Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

"Cambre? Khan? Report," Woods called, every member of the small team paused and scanned as if expecting to see the two men even though they had vanished from sensors more advanced than human eyes by an order of magnitude. Woods scrolled back throught the sensor logs before looking at York with a worried expression.

"Nothing, it looks like they were there one minute and gone the next..."

Junebug moved closer to Taya, as though by her presence might protect the girl. Taya wore borried body armor but it clearly had been intended for medics or other support personnel rather than front line troops. A side arm was belted to her hip but right now all she was holding was a multiphase scanner unit many times more powerful than those that the helmets used.

"I dont see anything but there is an odd... disturbance in the air flow," Taya reported glancing skywards at the odd floating leaves. Junebug tracked the glance with her rifle but saw nothing to alarm her.

"It looks as if they should be moving, but they are not..."

"Sir," Woods called, "We need to search for our people." York looked around as though vexed.

"Ok everyone stay in visual range, skirmish line with five meter intervals, keep everyone in visual," he commanded. The soldiers spread out as best they could into a ragged line.

"Are we just going to wander blindly or..." Junebug began but York cut her off.

"Previous ancient sites we have surveyed tend to be organized around a central hub. The curve of the wall here can be used to suggest the center," York explained. Junebug couln't imagine he was much of an archaeologist but he had clearly read the field reports of those who did have the specialist knowledge.

"Mr Edwards will lead us with his magic hand," York added as he fell into his own position with the line. A directional line appeared on Junebug's helmet, leading deeper into the strange cityscape. She gudied Taya next to Neil, reasoning his presence was the best gaurntee of safety they had.

"Lets move out!"

Damned to the Depths

It turned out that celebrating was not so easy. Although there was a boisterous celebration going on upon the foredeck it quieted as she approached. There were various mutterings of ‘Ma’am’ and a general knuckling of foreheads but people seemed reluctant to meet her eye. Surprised but not alarmed she weant aft to the small cabin that served as the ward room for what she thought of as the officers. Although there were no formal ranks, Sketti and Grimey naturally filled command roles, the dwarf because he controlled the wages and the gnome because… well Calliope wasn’t quite sure why but she seemed to have become the ships unofficial mastergunner. The way a few of the crewmen blushed when she glared at them suggested there had been harsh words exchanged but the accuracy of the guns last night had been uncommonly good.

Both the dwarf and the gnome were very drunk by now, though with Sketti it wasn’t easy to tell. He was currently taking great swigs from a keg of ale they had captured. The crew was hitting the stuff pretty hard but that was partly of necessity. Wine and spirits would keep but ale would turn rotten on a voyage of any distance. Both of the gave her a glance and then Grimey looked quickly away. Sketti merely gave a specacular belch before grabbing some of the fresh baked bread they had looted and began stuffing it into his mouth, covering his ale soaked beard with crumbs. Grimey looked to be about to excuse herself but Calliope sat down beside her pinning her between the table and the wall.

“Alright what is going on?” she demanded coldly. The gnome looked to Sketti for aid but the dwarf merely continued to consume his improbable moutful.

“Going on with what?” Grimey asked uncomfortabley. Calliope drew the dagger from her sash and laid it across the table.

“With the looks and dark glances,” she said her voice cold and implacable. Grimey gulped visibly.

“There is a rumor going around and I’m sure its just a rumor …”

“Out with it,” Calliope demanded.

“That you are in league with demons and you sacrificed a man to them to destroy the fort,” Grimey all but squeaked, her words tumbling over each other in their haste to escape her mouth. Calliope felt cold amusement followed by irritation. She moved out of the way to let the Gnome flee below decks leaving her alone with Sketti.

“Well that is just perfect,” she said snippily taking one of the bottles of wine and pulling the cork with a practiced motion.

“Are you?” Sketti asked blearily.

“Perfect?” Calliope asked with an arch smile, “Well fairly close.”

“In league with ye old powers of darkness,” the dwarf pressed. Callipe shook her head.

“Of course not, its just some rumor those idiots in the brig cooked up to explain how we beat them is all.” she responded, taking a long drink from the neck of the bottle.

“Even so you might consider locking your door, who knows what superstitious sailors might take it into their heads to do…”

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

It allows me to take on more of a gm role rather than playing a particular character which I hope will help

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug watched in amazement as the door irised open before them. Inside was a strange swirling opalescence like the surface of a soap bubble but opaque to the eye. She looked dubiously at the holographic line that her helmet had projected as the limit of the shield. She moved forward cautiously while the Terrans hunkered down pointing weapons at the building, though what threat they thought would emerge from it she had no idea.

Reaching the projected limit of the shield she took a small ultraviolet marking beacon, a flat cylinder the size of her palm and tumbed it on before tossing it like a discus. The plastic unit bounced off the wall of the newly risen building and fell to the snow. A continual strobe of ultraviolet light pulsed from the unit, clearly visible to her helmet which was set to carrot such things.

“Looks like the tech shield is down entirely,” she called back to the Terrans and without another word stepped across the threshold. Absolutely nothing happened, whether temporarily or permanently, it seemed that the defences that had protected this place were down. She trudged the thirty meters to the wall and retrieved the beacon, turning it off and clipping it to her belt. The rest of the party was moving cautiously forward, even Sven who had more reason to fear technological disruption than the rest of them.

Junebug moved to the portal and unslung her Terran plasma rifle. Holding it by the grip like a vast pistol she slid it into the opalescent portal so that the rubberized eyepiece of the optical sight was on the outside but the end of the lens was on the inside. Rather than crouching down to look through the sight directly, she touched a button on the stock of the weapon that remoted the sight picture to her helmet. It was a technique which was occasionally useful for shooting from positions where you didn’t dare stick your head up, but more frequently used by command staff to view what their troopers were seeing. The sight picture opened in her helmet in a small window in the upper right corner.

“Whoa,” she breathed and stepped through the portal vanishing from sight.

Junebug stood at the edge of a vast city of bone white monoliths. At least her mind told her it was a city even though none of the ‘buildings’ had any recognisable function. The portal still shimmered behind her, set into a large lintel of the same cream white material. Here and there ancient and twisted trees coiled towards the sky in odd spiral shapes, their bark curiously rough in a place where everything was so smooth. The air above her head was filled with hundreds, or thousands of what appeared to be floating leaves of pale blue, though they bore no resemblance to the foliage of the trees and were completely independent of any kind of support. The volume of space here couldn’t possibly fit into the entryway she had come through. Looking up she saw that the sky above was completely black, lacking any visible stars.

Curiously she flicked her helmet selector to through its various modes, thermal revealed nothing other than that the place was of an unusually uniform 25.3 degrees but the return on the lidar was so chaotic and fragmented that the helmet display crashed back to regular viewing with a trailing stream of red error messages. The movements sensors too were going crazy. Although the blue leaves, or whatever they were, appeared stationary they must have been moving enough to trip the motion detection program. The atmosphere sensors reported breathable, if slightly too oxygen rich, air so she pulled off her helmet.

There was a slight movement behind her as one of the Terran commandos stepped halfway through the portal. The man, Rosenant she thought his name was, paused halfway through the portal, giving the distinct impression of being cut in half. He stuck his head back through the portal and then stepped fully through. A moment later York appeared, snowflakes still decorating his hair and an irritated expression on his face.

“Captain Cyckali, did it occur to you that the environment here might be animical to human life?” he asked acidly. Junebug shrugged her shoulders.

“The bunker wasn’t and nothing in the old records suggested humans and ancients had different metabolic requirements,” she said her smile hardening as she continued to speak. No doubt the Terrans had drones and other such equipment which they would have used before sending anyone through the doors.

“Besides you can fuck around on your own time, the sooner we are done with this the sooner my crew and I can be on our way.”

Damned to the Depths

Calliope lifted the necklace in her right hand allowing the fine chain to play through her fingers. She could sense the arcane power of the thing though it was oddly passive for a magical artifact. During her time as Tyrant she had encountered various ensorcelled items but this seemed somehow different. A slight smile tugged at her full lip. She supposed it was too late to ask the captain what the trinket did, assuming he had ever known.

The crew had been fortunate that the raid had not ended in complete disaster. Calliope had recommended that Markus not ‘gut whoever fucked up’ by firing his weapon too early and he had reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t a decision made out of kindness and compassion, but rather a political judgement that it was more important the crew enjoyed its first victory than pay for its mistakes. They had been lucky that the outposts mage had died of a fever a few weeks ago. It wouldn’t have taken much to turn a rather mudded victory into a bloody defeat.

“Thank you,” she said before slipping the chain around her neck. It had evidently been made for a man and was a little too long, the amulet sinking down almost between her bosoms. The amulet felt unexpectedly warm against her skin, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, rather like the heat of a roaring hearth but from well across the room.

Markus was rolling out the sea chart on his table using bottles of rum to pin the corners down. An old brass compass twitched slowly with the roll of the ship as he paced out distances with a pair of dividers. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had done some shopping in Stormsreach. Markus sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he considered the voyage ahead. Crossing the sea of swords to the Westerlands and the Colonies was an arduous endeavor and they only had a few weeks at most before the trade winds shifted and made the task impossible. That same shift in wind would be what the treasure fleet would be putting into port to avoid, spending the next two or three months refitting before they risked the open seas when spring bought favorable winds once again.

Callope watched the calculations with vague distaste. It irritated her that Markus could do something that she, with all her learning and culture, could not even if that was something as mundane as plotting a course.

“What do you plan to do with the prisoners?” Calliope asked after a few minutes. It seemed foolish to her to feed men that were not working, especially with a long voyage ahead. Did he plan to ransom them? If so to whom? She tried a mouthful of rum, it was rough and sticky with molasses reminding her of the blood spurting over her hands as she sliced into the neck of her victim. There was an odd frisson of almost sexual pleasure at the thought and for a moment she thought she felt the amulet at her breast pulse with energy.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene paused at the hatch momentarily uncertain what the child’s laughter portended. It certainly was a positive change but it was unexpected as a gunshot. He grinned as engagingly as he could, he trusted Solae, and anyway, what harm was there in Damaris laughing at him. Sliding across the room he took a seat next to the two women and picked up one of the boxes of food.

“Lets see?” he said, looking at the labels with an expression of exaggerated study.

“We have sweet sugar paste,” he said before setting the brightly colored down and picking up another even more garish example of what the slavers had considered food.

“And we have more sweet sugar paste,” he said sounding exasperated. Damaris giggled and Rene surreptitiously snagged her bottle and took a drink. The jolt of coffee as well as the subtle kick of liquor was bracing. Rene turned his gaze to the girl still smiling.

“What do you think Damaris? Either of them any good?” It was the most direct question he had yet leveled at the girl, but he figured he had to start building trust somewhere. The girl looked uncertainty at Solae who nodded encouragement with a broad friendly smile.

“This one is ok,” Damaris said in a quiet barely audible voice, reaching out with a finger to indicate the first package he had discarded.

“This one is good,” the girl said. Rene nodded as though giving the matter serious consideration and then picked up the package she indicated. It was an almost offensively bright shade of green with a distinctly metallic undertone. The foil wrapper peeled back smoothly revealing a dark slightly powdery chocolate. Rene took a bite and chewed the sweet confection with a smile of approval. Truthfully the chocolate bar was stale and dry but it was no worse than anything he had eaten out of Marine Corp ration pack.

“Mmmmm,” Rene mumbled around a mouthful of food eliciting another giggle from Damaris.

“Well if you ladies are ready,” he said after a moment, nodding towards Solae’s prepared tote.

__________

Rene hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder as he cast a final glance over his shoulder at the Bonaventure. Even though they had left Mia in technical command it felt strange to be leaving the Bonaventure empty of living breathing humans. There was still a light drizzle falling but the clouds were parted in several places, allowing columns of pale sunlight to fall onto the upper slopes of the caldera. The wind still gusted fitfully, drawing long ripples across the surface of the water that covered the bottom of the volcanic depression. Rene had packed his duffle in the hold, careful to keep well out of sight. It was unlikely that Damaris would be comforted to see the electro-motive carbine or the Marine plasma pistol he had stowed in the bag. The various explosives and electronics were less threatening only if one didn’t know what to look for. Fortunately the tools, clothing and other odds and ends he had packed on top of his more dangerous items provided fine camouflage. Across his other shoulder he had the yellow emergency pack that contained the Bonaventure’s emergency raft. He hope it wouldn’t actually be necessary, but then he hoped rather alot of things and he wasn’t willing to risk Solae’s life on not having the proper tools.

The trio climbed the low crumbled shoulder to the beach overlook. Damaris’ eyes fell on the sea and she instinctively gripped Solae. It must have been terrifying for the child, having barely survived being swept out to sea, to contemplate returning to it. The barge bobbed in a few feet of water, still securely tethered to the land and to the outcropping Rene had used as a sea anchor. There was a little time yet before high tide, but Rene wanted to give them a few extra minutes so they could make best advantage of the high water.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Also if you introduce an NPC like Vera's detective friend, can you give me a brief one or two sentence synopsis of them. Im starting a reference post in the character thread.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

NPCS and Setting:

People:

Sadjic Trioulscar - A shady fixer of uncertain intentions.

Groups:

Guardians of the Peace - Fanatical shock troops serving the Council of Wizards. There loyalty is magically bound, their abillites are magically bolstered.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

Trying this style of short anthology response seeing you cunningly failed to pull any thread that would bring you all together :P Let me know if you like or hate it!

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

@POOHEAD189
The woman Caber had ensnared screamed again, her register rising from flat fear to piercing agony. The bar seemed to recoil from the unexpected sound like a living thing. Glass shattered as the slipped from the hands of started patrons and jostled serving staff alike. Several chairs went over backwards as people jumped to their feet in startled shock. The woman staggered back into a corner hunching her form over, the tracksuit black against the old country dimness the pub cultivated. Her hands and face in contrast shone with a burning green-white light as spiraling sigils of ancient ogham script seemed to carve themselves into her flesh.

The few people who had moved to help her, probably imagining her to be having some sort of medical emergency or other mishap, fled before the flickering witchfire. The panic spread quickly. It was beyond natural panic a cold a visceral fear swept through the assembled mortals like razor sharp ice.

“Fire!” someone shouted and there was a general stampede for the door. Even those that would ordinarily have been made of sterner stuff fled before what could only have been magically induced terror. The woman continued to scream, clawing at her face in a frenzy of pain and panic. Long gashes appeared in her handsome face, the blood blue black in the weird illumination.

Oh brother where art thou

Some other fae magic has been used to subvert Cabers charm and will kill this woman. After she dies her corpse will impart a cryptic message.

___________________________
@Fetzen
“Mister Othen,” came a steady cultured voice from behind the gargoyle. Behind him stood a tall man of indeterminate age in an expensive suit of grey white european silk. A slender cigarette hung from between his thin pale lips and his oddly colourless eyes moved constantly behind a pair of rectangular gold framed spectacles. As the gargoyle turned the man removed the glasses and polished them with a cloth which vanished back into the breast pocket of his coat as soon as it had appeared. He never removed his cigarette during the entire process, a thin stream of smoke twisting into the chilly air.

Sadjic Trioulscar was a well known figure in the murky underworld of the arcane. He claimed to be a vanilla mortal but there was a sense of power and menace about him which left others wary. Although he had a Cypriot passport, inquiries into his past either lead nowhere or the people asking the questions conveniently vanishing. Sadjic made his living as a broker of sorts, moving between the various factions of the supernatural world dispensing and collecting favors.

“A great tragedy to lose Herr Mauser,” Sadjic said with a glance towards the flurry of police activity.

“And at such a delicate time,” he made clucking sound as though it were indeed a great pity. Behind him, half concealed by the early morning light was a black luxury sedan. The driver sat with his hands on the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead as though a mannequin rather than a man.

“Not a good time to be an outcast with few allies, not so? Once the finger pointing starts, who knows where, or on whom it will land?”

Friends Like These

Sadjic wants to offer Othen a deal that will sound like it will help him but will actually backfire

_________________________________
@Sophrus

Thaum had no sooner moved off down the street than a large panel van with the stenciled legend ‘City of Detroit’ on both sides turned onto the road. As rare as public works were in the city these days the vehicle should have aroused attention but no one so much as looked at the van as it pulled up to the curb and a half dozen figures, mostly men but a few women stepped out. Each of them wore city of Detroit utility coveralls and carried a large duffel bag. With calm almost bored efficiency they headed into the apartment building.

The Guardians of the Peace, more commonly known simply as Guardians, or be less pleasant nicknames, were the shock troops of the Council of Wizards. Functioning as something between police and paramilitary death squads few groups were as universally feared and hated as Guardians. All Guardians possessed latent magical ability, the sort of thing that in ordinary circumstances would never amount to much beyond a miraculous escape, or an unexplained streak of luck. Recruited by the Council a Guardian underwent a ritual of empowerment and was subject to a series of geas which made them something more, or less, than human. They were completely loyal and incorruptible and, although not wizards themselves, were capable of feat of magic which made them a threat to almost any member of the supernatural community.

The first Guardian to reach the door, a bulky main with neat dark hair, extended a hand toward the door jam and paused. After a moment he withdrew a rune inscribed rod and bought it down firmly against the latch plate with a flash of amber light. There were a few people on the street, a mother pushing a stroller and a few joggers but none of them seemed to even notice the unusual event. Thaum turned the corner on the strange scene and hurried on, as he passed an alley however he felt a presence behind him and something press up against his back.

“Fancy meeting you here,” came a husky and decidedly female voice. Whatever was pressing into his back clearly wasn't a gun, but that wasn’t necessarily a good sign.

“Everyone out looking for the man who killed Mauser and he just happens to walk past.”

Dangling pointer

Whoever this is wants to here Thaum's side of the story but wont hesitate to turn him over to the Guardians

________________________________
@Hour Error
The air outside was unseasonably cold. Wind heavy with moisture but not quite ready to bury the city with snow whipped through the streets. Even to the dead it was cold and for mortals it was reason enough to keep off the streets. Years of indifferent maintenance meant that the pavement was undulating and uneven beneath Vera’s feet. Of the lights meant to illuminate the dark streets perhaps one in three still functioned. Some had been smashed by thrown rocks, others buy bored gangbanbers with handguns, hell there were even a few genuine electrical faults.

As Vera turned off the street that the Necronomicon claimed as its own a car began to slow behind her. It was a beat up ford that might once have been blue but years of indifferent maintenance had left black or grey. One of the doors had been replaced at some point and no one had ever even pretended to match the paint and a blow, either a boot or a minor fender bender had dished in the back door almost to the wheel well. The passenger side window rolled down, the result of old fashioned handle rolling rather than an electrical type. A man with a crew cut and a flat unpleasant face leered at her.

“Hey baby, wanna keep me and my friends company?” he called. There was something brittle about his tone that might have gone unnoticed to a regular mortal but rang hollow to a vampire, even a slightly drunk one. There were two other men in the car, though they were concealed behind tinted windows and by the angle that the vehicle made to her. The wind shifted ever so slightly bringing her the subtle wiff subtle whiff of cordite and machine oil.

Operation Pixie Dust

The car contains a group of vampire hunters who are about to try to put a hit on Vera