Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

“Nobody ever feels bad fucking over the Terrans,” York said as he strode through the hatch.

“And why should they, we are afterall the only faction trying to bring peace to a fractured galaxy, the only group with the resources and vision to usher in a… oh whatever,” he said growing tired of the boilerplate speech and waving a dismissive hand.

“Still I really wouldn’t advise it, our intelligence suggests that the beta site is quite deadly enough without trying to play games.” He took a seat at a console and bought it live, projecting an omni directional view that showed a three dimensional map of Saavran.

“And of course if you did decide to betray us we would have to kill you,” he said apologetically. York held up his palms in a placating gesture.

“It's not personal of course, just policy. Besides I want us to be friends.” The smile on his lips was so oily and insincere it had to be deliberate.

“As a sign of my good faith..” as though on cue the door opened again and Saxon, still in electro binders was marched in. Two marines followed him armed with active shock rods thought this was clearly a precaution rather than an attempt to prod the Hex along. Another marine a stunning woman with short blonde hair and Lieutenants pips stepped through after them. She wore a suit of light weight combat armor that covered her chest and legs but left her arms bare to reveal a variety of Terran Marine Corp tattoos as well as some less familiar designs.

“I am releasing your friend, or your associate or whatever it is you call him. I am certain he bears you no ill will, even though you did shoot him with that shock gun,” York said with a prosaic smile. Saxon turned and glared daggers at Neil.

“Before I do so however I should advise him that as I need Mr Edwards alive, I took the liberty of installing certain guarantees while you were unconscious. I would advise you not to test them.” The blonde Marine Lieutenant steeped in front of the Hex and disengaged the binders with seeming unconcern. Across the back of her armor was stenciled the name ‘Woods’.

“I’ll give you a moment to get reacquainted before the Lieutenant here takes over the briefing,” York said as the door opened and Sven entered, EMP binders were attached to his wrist but not currently active meaning he could move freely.

Damned to the Depths

The Weather Witch settled onto a broad reach, heeling over as the wind drove her on a steadily north easterly course. The sorcerous wind had faded, though whether that was because the spell had faded, or the source was blocked by the high walls of the fortress harbour was impossible to ascertain. It certainly felt good to be running clean under a clear sky and a warm breeze. Calliope wanted to get below and study the book further. Having used it, having gotten an inkling of the power it could convey, having formed a better understanding of what it really meant she was eager to delve deeper but now was not the time.

As a ruler she had learned that despite the fact that it seemed there were a million more important things to be attending to, sometimes you just had to stand somewhere and be seen. In this case she had to hold the wheel while Markus adjusted the rigging to best catch the wind. There was no real risk of pursuit. Between the chaos of the coup and the wrecked guardship in the main channel, it was unlikely anything larger than a fishing smack would be sail from Calaverde any time soon.

“Ah dinner is served I see,” she said as Markus arrived with a few handfuls of beef jerkey and a bottle of rum. She took a rope and secured the wheel so that the course wouldn’t deviate. It was going to be a brutal voyage where sleep would have to be taken in snatches when the winds were calm. Any change whatsoever would send both of them scrambling to adjust the sails. If a storm came up, they were doomed, if they got unlucky, they might drown under clear skies.

“You known last night I had roasted quail with currant sauce and the finest white wine and that was just the first course,” she laughed, taken a piece of cured meat and tearing it with her teeth.

“Well, easy come easy go I suppose,” she joked though it sounded a bit flat to her own ears.

“Our first problem is that we need a destination, it needs to be somewhere close and we need to find a crew.” She looked back over her shoulder although Calaverde had already vanished over the horizion.

“The quicker the better, before word about what happened gets out. Do you have any ideas?”


@POOHEAD189

Damned to the Depths

The magic swirled in her mind in an unpredictable maelstrom, she struggled to hold onto the strands of power, certain that if they slipped away the best she could hope for was a sudden and violent death. The Codex had come into her possession when she had murdered the previous Tyrant and taken control of the city. The spells in were poorly understood, even by more experienced wizards and scholars. Mostly the book seemed to be a kind of arcane gibberish or else extremely complicated ways to do things much more easily accomplished with far simpler incantations. Weather magic was extremely rare and notoriously unpredictable. This spell was the only one she had ever seen that wasn’t locked up in some aging arch-mages grimoire. It was far more complicated than anything she had attempted, it felt like trying to mould dry sand in a hurricane. Her hands continued to weave the pattern prescribed, though her mind was disengaged from the process. The world seemed to have shaowed into a gray blur and things moved in the darkened mist. One of them was Markus swinging a sword but there were other things that she was sure she didn’t want to see.

It wasn’t going to work, there was nothing for her to hold onto the spell was on the verge of unravelling. With the suddenness of a lightning strike there was a flash of scarlet. It was blood, fountaining from a sword wound, dripping from Markus’ blade. She wasn’t sure how she did it but she reached for the blood it streamed towards her in concentric sanguine contrails. Magic poured from her in a surge that she felt like a tidal wave. It was like shaping clay with her finger tips and if only she knew how to sculpt it who knew what she might accomplish. Something tore and there was a sound like shattering glass. Calliope's eyes snapped open and from behind her came a monstrous gale. Air as cold as ice tore past her, stinging her skin. The rigging snapped taught with a thunderclap and the ship seemed to jump forward like a dolphin leaping from the spray. The howling of the wind was deafening, so strong that the water furrowed ahead of the gale. Calliope risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Snow mist were pouring through an odd distortion in in the air.

With a shout of victory she threw the wheel over and the ship lurched towards the guardship, then at the last second she hauled it back. The Weather Witch slammed into the side of the guardship, smashing the bank of oars on the starboard side like so many match stick. Even over the wind the screams of the oarsmen were audible as the were smashed against their benches or peppered with flying splinters. There was a grinding of timbers for a moment and then the Witch recoiled away, the pressure on her sails driving her like a racehorse towards the Sea Gate.

Calliopie stood up and did her best to look nonchalant, tucking the book back into her satchel as she did so. Glancing down at her arms she noticed strange patterns covering her arms, they seemed to be drawn in a pale crimson fire though it did not burn. After a moment the designs began to fade and then they were gone as though they had never been.

“As it happens,” she said modestly, “I do know a little weather magic.”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug settled back against the comfortable restraint of the medicomp.

“Well shit.”

----------------------

The slap of boots on the hull plating echoed through the cavernous hangar. The training hall was large enough to hold a dozen Highlanders, the ceiling, occasionally accessable by rope or other climinbing equipment, was at least ten meters high at its lowest point. A group of twenty men and women with severe haircuts were running an assault course, weaving in an out of obstacles and vaulting walls. A sallow faced female drill seargent hurled creative profanity at the soldiers as they tried in vain to reach a bar which would be perpetually be raised. Despite several massive ventilation grates at the end of the training hall, it still smelled like stale sweat and effort.

As Sayeeda completed her lap the training computer attached to her wrist beeped, flashing up a variety metrics to offer critique of her performance. She ignored the data for now, forcing herself to keep the same pace as she started the next rotation. It had been nearly a week since she got out of sickbay. True to York’s prediction she had made a full recovery, if anything she felt stronger than she had before the smugglers moon. Her training times were up across the board as were her marksmanship and reaction exercises. A brush with death could sometimes be good for focus.

The crew of the November Sky was reserved though she had seen a few of the female crew members giving Neil covert glances. For the most part they were polite but distant. Junebug wasn’t sure if this was the result of orders or of a generalized distaste for York and the other intelligence personell which had transferred to his ‘guests’. If they were prisoners there were few restrictions placed on them. Marines kept them off the bridge and out of engineering but beyond that they had the run of the ship. According to York the trip to Sarvan would take almost three months. That given the currents and tides within the RIP that was actually amazingly fast. The bulk of the November Sky meant it could tolerate gradients that would shred a freighter the size of the Highlander. According to what little she had been able to get out of one of the ships astrogation staff she had cornered in the cafeteria, the currents were nearly as bad as it was possible to be. Judging by how haunted the fellow looked, the navigational staff was working long hours to make any progress whatsoever.

The Highlander was still accessible but a swarm of Terran technicians were helping ‘refit’ the vessel. Although the actually seemed to be doing real work, they had ‘coincidentally’ stripped out the fusion plant for a partial rebuilt. The vessel was unflyable without several hours and a full tech team to put it back together. Worst of all York and his men had confiscated the aestimobium while Junebug had been in medical. It was technically a restricted substance in Terran space and though York had made a few token statements about evidence and due process but she wasn’t holding her breath.

“Junebug!” Sayeeda slackened her pace as Taya hurried into the training hall. The girl was wearing a terran uniform without insignia. It was a flattering cut on her, though Junebug wasn’t, in general, a fan of uniforms. The girl had initially been timid but she seemed to be relaxing into her new surroundings.

“Major York is looking for us,” Taya said as Junebug came to a stop breathing hard. The computer on her wrist beeped as it registred that her exercise had come to an end. The mercenary laughed without much real humor.

“I would be shocked if York was in any doubt as to where we are, I’m willing to bet he gets a briefing on what we have for breakfast.” Taya shrugged as if that were of no import.

“Apparently they are going to release Saxon and York wants to hold some sort of briefing, I figured we would meet up with Neil and talk before that.” They were walking towards the showers as they spoke. Sayeeda nodded.

“Good thought, let me grab a shower and then we can meet Neil… somewhere.” Taya reached out and laid a hand on Junebug’s forearm.

“Junebug, I wanted to talk to you about something,” the girl said earnestly. Sayeeda frowned uncertain what the girl had in mind.

“Sure, whats on your mind Taya?” Junebug asked as she stepped into the shower cubicle and began stripping off her sweaty exercise clothes.

“Are you… well are you feeling alright?”

Junebug stepped into the shower and clicked the button, bracing herself. The Terrans evidently believed in toughening up their troops because the shower was icy cold.

“Yeah, I feel great, Terrans may be assholes but they got the best medical tech in the galaxy.”

“Right,” Taya returned in a tone that didn’t quite convey agreement. Sighing Junebug stepped out of the shower and fixed the girl with a level look inviting her to get to the point.

“You look younger, younger since the surgery I mean,” Taya blurted. Sayeeda looked in the mirror, it wasn’t something she made a habit of, after thirty, the chances you would find an improvement were pretty small. It didn’t seem to her that their was much difference, the shadows under her eyes were a bit lighter, her face a bit less taught.

“I was burning the thrusters pretty hard before the Smugglers Moon, I’m sure its just rest and the doctor enforced diet.” Taya looked unconvinced at this as Sayeeda pulled open a locker and retrieved a white t-shirt and her customary fatigue pants.

“Let see what Niel makes of this briefing shall we?”

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

No problem, loving what we have so far!

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

“Please,” Junebug said with a week laugh, “WIthout me you would be scattered across a city block.” She didn’t quite remember the specifics but it seemed like the thing to say. Her memory seemed to be clearing and a cool sensation was spreading down her right arm there was a quiet whir as a pneumatic pump delivered medication. There was a confused jumble of memories that seemed to seperate out into a half dozen battlefieds.

“It was nearly you who were scattered all over the pavement,” Neil pointed out. Sayeeda made a dismissive gesture down at her medicomp encased body.

“Everything still on the inside, mostly at any rate,” she said, “beside if I bitched every time I got a little blown up I’d never shut up.”

York, still hovering put on a patronizing smile.

“Well I’ll leave you to your reunion,” the spy said, fluffing his mustache with his hand in a way that was meant to convey comradely bonhomie. Junebug fixed him with a steady stare. She had seen men and women like him before. In what Andor’s armored euphemistically called ‘the field police’. They looked human enough at first but their work turned them into something else. He reached the med bay door and looked back over his shoulder.

“I’m sure Mr Edwards will be happy to fill you in on the details of our arrangement,” and with that he was gone. Junebug opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about when a calm female voice sounded over the public alert system. It sounded like a real voice rather than a synthesized computer simulation.

“All hands prepare for insertion.” All around them the medics grabbed hold of whatever solid surface was to hand. The medicomp tightened around Junebug’s body. A tone sounded followed rapidly by two more sequentials and then there was a sudden shuddering sensation and Junebug felt like she was about to vomit up her internal organs. Then the universe seemed to relax. They were in the RIP. Junebug arched her eyebrow at Neil.

“I’m sure Mr Edwards will be happy to fill me in on the details of this arrangement…”

Damned to the Depths

The wave reflected off the stone wall of the harbor shoving the Weather Witch out into the harbor channel. Bits of debris pattered into the water like rain, hissing as they were quenced in the murky water. Calliope had to admit that she was secretly impressed having always had a soft spot for the violent and the dramatic. She jumped up the three steps to the slightly raised poop deck and flung the wheel over. There was only just enough way on to allow the ship to answer the helm but the bow sprit began to ponderously turn towards the Sea Gate.

The Sea Gate had once been the natural cleft where the Caldrea that formed the Great Harbor had shattered, over the centuries however it had been smoothed with construction. Now, two great white towers stood, each bearing a large luminous spell which provided constant light to draw ships into harbor without the expense of fuel. The Gate could not be closed per se, although there were great iron chains that could be run from one tower to the other to prevent entry. Using them however would take hours of work and was not something that could be improved. Both of the Tower fortresses sported powerful guns but those batteries were high in order to give them range to fling heated shot at would be attackers, a small ship with shallow draught could hug the coast line without ever presenting a target.

Unfortunately the Sea Gate wasn’t the only problem across the harbor one of the guard ships was moving towards the explosion. Unlike the Weather Witch the guard ships were equipped with banks of long oars that pushed them across the bay smoothly. The Guardships were squat looking vessels, their masts removed to mount oarsman and to make place for the large carronades which they mounted fore and aft on reinforced platformed which could be swiveled to make aiming them easier. The purpose of the ships was to enforce customs duties, but at close range the guns were a deadly threat. Worse still each ship carried a core of marines, or at least did in theory, it wasn't unusual for a captain to claim he had twenty men when he had five and pocket the extra pay.

Even with her mizens loosed, the Weather Witch was barely underway, her stained sail flapping in the listless wind. At dawn when the sea began to warm a brisk wind flowed down the cooling rock of the city, making it the customary time to set sail, just as nightfall was the best time to approach the port. Unfortunately dawn was still several hours away.

“Marduke or whatever your name is, we are about to have company!” Calliope shouted to the swordsman.

“You need to keep them occupied for a few minutes,” she declared and reached into the small bag of treasures she had been able to rescue before fleeing. Nestled in its bed of jewels and worked gold was a small book. The Trentian Codex was one of the great treasures of Calaverde and one that Sebastian was going to be furious when he realised it was gone. The book was bound in strange leather and the pages were made of an oddly golden parchment, with a consistency more like that of silk than paper. Black writing in the arcane script marked pages that were covered with fantastic illustrations and strange sigils. Even scholars who had examined the book could only make sense of a tiny part of the coded writings. Where it had come from was obscure, though Triantan, the great palace city it had been recovered from was a real enough place. Legend held that it had been scoured from the sea till nothing remained but a reef and a single pillar of stone, atop which rested the bok. Calliope didn’t know how much of that was true but she had studied as much of the book as her court scholars could translate and could at least guess at the shape of some of the more basic spells it contained.

Opening the book to a remembered page, she sat cross legged next to the wheel and began to chant in slow sonorous syllables, weaving intricate gestures with both hands in disturbing asymmetry.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla pirouetted through the nightmarish attackers, thrusting and parrying with a grace that surprised even her. A strange feeling of waste came over her and she found herself disappointed when she used six inches of steel where three should have done the job. The sensation was both alien and familiar, it reminded her of how her tutor in the art of dance and seduction had scolded her for being too forward, to extravagant. She flicked aside a rusted axe and sliced a beastman across the belly spilling in intestines onto the wall. A great chaos warrior clambered over the wall and drew a great broadsword from his back. There was a thickening thrill that this might be a worthy opponent at last but as the giant locked his baleful red eyes on her he seemed to freeze, for a moment a great statue of wrought iron and brass.

“You,” the Chaos warrior spoke. His vice was like skulls grinding each other to powder, almost unintelligable as human speech.

“Mia!” Camilla declared covering her confusion with bravado and raising her blade to a duelists en garde. She had no idea why a Chaos Worshipper should recognise her and she certainly didn’t know him. They had fought enough of the Northerners that she knew some could be distinctive but most just seemed like hellish suits of armor. Without warning the warrior turned and stepped off the wall, his cape of unidentified fur fluttering behind him. Camilla stood stunned, she had known chaos warriors to do many strange things, but to retreat? Before she could ponder the matter further Skaldi strode along the wall carring a vast cauldron of smoking oil. It must have been unbearabley hot but if so, the dwarf showed no sign of it. He put one vast foot up on the parapet and pitched the sizzling contents over the side.

“Have some soup! Its bloody spoiled anyhow,” the Dwarf called cheerfully. There was a sound like frying bacon and a scream that shook loose rooftiles streets away as the sheet of boiling oil struck the fleshy tentacular monster that had been the attackers seige tower. Vast appendages thrashed and swept about madly snatching chaos worhipers from the walls as the thing went beserk with agony.

“Sorry? Not hot enough far ya!” the capering dwarf called as he siezed a torch from a ring sconce and hurled it down. With a great whooosh a sheet of flame shot skyward. The already soaked spawn screamed even louder but its tentacles whipped back like a child that has touched a hot pot. Still mewling with a sound louder than a cavalry charge it lurched away across the icy landscape, uneven footfalls making the ground shake and Camilla wonder how it had ever gotten so close unnoticed. Skaldi turned cackling madly, both his eyebrows were signed away and his beard was smouldering, but if it discomforted him he wasn’t letting on. Camilla absently thrust her blade to the right catching a lunging beast man in the throat without taking her eyes from the dwarf.

For a moment there as silence as the last of the attackers fell to the blades of the mercenaries. Then Konrad began to laugh, the Yantz, within moments the whole force was roaring with laughter, even Camilla found herself doubled over with tears running from her eyes. It was a moment of perfect mania and their laughter shook the walls. It was only when she turned to find Cydric that Camilla felt her chest tighten. Laying in the starirwell with a pool of blood dribbling from one ear. She shrieked and leaped down to him feeling at his throat. For a moment there was nothing, then a slight thready pulse.

“We need to get him to a … medico… umm a physician!” she shouted, her heart in her throat.

Damned to the Depths

Calliope made no effort to contain her disdain for her companions opinion. Imagine a rum soaked sea bum presuming to know the first thing about retaking a city. There was a reason why some people rotted in the gutter and others rose to the heights of power. Calliope had grown up as the daughter of a Praelin currant merchant but through cunning, ruthlessness and exercise of will, she had made herself all but a queen. Given that Sebastian had missed capturing her it might well be possible to retake the city. The passion of the mob was a fickle thing and she could might be able rally enough guardsmen to restore order with generous bribes and promises of power. If she did that however she would have to crack down on those who had supported Sebastian as well as reward her new constituents. In short order she would find every assassin from here to Tak Duran trying to put a knife between her ribs, if only to save their employer from her justice. No it was better to leave. Sebastian would have little joy of the city, the treasury was empty and the trading season would be coming to an end soon. Within months it would become clear to the populace that he couldn’t deliver on his promises. They would remember the better days they had enjoyed under her gentle rule. It might only be a year or so before a mob arose demanding their exiled leader return. Of course all that was predicated on getting out of here alive in the first place.

The Weather Witch swung at her moorings, snugging up against first the bow cable then the stern. A long jetty of salt scoured timber ran out into the gently lapping waters of the darkened bay. The Old Grave as this part of the harbour was known, had been a graving dock a hundred years ago. As Calaverde had grown as a center of trade the needs of the city had expanded and New Harbor, now almost fifty years old had been built. New Harbor boasted better facilities and docks as well as easier access to the roads which lead to Market Square and the warehouse road which ringed most of the island.

Ships came to the Old Grave for repairs only if they couldn’t aford the more expensive rates over in New Harbour, or if, like the Weather Witch, they were being held for disposal ‘at the tyrants pleasure’. That usually meant an auction that would generate prize money for the captain and ‘tax income’ for her. Calliope smiled, her white teeth flashing in the moonlight. As commandeering the Weather Witch WAS her pleasure she supposed she could consider this a final act of her administration.

The Witch was old and her hull was dark solid teak from Mandari or Calica. She was long and had a stately elegance to her, like a swordsman that had only slightly let himself go to fat. She had only two masts and was sloop rigged to make fighting the seasonal winds easier for a small crew, dark weather stained canvas hung bundled to the yard arms hardly stirring in the listless breeze. Empty gunports let the starlight shine through, like missing teeth in an age blackened skull.

Calliope sauntered down the dock ignoring the bloody corpses of the former guardians. No one gave out any cry of alarm as she vaulted gracefully over the bulwark and landed on the deck. The ship was not untidy, clearly some efforts had been made to pretty her up for sail. The deck had been scrubbed clean and the cables were for the most part coiled neatly. Anything portable and valuable had already vanished into the clutches of those able to carry them away and the cargo had already been offloaded and sold. Four guns, eight or ten pounders were snugged up on the deck, two of them indifferently covered with canvas sheets. One of them even had most of a set of loading tools though any powder remaining would be below decks in the magazine.

“Normally we would have boats tow her into the channel,” Calli told Markus as he joined her on the deck, having apparently cleaned the blood from his blade. Some ships had sweeps for such a task but normally teams of seamen plied the oars of small cutters to maneuver larger ships.

“Did you have a plan for that or were you just hoping for a wind to come up?” she asked tartly.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Workshoping:

Ok so lets get started! Part of the idea for this RP is that we workshop the world and, to an extent, the plot together.

Our city is going to be Detroit Michigan. Each of our characters has come here and plans on remaining here for the foreseeable future. You might have been here decades or days but for whatever reason Detroit is your home for the foreseeable future.

Locations. Other than your own home I would like everyone to put together an interesting location. It doesn't need to be super detailed, just something interesting and flavorful. It dosen't need to personally impact your character, although it certainly can. My example below:

Ambassador Bridge

The Ambassador Bridge connects Detroit to Windsor Canada. While it is an extremely busy route for normal humans in supernatural circles it is beginning to develop a rather sinister reputation. In the past twelve months magical beings which have attempted to cross the bridge have found themselves unable to do so as if blocked by some unfathomable compulsion. Wizards and other mortals who are aware of the supernatural world have attempted to investigate, some of them also felt strange compulsions not to cross, others have vanished entirely. The bar to passage does not seem to apply in the Canada to Detroit direction, but few in the community are willing to push their luck….