Penny

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene’s heart thundered in his chest as he raced through the moonlight forest. Silver light flashed overhead, dappled and distorted by the canopy above. A vine ripped across his arms scraping the skin raw as he strugled through it. Roots and rocks tangled his feet and more than once he tripped in the uncertain light, bracing his fall with one hand to keep the weapon clear, as he had been taught. Far to his rear the hollow boom of a shotgun discharge shook the darkly plumed birds from a distant grove but it was in the opposite direction of the scream and thus unimportant.

The ground fell away quickly enough that Rene picked up speed, desperately picking his foot falls and hoping to avoid tripping. Fortunately the jungle thinned on the thin soiled decline and he made it nearly to the bottom before he misjudged a step and tumbled, rolling the remainder of the way down the slope. Cold water slapped at him and rocks bit into him as he came to a stop on the moss covered rocks of a shallow stream. He groaned for a moment and pushed himself to his feet, the rifle in his hand hissed slightly as water cooled the still hot barrel, tracing lines of steam, more felt than seen, towards the sky.

“Solae,” Rene breathed, more of a prayer than he had spoken in years. He glanced around, the sound of the scream no longer enough of a beacon to lead him on. The stream ran on for a hundred yards before a small bridge, just a silhouette against the moonlight, crossed over it. Atop the bridge were a group of shadowed figures, three of them carrying a supine forth. The old railroad was the only built structure, beyond Amber Horizon, that he knew off. Intuitively he realised the unconscious form must be Solae a moment before her golden hair glinted in inopportune moonlight. He raised the rifle, settled the sight picture on the chest of the lead man and pulled the trigger. The weapon screamed like a banshee. Pale witchfire licked over the barrel and Rene’s hair sprang on end. With a shouted curse he cast the weapon away. It hit the shallow stream with a shattering QWAAH that raised a cloud of steam. The barrel had warped either due to over firing or previous contact with the water and the precise magnetic mechanism had shredded itself in a moment of spectacular destruction. Worse the flash of light attracted the attention of the men on the bridge.

“Chook!” the one not burdened with Solae cried and swung his weapon to bear on Rene. Muzzle flash blossomed in bright yellow stars and water sprayed over as bullets tore up the stream. He grabbed at the pistol in his belt and dived to the side, water founting over him, sour on his lips with the tanniny byproduct of jungle flora. One of the river rocks nearby shattered like a bomb, flint sparking crazily in the uncertain light. Pain flashed in Rene’s arm as jagged shards of rock traced bloody lines across his right arm and shouler.

“Get her out of here!” the lead guman yelled as he levered the empty clip from the weapon and slapped another one home. Rene pulled himself up behind a moss covered log rested his pistol on the soft timber and pulled the trigger. The bright flash of a plasma bolt lit the night, illuminating Rene for a heartbeat in a semicircle of blue white light. The bolt flew low, blowing one of the wooden sleepers into flaming spinters. The lead gunman reeled back, tetted on edged of the bridge and fell backwards to the rocky creek bed. The remaining two men dragged Solae out of Rene’s closely circumscribed line of sight.

“Fuck!” he snarled, pushing himself to his feet and running up the far side of the creek bed at a steep angle, grabbing a handful of branches to pull himself up over the shallow lip. He saw the fleeing men through the trees but couldn’t risk a shot for fear of hitting Solae. His lungs screamed for air but he forced himself into a run. With shocking suddenness he burst from the edge of the jungle and onto a narrow strip of grass distorted with muddy wheel ruts. Five meters ahead was sugar cane, almost impenetrable and twice the height of a man. Both men carrying Solae crashed out of the jungle one of them firing a panicd burst that would have been no danger even if it had been in Rene’s general direction. He braced his feet in a shooters stance, sighted and fired. The plasma bolt struck the man carrying Solae’s leg squarely igniting the front of his shirt as it flash heated on his chest, propelling the man backwards under the force of vaporized tissue. Fragments of flaming fabric few into the densly packed stalks of cane and began to smoulder. Solae’s legs fell and the second man staggered under his newly aquired burden but he didn’t quite drop the Marqessa. Instead he dropped his rifle and pulled a knife from his belt, pressing the shining blade against Solae’s pale throat.

“Put the fucking gun down!” he shouted in a voice that cracked with terror. Rene froze, his face a ricktus of pain. The man kept Solae between them as a shield with only his head visible. Rene wasn’t confident enough to risk Solae’s life on the shot, not when he was already trembling with adrenaline, fear and fatigue.

“She is worth nothing dead!” Rene called, not lowering the pistol, trying to stall for time or anyting which might help the situation.

“I don’t care about that put the weapon down or she dies!” Rene hesitated a fractoin of a second longer. A rational man wouldn’t kill Solae and waste a fortune but this man was scared half to death it was impossible to predict what he might do. Rene lowered the weapon reluctantly.

“Toss it aside,” Solae’s captor instructed. Rene tossed the weapon of to his right careful to place it close enough that he could jump for it.

“Thats a good little chook lover. Let me tell you, we are going to have some fun with your bitch here when we get her back to the plantation, every man on the plantation and half the horses…” The man’s head snapped sideways as the point of a steel spear suddenly split it temple to temple. Horribly the man didn’t die instantly but instead made a liquid mewling sound. Solae’s dead weight slipped through his fingers and slumped to the grass. The man took a staggering sideways step, weighted down by the weight of the spears half and then collapsed twitching to the ground. A monent later a shadowy form emerged from the trees. Rene recognised Enro even in the darkness, his plumae was undyed. He sank to his knees and groped blindly for his pistol suddenly thirsty and weary beyond description.

“Stars upon stars,” he groand. Beside him the cane was begining to burn, the bed of trash and fallen stalks catching the flames and casting a hellish light on the whole scene.

“Stars upon bloody stars.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Jump Drives

From: The Halladay Primer

… facts relevant to the application of Gershwin-Kekoa drives. Although each manufacturer makes its own proprietary version, the Gershwin-Kekoa drive (GKD) forms the basis of all interstellar travel. Developed on Earth before the collapse the process of jump travel has remained relatively unchanged over the centuries with the primary innovations laying within the realm of navigation and efficiency.

In essence a GK drive functions by a form of quantum tunneling which allows a vessel to super position itself along a continually expanding plane through four dimensional space time. Although instantaneous point to point travel is theoretically possible, the practical energy requirements of such a procedure are too immense to be practical. Rather, vessels use existing gradients usually those created by extremely massive celestial bodies such as stars and black holes. The massive gravitational points distort space time into folds or troughs, along which the tunneling effect of GK drives is logarithmically more efficient.

Vessels are able to use known gravity wells to jump from system to system instantaneously, through arrival points are usually several hours or days from stellar bodies. The gravity gradient grows too rapidly as one closes in on a major mass and the risk of collision grows faster than computational differentiation can account for. Jumping in this fashion generates an enormous amount of waste heat due to intersitatil friction with quantum foam. In order for the crew and indeed the vessel to survive, extended cooling periods are needed between jumps for the disposal of waste heat. Paradoxically big ships are more efficient at shedding heat due to their large surface areas. Smaller ships often employ dedicated heat syncs in order to manage the load. While cooling can be achieved in space, dipping into an atmosphere can decrease the cool down time by days given the increased effectiveness of convection of air or other appropriate liquids. Nebula of sufficient density are also highly prized resources for this exact reason.

The result of this system is that space is accessible via a web of charted jump points. Ships hop from system to system at a speed equivalent to their cooling capacity and along the shortest routes available to them. Due to the clustering effect at the center of the galaxy it is functionally faster to travel in wards from the spiral arms than to ….

End of Excerpt.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene nodded to the two Inyorin. They looked strong, though it seemed to be more a matter of muscle density than sheer size and their feathers had been dyed with some sort of vegetable compound so that they were stiff and very dark in color. Rene recalled lessons from his childhood about the dangers of anthropomorphising aliens too much. One of the pair stepped back, looking suddenly apprehensive. Rene realised he had been grinning only as he blanked his face. These locals were about to get a lesson in the dangers of excessive anthropomorphisation also, one that would be a lot less survivable than Mistress Doziers doddering lectures had been.

“Alright I’m coming, just give me a moment,” he instructed the two Syshin and pulled the curtain of woven vines that closed the spartan room closed with a rustle. He pulled Solae to him and kissed her impulsively then, reluctantly he released her. He drew the automatic pistol he had taken from her pursuers on the day they had met. It was heavy for its size, with far more metal than a contemporary Imperial design would allow but common enough on more remote worlds. He held it up and clicked the safety down with his thumb to reveal a red phosphor dot, then pressed it back up with the thumbnail to reengage the mechanical lock out. Marine training highly discouraged giving weapons to civilians, which Solae was in function if not in fact, but he couldn’t leave her with nothing to defend herself, not after all she had been through. Solae looked about to protest but he pressed the weapon into her hand and closed her fingers around it nonetheless.

“Please, it will make me feel better,” he told her and she nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured her, plastering a confident smile on his face for her benefit, then peeled back the curtain and stepped out to join the two Syshin. A gentle anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He supposed he would have done nearly anything to get Solae off New Concordia, but he was pleased it was something that would make this world a little better after he left it.

The night was surprisingly clear, the sea having evidently decided to spare them a storm for a change. The air itself was hot after the semi-subterranian cool of Amber Horizons and the ferocious humidity sprang sweat from Rene’s skin immediately. If the Syshin were discomforted it didn’t show on the faces of the two Inyorin crouched beside him. The alien’s additional leg joints meant they could get considerably lower to the ground without laying down than was possible for Rene but he couldn’t imagine the crablike pose was comfortable. Both of the aliens held improvised spears made from agricultural tubing and had long knives at their belts. Trade in weapons was technically banned except by Imperial License, a fact that did not deter smugglers, but did mean that modern weapons were expensive for an impoverished group like the Syshin. The fact that the law as much more likely to be enforced against aliens meant that guns were a generally bad idea.

The trio were set up atop a small rise which overlooked the scrubby tropical forest. A broad track, dirt pounded by feet rather than paved, ran through the lower area, weaving between trees too large to bother cutting. A spine of upthrust granite provided good cover and concealment from the road and the foliage between them and the trail was minimal. Both moons were up and nearly full, bathing the entire scene in pale silvery light. Rene would just as soon have done this in a rainstorm where sightlines would be sort and confusion easy to so, but you had to play the hand you were dealt. He leaned forward slightly, resting the foregrip of the rifle on the lichen pitted stone for support.

“You are sure they will come this way?” he asked in a low quiet voice. Both of the aliens looked at each other and spoke in liquid and unintelligible Syshi. Rene cursed silently beginning to wish that he had bought Solae along afterall, though the risk to her was too great for him to have considered it. He realised that he was nervous, something that surprised him. He didn’t worry for his own life, he didn’t hold it in high enough regard for that to matter, but the thought of leaving Solae alone and vulnerable twisted his stomach uncomfortably.

“We sure,” one of the Syshin finally responded in broken pigeon. He seemed about to elaborate when a bird hooted nearby. Both Syshin froze and then made answering hoots. From a shadow at the bottom of the rise a third alien emerged, scrambling up the rise with little more than a rustle of leaves. This one also held a spear as well as a length of metal piping that would serve as a club at close quarters. More liquid Syshin flowed along with a good deal of gesticulating off to the south along the road.

“What is it?” Rene demanded as the conversation grew more heated.

“Stars burn you! Keep your voices down!” he snarled as his words went unheeded. All three Syshin fell silent and then one turned to him.

“Kadal say the men already have Syshin Rene Bonded of Solae,” the alien sounded despairing. Rene cocked his head to the side trying to piece the fragmentary sentence together.

“They already have captives?” he asked, taking care to speak slowly. In the distance he thought he heard a sound and his eyes scanned the moonlight road.

“Women, women from the Penshae,” the Syshin agreed emphatically, his elongated head nodding as he spoke. Rene didn’t know or particularly care what a ‘Penshae’ was but the fact that the humans already had captives compicated matters dramatically. Unfortunately it didn’t alter his job tonight. He needed to earn the trust of the Syshin so they would help Solae off world and falling back because of bad intel wouldn’t do that.

“We go!” the newcomer declared, standing to his full height decisively. Rene grabbed the alien and yanked him down, though he suspected had the Syshin really wanted to he could have broken free.

“No!” he snapped, “Keep to the plan, we will get your people out!” As Rene smoke a whining sound became clearly audible. It was recognisable as an electric engine, one of the capacitor powered kind that was frequently used for agricultural work. Rene held a finger to his lips for silence and gestured everyone down.

An eternity passed, though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, before the source of the noise finally came into view. A group of about a dozen human, all male and most carrying torches or flashlights came into view laughing and singing with drunken good humor. Most of the men cradled weapons, shotguns and machettes seeming to predominate, though Rene did see one man with what looked like an automatic rifle. The were all dressed in variations of the gray jumpsuits and smocks that was common to paid laborers. In the middle of the procession was a small utility vehicle about the size of a small ground car. It had a windshield but no sides enclosed it. Behind the vehicle, secured with wire ropes, were a half dozen naked Syshin females, huddled together and crying as the vehicle half dragged them along. Rene felt all three of his companions stiffen. As they watched one of the drunken men whipped one of the Syshin across the bottoks with a wite knot, laughing uproariously as she screamed.

“Alright,” Rene said, “You three circle round to the…”

“MYINDI!!!” one of the Syshin screamed and leaped to his feet before charging full bore down the slope towards the road. Both of his companions stood frozen for a second before following with weird undulating cries. The men below screamed and cursed and a half dozen weapons went off more or less at random. Rene wanted to scream in frustration but that wouldn’t help now. At times like these you had to save what you could. With a quick jerk he swung the weapon onto his target and took up the trigger pressure. The weapon cracked and slapped his shoulder. A stared hole appeared in the plastic windshield of the utility vehicle and the driver twitched and slumped over into the passenger seat leaving a smear of blood on the seat cover. He let the weight of the barrel drop it a fraction and then fired twice more with sharp syncopating cracks. Bluish sparks exploded as the rounds shredded the engine of the vehicle, dumping the entire load of the capacitors in a few seconds of stunning destruction. Smoke poured out a moment later masing the couscating blue destruction.

The leading Syshin reached the edge of the road and leaped into the air, his spear plunging downwards towards one of the terrified slavers. A shotgun blast thundered in the tropical night and the Inyorin flew sideways in a spray of dark fluids, his spear falling limply into the dirt. The automatic rifle roared spewing thirty rounds into the night air in Rene’s general direction. The purplish red muzzleflash, a byproduct of ionization as the electromagnets drove the copper gold driving bands up the weapons muzzle, had given his position away but the shooter was drunk and on full auto beside. Above Rene timber cracked as one of the rounds shattered a tree limb and dropped it twenty feet to his left. The shooter reached for a fresh clip but pitched to the dirt as Rene’s return fire shattered his sternum. It would take a real soldier to hit the concealed marine in the dark and the screaming chaos of the battle, but another burst like that could easily kill all of the naked Syshin women currently tearing at their wire bonds.

The two Inyorin still on their feet crashed into the group below, spears stabbing down in brutal deadly archs. Rene cut down two more soldiers with five round burst as they struggled to bring their shotguns to bear. Small fern like plants that grew from the base of the boulder shriveled away from the rifle barrel as excess heat started to build up in the barrel. Electromotive weapons heated fast but Rene didn’t have any choice but to keep shooting. A big bull like man swung a torch at one of the Syshin, driving him back a step. Rene’s shot caught him in the neck, the shot was too high but it did the job, all but decapitating the man in a spay of arterial blood that sparkled red in the muzzle flash.

The surviving humans broke as a group, turning and fleeing from the scene of the carnage. Even with the Syshin blowin the ambush the carnage and the screaming noise of the firefight was too much. These men weren’t soldiers, merely armed thugs out to abduct some helpless women for sport. Rene put down two more in a chattering staccato burst that sent them tumbling in a tangle of arms and legs and spraying blood.

“Go!” he shouted at the Syshin spearmen.

“Get the survivors,” he screamed as he hoped from behind his cover and skidded down the embankment. The Inyorin looked between the human and the females, most of whom were now huddling behind the smouldering utility vehicle, clearly uncertain.

“GO!” he roared, this time punctuating the words by firing twice into the air. With the grace of hunting hounds the Syshin sprang into pursuit, weird undulating war cries dopplering away into the dark. A massacre of would be slavers was one thing, but nothing would keep men away from the Syshin like a slaving party simply disappearing without a trace. Fear of the unknown was a more powerful deterrent than any amount of weapons.

The clearing stank. Burning insulation from the utillity vehicle mixed with the reek of blood and the seweage taint of violent death. The fire crackled and snapped without much enthusiasm and the captive Syshin wailed. They shrieked in terror as Rene approached, eyes wide and panicked. He held up one hand and let the weapon hang down close to his leg, they probably thought all humans were a threat and he couldn’t blame them. Several of the aliens bore bloody slashes where the humans had been whipping them. He pulled a knife from his belt.

“Go back to Amber Horizon,” he said in a clear commanding voice and cut the bundle of wires close to the attachment point on the back of the utility. The wires parted easily under the powered blade and several of the women staggered off into the dark. One of them ran to the fallen Syshin and fell to her knees beside him shaking his shoulder. The spearman who had set of the ambush was still alive, although he seemed to Rene, ignorant of Syshin physiology, to be in a bad way. The shotgun blast had torn a ragged bite from his pelvis and dark blood oozed over shredded skin and muscle.

“Myindi,” the alien croaked to the shivering woman, reaching up to touch the womans face.

“She is your bonded,” Rene said in understanding, the remains of his anger cooling. The woman nodded and began tearing strips from his clothing to bind the wound. Rene unfastened his small improvised first aid kit. Suddenly a scream tore the air. A very human, very female scream. Rene bolted upright black terror coiling in his guts. That had to be Solae. Without another word he bolted in the direction the scream had come from, crashing through the bush in his thoughtless haste.

~The Serpent Queen~ (Dark Fantasy/Low Fantasy) (FEMALE PARTNER REQUIRED) (18+ ONLY)

Damn, that is a hell of a writing prompt.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla let out a shriek of terror a moment before Skaldi unceremoniously pitched her aside. The Tiean screeched and bounced over the rocky ground, instinctively curling herself into a ball to avoid the worst of the fall. Dietricha looked up at the thing in astonished puzzlement a moment before the thing hurled a bolt of greenish lightning from its arcane hammer. A greatsword standing in front of the wizard opened his mouth to scream but any sound was lost in a thunderclap that sprayed everyone with steaming gobbets of flesh. The blast picked up the redhead and hurled her twenty feet backwards into a granite boulder.

“No!” Yantz screamed, eyes wild with horror at the thing. The big horsepistol he carried crashed out and if the bullet flew true the gargantuan thing showed no sign as it stomped forward like a massive bounding hound, one of its feet coming down on another greatsword with a bone shattering crunch. Arrows ficked up at it as the kislivites fell back, shooting their powerful recurve bows as they did so. Camilla saw several arrows bounce harmlessly from the things hide. The elven blade lay on the rock five feet away from her. Without conscious effort she began to crawl towards it, dragging her battered body hand over hand towards the weapon.

“Run!” one of the soldiers yelled, his voice high and tinny in the aftermath of the thunderclap and he turned to flee, dropping is sword and vaulting away as fast as his legs could carry him. Camilla felt a flash of envy, and wished her own exhausted body would work so effectively. The ogre swung its weapon again, this time aiming at Cydric. Camilla felt her heart leap into her mouth but the Ostlander dived sideways and rolled, coming up on his feet, the rock beneath where he stood fractured and smoking.

“FUCK!” Yantz yelled and made a running leap towards the thing. His eyes were so wide they were completely rimmed with white, bastard sword gripped in both hands as he swung it down with all his might. The weapon bit into the things arm and hung. The Dragon Ogre snarled in world ending rage and flicked its arm as though ridding itself of a flea. Yantz lost his grip and flew through the air in a high and certainly terminal arc. Silvery light plucked him screaming from the air and set him down, none to gently amid the splattered remains of the first greatsword.

“Mine!” Dietricha snarled, standing atop a horse sized boulder, blood running from her nose but otherwise intact. The ogre roared a challenge but the air filled with a weird sizzle, like fat dropping into a cookfire the size of the whole world. Eye searing lighting leaped from the deranged woman, bright enough that even though she closed her eyes Camilla saw dazzling purple after images on her retinas. The bolt slammed into the creature pitching it back six feet and filling the air with a stench of burning hair. Incredibly the beast wasn’t dead, though a chunk the size of a dinner plate had been blown from its scaly hide. Camilla’s fingers closed around the hilt of the sword just as the thing flung its own lightning at the sorceress. Dietricha leaped away as the boulder she stood on was blasted to flying gravel by the ravening energy.

Camilla clutched uselessly at her sword, unable to stand or even lift the weapon as the battle unfolded. One of Ivan’s Kislivites was down, blood leaking from his tunic and the stump of one arm. The snarling horseman fitted another arrow to his bowstring, intent on vengeance. Yantz’ pistol cracked again though from her vantage point Camilla couldn’t see that it did any good. Screaming in frustration he threw the weapon at the ogre, bouncing the heavy stock of the things head and then pulled a knife. Camilla shook her head in stunned wonderment, she needed to stand, to help Cydric but her muscles just spasmed uselessly and clutched tighter to the elven weapon.

@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda whistled appreciatively at the suave outfit. The pattern of the vest showed of Neil’s physique to better effect than most of the outfits she had seen him in and the cut and style were impeccable.

“Looking good,” she said honestly, eyeing the pilot up and down.

“Thank you,” said Taya, emerging from her own partition and misattributing the compliment. Taya was wearing a white and gold gown that shimmered with metallic thread. The bodice and hem were extensively embroidered with silver thread that was visible against the white only as a glimmer when the light struck it. All the white reminded Sayeeda of a wedding dress but she didn’t doubt it was the very height of fashion in Dar’mond. The girls blond hair had been woven with golden thread as well, pinned back slightly with combs of some opalescent pearl like material. She looked up at Sayeeda and scowled.

“How do I always feel like the ugly duckling?” she grumbled throwing up her hands.

“You look lovely Taya,” Junebug told her truthfully, molifying the girl slightly. Taya pulled on silken gloves that had been tucked through an unobtrusive loop at her belt. Sayeeda felt her heart sink as she realised that meant that food was unlikely.

“How do you come up with such creative outfits? Are they from your home world?” Taya asked. Junebug shook her head, careful not to disrupt the hairstyle and wondering if she would cut it again when they got back to the Highlander. Some people did wear buns or ponytails beneath combat helmets without too much difficulty.

“Loot,” she said simply and then realising that neither Neil or Sayeeda understood elaborated.

“Dresses are one of the more valuable things mercs loot,” she explained.

“They are light and expensive, and they sell wherever you go. Plus its easy enough to tell your sweetheart that its a dress from the Empress of wherevers own closet, and that you killed six men with your bear hands to get it.” Taya peered at Junebug as though she thought the older woman was playing some trick.

“The things you know,” the girls said eventually. As she spoke the doors to the room swung open and a quintet of men in ornate uniforms but very functional weapons stepped into the room, rifles at porte arms.

“Well I guess our escort has arrived,” Junebug remarked dryly and slipped her arm through Neil’s.

The vidscreen replayed the scene of the official laying a jeweled circlet on Aiden’s head for the thousandth time, for all that the real scene had taken place less than an hour ago. Junebug sipped her drink, something sour and bubbly and a stimulant rather than alcohol. She had been drinking more than usual lately and she didn’t want booze sweats later. The drink had a sharp aftertaste that as vaguely and unpleasantly reminiscent of the wideawakes the Armored had used when sleep wasn’t an option.

The stood in the Grand Throne Room of Dar’mond, a room which could easily have held a small space cruiser or a score of Highlander’s. The vaulted ceilings were so high that Junebug suspected they would have created their own weather if they didn’t have recycling pumps up there. Each of the pillars was carved with the history of Dar’mond in an ancient script, a fact of which she was aware due to the fact that Aiden’s coronation had been ceremonially carved by royal masons right after he had been crowned.

“Do you have anything to say regarding the new King Captain?” A stunning reporter in a black body glove asked, her drone buzzing behind her shoulder like an excited bee. Around them the crowd swirled and danced while Aiden performed some arcane governmental ritual on the raised dais.

“Long live King Aiden… or whatever,” she responded, having grown bored of the media attention. A suprising number of press seemed present although she supposed that shouldn’t come as a shock in a place so media mad as this. In addition the proceedings would need to be broadcast to the several subject words Dar’mond ruled. A surpising number of questions had been about her tatoo, bare on her shoulder for a change, of three swooping owls. In the interest of science she made up a different lie for each reporter, confident that none of the news networks would bother with her words.

“Captain of Space, Sayeeda Cyckali, Officer Neil Edwards,” boomed the voice of Ranald now the Master-at-Arms or some other such arcane title. Though the words were clear they had been routed through a complex personal address system to be so clear. Sayeeda was familiar with the summons from the earlier summons of the planetary delegation, each summoned forward to declare fealty to the new King. She wondered if Alexander and Gaius had condederates amongst them. Likely enough, unless they were bigger fools than they seemed, but the delegates had each sworn eternal fealty to king Aiden.

Junebug passed her drink to the reporter who took it on reflex. Before the woman could protest she strode over to where Neil was waiting and linked arms with him before walking up the corridor that opened in the crowd. Aiden sat on his throne his face distant and remote. Ranald met them at the bottom of the stairs. He bowed formally but his eyes cut to Sayeeda’s pistol.

“It is forbidden to bear arms before the King,” Ranald said formally. He looked uncomfortable in his white velvet suit and cumberbund. Junebug suddenly felt uneasy.

“No,” Junebug corrected, her voice quiet but firm.

“It is forbidden to bring arms into the presence of the King, Aiden was only the Prince when I arrived. Technically someone crowned a king in the presence of my arms,” she said reasonably but with a slight bite to her voice. Ranald clearly didn’t know what to do with that particular piece of sophistry so instead he just nodded and led them up the steps.

Aiden had aged a decade since she had seen him the night before. His formal robes made him look massive and powerful in a way that defied the lean powerful man she knew him to be. She had tried to call him several times during the course of the day but gotten no response. Even now his face was remote, though she thought she caught a flicker of jealousy when his eyes cut to Neil.

“Captain Cyckali,” he began in a ringing oratorical voice which silenced the crowd. Drones buzzed in close to capture each facial expression and preserve each word. Junebug had the sudden and powerful impulse to pull her pistol and start shooting the cursed things out of the sky.

“You have rendered service to the Crown in its hour of need, and saved our life and our throne. You are pardoned for whatever excesses you have pursued in pursuit of those noble goals,” Aiden said his voice carrying a carefully modulated hint of disapproval.

“You are like, super welcome,” Neil quipped. Junebug stifled a giggle by the barest of margins. Aiden coloured slightly but went on none the less.

“There is one more service you can perform for the crown however,” Aiden went on and touched a key on his throne. A hologram sprang to life before the throne, a quarter life sized but otherwise perfect image of a man in black tactical gear. It was Kagan.

“We know that you captured this man, a foreign assassin who murdered my sister, during the assault on your ship. Turn him over so that he may be made to face justice for his crimes,” Aiden declared. Junebug felt the euphoria of the party slide away like a pane of greased glass.

“I don’t know where he is,” she lied, thinking fast. Ranald looked queasy but his hand was already on his pistol holster.

“Junebug,” Aiden warned in a quiet voice that somehow didn’t carry to the address system.

“Turn the murder over to me and be done with it.” Sayeeda licked her lips, forcing her hand not to stray towards her pistol by force of will.

“Your brother was the murderer, not this man,” she insisted.

“Our laws dont make that distinction. Now you have one final chance,” Aiden said eyes narrowing. Junebug’s stomach flipped. Kagan had surrendred on terms a fact he had no doubt informed his superiors of. If the Indiges executed him now, she would be held to blame. Colonel Andor and any number of other mercenary outfits would hunt her down, and Neil and Taya as well in all likely hood.

“Aiden, please…” the King snapped his fingers and guards closed in, seizing her arms. Ranald unsnapped her pistol holster and plucked the weapon free.

“Take her away,” he ordered coldly.
@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Even in a language he didn’t understand Solae was mesmerizing. The rise and fall of her tones alone was enough to convey a sense of what she was saying even in the alien tongue. Rene found himself straying into fantasy of accompanying Solae to the types of grand balls and social spectacles of his youth. She would shine like the stars in such a setting and it made his heart tighten. Partially it was because she was so far from where she should be and partially it was the realisation that he could never inhabit that world with her.

“Rene?", Solae asked clearly repeating a question. His mind spun the conversation back a few seconds, making explicit what his mind had absorbed without his conscious attention. Nodding his head as a placeholder, he glanced at Solae but her face didn’t offer any guidance. Damn it she was the diplomat he only had his own inclinations to follow. Under normal circumstances this would have been no concern of the Imperial Marines. Local law enforcement was under the jurisdiction of the planetary governor. When it came to protecting the rights of minority aliens help from that quarter might range from limited to non-existent.

“Sure, I would be happy to help you protect your people,” he replied, hoping he wasn’t writing a check his body couldn’t cash. There was a generalized vocalization that lacked any human equivalent, Rene decided to translate it as approval. The two Shyhin nodded as though something had been decided.

“Very well, we shall accord you the hospitality of our halls while we discuss Solae From the Empire’s request,” Nari declared. Everyone rose including Solae and Rene followed suit.

“The sun is already low and there is little time to prepare but we shall show you to quarters.”

The rooms the Syshin provided were charitibley spartan. They were of the standard adobe, though the walls had been polished smoother and treated with some sort of native lacquer. Rene suspected it was a tree sap that had been laboriously layered until it was as hard and smooth as construction plastic. The room held a single large mattress and a large earthenware amphora of water of the same amazing clarity as they had been offered in the council chamber. Rene wondered if Syshin had less tolerance for impurities in water or if it were merely a cultural consideration. It was cool and smelled vaguely of coconut or a similar tropical plant which had a soothing effect. Rene set his pack down and began stripping out equipment. He lay an assault rifle down on the mattress and began to field strip it with the ease of long practice.

“I can probably run off a few locals looking for affection in the wrong places,” he began choosing his words carefully. The various components of the rifle began to click back together as he completed his inspection. He hadn’t truly expected a problem but training stressed that the marine that survived to retire was the marine that eliminated all possible screw ups in advance.

“But if a bunch of locals wind up dead in a ditch, it is going to attract attention. Worse, I’m not sure if it is a good idea to leave you here alone,” he said, the concern obvious in his voice. It wasn’t likely that that Syshin would go through so much trouble to get rid of him if they intended to collect the bounty. They could have put a knife in him at any point and they obviously knew that they weren’t likely to be rewarded if they tried to collect the bounty. Whomever they tried to turn Solae in to would simply take the reward for themselves and probably kill the Syshin just to be on the safe side. The receiver made a metallic thunk as he slid it back into position and then reefed the charging handle to chamber a round.

“If we do this, we are going to need to be off planet as quickly as possible.”

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The elation she felt at seeing Cydric kept Camilla on her feet for nearly an hour. She talked incessantly in a liquid mixture of Tilean and Reikspeil, trying to convey all that had happened in the weeks they had been separated. They moved south as fast as they could, though it seemed the shimmering cloud grew closer by the minute. At Dietricha’s urging they drifted east, she glanced frequently at the stars, although given the clouds veiled the stars Camilla didn’t see how she could be using them to navigate.

“She isn’t looking at anything. Just makes it all up for theatrics,” Yantz volunteered unexpectedly as Camilla followed the red heads gaze skyward. Camilla gave the Imperial a stunned look but before she could respond her strength gave out. She fell towards the rocky ground and was saved from smashing into the ground by Ivan’s grip on the back of her neck.

“Woah,” Ivan grunted and set her on her feet with as little difficulty as one might lift a kitten. Camilla scrabbled weakly at the Kislivite’s grip.

“I can walk,” she protested weakly through her legs felt like sausage. After a minute she managed to get her feet under her again, though she would have fallen without aid. Cydric waved a hand for a halt.

“I’m not a porcelain doll,” she protested weakly. Ivan grunted and let go of her shirt. Camilla pitched to the rocky dirt in a heap, her fingers managing to grip the hilt of the sword weakly. Skaldi stomped forward and picked up Camilla with as little delicacy as one might show for a sack of grain, slinging the former courtesan over one broad shoulder. He turned to Cydric, about to say something when he paused and turned back to the rock. Ignorning Camilla’s weak blows to his back.

“There was a river here once,” the dwarf rumbled, scuffing at the dirt with his boot to reveal striations in the granite.

“Moved underground I’d say,” he glanced towards a shadowed rocky area off to the east and then back at the pursuing storm of warpstone.

“Would you put me down!” Camilla demanded tartly.

“Quiet now lass,” the Dwarf responded pleasantly, “I was just about to say there might be caves where it went underground. Id bet my beard on it.”
@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda laughed in spite of herself and clinked her bottle against Neil’s. The glass tonked unmusically but she didn’t let that stop her from taking a mouthful of the smoky liquor. Neil might have had a point, the fancy of aristocrats was nothing to play with. Granted Aiden didn’t seem the sort to have them all impaled on a whim but… well they had risked enough they deserved to get paid.

“It is a date,” she declared with a throaty chuckle. And may the stars save us if it goes sideways she added mentally.

It seemed that the red carpet that the Highlander’s crew had previously enjoyed was well and truly rolled up. When they arose the next morning they found that while the doors were unlocked armed guards politely but firmly turned them back to their quarters. They were able to establish contact with Lonney, who to Sayeeda’s horror, seemed to be developing a taste for the news feeds. Somehow, and she had her suspicions, footage of last nights events had been leaked to the press. The prevailing narrative seemed to be that while Alexander had tried to usurp his brother, most of the death could be chalked up to the ‘foreign killers’ who Aiden had generously, but foolishly, bought to Dar’mond.

“Nice,” Neil griped, “we save his ass and now this.” Sayeeda could only shake her head. That was the way it was sometimes. Politicians needed mercenaries but they were rarely welcome once the cold calculus of victory started to grind away. If nothing else they were a reminder that where one regime could be toppled by hired guns, so could another.

“I’m just mad I missed my chance to be swept off my feet by prince charming,” Sayeeda grumbled mostly in jest.

“You just make a terrible damsel in distress,” Taya observed, swiveling in her plush leather chair to face Neil and Sayeeda as they sat at the table playing cards for the few small denomination credit chips they had.

“Plus I don’t think Aiden is much of a dashing Prince. I mean he says all the right things but you should have seen him last night. He was terrified,” Taya disagreed. Sayeeda snorted as Neil took the pot with a particularly unlikely play, she peered suspiciously at her cards.

“That makes him human, only an idiot wouldn’t have been afraid,” Sayeeda declared, tossing a card half heartedly into the play area. Taya arched an eyebrow.

“You two didn’t seem afraid, I wasn’t or I mean not totally terrified,” she protested. Junebug grinned without humor.

“Maybe we are just dumber than we look?”

House arrest aside the day progressed more or less as normal. Instead of travelling to the Royal Seamstress the entire department came to their room, dividing the space up with mobile partitions so they could be dressed appropriately. Sayeeda strenuously overrode every attempt at a traditional court dress, settling instead for a black top made of a leather like material and accented with gold. The thing had a breastplate like appearance and pinned over only one of her shoulders leaving the right side of her from throat to armpit, with a generous scallop of bosom, bare. For her lower extremities she selected a black on black slashed skirt that fell nearly to the ground and long leather boots of matte black leather with high but sturdy heels. Around her waist she hung an intricate belt of woven gold strands which gathered and expanded from a central clasp consisting of a gold rimmed saphire the size of a lemon. At the right hand side of the belt hung a platinum chased holster which held a unadorned 20 mm pistol. The choice to go armed horrified the dress makers but they lacked the authority to prevent it. Her hair she wore pinned up on one side, held in place by long pins of polishe electrums, accented with small sapphires. As a final touch she added a small pin to the shoulder clasp of her top. It was a small shield bearing a raptor spreading its wings, dark blue against a silver field the formal sigil of Andor’s Armored. Over the bird stood two golden captains bars in simple bas-relief.

Most of the clothing was run up by computerized fabrication units and sophisticated material printers, though the final tailoring was done by the team of clucking women, each eager to put their own stamp on the project. Junebug looked into the mirror with satisfaction as the final laces were pulled tight on the corset like breastplate. The effect was almost ascetically slimming and pleasing to her eye. Maybe there was something she would miss about this place afterall, she never looked this good in her pt gear.

“Are you ready Neil or are you going to primp all evening?”

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla floated in darkness, above her strange stars wheeled on unknowable courses. She tried to groan but no sound emerged from her lips. All around her was the familiar elven ruin, although it as spectral and distorted. The tower, only a stump when she had seen it, speared towards the heavens. The other structures too were no longer ruins. The temple reared majestically, a tall figure in marble gazed sternly down from the columaded entryway. Unsteadily she rose to her feet. The sword she had taken from the temple was till in her hands, it was the only object that seemed to have any solidity, the long slightly curved blade sported runes she had not noticed before, elegant elven characters burning like pale moonlight on the blade.

Far to the north across the spectral mountains a great fire blazed heavenward. Somehow she knew that if she went that way she could cross the mountains, pass through the crystal forest that lay beyond and reach the vale of mirrors. Once there she would find the altar of Ashen-Sughai. It was clearly visible in her mind, a beautifully carved piece of purple veined obsidian, wrought into the ten thousand pleasures of Slaanesh, each scene blending into the next to allow the devotee to follow the path to exultation. She could take Gorn there, lay with him atop the altar and walk the tenfold path. She saw herself writhing atop the reaver as she experienced pleasure beyond that which any mortal could comprehend. She saw the blade in her hand plunging into Gorn’s chest at the moment of exaltation, the bright arterial gush coating her naked body. She could feel the mystical strength of Slaanesh coursing through her, raising her above all others. Black armor encased her body as the blood congealed, she would no longer have to fear age, she could remain young and beautiful forever. There were pleasures she could experience, she saw herself leading armies, saw herself standing upon a great seal as wings burst from her back and her skin changed, her form flowering into a being as immortal as the stars and as beautiful. All she needed to do was…

The blade tugged in her hand, gentle but insistent. She glanced at it as she might a sudden stinging insect, enraged to have her attention taken from the raptous vision of her future that as so clearly laid out before her. Gorn, his body spectral and translucent lay on the ground as she had left him maimed and broken, defeated in a duel that had pitched her skill against his and named her the greater. The blade seemed to throb with approval at the thought but still it tugged. A purplish light pulsed within Gorn’s forhead, somehow the coin he had placed there was clearer than anything save the blade the beautiful elven woman’s features glowed back at her in hateful perfection. The weapon in her hand twitched again and she glanced into the fountain beside the sticken reaver. To her surprise there was water inside of it, though she remembered it being cracked and dry. In the water shimmered a reflection.

“Cydric?” she thought/spoke though no sound existed within this place. It was beyond her comprehension how such a thing could be. Surely there was no way he could have followed her to this accursed place but there he stood, holding his sword close to her, lips moving silently. Resolve filled her instantly and she felt something dark and seductive coil away in anger. With sudden intuition she turned towards the statue beside the temple, the armored figure looking sternly down at her. In a smooth motion she raised the blade in salute and then spun, stabbing the point of the blade down at the coin that screamed in Gorn’s head.

“It dosen’t look like its vorking,” Ivan rumbled, his hands wringing against each other in uncharacteristic concern. There crippled reaver laughed raspingly, almost silent from the effort of it. One of the Kislivites let out a feral growl and took a step towards the bloodied Norscan, hefting an axe to deliver the death blow. Dietricha stepped between the two men, planting her hands stubbonly on her hips. The grizzled warrior snarled in anger.

“Get out of my way witch or ill…”

“Look everybody just calm down we can get her to a healer,” Yantz began his eyes locked on Cydrics. There was a sudden surge of energy and Yantz’ hand jerked the pistol from his belt of its own volition. The big weapon boomed and Gorn’s forhead exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter. With a sound like a cannonball hitting a bell something metallic flew skyward in a glittering arc of gore, pinging off the side of a building with a sound nearly as loud before they lost sight of it against the background of stars. Yantz stared at his smoking pistol with a look of astonished horror. Dietricha only nodded in self satisfaction.

Camilla convulsed on the ground, her eyes snapping open wide and staring. For a moment her body arched silently and then with a wracking gasp she sucked down a tortured breath of air.

“Cydric,” she croaked and then rolled onto her side and vomited.
@POOHEAD189