Penny

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

We like to move it move it!

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

They edged forward slowly, reluctant to move too quickly in the stygian darkness. After the horrors they had seen above ground they all feared to imagine what might be lurking in the darkness. The further they went however, the more normal things seemed. More normal for trapped beneath the earth on the fringes of the Chaos waste values of normal at any rate. The smooth rocky tunnel was alien to all but Skaldi but no monstrositis leaped forth to tear them apart. Even the pounding of the Dragon Ogre passed away qickly. Camilla kept close to Cydric, squeezing his hand. The contact semed to infuse her with strength, as well as giving her the chance to pretend that she couldn’t see as well as it were daylight. The improved vision scared her and she began to feel uneasy, fearing perhaps that mutation had set into her despite Dietricha’s lack of reaction when she looked her over.

The wizard strode forward confidently despite repeatedly bumping into half seen stalagtites. Yantz, pragmatic if not heroric, followed behind her, easily avoiding the pitfalls that befell his apparent employer. The Reiklander was loading a pistol as he walked, his movements expert and all the more impressive for being in near total darkness. He seemed to be mumbling something to himself, perhaps a prayer. She still wasn’t quite sure who they were or where they had come from but asking now, even in a whisper would be both obvious and extremely impolite. Mentally she framed her own prayer to Ranald.

“There it is manlings,” Skadi declared as they rounded a particularly jagged bend. The tunnel before them was five times the height of a man and easily as wide. Water rushed down a gentle incline in a torrent which whipped itself white wherever the drop got particularly steep. The running water caught the glint of the lantern and reflected and refracted it into a dazzling light show. Dietricha leaned close to the water and sniffed at it.

“There is no taint,” she declared.

“Aye the rock protects,” Skaldi agreed, in what sounded like a Dwarven saying. Camilla remembered from previous conversations with the Dwarf that many Dwarven holds were spared the corrupting winds of chaos due to their subterranean locations.

“So we follow this and see if we can find a way out?” Camilla asked, pointing down the running stream.

“Aye maybe,” Skaldi said, “But it will lead us back west towards the see, “If we are making for Kislev we might be better to climb. Camilla looked up the gentle cascade, trying to imagine spending hours or days climbing against the water. What she really wanted to do was stop and rest, but the memory of the Dragon Ogre’s pounding was too recent to make that thought a comfortable one.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

“Whoa,” Rene said, putting a supporting arm around Solae’s back as she sat up. He exchanged worried glances with Lasha but the Syshin did not appear to be particularly concerned. With the ease of long practice she began crushing unfamiliar herbs in a stone pestle, their sharp and bitter aroma’s tickling the humans sinuses. Once they greenish brown mess was judged to be appropriately pulverized she poured the crystal clear water into the pestle. The water shimmer briefly as the oils that the pounding had freed floated on the surface of the water. She let it steep for a moment before pouring it carefully through a piece of fine porous cloth which acted as a strainer. The resulting mixture was greenish cloudy brew.

“You drink this,” she commanded, pushing the cup into Solae’s hands. Although she could likely sit up by herself Rene was reluctant to remove his supporting arm. His heart had nearly stopped when he had heard her scream and in his mind she hadn’t really returned safely until she spoke. Solae took the cup and drank, making a face that indicated that it was about as pleasant to drink as it looked.

“I don’t want to question your skills Lasha,” Rene began carefully. The Syshin girl planted both fists on her hips, a guesture that seemed particularly alien because of the way her multi jointed arms bent. To a human mind it looked as though her arms were broken in several places.

“We trade healing to farmers sometimes. Many are worse off than your bonded Rene Bonded of Solae,” the girl said forcefully enough to chagrin the marine. In a gesture of courtly acknowledgement, he inclined his head, a traditional way of acknowledging a correction and asking pardon. Being near Solae evidently recalled him to the mannerisms of his childhood and he wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing. Solae gagged slightly but finished the remainder of the drink with stoic determination before placing the earthenware cup down with a slight thump. Lasha watched her suspiciously for a moment as though she might attempt to spit the mixture back up and then relaxed.

“I’m glad you are alright,” Rene declared, wrapping Solae in a careful hug.

“When I saw they had taken you, I…” Rene trailed off uncertain of how to end the sentence. For a moment all he could see were the faces of her captors above the sight of his weapon, cruel and triumphant. He could not let her fall into the hands of such men, not even if it meant his own life.

“Rene Bonded of Solae killed many men,” Lasha observed in a neutral voice, clearly uncomfortable with the concept of killing but wanting to credit him. Syshin morals, like human ones, often found themselves I’ll suited to the situations the world forced them to face. Rene shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with even faint praise for such an act. Hopefully the Syshin were out their right now, burying the corpses where they would never be found. The disappearance of a party of slavers would be far more useful in protecting the encampment in the future than a pile of bodies would be.

“Solae of the Empire deserves praise also,” Enro declared as he emerged from the corridor. He made a strangely formal bow to the diplomat, pressing his palms together tightly and leaning forward until the plumage at each elbow touched before straightening. The elder Syshin as very clean now, a marked contrast to his dishevelment after the battle. Rene wondered if it were personal preference or a cultural drive.

“Without her bravery, the second group of slavers might have taken many of us. They would have had no mercy when they learned had befallen their fellows,” Enro observed. Rene nodded his agreement, although truthfully would have prefered she not expose herself to such risk. He had sound tactical reasons he could have come up with but the truth was that he couldn’t bear to think of Solae coming to harm. Try as he might to suppress his feeling for her, they still filled his mind more times than they didn’t.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

It felt surprisingly good to be back on the Highlander and back in space. Even the normally agonizing transition into the RIP hadn’t seemed as bad as it usually did. They had only been on Dar’mond for a few days but somehow it seemed to be much longer than that. Their account had been frozen and, in any case, there were a limited number of ways to transfer wealth from one system to the next. It wasn’t like they had time to by trade goods or visit a currency exchange that might sell one of the more recognizable regional currencies. She had taken the time to beam a warning down to Kagan. The mercenary had already been laying low but she hoped he was able to get his people of planet. Killing an unarmed woman on a contract wan’t to Sayeeda’s taste but she supposed Kagan might have objected to shooting down enemy aircraft that might have been civilian, or reconnoitering an enemy village by fire. She had her principles but she didn’t pretend she had alot of moral high ground when it came to her working life.

“We should have raided the bar while we were at it,” Sayeeda lamented as she sat down the heavy decanter of industrial alcohol she kept for emergencies. The aestimobium sat on the galley table, glowing like solid starlight. The material emitted no known radiation but was both beautiful as a decoration, and useful in minute quantities in a wide range of extremely high end electronics and research equipment. It usually only occured in minute amounts and a block like this had to have been bought together from dozens or hundreds of separate sources. Aiden would be furious when the mistress he had no doubt inherited from Alexander told him of what had happened. She wished the woman well, she was just a different sort of mercenary afterall.

Neil came back from the cockpit, evidently happy with the jump. The had calculated with necessary haste and made the first jump Lonney could solve for. Dar’mond didn’t have much of a navy but there were more than enough ships to bring down the Highlander if she tarried. Once the reached a safe and obscure system they could plan their next move. She poured three glasses of the alcohol and mixed them all with the cola that they had left from their abortive freight mission.

“Well Neil,” she said raising a glass in saulte.

“It was a hell of a date!”
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla slowly pushed herself to her feet, the weakness that had stolen over her since Gorn had mouthed the unholy name as not completely gone but it was abating. Now all she had to contend with was days of arctic travel with nearly no food, nearly no sleep and the after effects of the certainty that she was going to be sacrificed or worse. She supposed she had been in worse situations, though none sprung to mind. If Cydric’s Ulrician blade could only sting it there was next to no chance she could do any more than die messily. The thing reared back and smashed its front legs down, narrowly avoiding pulping one of the remaining greatswords. Camilla ducked her head to avoid the spray of gravel. The ground shook with another blow and she saw a trickle of dirt side into a finger thick crack in the stoney earth. When she looked up Dietricha was standing in front of her. The mage was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, rock spray like that Camilla had just avoided, and the whole left side of her body was an angry red that was darkening towards purple before her eyes. The woman’s hair stood almost on end her curly red locks shot through with blonde giving her a crazed harlequin look which was at odds with her sombre serious expression.

The dragon ogre bellowed and lashed out with its weapon shattering Ivan’s remaining companion to a spray of gore that spattered across a nearby boulder. Dietricha just looked expectantly at Camilla. The experience made her skin crawl even as her spine tried to tear itself out and bolt for Pavona.

“Do something damn you!” Camilla screamed, looking over the woman's shoulder to where Cydric as fighting for his life. The woman’s wizardry didn't seem to have helped much thus far but it was better than nothing. Dietricha’s eyes cut towards the crack in the ground and then back to Camilla. She glanced down at the crack in askance but the wizard still did not speak. Camilla ground her teeth in frustration.

“Yes there is a crack in the ground what does it matter!” she snarled. It as hardly wide enough to fit a sword blade through, much less offer any useful opportunity to escape. Dietricha immediately brightened.

“There is a crack in the ground?! Goodness I would never have noticed!” The wizard exclaimed in apparent shock. Camilla wondered what Morr would say if her final act in this life was to stab the infuriating woman. A sudden certainty stole of the Tilean that could have been nothing but magic.

“Cydric! Everyone to me!” she shouted, feeling a sudden and completely unjustified surge of hope.

“Bring Yantz!” Dietrica snapped and began to chant, her eyes sparkled queerly, like they were filled with tiny stars. To their credit no one hesitated. Ivan leaped over the body of his dead scout and dashed towards her. Cydric… paired was to strong a word, but deflected a blow of the things hammer, hoped back and delivered a punishing overhand cut that raised a shower of sparks and a howl of pain from the creature and then darted towards her. Skaldi obeyed the wizards instruction to bring Yantz by the simple expedient of grabbing the prostate Rieklander by the leg and hauling him bodily. He would be lucky not to have a dislocated leg at the pace the squat dwarf was moving. The all closed into a suicidally tight knot and the ogre roared in victory and raised its hammer to strike. Dietricha’s chanting grew more intense and Camilla had the sudden impression of vast currents whirling above them. With a final shouted Dietricha slapped her hands together, the slap of flesh on flesh somehow louder than the ravening thunder heads. Lightning blasted from the Dragon Ogres hammer, somehow disappointing compared to the sorceresses clap.

Camilla wasn’t sure what she expected to happen but the very earth tearing itself apart wasn’t what she imagined. A vast fissure opened beneath them and the plunged downwards with a stomach flipping lurch. The wound in the rock was perhaps thirty feet long and five feet wide. Camilla and her companions hit rock with a clatter of equipment and armor. The Dragon Ogre appeared above them, perched on the edge of the crevasse but the earth lurched again, rocks screaming as the fissure closed as suddenly as it had opened. Darkness encircled them and dirt rained down on them from above. Camilla’s dainty sneeze sounded in the dark, over the groans of battered and wounded men.

“Where are we?” someone groaned, though through her ringing ears Camilla tell who the speaker was. Above them came several shuddering booms, as the Dragon Ogre stamped in frustration on the now solid rock above them. Another shower of dirt and gravel trickled down atop the beleaguered group.

“Its an underground river,” Camilla noted looking up and down the long cavern that they found themselves in. Sand coated the bottom and it was dry as death, the water must have dried up millenia ago, smooth rock walls were marred only where the occasional nodule of mineral had been strong enough to resist the insistent flows.

“How can zou tall?” Ivan rumbled, as he pushed himself up off his back with two muscular arms.

“Blacker dan za heart of a Daemon,” the Kislivite complained. Camilla opened her mouth to point out that there was plenty of light and she could see easily but closed it before speaking. There were no visible sources of light. It should be pitch black. Yet she could see as though by a particularly strong moon.

“The sand,” she said instead, “It gathers on the bottom of rivers.”

“Aye the wee girl is right,” Skaldi boomed. Dwarves could see far better in the dark than humans and he was back in a familiar element. A light flashed and a moment later Skaldi was carrying a battered oil lamp, the glass panels had been shattered by the fall but it still functioned. Camilla saw Dietricha kneeling over Yantz whispering and gesturing. The Imperial moaned and sat up, his eyes were bloodshot but obviously worked. He blinked owlishly looking vaguely disappointed. Camilla knelt beside Cydric, checking him over for wounds.

“Are you ok?” She asked in a worried tone.
@POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The sound of the shots woke Sayeeda from a dead sleep. Like most veterans she had the trick of sleeping in any situation. On Kay-Bisard she had only awoken once the water filling her fox hole had reached her nose. She rolled out of bed, snatching for a weapon that wasn’t there, present reality asserting itself a few heartbeats after instinct. Her fingers twitched uncomfortably for want of a weapon. She froze for a second as Neil slid across the stone floor to come to a stop.

“Well you certainly know how to make an entrance,” she observed as he unlocked the cell and passed her the plasma pistol. Her fingers wrapped the grip gratefully as she stepped into the hallway. Two dead guards slumped at their stations. Well they got paid to take risks the same as her. It was a shame that Aiden had chosen to put them in this situation but then a great many things were a shame.

“Do you have a plan for getting out?” she enquired as they slipped out between two security doors. She had many questions about how he had gotten to her in the first place but none of that was tactically relevant at the moment. There was always plenty of time for explanations later. Assuming there as a later of course.

“We need to get to the roof balcony,” Neil breathed. He looked husky and muscular in his current outfit, an effect she realized of the body armor he was wearing beneath his fine clothes.

“Right elevator then,” she decided. They ran along the hallway at a jog towards the large central shaft that housed the main elevator. They were about twenty meters from it when the doors rolled open to reveal Ranald and a dozen guardsmen. All of them carrying riot guns and shock batons.

“I knew it had to be…” Ranald began in a weary voice.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Junebug screamed and pantomimed throwing something. Guardsmen dived in all directions, fearing the devastating blast of even a small grenade in such a confined space. Neil snapped off a shot that blew the control console to flaming junk. Whether by luck or good judgement the short slammed the elevator doors closed in a shower of sparks. She grabbed Neil by the shirt and through her weight against him, pivoting him around a pillar a moment before a volley of riot shot. High density plastic sacks dispersed by shotguns, less lethal ammunition but nobody's friend, ricocheted wildly from the corridor walls with a curiously comic elastic ring.

“So uh not the elevator,” she corrected, pointing her pistol blindly around the corner and firing a pair of shots at random, just to keep their pursers honest.

“The stairs and vent access are on the other side of the elevator,” Neil began then a look of mischief filled his eyes.

“What are you…” but the pilot was already moving, springing lithely back down the hallway pursued by a storm of shots. One of the balls struck him in the back but even basic body armor was enough to soak the blow. She leaned out and put three bolts into the elevator door, spraying the crouching men with gobets of molten metal which sizzled and smoked against their fatigues.

“Captain Cykali,” Ranald yelled. His voice tinny an attenuated after the roar of the gun fire.

“Surrender is a perfectly reasonable option!” Junebug paused for a second glancing back down the hallway. Neil was doing something with the corpses at the security desk but she couldn’t see what.

“I’d be happy to accept your surrender. Standard terms,” she called back. Earning a snigger from Neil who was straightening and heading back towards her. A shotgun coughed but it was a jumpy guard twitching and not an aimed shot at a real.

“Captain be reasonable, we control the only exit and more men will be here in a moment, I don’t want to have to …”

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Junebug yelled. The troopers didn’t react this time, which was a great pity because they were still crouched in a tight group when the two grenades Neil had salvaged from the security guards went off with a shattering concussion. One of the grenades must have been a flash bang and the second was either smoke or tear gas judging by the spurting stream of thick grayish smoke.

“Go! Go!” she yelled and broke cover running through the dazed men as the groped blindly, clutching bleeding ears and choking on the smoke. Neil and Sayeeda made it throuh before enough of the gas had spread to do more than make their eyes water. She paused to drive a heel into Ranald’s temple, dropping him unconscious to the floor. The old sergeant was just following orders and probably didn’t have anything personally against her, but she felt a sadistic rush of pleasure at the petty retaliation.

They climed into the vent without further pursuit, wiggling their way through the tight shafts till they reached the next level. They paused long enough to observe a dozen soldiers racing down the fire stairs to the floor below before opting to climb another. Sayeeda was sweating by the time they made it to an elevator shaft on the next level. The shaft was sealed to the public by luck or ill judgment Aiden had neglected to deactivate the VIP code he had given her.

“Taya bring her in,” Neil was calling over a handheld radio.

“Lonney I don’t think we should…” the message trailed off into a scream on Sayeeda’s mastoid implant as they finally got high enough for it to come into range. The elevator hit the top floor and the doors sprang open. Junebug stepped hastily from the enclosure, as concerned about being caught in a metal death trap as the unfortunate guardsmen below had been, but she needn’t have worried. Neil jerked the door to the penthouse open for her and she stepped inside clearing the door and sweeping the room.

“Put your hands on your head!” she yelled. The same woman she had shot the night before was sitting on the plush leather divan, this time in a stunning red evening dress, cut just highly enough to cover the wounds from the previous nights attack. Her dark eyes widened in shocked amazement at the appearance of the two mercenaries.

“Hands! Now!” Junebug snapped though the woman was not noncompliant so much as shocked and terrified. Reluctantly she raised her hands and placed them against the back of her head.

“Taya what is your ETA,” Junebug demanded as she finished sweeping the room. She lowered the pistol though she didn’t put it away. The girls reply came back at once breathy and gasping as though she had been running a race.

“Lonney says, two shakes of a ...something,” she reported. Sayeeda looked up out the balcony window and then tore her eyes away just in time to avoid being blinded by the full blast of the Highlanders thrusters kicking out giga joules of plasma to break a decent that must have been just short of a completely powerless dive. The concussion blew in the windows and swept the plants on the patio garden like a hurricane. The car they had used as a drop ship the night before, still parked where it had been left, flipped like a paper plate, bounced and went over the edge of the balcony. Sayeeda couldn’t actually see it but she mentally winced at the damage the thing would do sliding down the side of the building, let alone crashing to the compound below. Well she could live with it. The Highlander edged in close, the forward ramp beginning to deploy. Sayeeda took a step towards the ruined patio and then paused looking back at the richly appointed room.

“What?!” Neil yelled shouting to be heard over the rush of wind and the roar of thrusters.

“I was just thinking!” she shouted back cupping her hands. Her face split into a wide grin.

“We really should steal something!”
@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene down beside the bed on a stool of carven root wood. The piece was slightly too tall for a human anatomy but it served well enough. His eyes were on Solae but his thoughts were on Oanh Park’s warning about the increased dangers of shock for someone of her exquisite engineering. It didn’t seem that she was hurt too badly but it might not be obvious until it was too late. It took a moment for the girl, Lasha’s, words to penetrate the haze of his mind.

“What? No I don’t think…” he paused to take stock of his injuries, uncatalogued while the adrenaline and fear had coursed through him. Vines and branches had scraped and scratched him bloody. His boot was soaked crimson from where fragments of riverstone had lacerated his leg. His forearms were singed, filling the room with a faint stink of burning hair. A black rind of metal, deposited on his hands from the driving bands of the rifle, itched but wasn’t really painful.

“I’m fine,” he lied, not wishing to take the Syshin’s attention away from Solae. Instead he picked up a pair of simple pliers and peeled his trouser leg away from the bloody flesh. Gingerly, he tugged a fragment of stone free. It hurt but had the vaguely pleasurable quality one sometimes felt removing thorn. He began repeating the process as best he could, wishing he had a few more doses of Min Ho’s hormone booster. When he had removed all the fragments he took a jar of herb smelling ungent that Lasha offered him and slathered it over the skin. It stung, which he hoped was a sign of its efficacy and not a warning that it was toxic to humans.

“You are hurt,” Lasha observed with a frown. Rene began to wash his remaining injuries, the water growing black with dirt and grime. He winced as he rubbed more of the salve onto his friction burned arm.

“Yeah, well, you should see the other guy,” he told the alien in one of the many variations of the ancient joke. The Lasha blink in blank incomprehension. Rene made a dismissive gesture that was probably every bit as effective as his attempt a humor.

“I’m more worried about So… about my bonded,” he told her truthfully. Lasha nodded in understanding and took a cloth dipped cool water and began to bathe Solae’s forehead. The noblewoman’s chest continued to rise and fall gently. Rene had no idea what she had been injected with, but it didn’t appear to be repressing her respiratory system. Had the drug been tailored to Syshin it might have been worse, but he guessed it was an off the shelf analgesic. Maybe some mix of animal tranquilizers.

“Does it bother you?” Lasha asked suddenly. Rene blinked in confusion.

“That she is hurt, of course it…” but the Syshin was already shaking her head.

“Among The People, it is a great trauma to take a life,” she explained, “That is why the Inyorin dye their plumes black, to show they are willing to face it.” Rene nodded in understanding.

“Did it bother me to kill the slavers?” he asked. Marine training was very thorough. Most humans were instinctively reluctant to harm others, they would instinctively shoot to miss or strike to wound rather than to kill. Rene and his fellows spent hours shooting at human like targets and on holographic ranges which provided even more realism so that when the moment came they would be prepared to do what they needed to. He tried to picture the men he had shot in his mind. All he could summon up was gray confusion and blurry faces in a sight picture. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortablely. It seemed a long step from the person he had once thought he was.

“I guess it didn’t,” he admitted. Lasha shivered slightly at the words.

“I suppose I am Inyorin among my people,” he went on, feeling an obscure need to justify himself to the beautiful alien. That was sort of true he supposed, he had volunteered, although not out of some burning desire to protect the community. Amellia’s bloodied body flashed before his eyes and he squeezed them shut in instinctive, if useless defence. It figured that he could remember that body.

“Many of your people kill,” Lasha commented, “that is why you have an empire.” Rene nodded but didn’t speak. What did you say to that?

An hour passed without Solae waking but Rene noticed that her breathing had grown deeper and more regular and the color returned more quickly when he pressed on her fingernails. Without knowing what the slavers had used or in what dosage it was hard to know if she were metabolizing the drug fast or slow, but she was clearly recovering. Rene allowed himself to relax by slow increments with each small improvement.

“We have taken a prisoner Rene Bonded of Solae,” Enro rumbled, waking Rene from a light doze. His eye flicked to Solae, reassuring himself that she was still there before his conscious mind processed the words. The Syshin was smeared with mud and his clothing was torn and stained. An ugly red mark, perhaps the equivalent of a bruise or a lump, distended the side of his head, although if the contusion caused him any discomfort he didn’t show it.

“A prisoner?” he asked, puzzled as to what use the Syshin had for a prisoner.

“The man who fell from the railbridge, broken legs and ribs.” Rene had a dim recollection of a plasmabolt bursting beneath one of Solae’s captor feet, splinters of wood and metal spraying up into his legs and toppling him to the rocks below. Rene, focused completely on Solae, hadn’t given the man a second thought. He had been out of the equation and didn’t matter. Except apparently he did.

“We will…” Enro made a series of burbling trills which Rene couldn’t understand. The Marine nodded more as a placeholder than in agreement to the unknown sentiment. Enro was about to go on when Solae suddenly coughed. Rene was by her side in an instant leaning over her when her eyes fluttered open. He let out a long relieved breath.

“Maybe there is something to that sleeping beauty story afterall.”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The heavy door sealed off the noise of the throne room with surprising effectiveness. They stood in an access hallway, gaudily decorated but empty other than the six of them. Ranald and four guardsmen accompanied her. Although none of them had drawn weapons, all of them had a hand on their short stun batons incase she decided to try anything. Ranald took a pair of magnetic binders from a pouch on his uniform and invited her to hold out her wrists.

“Captain Cyckali please…” She spat in his face, her lips curled in sneering contempt. Something hit her across the kidneys and she fell to her knees. The fact that she had expected the blow allowed her to keep from crying out but the power of positive thinking didn’t protect you from the power of positive electrode. Ranald stood, his face set in a mask of disgust.

“I saved your snivelling master at least three times by my count, and this is the thanks I get?” she demanded. She felt the guards behind her raise their batons, the pricking of their charges tingling against her bare skin, but Ranald shook his head and held out the binders. Without a weapon her chances of victory were nonexistent. Reluctantly she extended her wrists and the binders snapped around them.

“All you have to do to win your freedom is tell us where the murderers are,” Ranald said, wiping his face clean with the white ceremonial gloves he wore tucked into his belt. A vein in Sayeeda’s temple began to throb and her vision redded.

“Win my freedom?!” she snarled, her vision narrowing.

“By the Goddess’ bleeding tits if I hadn’t been here Aiden would be on the executioners dock right now!” Ranald opened his mouth to say something but she didn’t give him the chance. With a shocking swiftness she drove a knee into his crotch and simultaneously bought her head forward, catching him on the bride of the nose as he doubled over in pain. The veteran staggered back gasping for breath and with blood pouring from his nose and lip. She kicked out sideways, planting one of her high heeled boots against the knee of one of the guardsmen with a dislocating pop that sent the man screaming to the ground. Her bound hands swung upwards in a vicious arc, driving her binders into the face of a second guard who toppled back screaming and grabbing at his broken jaw. Ranald rose to all fours but she kicked him in the belly and then drove the heel of her boot into one of his kidneys. Her back arched as one of the shock batons caught her across the shoulder blades. A second jolt of blue white light flashed as the remaining guard thrust his baton against her hip. For a second she stood, contracting muscles contorting her painfully and then one of the batons gave out and she slumped to the ground. Vision narrowed to a black slit and then there as darkness.

Consciousness returned as an unpleasant rush. She was laying in a bed and she was about to throw up. With a tankers self control she fought her gorge down. The fighting compartment of an armored vehicle as no place to throw up. No matter how bad things got, they didn’t improve for the smell of vomit in the air recycler. She was laying on a cot in a cell. It was dimly lit but she could tell she as the only occupant. Experimentally she tugged at her wrists and found them unrestrained. She was still wearing her party clothes, though they were a little worse for wear. Obviously she hadn’t been out for very long.

The cell as small, with a screened of refresher, semi opaque or a minimal amount of privacy. Security mesh was stretched over the entryway, razor sharp and probably electrified. A pair of armed guards, both wearing palace livery and carrying riot suppression guns stood facing the door, watching her impassively. Her back ached tremendously and she didn’t doubt she had burns to match. Well it had gone well enough for five against one. She touched the back of her breastplate suspiciously, her fingers finding a small burn mark. It as probably ruined, typical.

“Six to Control,” she said in a whisper. Her implant hissed in her head unable to reach Lonney. She tried Taya and Neil but received similar static. Either this place as shielded, or, more likely, this place was buried deep enough below the palace to prevent radio communication. The implant had its uses but it was intended to be linked to a much more powerful array in a vehicle or infantry repeater station, none of which were available.

“Did you say something?” one of the guards asked with a slight sneer.

“Yes,” she replied but then lay back on the bed refusing to elaborate. There would be a way out of this. Somehow there would be
@POOHEAD189

[MxF] (Mature; 18+) Looking for Long Term Partner

If I am already in a RP with you, I AM by NO MEANS AM DROPPING YOU, so please do not panic! You are lovely, wonderful people. <3

@Syrenrei

That is just what she would say...

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

I write good.