Penny

Damned to the Depths

Calliope laughed, a rich dark sounding laugh that conveyed a languid amusement. Markus cabin was larger than heres and better appointed by far but no accommodations aboard a ship the size of the Weather Witch were what one might describe as luxurious. Calliope’s own cabin was maybe half the size of Markus’ and intended for two officers to share besides. Its only furnishings were a single sea bed and a large table. Calliope had gathered a number of things from Roderick to make her voyage more tolerable. He had been willing to lavish gifts upon her, in part out of genuine affection and in part because he was enjoying the opportunity to demonstrate conspicuous consumption. Giving her aid now expressed a certain friendly condescension for her situation. Still Roderick had retrieved the gemstones she has pawned and provided her with a number of very expensive books, spell ingredients and a few esoteric grimoires as well as fine sand, quills, in and other paraphernalia of writing. He had included foodstuffs too, candied plums and licorice as well as several casks of excellent wine and expensive brandy. Best of all he had gifted her a handsome chest with a magical lock that could only be opened by her voice.

“I suspect he wanted many things. Things a man normally wants and some other things as well. I suspect he is under pressure to find a wife and thinks that appearing to dally with me will relieve the pressure. Perhaps he wishes to tell Sebastian that of course he met with his old friend but he sent her away without sanctuary. Possibly all of these things at once,” she explained. It was unlikely that Markus, a simple man of violence, would understand all the political nuances but then she didn’t understand half of what he did about the sea and there was no point treating someone like an idiot if you needed to work with them.

“He did have one favor he asked me though. Jim!” she called. The cabin boy, with the assistance of the massive Gnoll whose name she had momentarily forgotten carried in a large wooden chest sealed with a padlock.

“He requested I bring this aboard,” she said as the two crew men set the chest down. It seemed like the gnoll was only tolerating Jim’s help as the boy seemed more of an impediment than an aid. He looked at Calliope turned red and then found something very interesting about his boots to study.

“What is it?” Markus asked scarcely bothering to look up from his map.

“I’ve no idea, I was supposed to keep it sealed till we cleared the harbor.” She drew a small brass key from a pouch and fited it to the lock before turning it with a click. The gnoll pulled back the lid, one hand on an impressive knife tucked into his colorful red sash. Calliope had no idea what would be inside, but was still dumbfounded by what the chest contained. Bound in tight hempen cords, and wearing a gag was a tiny woman. Not a woman Calliope realised, it was a gnome. About the size of a human child of ten the gnome woman was more heavily muscled and developed in her breast and hips than any child. She wore expensive looking sailors clothing and her hair was a shocking shade of pink that could only have been a die, two large blue eyes glared up at them and there was a note pinned to her chest. Calliope, the first to recover from this shocking sight, reached down a plucked the note free. SHe read it aloud.

Dearest Calli,

This is an old associate of mine who was recently arrested for piracy. As I cant be seen to have a soft hand when it comes to pirates I sentenced her to death. I had been puzzling over what to do about her when you showed up in need of a crew. I trust she will be more useful having managed a daring escape than she would be on the gallows.

R

Calliope reached down and pulled the gag from the gnomes mouth.

“I’ll kill you all you lumbering ox fuckers!” the gnome snapped though she didnt bother to flex against her bonds. Calliope pulled a knife and the the gnome stilled but the former tyrant merely slashed the ropes that held her. The gnome sat up quickly rubbing at her arms furiously. Calliope looked her over.

“I take it you are a gunner?” she asked, arching a dark eyebrow.

“Aye that I am whoever-the-fuck-you-are,” the fiesty Gnome snapped.

“You using some sort of fancy mind reading spell?”

Calliope smirked.

“It would be more likely that Roderick simply told me, but no, as it happens I saw the powder burns on your for arms.” The gnome held out her arms, revealing dozens of small discolorations from close proximity to firearms and burning black powder.

“Ah, well yes as it happens, I’m Grimey Hurinson,” the little Gnome declared, glaring around belligerently at her taller opponents.

“I was on my way to an old fort I knew about to recover some guns when I ran into a whee bit of trouble with the Stormcrest navy, could have happened to anyone!”

Damned to the Depths

Calliope nodded and stood up reaching out to take Roderick’s outstretched hand. The Sea Lord smiled and turned his benevolent gaze upon Markus. There was an almost physical sparking as their eyes met. Neither one of them was a stranger to violence and neither backed down easily or gracefully.

“I of course have no knowledge of where or how the dowry will be shipped, it isn’t as though I am a cartographer with a shop on Belmouth street after all,” Roderick declared. The word of a pirate likely wasn’t enough to get a man of Roderick’s station in much trouble, but there were certain truth detecting spells for which it was useful to be able to issue a technical denial.

“I bid you good evening gentlemen,” the Sea Lord concluded smoothly and escorted Calliope out of the tavern. As though summoned a coach of dark polished teak wood turned the corner and rattled over the dilapidated cobblestones. The soldiers performed a smart right face bringing them into a column four abreast, they then split into two files of two to create a space for the coach to pull up. Roderick handed her up gallantly and they set off towards the Crimson Fortress.

“You don’t think he will just sail off without you do you?” Roderick asked with a speculative look back at the Buggered Whale. They were moving slowly enough that the infantry outside could keep pace at a steady march. Calliopie shook her head, she didn’t think Markus would simply leave her behind, at the very least he had to deal with the enchantments she had left aboard. The Elf they had hired could probably break them if given a few hours but given that she still had her valuables and was enough of a mage to be a valuable addition she didn’t see it was muchin his interest.

“I rather doubt it,” she responded as the carriage rattled up the hill towards the imposing fortress that served as the palace.

“He could have killed me and tossed my body off shore if that were his plan,” she explained.

“He might still kill you and dump your body,” Roderick countered. The carriage passed smoothly over an impressive drawbridge and between two large turrets of the distinctive red granite that gave the Crimson Fortress its name. Although the construction of the Fortress was old, the main gate was protected by very modern ravelins that projected like spikes. The low walls were slopped to deflect cannon fire upwards and modern guns projected from the firing ports. Calliope wondered if Roderick had commissioned the new fortifications. He had, she recalled served as a mercenary with the Army of Anndred and was up to date with modern siege tactics.

“I’m touched by your concern,” Calliope replied with a ghost of a smile.

“But maybe you should be more concerned with HIS welfare.” The Sea Lord snickered.

“Inconvenient people around you do have a habit of coming down with a bad case of death,” Roderick agreed. The soldiers along side them peeled off as the entered the courtyard and were replaced by livered servants who helped them from the carriage.

“You know of course that I would be happy to offer you sancturary as well as … quiet assistance to find you a place more suited to your station,” Roderick said, his fingers stroking her hair as her head lay upon his chest. Calliope laughed lazily fingers toying with the expensive Vrettonian silk sheets. Roderick’s chambers were in one of the smaller towers of keep though the rooms themselves were as richly appointed as her own had been back in Calaverede. Dozens of weapons as well as rare and expensive charts covered the walls along with jewel encrusted navigational aide and astrolabes. She walked her fingers up Rodericks naked muscular torso and then reached over him to take a bottle of wine from the well stocked side board and took pour herself another glass.

“Mmmm not exactly the desperate exile just yet,” she said taking a sip. The first rays of the dawn were already streaming through the windows, filling the chamber with soft golden light. Roderick snorted reaching down to give her naked rump an affectionate squeeze.

“As it happens I am in the market for a wife,” Roderick said taking a brandy decanter from the sideboard and talking a long drink.

“You would be a better candidate than most, I could pretend I wanted to take Calaverde back to right some great injustice to my beloved,” Roderick jested. Calliope smiled sardonically. She didn’t doubt the offer was sincere but she didn’t have any illusions that Roderick would allow her to share power in any meaningful way. It wasn’t in either of their make ups to passively sit by. Marriage amounted to a comfortable retirement at least so long as Roderick remained in power in Stormcrest.

“Well despite your extremely romantic proposal,” she murmered running a series of kisses up over his collarbone.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline for now.”

“For now?” Roderick asked with an amused chuckle.

“Then I shall have to live in hope!” he declared with a grin, pressing his hand to his heart dramatically. Calliope rolled her eyes and was about to reply when a polite knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” Roderick called and a middle aged servant entered the room bearing a silver tray which he lay on a carefully carved table at the end of the chamber before whisking away the cover to reveal to silver plates of steaming bacon and eggs.

“So you are really planning to turn pirate?” Roderick asked around a mouthful of breakfast. They were both more or less dressed now. Roderick had provided her a new shirt of brilliant white silk with subtle silver embroidery though she had opted not to wear the skin tight scarlet pantaloons he had matched with it, preferring her own doeskin breeches.

“If this dowry is as big as you seem to think, it should go a way to putting me back on my feet. Certainly it will create opportunities.” That was true in more ways than one. Beyond the simple monetary value, the theft of such a vast hoard of treasure which was also the key to the most important political union in a generation would through the whole Sea of Swords in to chaos and where there was chaos, there was opportunity.

“OH it will be big,” Roderick amplified, “I saw Svetlana at Brauerhusen, she looks like the whelp of a bear that took advantage of a porpoise.” Calliope couldn’t help but laugh at the description. Roderick made a warding sign with his fork, the solemnity of the gesture slightly spoiled when a piece of egg fell from the tip.

“They must be paying the poor groom a FORTUNE, politics be damned.” Roderick sobered.

“...and speaking of politics I have a favor to ask you.”

Damned to the Depths

Calliope didn’t venture any opinion of the crew, if Markus and the dwarf were confident in them then she had no choice to defer to their superior expertise. The navy of Calaverde was largely made up of privateers, ships furnished with a warrant from the Tyrant to perform some task or another in exchange for payment and for permission to use the harbor. There were a few more regularized naval ships that the tyrant owned and operated at the public expense these provides a convenient outlet for the sadistic and incompetent sons of powerful families, criminals of various stripes and a useful excuse for the Tyrant to raise taxes. None of this made Calliope feel particularly authoritative on the matter of actually seafaring.

“Are we supposed to call it ‘pirating’ are we?” she asked, lazily drawing her finger through the distinctly inferior wine that currently filled her carved wooden goblet.

“I am sure what the good captain meant to say, was that he was eager to embark on a profitable career in commerce at some considerable distance from this fine city,” a rough masculine voice interjected. A stood in the doorway he was dressed in a navy blue coat with golden accents which he wore over a suit of immaculate but functional leather armor. A plain heavy cutlass, much at odds with the coat, hung from a weapons belt alongside the butt an elegant looking dwarven pistol. He was tall and weather beaten with dark blonde hair and heavily calloused palms.

“Because if that isn’t what he meant I’m afraid I’d have to hang him as a pirate,” the man concluded. Calliope glared at the man for a moment.

“Hello Rodrick,” she said finally her tone half amused and half resigned. The man put a hand to his chest in feigned surprise.

“Calli?! Can that really be you? I mean I had heard reports that Calliopie the Tyrant of Calaverde was in my city, but I dismissed it as sailors nonsense. Then, wouldn’t you know it, I get a pigeon from Calaverde claiming that some idiot named Sebastian Del Mondo was the new ‘First Citizen’ or something equally ridiculous, and it occured to me that maybe I should check it out.”
Rodrick Blackmoor, the Sea Lord of Stormsrest, stepped into the tavern. Behind him a dozen soldiers, each equipped with coats of navy blue and white pantaloons stood at attention, each carrying a long musket of plain but obvious functionality.

“Doing, well for yourself I see,” Calliopie said with a hint of acid in her voice. Rodrick looked down at the coat and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust before dragging chair around to the table, he faced the back towards them and sat down legs astride, crossing his arms across the back of the chair.

“Markus, Sketti, this is Rodrick Blackmoor, or whatever new last name he has invented for himself,” Calliope said by way of introduction.

“Charmed I’m sure, and you have to admit that Blackmoor has more of a ring to it than some names I have had. Cant have Lord Whoreson running a city now can?” he asked before nodding deliberately to Markus.

“I must say Captain that the poster dosen’t do you justice,” he quipped making an offhand gesture to one of the recruiting posters hanging from a rusted nail.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Sorry for yet another side question, but I have been thinking about my first post. I strongly assume the crime scene has been secured by police and/or other forces ? Because I think it's more than unlikely that my character would discover the event and get there before anyone else does, so I think it could be kinda... ludicrous... to see my gargoyle arrive there and trying to start his own... investigations ?

@Fetzen

You are welcome to posit whatever you like. If its to incongruent I'll simply ask you to modify.

What alien race would you be?

Sorry but I couldn't resist pointing out the distinction.

@ZAVAZggg

You should try harder.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Wizards are mortal so in theory any one or anything could kill one, but it would be tough for a vanilla mortal to avoid a wizards magic powers.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug grabbed her go bag, a large duffel that contained her battered armor, her helmet and a variety of small arms from her quarters. The November Sky rocked as its massive spinal mounted mass driver fired. The ship immediately maneuvered violently, as the helmsmen worked to minimize the consistency of their target profile. The warships grav pumps kept the maneuver from jellying the bones of those inside but it still lurched violently throwing crewmen into the bulkheads.

Sayeeda nearly ran into York who was sauntering along the companionway with irritating grace. The intelligence officer had not donned any armor but he wore a bandolier of reloads for the elegant plasma pistol he wore in his holster. He reached out a hand to steady her but Junebug ignored it joining him in heading towards the hangar bay.

“Brigands? Really?” she asked as they ducked into an alcove to avoid being trampled by a squad of Marines in full zero g combat gear raced paced at a lumbering run. Junebug assumed they were heading towards boarding pods or other strong points in the ship in case they needed to board or defend against a breach.

“Sven said they were Chalcedon ships, know anything about that?” Junebug demanded, bracing herself against a hatch as the mass driver fired another round. York’s face didn’t change but Junebug had been around him long enough to recognise the irritation on his face. For a moment she thought he was just going to ignore her.

“The Chalcedon League, so called, is a number of former Terran colonies that are currently in rebellion against Earth, they are mostly located across the Gulf, and so they don’t have much to do with the rest of the galaxy,” York responded tersely. The gulf was the vast empty area of interstellar space which separates two of the galaxies spiral arms. RIP travel across the Gulf was notoriously difficult as it became difficult to navigate.

“Isn’t most of the galaxy former Terran colonies that are currently in rebellion?” Junebug asked, amused insipte of the gravity of the situation. York smirked at that.

“Terra dosent care about most of her former colonies. You are all too small and to dependant on Terran tech to be a threat, you can be snapped up in due course if the central command deems it necessary.”

“But you do care about this Chalcedon League?” Sayeeda pressed as they reached the bay where the Highlander sat. Woods was waving a half dozen Terrans in battle armor up a ramp onto the ship while Neil appeared to be trying to load some sort of hauler. Junebug hadn’t been avoiding him since Taya had told her about his date with Woods but she hadn’t had much contact with him either to know what he was doing.

“Some colonies are more important than others,” York said, his tone grudging but not quite confirmatory.

“So why did they show up here then?” Sayeeda demanded, “This is hardly the Terran heartland.”

York rode the bucking deck plates without apparent difficulty. He looked mildly irritated with the situation but not alarmed.

“I suspect they are here to claim the Ancient tech for themselves…” Something slammed into the ship with the force of planets colliding. The lights in the hangar bay went dark for a moment and then lit again. One of the enemy ships had hit the Sky but the shields must have held.

“Brace for a jump!” an authoritative voice called over the public address system. Reality shuddered like jelly as the November Sky jumped into the RIP.

“Extraction!” the same voice declared and the warship stuttered back into reality, its weapons opening up immediately. Quick in and outs were a Terran Navy speciality. It was hard on the crew and the ship but a vessel that was willing to accept the stresses of a series of micro jumps could displace millions of miles in seconds, allowing them to avoid patterns of enemy fire and launch ordnance from new and unexpected angles.

York and Junebug ran up the ramp to join the rest of the team. Neil and Taya were already in the cockpit. Woods, Saxon, Sven and a half dozen marines were strapping in to makeshift crash harnesses that had been attached to the walls. A trimly attractive marine with the name ‘Ragan’ stenciled across the front of his armor slapped the closure switch as the captain and the spy climbed aboard.

“Compliment full sir, all aboard!” he called out of the shattering din of weapons fire. Woods nodded.

“Clear to lift!” her voice said over the comm net, sounding in Junebug’s mastoid implant as clearly as if the woman was standing next to her.

“Belay that,” York said calmly, “Stand by for…”

“Brace for a jump!” The ship slid greasily back into the rip and then extracted a moment later. It felt to Junebug as though her skin were being peeled back and hot irons run over her muscles.

“Launch,” York declared calmly.

The Highlander burst from the launch bay over the north pole of the planet. It was an insanely risky jump on behalf of the Captain of the November Sky, the ship could easily have been destroyed if he misjudged currents by even a small margin. Junebug climbed into the captain seat above and behind Neil and strapped herself in. Taya smiled at her nervously from her own console. Above them the massive bulk of the November Sky flickered and vanished into the RIP.

Junebug looked at her tactical plot forcing her mind to make sense of the complicated array of dots and vectors. The jump had carried them clear of the major engagement zone where fighters and bombers from both the small fleet of Chalcedons and the November Sky were engaging. It also put the planet between them and the major capital ships. Unfortunately there was no way they could avoid the wing of interceptors that was rising from the equator towards them. Speaking of the equator…

“What is that?” Taya asked point a finger towards the middle of Saavran, a massive area, hundreds or thousands of square kilometers to be visible from orbit, glowed with fire and magma. The oceans rippled and vast clouds of water vapour filled the sky. Ejecta reached into orbit in long ribbons. As the watched white flashes appeared on the surface, spewing more material skyward.

“That was Site Alpha,” York declared calmly as he climbed up into the cockpit area.

“The Chalcedon’s are striking it with mass drivers.” Sayeeda found herself momentarily speechless. Saavran was no one's idea of a tourist spot, but there had to have been hundreds of thousands of people living in and around the equatorial port, which was certainly part of the incinerated area.

“Fortunately they are either unaware of Site Beta or hadn’t had a chance to …” Alarms began to beep as the incoming fighters began to paint the ship with their sensors. Junebug reached down and bought up her weapons display.

“Let us hope Mr Edwards is as good as he thinks he is…”

What alien race would you be?

I never considered Elder Thing as a choice...

What alien race would you be?

Asari

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Also you guys probably at least know OF each other, you will have to decide how that looks.