observed. She wanted to order food from the palace kitchens but the lack of anything as simple as a menu momentarily defeated her. A momentary childish impulse rose up and she considered calling the kitchen and ordering some ridiculously elaborate dish. Maybe Neil as rubbing off on her. Unconsciously her eyes strayed to Neil. The pilot was looking at the hot tub. He saw her looking. For a moment the room fell silent. With an explosion of motion they both dashed for the marble tub inset in the floor. Neil was closer but his path was obstructed by a large leather couch. He cleared it like a hurdler, leaping the back of it, landing on the cushioned seat and bounding towards the tub. Junebug threw herself forward in a dive the tangled the pilots legs and he face planted into the hot water sending a shower of liquid into the air. Sayeeda’s roll carried her over the lip and she plunged into the hot tub a moment after Neil, slouching a further wave of water onto the expensively paneled floor.

A moment later they both broke the surface, soaked, laughing and fully clothed. Sayeeda, ever the pragmatist, had demonstrated the presence of mind to cover the opening of her bottle with a tumb before taking the plunge. The hot water felt good, even though she probably should have taken the time to strip before diving in. She propped herself up on her elbows on the edge of the tub and took another drink.

“I could probably sell the secrutiy footage of that for a bundle,” Taya observed dryly as Junebug thrust a lock of wet hair out of her eyes.

“Probably,” Junebug agreed, the comment dragging her back into the situation at hand.

“The award ceremony is tomorrow night, I think we shoud probably lift ship right after. Things are starting to get murky here.”

“We uh don’t have a cargo,” Neil interjected, leaning back on his side of the hot tub in a relaxed pose. Junebug made a gesture of negation with the amber bottle.

“We can find something tomorrow, even if we can’t there is a repatriation bond we can claim if we ferry Kagan and his men back to their own people.” It was standard for a merc company to pay a premium for the return of its people and its equipment. It was a good economic incentive for troops that might be trapped systems away from their homebase. Kagan had said that he and his men were part of a trading cadre on Rhizon. Junebug had never heard of the world but it was unlikely to be too far from here if they were making such small deployments. Taya began to laugh and Junebug looked at her sharply. With a few quick keystrokes she lit the main viewscreen.

“God damn,” Junebug breathed. On the screen were two figures, naked and writhing together. There faces were undeniably those of Neil and Sayeeda. It was some sort of synthesis Sayeeda realised after a moment. The woman's body was an approximation of hers but they were not an exact match. Some effort had been made to conterfeight both her and Neil's tattoos but there were minor mistakes. Some of her more intimate tattoos and scars were missing all together. Neil’s doppelganger too lacked some of the scars she had seen.

“I wish my ass looked like that,” she said judiciously. It was bad luck that at exactly that moment the door slid open to admit Prince Aiden to the chamber.
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla dropped the smoking pistol and tried to dash across the chamber. The feat was easier said then done however. The floor was slick with blood an spilled intestines from the slain skaven and she nearly lost her footing when her foot came down on a severed head. Unsure how she would damage the throne she thrust her rapier back into its scabbard and tried to pick up the halberd of a slain storm vermin. The course wood twisted in her hands as she tried to pull it free. The blade was pinned beneath the body of another skaven and it took all her strength to yank the thing clear. It was heavy and unbalanced by she took a few more steps towards the throne.

With a contemptuous flick of his wrist the brazen armored chaos warrior sent a triple headed whip of queasy light flashing towards her. With a scream she tossed the halberd and tried to leap aside but it was too late. The whip curled around her waist with a snap and lifted her into the air as though the was a straw doll. The energy coiled around her like a living thing constricting and tightening with each passing moment. Her leather armor smoked and charred although the thing gave of no heat. Desperately she reached for her second dueling pistol but just as her hand brushed the but one of the whip fingers coiled around her wrist like an iron manacle.

Theodric laughed his mad laugh as Cydric redoubled his attack. Rune encrusted blade flicking the Ulrician sword aside with almost mocking easy. Pain burned from Camilla’s wrist and midsectoin as she tried to reach the pistol inspite of her bindings. It was useless. Fear and terror filled her and she began to thrash uselessly against the arcane bonds, knowing that anything she did would be too late.

With a roar like a mortally wounded bear, Thaddeus crashed across the room. Blood covered his mangled face and neck and his veins stood out like cables against his iron hard musculature. He lifted the massive greatsword above his head and bought it down like a giant driving a fencepost. The heavy Riekland steel smashed into one of the purplish crystals. The world exploded in a flash of light so bright that Camila could clearly see the outline of the Justicar even though her eyes were squeezed shut. Thing grew confusing for a moment and she found herself laying against a wall of the chamber. Dust rained from an open sky and her ears rang like Election bells.

Theodric was screaming in agony. One side of his helmet had been dished in as though struck by a warhammer and a single bronze eye blazed balefully from the undamaged portion. Of Von Eikenhausen there was no sign, though Camilla supposed the Justicar might be lying amidst the pile of bodies. The Chaos champion drove Cydric back, his pain had given him he fury of desperation and it was all the Ostlander could do to avoid being disemboweled. It was clear Cydric couldnt last much longer.

Camilla tried to rise but found her muscles wouldn’t obey her with much more than spastic twitching. The remaining purple stone still blazed forth its hateful light. With shaking fingers she pulled her remaining dueling pistol free of her belt. It was a miracle the weapons was still their given the force of the blast. It would be a further miracle if the thing still worked. Shakily, she raised the weapon towards the throne. Half of it was crumpled and warped, the sconce that held the first crystal wide and gaping as hell.

“Ranald, aid of beggars, whores and theives,” she mumbled, her hand shaking so much she was worried she would shake the priming powder from the frizzon. Theodric’s head snapped around as though alerted by the prayer his copper eye blazing with hate and his wrist pulling back, flashing with light. Camilla pulled the trigger and the pistol barked, filling the air with noise and powder smoke.
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla’s mind went blank as the psychic prophecy echoed in her mind. The name of the Prince of Pleasure had long had an unreasonable effect on her she staggered against Cydric as her teeth clacked together. Contact with the big swordsman seemed to disperse the iron shot mist of a moment before and she was once again in control of her faculties. There was no way for her to know why the name affected her so. It wasn’t the sort of thing one mentioned to a witchhunter or a priest after all.

A black furred skaven in armor of rusted steel, shoved a spear at her. Twisting her lithe body she pushed the tip away with the light blade of her rapier and then slashed a riposted at the things head. The beast jerked its head back but as fractionaly to slow the razor sharp tip slashed through the things snout at eye level in a spray of blood and less identifiable fluids. The big rat let out a chittering scream and dropped its halberd, staggering backwards. Camilla followed it with a neat thrust between neck and collarbone.

Across the hall she saw the Justicar go down in a pile of thrashing tails and clacking teeth. An impressive pile of severed arms and heads lay about him. With flick of her wrist she sent her dagger flying across the room and into the eye of one of the creatures as it raised a rusty shortsword for the deathblow. She sprang across the room in three long strides, thrusting with the weight of her body into the back of a patchy furred skaven with no weapon save its teeth and claws. She stamped down had on the tail of another and punched the hilt of her fencing blade into its face as it whirled to confront is tormener sending it sprawling with a crack of breaking facial bone. With her free hand she gripped the hilt of her dagger and twisted ripping it from the eye socket of her earlier victim in time to catch a clumsy sword thrust. Pivoting her body in a tight arc she slammed her elbow back into the rats face and then reversed her grip to bury it in the back of its neck while it staggered. Von Eikenhausen lay on the floor covered in blood that might or might not be his own. Though his face was torn open to the skull and his left cheek as entirely torn away, Thaddeus still gripped a skaven by the throat. Huge muscles bulged and the terrified creature scrabbled at the imperial with its claws tearing fresh furrows in his skin. With a roar of effort Thaddeus closed his hand convulsively and the creatures throat gave with a crunch of cartridge that as audible even over the din of battle.

Silence fell over th ancient hall. If any of the skaven were still alive they were making certain to pretend otherwise. The eerie figure that rose from the corpses spoke some garbled words. Thaddeus gurgled something that might have been ‘traitor’ before subsiding into a groaning paroxysm.

“Here we three stand once more, as the Changer has ordained,” the cloaked figure said graneligently.

“And on the eve of the invasion we have laboured so long to engineer, it is fate my friends,” the cowled speaker enthused. Camilla’s hand slipped to her belt and she began to ease one of her dueling pistols free of her arming belt.

“I am Gunter Hessman no longer,” the armored giant boomed, his voice somehow echoing inside of her mind as well as within the cavern.

“They told me I would see you again old friend,” the cowled figure chuckled.

“I AM THEDORIC!” the thing boomed, as though the fact were as primal and indisputable as a mountain.
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla held the torch high so that it illuminated the strange throne. The flickering torch light woke disconcerting flashes in the purplish orbs, like heat lightning above the plains of Atranto in the summertime. Instinctively she looked up to the collapsed ceiling to see if it might be possible to climb out. Terror froze her for a moment.

“Cydric..” she breathed. The mercenary turned to regard her as she lifted the torch towards the ceiling. Or the lack of one. The roof of the catacomb and the entire hillside was gone, replaced by a semitransucent ghost of its present form. Instead the sky winked with wan alien looking stars. A vast plain of ice spread out before them. Somehow Camilla knew she as looking at the entrance to the tomb as it had appared thousands of years ago. The throne still seemed real, it shone with a sharpness that was unpleasant to the mind.

In a moment of searing clarity Camilla saw the throne being forged. A great Chaos warrior lay on a beir of bones. A pair of what looked strangely like dwarves but twisted and wrong stood over him. They raised vast hammers and bought them down in blows that could have shattered stone. The helmet split and something dark and nameless rushed from within. One of the dwarf things reached into the helmet with a ring studded hand and withdrew two bloody but otherwise human eyeball. Camilla’s stomach twisted and she would have vomited if her body hadn’t been frozen between one moment and the next. Desperately she willed her heart to beat or eyes to blink, anything at all to prove she was alive.

The dwarf thing began to chant in some foul language that sounded like rocks screaming. The darkness which had escaped the helmet rushed back into the bloody eyes, congealing around them like nacre around a sangrain in the formation of a pearl. A moment, a millenia, later the dwarf held two glowing purple orbs. Behind him his companions hammer rose and fell with the rhythm of the moons wheeling in the sky. The body of the chaos warrior was hammered blow by blow into the shape of the throne, black iron running like water against the hammer.

Reality snapped back into focus and Camilla felt her pulse thunder in her temple like a distant but immense drum.

“It is him…” Camilla breathed but before she could clarify to the confused men beside her a horrifyingly familiar skittering came from on of the side passage. Camilla snatched her rapier free a moment before a horde of grotesque rat creatures burst from the subterranean tunnel, preceded by the miasimic tide of musk and sweat. The stink of the skaven as unforgettable. There must have been fifty of them, dressed in tattered mockeries of clothing, clutching rusty kines and improvised spears. Chisel like fangs dripped foetid spit as leather and steel rasped over fur and flesh.

The skaven were not focused on them. From a tunnel opposite the skaven a massie figure in black and bronze arm strode into the room. The baroque steel giant was covered in twisting runes which seered the eyes and carried a sword of blue crystal which must have been as tall as Camilla herself. Wordlessly the giant hewed into the throng, sending a spray of dark blood gouting onto the wall behind the throne. The stink of the horde intensified as they hurled themselves onto the chaos champion stabbing and cutting and raising a shower of sparks from the demon forged armor.

@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Hangar Massacre - Are Prince Aiden’s ‘Guests’ a Threat?

The words scrolled across the twenty meter tall hologram portentously. Junebug steeped from the aircar the provost had provided and sighed. The Highlander’s crew had, eventually been officially cleared of any wrong doing, largely because Taya had provided the holo recordings of events to the authorities. It was possible to fake holograms but it was extremely difficult and easy to spot to anyone with even a cursory background. Even they Highlanders most dyed in the wool detractors couldn’t claim they hadn’t been attack. That didn’t stop them from painting their response as needlessly brutal though. Looped images ran of Junebug shooting the infiltrator by the hatch in the back. There was also footage of Lieutenant Kagan shooting one of his apparent allies before surrendering. There were as many opinions on what that meant as there were news channels.

The planet, or at least the city, didn’t have police in the regular sent. Instead it had a handful of appointed provosts who determined whether a crime had been committed. Once that was accomplished the provosts could appeal to the various noble houses for manpower under some arcane feudal law. Junebug supposed she had seen stranger systems. On Cephalon the natives didn’t even have a notion of justice. They merely burned twelve intercessors each lunar new year to purge the guilt of the whole community. Still it was disconcerting to see so sophisticated a society using such an outdated system of justice.

The provost's had wanted to question Kagan and his men but Junebug had refused. As surrendered combatants she was responsible from shielding them from local retaliation within reasonable limits. This had caused the provosts some consternation until she finally stumbled upon the formula that the captured mercenaries were her leigemen now. The precedents were consulted and this was apparently judged as proper. The rapid collapse of official resistance after that made Sayeeda suspect that Prince Aiden had strong armed the bureaucrats into dropping the matter. If so, she as thankful.

She shook her head wryly as the footage on the big screen played over Neil informing the whole planet that they were nobody to fuck with. It made her smile in spite of herself. The Provost’s had dropped her off in the palace compound by her request. The driver had cursed repeatedly at the swarm of camera drones that had followed them but they sheared of when they crossed the ornamental silver wall which encircled the private areas of the palace.

“Neil, the cops say we’re are all clear or now but it doesn't look like they are set up to do much investigating. Any progress on who these people were and why they were trying to break in to our ship?”
@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

“Are you sure you can trust them?” Taya asked in a worried voice. The girl had come in after Junebug had called the all clear. She had one of the mercenaries pistol in one hand, it was a good instance to arm yourself but Sayeeda privately wished the girl hadn’t. Thy had spent some time training but the girl needed to work on her barrel control. She had a tendency to gesture with the weapon which would likely end in her accidentally shooting someone if it wasn’t curbed.

“Within certain parameters,” Junebug responded as she watched them strip the wounded woman’s armor from her body with a series of emergency release catches. Blood sicked the inside of the ceramic/polymer armor. The mercenary was a dark woman, and the blood stained her ebony skin with a grotesque sheen. One of her companions cut away her clothing with a power knife and then helped lift her into the medicomp.

Most starships had an automated medical unit which was capable of everything from treating radiation exposure to minor surgical tasks. The Highlander’s was an industrial gray unit the size of a large coffin. It could be configured to leave the head uncovered but they mercenaries were not taking any chances. It closed around the stricken soldier with a hiss of compressed gas. A series of clicks and whirs sounded as various IV lines and bio sensors were inserted. The large display on the side of the unit began to scroll data against a red background. After a moment the red shifted to yellow. That was a good sign. Sayeeda wasn’t a medic but she seen more than her share of wounded over the years. She judged that the woman would live.

“If they break faith after surrendering, their own organisation would probably shoot them rather than risk official censure,” Sayeeda explained. The mercenary community, the larger and better equipped ones, recognised a value to obeying the terms of a contract and in honoring surrenders. It was bad for business to shoot surrendering combatants just like it as bad for business for troops to turn on their captors once paroled. Everyone recognized the value in following the rules and if they didn’t, they were taught a very brief and very permanent lesson.

“We are responsible for feeding them and repatriating them to their own outfit. Their organisation will pay us a premium to cover it,” she explaine. Kagan was directing his men, sliding tubes of stim gel into the machine as the read reserve was expended. Taya straightend suddendly.

“Junebug, there are a bunch of those media drones on the way. I riged a sensor watch with Lonney.”

Sayeeda didn’t know what the reaction to a half dozen slaughtered men in the hangar would be but she was willing to bet it wasn’t going to be anything good.
@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Unpleasant situations were a mainstay of a soldiers life, but few offered as much opportunity for an ironic death as taking a surrender. It was usually the last moment of hostility, but everyone was still twitchy with adrenaline. There was often someone who didn’t get the word or was too deep in the grip of fight or flight to hold his fire. Junebug stepped from her concealment, the barrel of her weapon shimmering as the silicon carbon dissipated waste heat. This time it was ok. Guns were all down. One of the black armored mercs was gurgling liquidly as he twisted on the ground. The body armor had shattered under the point blank crash of the submachine gun.

“We have a medicomp, lose the guns and get him up,” Junebug ordered. The soldiers looked to the black haired man who nodded briskly and hit the release catch of his combat webbing. The mass of gear slithered to the ground with a clatter. The other soldiers followed suit and two of the bulkier onces lifted the wounded trooper, Junebug saw it was a woman and dragged her towards the hatch.

“Neil open her up, two coming in for the medicomp.” The leader had his helmet off looking disgusted. Junebug could appreicate his position. It was likely the six men could have gotten out, assuming Neil didn’t vaporise the whole building by firing the plasma cannon, but even if he could there was no way they could have gotten the black plasteel intrusion unit out. Junebug didn’t doubt that the electronic safe cracker was worth hundreds of thousands of credits. Better to save it, even if that meant surrendering on terms. Standard Terms allowed mercs to retain their equipment in exchange for parole.

“I’m Master Seargent Kagan, Kolecks Commando,” he said extending a hand. Junebug took the proffered hand and shook it.

“I’m Captain Sayeeda Cykali, I… I’m not technically with an outfit,” she explained. It was an open question as to whether standard terms applied to her. To her surprise Kagan shook his head.

“You are listed as a reserve captain in the KDF,” the mercenary disagreed. The ramp crashed down rattling Sayeeda’s teeth.

“The KDF?”

“Kylurian Defence Force, I guess I’ll trust President Andor to shoot you if you decide to execute me and my men.”
@POOHEAD189

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

"Click go the shears boys, click, click, click," hummed Jack as he tramped along the winding path. His lips curled into what only charitably described as a smile. Smirk was a much more appropriate term. A fight always got his blood up, better proof against the cold than a fur cloak. Oh he'd be hurting in the morning, but he figured he was doing better than the battered Hun he had left bleeding in the snowbank. With a flutter of his leather coat he hoped over one of the low stone walls and into a pear orchard. In the distance the lights of the manor blazed. He was going to be late but then if they wanted him on time they shouldn't have set the bloody meeting on Boxing Day.

Even without leaves, the closely packed pear trees acted as an impediment to the snow and he made much better time. The owls hooted as he trudged down the row, large duffel swung over his right shoulder. The bag wasn't that heavy, containing only a few changes of clothes and a worn but well cared for lee-enfield rifle. In his life time Jack had won and lost more than one fortunes on goldfields and gaming tables, but he never felt he needed much more than a pair of boots and a hat to keep the sun, or snow, off his head.

"Broad is his stroke and his hands move quick," he muttered as he vaulted another wall to enter the manor grounds proper. Even with its coating of snow the expensive landscaping was obvious. The English were bloody crazy for gardening and manicuring every tree it seemed to him. He circled the big house and passed a potting shed and some other out building, he dimly remembered it being described as a carriage house, to reach a rear door. He knocked firmly on the oaken pannel and swore caustically as his bruised knuckles protested the action.

It took a minute or two but eventually the door creaked open and a timid looking woman peered out at him, backlit by the light of several electric lamps.

"Jack is that you?" called a lilting irish accent.

"Aye Molly, mind if I come in?" he replied, belatedly sweeping his slouch hat of his head respectfully. The door swung fully open and a plump matronly woman ushered him in. Molly Fisher was in her late thirties. She had been an aurburn haired beauty when she was younger, but years ruling Lord Cornack's kitchen with an iron fist had swathed her in a comfortable layer of fat. Jack tipped her a wink and pinched her rump as he passed, eliciting a decidedly girlish giggle.

"You are impossible!" she giggled before her eyes fully took him in and she grew serious.

"You've been fighting, are you hurt?" she asked, reaching gingerly up to touch the bruise on the side of his face.

"Ah Molly I've gotten worse falling out of bed," he protested.

"You're not drunk are you, Lord Cornack won't be too pleased if..."

"Peace woman, I'm not drunk, no more than usual anyway," he assured her as she led him into a small washroom and sat him down on a bench. She took a basin of cold water and began to wipe the caked blood from his face with a coarse cloth. Head wounds always bled like the devil, even if they didn't do any real damage.

"You had best run and get the Colonel for me Molly, I had a visit from some Germanic friends at the Speckled Hen," Jack told her seriously. He didn't know what interest the strange men had in Cormack's expedition but he had better let the old man know before things went any further.

"I think M'lord is about to attend the gathering in the main hall," Molly explained. Anything Molly said about the workings of the great house could be taken as gospel. She had an almost preternatural knowledge of every detail of her domain as Jack had discovered during previous attempts to penetrate the Colonels liquor cabinet.

"I suppose I can meat him there then," Jack replied wincing away from a particularly energetic swipe of the cloth. Molly looked up at him in alarm, her eyes roving over his battered khaki shirt and trousers and his snow covered combat boots and leather cloak.

"In that?" she asked in obvious horror. Jack settled his hat back onto his head and his face split into a grin that took a decade off his apparent age.

"Sorry Darlin' left my suit in me other swag."

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Feel free to make shorter posts or collab posts to facilitate conversation