N3v3rM0r3
Ezekiel
Pizza Box
RPM
Hos
rush99999
tadcfnaf
Syrenrei
Zeus23Because I personally love the house coming down motif. I say we start in London right as the second inquisition is burning everything down. Its Tuseday night... oh fuck now there are drone strikes.
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 19 days ago
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19 days ago
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Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
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27 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
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3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
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Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
In
Is anyone interested in Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition?
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Tabletop Interest Checks
Junebug laughed and swatted at Neil half heartedly. The pilot danced back evading the blow without effort and continuing to duck and weave dramatically. She crossed to a small side board of hand carved rosewood. The piece was very impressive, clearly old and hand carved, it would have fetched a fine price on more civilized worlds where art had more value than the merely utilitarian. She opened the cabinet and lifted out a dark green bottle with a long neck and a spherical bulb for a bottom. She pulled the cork and sniffed it, it was sharp, acrid and clearly alcoholic. She tossed the bottle to Neil who snagged it from the air with characteristic grace, then retrieve a second bottle, this one squarish with a glass stopper and took a long drink from the neck. The bottles were sufficiently fancy that she could at least hope they didn’t turn out to be furniture polish.
The afternoon was beginning to fade to evening and the first of Hahn’s three moons was rising in the west. The heat, baked into the rocks by the days sun, had yet to fade though a cool breeze was blowing now that made it seem ten degrees cooler. She started out of the elaborately arched window, watching the crowds flow back and forth, the locals seemed to be heading towards evening meals and the spacers were as chaotic as ever. She wanted another cigar even though that meant spending a cycle in the medicomp to repair her lung capacity. Perhaps once it was full dark they would go out and see what they could find.
“A lot of shit went down,” she said forthrightly turning to look at Neil who had ceased capering and was sniffing suspiciously at his own bottle.
“You have yet to tell me the story with Saxon and Sven, and we should figure out what we are going to do with them.” Junebug didn’t doubt that they could abandon the pair on Hahn when they were ready to go but she wasn’t sure what Neil wanted to do.
“We have repairs to make on the ship and we have almost no money,” Junebug went on. She wasn’t exactly worried about that, people with weapons and the will to use them seldom went hungry, but it was something to think about.
“Then there are the Terrans and everything that happened with that,” she deliberately didn’t mention Woods or the fact that they probably had a massive bounty on their heads. She dimly regretted not launching a couple of torpedos inside the hangar of the November Sky, but there hadn’t been time to think about it at the time.
“I…” she trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed, then took a drink and forged ahead.
“I ran myself through the medicomp shortly after we got away, my cortisol and epinephrine is way up and i’ve added muscle mass. My synapses are ten percent above the last scan I had before Dar’mond too. I think the Terrans did something to me while I was in their med bay but the medicomp doesn't know what. I feel hyped up, like all the fucking time.” That wasn’t the only thing, her emotional control wasn’t as sharp as she would like, but there was no reason to worry Neil more than she had too. Shaking her head, she took another swallow of the liquor. It was way too sweet, as seemed to be the custom, maybe they could get some decent booze when they went out also.
“Goddess don’t look at me like I’m dying, I just want to tear someone’s head off slightly more than usual,” she said at the concerned look on Neil’s face. Outside came a few scattered cracks of gunfire, though it sounded more like the disorganized fun of a bunch of people with firearms than anything to worry about. Sayeeda made a dismissive gesture with the neck of her bottle.
“Staff meeting alright, we need to get our heads on right and figure out what the fuck we are doing here.”
The afternoon was beginning to fade to evening and the first of Hahn’s three moons was rising in the west. The heat, baked into the rocks by the days sun, had yet to fade though a cool breeze was blowing now that made it seem ten degrees cooler. She started out of the elaborately arched window, watching the crowds flow back and forth, the locals seemed to be heading towards evening meals and the spacers were as chaotic as ever. She wanted another cigar even though that meant spending a cycle in the medicomp to repair her lung capacity. Perhaps once it was full dark they would go out and see what they could find.
“A lot of shit went down,” she said forthrightly turning to look at Neil who had ceased capering and was sniffing suspiciously at his own bottle.
“You have yet to tell me the story with Saxon and Sven, and we should figure out what we are going to do with them.” Junebug didn’t doubt that they could abandon the pair on Hahn when they were ready to go but she wasn’t sure what Neil wanted to do.
“We have repairs to make on the ship and we have almost no money,” Junebug went on. She wasn’t exactly worried about that, people with weapons and the will to use them seldom went hungry, but it was something to think about.
“Then there are the Terrans and everything that happened with that,” she deliberately didn’t mention Woods or the fact that they probably had a massive bounty on their heads. She dimly regretted not launching a couple of torpedos inside the hangar of the November Sky, but there hadn’t been time to think about it at the time.
“I…” she trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed, then took a drink and forged ahead.
“I ran myself through the medicomp shortly after we got away, my cortisol and epinephrine is way up and i’ve added muscle mass. My synapses are ten percent above the last scan I had before Dar’mond too. I think the Terrans did something to me while I was in their med bay but the medicomp doesn't know what. I feel hyped up, like all the fucking time.” That wasn’t the only thing, her emotional control wasn’t as sharp as she would like, but there was no reason to worry Neil more than she had too. Shaking her head, she took another swallow of the liquor. It was way too sweet, as seemed to be the custom, maybe they could get some decent booze when they went out also.
“Goddess don’t look at me like I’m dying, I just want to tear someone’s head off slightly more than usual,” she said at the concerned look on Neil’s face. Outside came a few scattered cracks of gunfire, though it sounded more like the disorganized fun of a bunch of people with firearms than anything to worry about. Sayeeda made a dismissive gesture with the neck of her bottle.
“Staff meeting alright, we need to get our heads on right and figure out what the fuck we are doing here.”
@POOHEAD189
There were many glades in the world with power. Most were in archaic and out of the way places, concealed in the bosoms of wild woodlands or primordial forests. But as cities decayed, nature, eternally patient returned. Caber found what he was looking for in the crumbling suburbs. A large, once well to do house sat empty, a forlorn for sale sign was rapidly being devoured by the unmowed lawn and notices of foreclosure were pinned to the door. In the backyard grew a great oak tree from which hung an ancient tire swing, its rope fraying and the bottom of the tire filled with brackish half frozen water. As they fae approached the winter wind shook free the last of the autumn leaves, which fluttered slowly towards to ground.
The tree itself remained majestic, its roots sunk deep into the soil and its bark gnarled and armored against the worst the winter could throw at it. Ivy grew up around its base though it was brown and dormant, its leaves shriveled as it girdled the oak like a shroud. Around the vast oak trees and bushes grew with an unusual vigor, clustering and reaching towards the mother tree like supplicants to an ancient priest.
Despite the strangely primal aspect of the place, there was a sense of wrongness about it that Caber had not sensed on his previous visits to the glade of Silvanus. There was a spike of cold iron, ever the bane of the fae, driven into the trunk at about chest level. Oak sap already freezing ran from the strange wound like blood. On the end of the spike was an even stranger sight. A barbie doll, dressed as tinkerbell, complete with green dress and gossamer wings, hung in the process of scattering fairy dust, the mockery all but dripping from the plastic toys lips.
There were many glades in the world with power. Most were in archaic and out of the way places, concealed in the bosoms of wild woodlands or primordial forests. But as cities decayed, nature, eternally patient returned. Caber found what he was looking for in the crumbling suburbs. A large, once well to do house sat empty, a forlorn for sale sign was rapidly being devoured by the unmowed lawn and notices of foreclosure were pinned to the door. In the backyard grew a great oak tree from which hung an ancient tire swing, its rope fraying and the bottom of the tire filled with brackish half frozen water. As they fae approached the winter wind shook free the last of the autumn leaves, which fluttered slowly towards to ground.
The tree itself remained majestic, its roots sunk deep into the soil and its bark gnarled and armored against the worst the winter could throw at it. Ivy grew up around its base though it was brown and dormant, its leaves shriveled as it girdled the oak like a shroud. Around the vast oak trees and bushes grew with an unusual vigor, clustering and reaching towards the mother tree like supplicants to an ancient priest.
Despite the strangely primal aspect of the place, there was a sense of wrongness about it that Caber had not sensed on his previous visits to the glade of Silvanus. There was a spike of cold iron, ever the bane of the fae, driven into the trunk at about chest level. Oak sap already freezing ran from the strange wound like blood. On the end of the spike was an even stranger sight. A barbie doll, dressed as tinkerbell, complete with green dress and gossamer wings, hung in the process of scattering fairy dust, the mockery all but dripping from the plastic toys lips.
Calliope stared at the semi-corporeal litch with amazement. There were legends of such creatures, powerful mages who used their arts to stave off death, but she had never thought to meet one. Markus hung in the air suspended by the ghostly tendrils as Sron continued to pound rhythmically at the door. There was an unquestioned majesty to the being, it seemed to flicker between a handsome powerful man and a sunken corpse like a strobe, never quite stable and always in flux. She could feel the things arcane strength and she yearned to understand the mystery it represented.
“I wouldn’t want to live in a world where we got what we deserved,” she said, casting a scornful lk at Markus.
“And I don’t doubt he would cut my throat if it profited him, let us make a compact you and I, but let me take the captain, it would please me to have power over one who thinks himself my better.”
The lich laughed cruelly and guestured at Markus, blasting the pirate into unconsciousness with a negligent wave of his hand. The door began to splinter under Sron’s continual battering and the lich turned his empty eyesockets towards the straining timbers.
“I’ll need a crew if I am to do your bidding in the wider world,” Calliope pointed out. The lich seemed to consider this and then made an obscure gesture. The paving stones on the library floor began to grind and flow, opening slowly in a downward spiral, books rattled from the shelves and feel fluttering to the ground. Calliope backed instinctively away from the yawning void that was opening but the litch swooped across the gulf and snatched her up in his arms and then plunged downwards into the darkness.
Calliope opened her eyes and found herself in a large circular chamber. It must have began life as an armory or perhaps a powder magazine far below the keep. Vaulted arches supported the hexagonal walls and ceiling with a gothic grandeur. The walls were lined with alchemical equipment. Strange glowing liquids dripped through copper coiled piping. Ambelics and beakers bubbled on ghostly white arcane flames. The air was thick with the smell of strange herbs and other unguessable substances which lined the shelves in jars and bottles of every conceivable shape. Several corpses hung from brass rings in the ceilings, and though all were significantly decayed, it was clear that they had been butchered and some of their organs harvested. On one of the walls were a collection of spell books and scrolls that made Calliope’s mouth water.
“Let us seal our compact apprentice, then we shall slay your crew, I can teach you how to breathe unlife into their bodies, you will find they are much more to your liking when their only thought is to do your will. The litch picked up a dagger of obsidian from a central table that was already stained with blood.
Calliope nodded and the amulet at her breast pulsed hot as though in objection to this course of action but she ignored it.
“Before we do, let me take my vengeance on the good captain here, it must be mine alone,” she purred. The litch laughed at the bloodlust in her voice and made a gesture. Bronze shackles sprang into existence around the pirates wrists and then wrapped the ceiling beams suspending Markus before her. The pirates eyes fluttered open and he found himself completely at her mercy.
“So nice of you to join us captain,” she mocked, “oh don’t struggle, even if you could kill me, my master cannot be slain so long as his phylactery remains intact.”
“What are you doing you faithless whore!” Markus snarled. Calliope laughed and drew her sword.
“This is going to take a long time for you,” she said and mouthed a spell. Fire leaped along the blade of her sword and she could feel the litch’s expectant glee behind her. She moved the blade close to Markus’ face so that his stubble beard began to smoulder.
“One good turn deserves another,” she said pleasantly, drew back her sword and delivered an over hand slash. The blade arced through the air like a serpent. There was a titanic crash as the flaming blade struck full force against the jade ring Markus wore, shattering it in an arcane detonation that broke every vial on the shelf and threw Calliope to the ground. The Litch howled in a pain which was beyond physical injury and recoiled as though struck with a cannon ball.
“I will eat your soul!” the thing shrieked but Calliope was already incanting another spell. Using the same shield spell she had used in the dungeons of Calaverde she neatly severed the shackles holding Markus suspended and he dropped to the the ground. The undead thing wasn’t defeated but without its phylactery it was at least vulnerable
Sayeeda reacted by instinct, on her own account she was not one to watch a child be beaten or killed by an armored man, but Neil’s action removed and need for consideration. Aiding a friend in a brawl wasn’t something she needed to think about. With scarcely a heart beats pause she stamped her boot down, trapping the bouncing brass casing beneath her boot. She blew out another stream of smoking, mingling with the gun smoke. Roaring with anger the masked tough jumped to his feet, glaring hatefully after the retrating boy. Balked of that prize he turned in anger towards the three spacers. Taya tensed but Junebug put a hand on her knee beneath the table and continued to smoke.
“Was that your doing?” the man snarled, his consanants grinding and choppy. He evidently wasn’t human, or if he was he had suffered extensive damage to his throat at some point.
“Was what our doing?” Sayeeda asked her tone bored and disinterested. She deliberately wafted smoke in the mans direction.
“I didn’t see any doing,” Neil protested innocently.
“Listen space heads someone shot the leg from my chair, do you think I’m blind?!” he made a gestured at the holstered gun slung over the back of Sayeeda’s chair.
“Either blind or stupid,” Sayeeda retorted with a laugh. She pointed at the pistol without moving to draw it.
“This is clearly a plasma pistol, and as your chair isn’t on fire…”
“You would have me believe you are blameless!” the thug roared, for all his anger he hadn’t yet made a move for a weapon which was a very good thing because given how fast Neil was it was going to be the very last thing he and his pretty jacket ever did.
“There is only one possible conclusion,” Taya said unexpectedly, the helmeted head pivoted to regard the blond girl as she sat primly upright.
“And what is that little slut,” the bravo rasped. Taya ignored the insult and leaned forward conspiratorially.
“The kind must have back up,” she whispered seriously.
“I’ll bet he has a pint sized sniper concealed in those bushes!” It really wasn’t a smart move but Sayeeda burst into full throated laughter at the unexpected quip feeling the tension of long days in the RIP ebb in the moment. The stranger not sharing her amusement reached for a weapon. There was a sudden and unmistakable sound of a large caliber round being chambered. Everyone froze.
“I am sorry for the interruption good sir and madams,” came an accented voice from behind the belligerent man. Between the four principals and the bar stood a man dressed in a dirty chefs smock and a pair of pantaloons. He was fat and hairy and he looked as though he were sweating from the effort of moving as fast as he evidently had. A battered fez with a golden tassel hung over his head and he would have looked completely ridiculous were it not for the fact that he held a truly massive shotgun leveled at the masked man. It must have been a rocket gun of some sort because a breach that big was impractical for a man to fire without at least powered armor to soak the recoil.
“Management reserves the right to refuse service,” the fellow said in his thick accent, twitching the barrel to indicate the man should leave.
“I am Xir son of Xzdir and I will not forget this insult,” he grated raspily through the rebreather. Junebug’s blood burned with adrenilne and the desire for action, she badly wanted to take all the frustraton and fear of the last few days out on this idiot but she held herself back. Instead she leaned slightly to the side picking up her plate and holding it out to the side.
“What are you doing?!” the Xir roared his eyes flicking between the chef and the three Highlanders.
“Well I haven’t quite finished yet,” she pointed out reaonsabley waggling the plate in slight emphasis.
“I dont want to get pieces of Xir son of whoever the fuck in it if this all goes sideways.”
Neil and Taya both snorted with laughter and the grinding of Xir’s teeth was almost audible.
“You haven’t heard the last of me,” Xir promised darkly. Junebug made a flicking motion with her free hand. The big man turned to go but the chef held up a finger and waggled it.
“Ah my friend, it is a hot day, perhaps you best leave the coat,” the chef said, though his voice and tone fooled nobody. Xir froze and the rage coming of him was an almost physical thing. The threat hung their for a long moment as Xir weighed his options.
“You cannot rob me in broad daylight merchant,” Xir ground.
“Ah, but it not robbery, it is a recompense for threatening my sons life and as for cannot… either take of the coat or step to the side so that I am not force to ruin the ladys’ kinshana. He punctuated the remark by raking the slide back and chambering another round in the vast gun. Xir pulled his coat off and tossed it to the ground with a snarl. He wore a powered exosuit of unfamiliar design, made of greenish black plasteel.
“I will not forget this!” he blustered and stormed off. The chef watched him go for a long moment before laying the gun on the table and picking up the coat. Without concern he tossed it to a quizzical looking Neil.
“My friends I owe you a great debt!” the fellow said, smiling like the sun rise before clapping his palms together and bowing from the waist. Conversation began to pick up as people returned to their meals. Sayeeda’s body buzzed like live circuit she was hyped up from the confrontation without any opportunity to burn the adrenaline in action. Right now she had a powerful urge to fuck something or kill someone, or maybe she could settle for getting really really drunk.
“I am Amir son of Hamesh and I say that it is so!” he raced back to the bar and reached over it, giving them an unpleasant view of his pantaloons and their none too tightly sinched belt. A moment later he emerged with a clay vessel of glazed brown pottery. The cork came out with a musical pop and he whisked away their glasses tossing their palm wine out on the floor.
“You do not drink that camels piss,” he declared and filled their glasses from the vessel. It smelled vaguely of currents and was clear as pure water though the fumes coming off it stung Sayeeda eyes. She picked up the glass and tossed it back, expecting a harsh spirit but it went down smooth and cool as ice. If Amir objected to what must have been very fine liquor being treated that way he didn’t show it, refilling her glass with the same graceful enthusiasm.
“If there is anything you need you just ask Amir,” he said earnestly. Sayeeda cocked her head in the general direction of the departed Xir.
“Do you get alot of that kind of thing?” she asked. Amir made a pwash sound and flicked a hand dismissively.
“No, there are treasure hunters in town, every few year there are rumors that the Treasure of Hutan Shah has been found and the fools go out in their hundreds to look for it.”
“Was that your doing?” the man snarled, his consanants grinding and choppy. He evidently wasn’t human, or if he was he had suffered extensive damage to his throat at some point.
“Was what our doing?” Sayeeda asked her tone bored and disinterested. She deliberately wafted smoke in the mans direction.
“I didn’t see any doing,” Neil protested innocently.
“Listen space heads someone shot the leg from my chair, do you think I’m blind?!” he made a gestured at the holstered gun slung over the back of Sayeeda’s chair.
“Either blind or stupid,” Sayeeda retorted with a laugh. She pointed at the pistol without moving to draw it.
“This is clearly a plasma pistol, and as your chair isn’t on fire…”
“You would have me believe you are blameless!” the thug roared, for all his anger he hadn’t yet made a move for a weapon which was a very good thing because given how fast Neil was it was going to be the very last thing he and his pretty jacket ever did.
“There is only one possible conclusion,” Taya said unexpectedly, the helmeted head pivoted to regard the blond girl as she sat primly upright.
“And what is that little slut,” the bravo rasped. Taya ignored the insult and leaned forward conspiratorially.
“The kind must have back up,” she whispered seriously.
“I’ll bet he has a pint sized sniper concealed in those bushes!” It really wasn’t a smart move but Sayeeda burst into full throated laughter at the unexpected quip feeling the tension of long days in the RIP ebb in the moment. The stranger not sharing her amusement reached for a weapon. There was a sudden and unmistakable sound of a large caliber round being chambered. Everyone froze.
“I am sorry for the interruption good sir and madams,” came an accented voice from behind the belligerent man. Between the four principals and the bar stood a man dressed in a dirty chefs smock and a pair of pantaloons. He was fat and hairy and he looked as though he were sweating from the effort of moving as fast as he evidently had. A battered fez with a golden tassel hung over his head and he would have looked completely ridiculous were it not for the fact that he held a truly massive shotgun leveled at the masked man. It must have been a rocket gun of some sort because a breach that big was impractical for a man to fire without at least powered armor to soak the recoil.
“Management reserves the right to refuse service,” the fellow said in his thick accent, twitching the barrel to indicate the man should leave.
“I am Xir son of Xzdir and I will not forget this insult,” he grated raspily through the rebreather. Junebug’s blood burned with adrenilne and the desire for action, she badly wanted to take all the frustraton and fear of the last few days out on this idiot but she held herself back. Instead she leaned slightly to the side picking up her plate and holding it out to the side.
“What are you doing?!” the Xir roared his eyes flicking between the chef and the three Highlanders.
“Well I haven’t quite finished yet,” she pointed out reaonsabley waggling the plate in slight emphasis.
“I dont want to get pieces of Xir son of whoever the fuck in it if this all goes sideways.”
Neil and Taya both snorted with laughter and the grinding of Xir’s teeth was almost audible.
“You haven’t heard the last of me,” Xir promised darkly. Junebug made a flicking motion with her free hand. The big man turned to go but the chef held up a finger and waggled it.
“Ah my friend, it is a hot day, perhaps you best leave the coat,” the chef said, though his voice and tone fooled nobody. Xir froze and the rage coming of him was an almost physical thing. The threat hung their for a long moment as Xir weighed his options.
“You cannot rob me in broad daylight merchant,” Xir ground.
“Ah, but it not robbery, it is a recompense for threatening my sons life and as for cannot… either take of the coat or step to the side so that I am not force to ruin the ladys’ kinshana. He punctuated the remark by raking the slide back and chambering another round in the vast gun. Xir pulled his coat off and tossed it to the ground with a snarl. He wore a powered exosuit of unfamiliar design, made of greenish black plasteel.
“I will not forget this!” he blustered and stormed off. The chef watched him go for a long moment before laying the gun on the table and picking up the coat. Without concern he tossed it to a quizzical looking Neil.
“My friends I owe you a great debt!” the fellow said, smiling like the sun rise before clapping his palms together and bowing from the waist. Conversation began to pick up as people returned to their meals. Sayeeda’s body buzzed like live circuit she was hyped up from the confrontation without any opportunity to burn the adrenaline in action. Right now she had a powerful urge to fuck something or kill someone, or maybe she could settle for getting really really drunk.
“I am Amir son of Hamesh and I say that it is so!” he raced back to the bar and reached over it, giving them an unpleasant view of his pantaloons and their none too tightly sinched belt. A moment later he emerged with a clay vessel of glazed brown pottery. The cork came out with a musical pop and he whisked away their glasses tossing their palm wine out on the floor.
“You do not drink that camels piss,” he declared and filled their glasses from the vessel. It smelled vaguely of currents and was clear as pure water though the fumes coming off it stung Sayeeda eyes. She picked up the glass and tossed it back, expecting a harsh spirit but it went down smooth and cool as ice. If Amir objected to what must have been very fine liquor being treated that way he didn’t show it, refilling her glass with the same graceful enthusiasm.
“If there is anything you need you just ask Amir,” he said earnestly. Sayeeda cocked her head in the general direction of the departed Xir.
“Do you get alot of that kind of thing?” she asked. Amir made a pwash sound and flicked a hand dismissively.
“No, there are treasure hunters in town, every few year there are rumors that the Treasure of Hutan Shah has been found and the fools go out in their hundreds to look for it.”
In
Is anyone interested in Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition?
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Tabletop Interest Checks
*urge to play a Tremere intensifies*
Glossary
The cell door clanged shut with shocking force. After a pause of less than a heartbeat the heavy electromagnetic locks fired, sealing the cell. Kyra Ren took a step back from the doorway cursing with enough originality that even the guard seemed. That was fair, In fifteen years of wandering the spinward colonies she had enjoyed plenty of opportunities to learn. Not for the first time she cursed the day she had ever heard of Benson. It had seemed like a simple job, in and out and score a few thousand credits without anyone the wiser, instead it looked like she might be here quite a bit longer than she had planned. That wasn't such a bad outcome in the grand scheme of things, plenty of places they would have just shot her.
“Your mother should have spat you out you ditch dropped son of a Keefian whore!” she screamed at the back of the departing guard. The other prisoners hooted and jeered and the guard paused for a moment and then walked from the cells without a further word. Kyra was a trim woman in her late twenties, lean and pale skinned with slightly upturned eyes which bespoke ancestry in one of the long burn colonies in East March of the Taurian J. She had short blonde hair which hung in an untidy series of tresses and braids that were badly in need of washing. She wasn’t stunning, certainly not in her current disheveled state, but she had a vivacity and intensity that turned heads or least she normally did. Currently, dressed in a shapeless spacers jumpsuit and covered in yellow gray uranium dust she didn’t cut much of a figure.
The jail, like most structures on Benson, was a prefab unit, the kind of low cost, low density, high endurance structure that could be customized in anyone of a dozen configurations. The individual cells were ribbed metal containers with woven wire paneling that had probably began life as transport for cattle or other livestock before being downgraded for human beings. There was an open air toilet and a sink at the far end but no other furniture. Either the locals didn’t expect people to remain here long, or, more likely, they didn’t care much about their prisoners comfort. Unfortunately, the plural of prisoners was true in this case.
A man, bearded and disheveled grinned at her without warmth while a fat woman with lank hair sat in the far corner by the toilet, her arms drawn up around her knees with an expression of misery on her face. The man took a step towards her, his eyes gleaming with an unwholesome hunger.
“Why don’t you just go along with it girl, old Jeb will show you how things are…”
Kyra kicked him hard in the knee, waiting till his weight was on it and angling the blow to drive the joint outward away from its natural alignment. The big man screamed and twisted downwards, only to meet her knee as she drove it upwards into his chin, cutting off his scream with a clack of teeth that was painful even to hear. It was probably unnecessary for her to drive her elbow into his kidney as he fell, but Kyra had been taught that you didn’t stop putting the boot in just because the other fellow was down. The man, Jeb she presumed, fell in a writhing heap. She grabbed his shoulder with her wiry fingers and pulled him over onto his back, expending far more effort than it had taken to put him down. Blood leaked from his lips from where he had bitten his own tongue. Without wasting time or motion she knelt down on his chest pressing her forehead to his. The mans breath was foul with old booze and some sort of herbal tobacco but she paid it no mind. Instead she pressed a finger to his temple and focused her mind.
“You will never touch me again,” she commanded pouring her will into the words. Jeb whimpered and his eyes rolled back into his head. As far as projection went, it was about as simple and brutal a technique as you could use. There was the sharp smell of urine on the air, Jeb had wet himself when she had assaulted his mind. Unsteadily she pushed herself to her feet and glanced at the woman cowering in the corner. SHe looked away instantly unwilling to meet Kyra’s eyes.
“Fuck this fucking planet,” she cursed a moment before one of the guards hit her from behind with a shock batton and she was hurled into unconsciousness.
@Flagg
“Your mother should have spat you out you ditch dropped son of a Keefian whore!” she screamed at the back of the departing guard. The other prisoners hooted and jeered and the guard paused for a moment and then walked from the cells without a further word. Kyra was a trim woman in her late twenties, lean and pale skinned with slightly upturned eyes which bespoke ancestry in one of the long burn colonies in East March of the Taurian J. She had short blonde hair which hung in an untidy series of tresses and braids that were badly in need of washing. She wasn’t stunning, certainly not in her current disheveled state, but she had a vivacity and intensity that turned heads or least she normally did. Currently, dressed in a shapeless spacers jumpsuit and covered in yellow gray uranium dust she didn’t cut much of a figure.
The jail, like most structures on Benson, was a prefab unit, the kind of low cost, low density, high endurance structure that could be customized in anyone of a dozen configurations. The individual cells were ribbed metal containers with woven wire paneling that had probably began life as transport for cattle or other livestock before being downgraded for human beings. There was an open air toilet and a sink at the far end but no other furniture. Either the locals didn’t expect people to remain here long, or, more likely, they didn’t care much about their prisoners comfort. Unfortunately, the plural of prisoners was true in this case.
A man, bearded and disheveled grinned at her without warmth while a fat woman with lank hair sat in the far corner by the toilet, her arms drawn up around her knees with an expression of misery on her face. The man took a step towards her, his eyes gleaming with an unwholesome hunger.
“Why don’t you just go along with it girl, old Jeb will show you how things are…”
Kyra kicked him hard in the knee, waiting till his weight was on it and angling the blow to drive the joint outward away from its natural alignment. The big man screamed and twisted downwards, only to meet her knee as she drove it upwards into his chin, cutting off his scream with a clack of teeth that was painful even to hear. It was probably unnecessary for her to drive her elbow into his kidney as he fell, but Kyra had been taught that you didn’t stop putting the boot in just because the other fellow was down. The man, Jeb she presumed, fell in a writhing heap. She grabbed his shoulder with her wiry fingers and pulled him over onto his back, expending far more effort than it had taken to put him down. Blood leaked from his lips from where he had bitten his own tongue. Without wasting time or motion she knelt down on his chest pressing her forehead to his. The mans breath was foul with old booze and some sort of herbal tobacco but she paid it no mind. Instead she pressed a finger to his temple and focused her mind.
“You will never touch me again,” she commanded pouring her will into the words. Jeb whimpered and his eyes rolled back into his head. As far as projection went, it was about as simple and brutal a technique as you could use. There was the sharp smell of urine on the air, Jeb had wet himself when she had assaulted his mind. Unsteadily she pushed herself to her feet and glanced at the woman cowering in the corner. SHe looked away instantly unwilling to meet Kyra’s eyes.
“Fuck this fucking planet,” she cursed a moment before one of the guards hit her from behind with a shock batton and she was hurled into unconsciousness.
@Flagg
Chapter 1
Benson - Epsilon Sub Sector, disputed space
“Where you from, stranger?” asked the barkeep.
“Nowhere in particular,” said Augustine.
“Off worlder, huh?” said the barkeep, “Can tell from the accent. Don’t get too many of you all ‘round here. Don’t get too many of any kind ‘round here though, to be honest. Not much to do ‘cept dig up uranium and hunt clavisaurs. Get eaten by clavisaurs’ also an option I guess.”
The barkeep paused, thinking on something. “I think the sheriff arrested one last night though,” he said, “ ‘nother off worlder I mean. With you?”
“No one’s with me, friend,” said Augustine. He tipped his hat back to reveal a face weathered by the elements but hard to gauge age-wise, “You gonna pour me a drink or what?”
“Sure, sure,” said the barkeep, voice rising, “Just makin’ conversation. Slow here in the morning no one’s back from the mines to do-”
“What’s the strongest thing you got?”
“Uh, nest wine, I guess,” said the barkeep, “Not really wine. Fermented from the fungus found in the nests of-”
“Don’t need the details,” said Augustine, holding up a hand, “I’ll take a double. What kind of coin you take?”
“Imperial or Union- it’s all the same out here,” said the barkeep.
Augustine flipped a crown onto the bar and the barkeep let out a little gasp.
“Keep the fungus stuff flowin’.”
The saloon doors slid open and a lanky, humanoid simulant clanked in, chrome plating patched in places with rust. Its optics whirred and clicked as they adjusted to the gloom of the bar.
“Don’t have nothin’ for your kind,” said the barkeep.
“Ulysses there is with me,” said Augustine, “he’s alright.”
“Thought you said no one was with you.”
“Well I s’pose that’s a philosophical question- is a sim a someone?”
“That which we are, we are,” said Ulysses, its voice a cool flat monotone.
“A what question?” asked the barkeep.
“Pour me a fuckin’ drink, will you?” said Augustine, turning to the sim, “What’ja find?”
The sim clanked over and handed Augustine a small dataslate. He frowned as he read.
“This for real?” he asked. The barkeep slid a glass of something green down the bar. Augustine downed it with a wince and tapped the bar for another.
The sim nodded its scuffed and battered metal head, “Confirmed.”
The barkeep looked suspiciously at his customer and the sim, “What’re you all up to?”
Augustine sipped his drink and smiled, “Ain’t only uranium they’re mining out here, my friend.”
Benson - Epsilon Sub Sector, disputed space
“Where you from, stranger?” asked the barkeep.
“Nowhere in particular,” said Augustine.
“Off worlder, huh?” said the barkeep, “Can tell from the accent. Don’t get too many of you all ‘round here. Don’t get too many of any kind ‘round here though, to be honest. Not much to do ‘cept dig up uranium and hunt clavisaurs. Get eaten by clavisaurs’ also an option I guess.”
The barkeep paused, thinking on something. “I think the sheriff arrested one last night though,” he said, “ ‘nother off worlder I mean. With you?”
“No one’s with me, friend,” said Augustine. He tipped his hat back to reveal a face weathered by the elements but hard to gauge age-wise, “You gonna pour me a drink or what?”
“Sure, sure,” said the barkeep, voice rising, “Just makin’ conversation. Slow here in the morning no one’s back from the mines to do-”
“What’s the strongest thing you got?”
“Uh, nest wine, I guess,” said the barkeep, “Not really wine. Fermented from the fungus found in the nests of-”
“Don’t need the details,” said Augustine, holding up a hand, “I’ll take a double. What kind of coin you take?”
“Imperial or Union- it’s all the same out here,” said the barkeep.
Augustine flipped a crown onto the bar and the barkeep let out a little gasp.
“Keep the fungus stuff flowin’.”
The saloon doors slid open and a lanky, humanoid simulant clanked in, chrome plating patched in places with rust. Its optics whirred and clicked as they adjusted to the gloom of the bar.
“Don’t have nothin’ for your kind,” said the barkeep.
“Ulysses there is with me,” said Augustine, “he’s alright.”
“Thought you said no one was with you.”
“Well I s’pose that’s a philosophical question- is a sim a someone?”
“That which we are, we are,” said Ulysses, its voice a cool flat monotone.
“A what question?” asked the barkeep.
“Pour me a fuckin’ drink, will you?” said Augustine, turning to the sim, “What’ja find?”
The sim clanked over and handed Augustine a small dataslate. He frowned as he read.
“This for real?” he asked. The barkeep slid a glass of something green down the bar. Augustine downed it with a wince and tapped the bar for another.
The sim nodded its scuffed and battered metal head, “Confirmed.”
The barkeep looked suspiciously at his customer and the sim, “What’re you all up to?”
Augustine sipped his drink and smiled, “Ain’t only uranium they’re mining out here, my friend.”
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