Penny

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

Probably not familiar enough with the world to write in it

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

*Tosses a coin to her witcher*

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

A noble’s education was very extensive. Rene could speak intelligently on history, philosophy and the sciences. He could run an estate, recruit retainers and adjudicate disputes between vassals. He knew the byzantine minutia required to operate at court, he could fence, he could dance and he could discuss poetry and although he had no aptitude for creating it, could discuss and appreciate music. He had hunted game on Capella and knew how to track, fish and live outdoors. The brutal regime of training and exercises since his enlistment in the Marines had taught him to fight, to shoot, to clear a building and to plant a demolition charge. It appeared though, that this wealth of experience did not include any particular flair for the culinary arts. The stew was thin and bland, requiring the addition of considerable salt to give it any character at all beyond vaguely meat flavored. The two Syshin didn’t seem to mind, enthusiastically spooning the stuff into their mouths. Rosaria and Solae were a little more reserved, though they were both hungry and polite and made no complaint. Rene wished that it had come out better, not so much because he personally cared, the stew was as good or better than most military rations he had eaten, but because he wished that everything he did that touched on Solae was perfect. This was both a personal desire to make the woman he loved happy and a professional concern to execute his duty to the Duchess he served as well as he possibly could.

“Well,” Rene said judiciously, “I suppose we still have an opening for a chef.” The comment bought a snicker from Rosaria and a smile from Solae though the two Syshin did not react appreciably. Perhaps their alien olfactory senses rendered the stew into something less objectionable, or perhaps whatever Thorne’s overseers had fed them simply compared disfavorably.

“Speaking of openings,” Rosaria said brandishing her spoon.

“What are our jobs going to be, when are you going to start training us?”

Rene glanced at Solae who nodded her approval to proceed. Having spent the last weeks laser focused on reaching the PEA it felt surprisingly good to be laying out plans for future action. Neither he nor Solae had expected the Empress to be at the Winter House when they called Rene’s father to raise the alarm. Alric Du Quentain had spoken to his son at some length before he sent him to court in the Crystal City. The elder Quentain had considerable respect for the relatively young Mercedez whom he viewed as an intelligent, decisive and possibly brilliant leader. That assessment had been part of the calculus that had sent Renard to court rather than to the Fleet Academy or some other more traditional form of preparation for service. It was one thing to hear his father talk about it and another to actually see it. With a scant few minutes to consider the unexpected situation the Empress had, at a word, upended the political situation in the Eastern Cross in a manner that would be felt for years. Even if Solae were killed now the Falia family would replace the Tan’s as the governors of the sector. Systems of patronage would tumble like a series of dominos, shredding the existing hierarchies of Eastern Cross. Before Mercedez made her proclamation the only choice the Noble families had was to fall in line behind the Duke and hope that he emerged victorious. Now, families who had traditionally been vassals or clients had the option of breaking with their historical alliances and joining Solae, justifying the decision as both being in their own interests and demonstrating loyalty to the Empire. At a stroke Mercedez had destabilized Tan’s support and created a powerful class of loyalists in the event that Tan’s rebellion fell apart. Mercedez couldn’t simply snap her fingers and provide Solae with troops and fleets, especially if there was trouble on Capella, but with a word she had created exactly the kind of weapon that a diplomat like Solae was trained to use.

“Well,” Rene temporized, taking a moment to organize his thoughts.

“We have a couple of days to reach Kaloderi space, I’ll set up a range in the hold and give everyone some basic weapons training,” Rene said, making a vague gesture with his spoon.

“Yasure and Dasin will need to look like armsmen so its important that they look like they know how to handle weapons,” Rene explained. Ten had included uniforms for the purpose in his gift, though how he had managed to get the garments tailored for Syshin frames he had no idea. That was somewhat less surprising than the Marine dress uniform he had found in a travel case, complete with full and correct Imperial insignia down to the sword-through-planet service tabs. A few hours of weapons training wouldn’t turn the Syshin into soldiers, or even into marksmen, but it would give Rene some confidence that the two Syshin wouldn’t accidentally shoot themselves.

“Just them?” Rosaria asked somewhat poutily. Rene shook his head.

“Everyone. There are only five of us, it’s important that…” he trailed off uncertain of how to proceed. He was Solae’s military attache and it was important that he present the situation in particular terms. Solae was unusually truthful when it came to dealing with her retainers but maintaining morale was also important.

“We are going to need every advantage we can get,” Rene finished. He didn’t imagine that Rosaria knowing which end of a gun was which would make much of a difference, but it wasn’t as though they had a lot of margin.

“Maybe we can pass Rosaria off as a Handmaiden,” Rene mused with a questioning glance at Solae.

“A maid?!” the girl asked somewhat indignantly. Rene shook his head.

“A Handmaiden works as an agent of her principal. Usually they are members of noble families. They gain experience and favor in exchange for their services, ” Rene explained. Sometimes a Handmaiden was just an ornament, but more frequently they handled social intelligence, served as confidential couriers and acted as the eyes and ears of their Mistresses. Working as the Handmaiden of a Duchess would be a highly sought after position, a fact that Rosaria with her limited knowledge of the higher echelons of the Stellar Empire, didn’t yet appreciate.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug dived towards the water following the navigation line in her HUD. Her attention was too focused on the task to worry overmuch about Neil and Saxon’s bickering. Most of her experience had been with skimmers and flying did not come naturally to her, she had to fight her instincts to get close to the ground and prevent the smallest possible target. The three gliders dropped to nearly sea level for the final approach, racing over the water low enough that Sayeeda could see the turbulence from Neil’s wings whipping a white line across the green gray waters. They were actually on a slight upward trajectory now, using drag to slow them down as they raced toward the island while staying low enough to stay out of line of sight. The white gold sand raced toward them as they zipped over reefs and shoals at breakneck speed. Junebug had initially been in favor of inserting undercover of darkness, but Neil had reasonably argued that neither she nor Saxon had any experience with this kind of jump and complicating it by doing it in the dark only increased the risk without significantly improving their chances of avoiding detection.

By the time she crossed over the sand the airspeed was down to about thirty meters a second, still fast enough to kill her instantly if she made a mistake but almost languid compared to the near supersonic speed they had started out with, she lifted her control surface slightly and zoomed up over treeline and let the air break her until, at the last minute, she pulled up into a climb which killed the last of her speed and she fell the five meters to the ground. Her wings hit the jungle canopy and inevitably tangled, suspending her three or four meters above the jungle floor. It wasn’t exactly quiet, exotic birds cawed and other creatures yowled as the morning sunlight warmed the jungle, but compared to the almost deafening windrush of the past few minutes it seemed oddly serene. There was a crash somewhere off to her right as Saxon landed less gracefully than she had managed, crashing through the canopy to the ground. Junebug reached out and toggled the release catch on her chest harness, dropping the equipment bag to the ground below with a heavy thud. That accomplished she wrapped her legs around a nearby tree branch and unbuckled her wings before dropping gracefully to the leaf covered canopy below. There was no practical way to recover the wings and little likelihood anyone would stumble across them in any case so she abandoned them in place. Reaching the ground she removed the jump helmet and harness, stripping down to the cotton undershirt before opening her equipment bag to retrieve her own breastplate and weapons.

“Neil are you down ok?” she asked over her low powered mastoid radio. The weight of the ceramic breastplate was comforting as she slipped into it and closed the seals with deft snaps. She slung her rifle and checked the load before pulling on a web harness with a dozen pouches hung from its belt and H-straps, ammunition, explosives, and other equipment they were likely to need for the job.

Out on the Rim

“I’m having a speeder truck put at your disposal,” Haben said as he ended his communication.

“I can provide men if you require them.” Though his face was the same stoic mask, she could sense his excitement. Duty on Tatooine was certainly boring and he must imagine he was playing some important part in some byzantine black operation. Leyla shook her head.

“Best not attract any more attention than we need to, keep a low profile they told me,” she lied.

“You have been a great help Lieutenant,” Leyla said, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. The action allowed her to surruptiously pluck the comm unit from his pocket, reset the frequency and slip it back into place. He clearly wasn’t comfortable being touched by an alien, but that only made it a better distraction.

“Please tell your men to forget everything they saw here today,” she finished, removing her hand. Haben nodded.

“If I can ask, what is this stuff for?” he asked, nodding towards the weaponary. Leyla shrugged her shoulders.

“Above my paygrade I’m afraid,” she said feeding into the impression that she was nothing but a cut out for some shadowy deal.

“Maybe for the locals to shoot at aliens, maybe for aliens to shoot at the locals, whatever is needed to remind people of the benevolent and civilizing hand of the Empire,” she exlained. It was a wonder she could keep the words from sticking in her throat, but lying was like any other skill and she had gotten rather alot of practice. Haben put a finger to his nose and smiled before turning to his men.

“We are done here, move out,” he snapped, and they Imperials turned and marched off the ship. The hatch hissed closed behind them as the clanked down the ramp. Leyla kept her posture errect for a minute before slumping in relief.

“Idiots,” she muttered, though as always, duping the Imperials brought a smile to her face.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Whatever else Alayla Thorne had instructed her protege in the culinary arts clearly were not among them. Rosaria seemed perplexed as Rene handed her a knife and instructed her to dice some of the fresh vegetables Ten had included among the more stable long term rations. The Bonaventure’s galley was small, little more than a food preparation unit, a central table and a sink but it was sufficient for the task. Rene diced the frozen meat into cubes with a powered knife and then took pity on Rosaria and sliced the remainder of the tubers and pavalo into strips before pouring it all into one of the metal inserts that fit into the prep unit. That accomplished he added some salt and pepper and activated the unit. It hissed for a moment as high pressure steam filled the chamber and then a counter began to tick down.

“We could just heat up the frozen food,” Rosaria complained as Rene took the knife from her hand and rinsed it off.

“We could,” Rene agreed, “but fresh food will only last so long, and it might help our new friends to feel that they are all in this together if we share a meal we actually cook.” Communal meals were an important part of Syshin culture as the aliens didn’t express the same extreme individualism that many human societies embraced. A stew might be a simple meal but it sent the message that Solae didn’t look down upon her new retainers. That idea might be hard for the brutalized Syshin to internalize and thus it bore repeating. Rene was reminded of the way that Marine’s tended to eat together, though the thought made his stomach tighten. During basic training his high caloric requirements meant that he had constantly been hungry on the meager rations the corp deemed acceptable, even scrounging food from his friends he had lost more weight than had been healthy. Although the medics had been aware of the problem they had been reluctant to engage in favoritism towards someone of noble birth.

“You people think of everything in political terms don’t you,” Rosaria observed. Rene offered a tight smile.

“Not quite everything no, but life is politics, no matter where you are or what you are doing,” he observed.

“Let’s go find the others.”

Found Solae and the Syshin in the cargo hold, the appeared to be finishing a tour of the small ship. Rene glanced at the information display as he stepped through the hatch. Although Mia would inform them of any changes he found it comforting to echo the main bridge display on at least one screen in each major compartment. The voyage into Kaldorei space required three jumps, or at least Rene had approved a three jump route. It would have perhaps been possible to make it in two but speed and jump duration were not the only considerations. As a practical matter ships jumped between gravity masses, suns and blackholes for the most part, following the contours in space time. Though it was theoretically possible to jump between any two masses, the jump drives worked by exploiting differentials in the fabric of spacetime, and were orders of magnitude more effective when the masses they used to anchor the jumps were closer in astronomical terms. Exploration vessels were spherical and carefully uniform in density to allow them to make longer jumps, that wasn’t practical for freighters or warships and thus they tended to make short hops between systems that were relatively close. The Bonaventure was a tramp freighter whose drives, like the rest, of her were of questionable quality regardless of what Mia’s automated diagnostics. Rene had, therefore, selected a fairly conservative course. The first jump was to an unnamed system, simply an alphanumeric designator for a star orbited by a couple of unimpressive gas giants. The jump was in the general direction of the core worlds, a ruse to conceal their real destination, though Rene couldn’t imagine anyone would guess they were headed for Kaldorei space. From there they would dogleg back towards the galactic east, stopping to replenish air and water and to normalize the quantum inconsistency that jump drives eroded, before jumping to one of the gateway worlds where they could expect to encounter Kaldoeri and start whatever negotiations would take place. The first jump had a little over twenty eight hours left to go.

“This ship carried captives off New Concordia?” Yarue was asking, sounding understandably agitated. The hold smelled considerabley better and looked considerably cleaner than it had when they landed on Zatis. It occured to Rene that Mia had been making rudimentary attempts at housekeeping, probably by bastardizing plumbing to rinse the cargo hold of the stink of slaves. It was easy to forget that Mia was, at heart, a housekeeper.

“What happened to the crew? Yarue pressed, not quite glaring.

“All dead during the change of ownership,” Rene said as he came through the hatch.

“As Solae has told you, we have no tolerance for slavers,” he explained. Rene wouldn’t have executed the men out of hand, but he couldn’t have claimed to have shed any tears that they were gone.

“Do they have records of their transactions?” Yarue demanded. Rene exchanged a look with Solae.

“I don’t know but you are certainly welcome to look, or we can help you if you need it,” Rene said carefully.

“I was taken from New Concordia, I would learn the fates of my clan mates if I can,” Yarue declared.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-30 @Callousqueen

Maybe we could be kind of spider figures pulling the strings to try and force our kingdoms together against the wishes of the nobility

Out on the Rim

Leyla looked around, wracking her brain for a plausible ruse. Unfortunately the logo of the weapons manufacturer was too common an emblem to disguise. Her eyes drifted to the sealable doors.

“Ok,” she said, walking quickly across the cargo bay to the maintenance shaft and fishing out the nondescript grey duffel bag that held her few possessions. Unzipping it she pulled out a grey black uniform, the kind low level imperial technicians wore. Without ceremony she stripped out of her travelling garments and wiggled into the technician jumpsuit before adding her jacket and one of her two thigh holsters. The resulting ensemble was a combination of the familiar and the exotic, making her look a little more mysterious than she had in her more comfortable spacers garb. She turned to find Cleo looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“What,” she said defensively, “I pulled a scam back on Mechlan, this was my disguise, sort of.” Reaching into her bag she pulled out a standard comlink, checked the frequency and then tossed it to the Zabrak.

“Find somewhere to hide and then lock the bay down like you did when I was in there,” she explained. They didn’t have much time for her to explain the intricacies of the plan, so she had to hope Cleo was fast on his feet. If not, well shooting it out with a bunch of stormtroopers wasn’t a good idea, but she would do her best.

“If this works you should get a call from their officer, say something Imperial sounding and then open the doors,” she explained as they headed out of the bay towards the main hatch.

“What do you…” Cleo began but a firm knocking on the exterior hatch interrupted any further conversation.

“No time, find somewhere to hide,” she implored. Cleo gave her a final skeptical look and then turned and headed down a side passage. Leyla smoothed her jacket, took a deep breath and then stepped to the hatch control, toggling it open when a hiss. Hot dry air rushed in and an Imperial officer in dust stained gray stood flanked by two troopers. A half dozen more white clad soldiers stood at the base of the boarding ramp. As always the sight of stormtroopers, so similar in appearance to the clones she had known in her youth, made Leyla queasy, but she pushed passed it. Speed was important here.

“Ah, Excellent timing Lieutenant, I’m glad to see that posting to Tatooine hasn’t eroded your efficiency, I only wish I could say the same for our forces on other outer rim worlds,” she told the officer in a brusque professional tone. She reached out her hand and took the startled officers hand, shaking it firmly. She stepped a little closer than she needed to the officer, and while her right hand gestured theatrically, her left hand slipped the comlink from his pocket, adjusted the frequency to the one she had given Cleo, and slipped it back into place.

“Well, come on in,” she told the officer, turning as though to walk back into the ship.

“Wait just a minute Captain, we are here to inspect this vessel for …”

“Yes, they told me someone would meet me, as I said come on in,” she repeated. The officer arched an eyebrow in bafflement and then gestured his men forward. The Pantoran led the Imperials into the ship and back towards the cargo bay, only to arrive at the sealed partitions Cleo had erected.

“What is the meaning of this,” the officer demanded, regaining his composure somewhat.

“I need to know what are you carrying Captain…”

“Slade,” Leyla provided, turning and standinding straight, hinting at a posture of attention.

“Leyla Slade. As for what I'm carrying, you will have to tell me,” she explained gesturing to the closed partition.
“What do you…” the officer began, glancing at her Imperial clothing and taking in her military bearing. The barrage of contradictory inputs was designed to keep the officer off balance, to make him uncertain enough that when an explanation presented itself he would jump at it.

“This is how it works, you guys give me a cargo, its sealed away until I get where its supposed to go. They pay me not to ask questions,” she explained, spreading her hands slightly to indicate she wanted no part in it.

“Captain Slade, open these hatches immediately,” the officer demanded. Leyla heaved a put upon sigh.

“You guys are the only one with the codes, call your superiors, tell them that Blue Talon has arrived and that you need the code to verify the cargo,” she explained nodding at the comlink in the officers pocket. The Imperial scowled for a moment and then picked up the comlink.

“Base this is Lieutenant Haben, I have a ship captain down here claiming to be something called Blue Talon, claims that we have codes she needs to unlock her cargo bay? Please advise?”

Leyla nodded and slouched back against the bulkhead, arms folded in a show of unconcern

Gumshoe and Femme Fatale - A tale of silver-screen intruige and pulp-action

“Oh,I don’t think your secretary would have kept me away Mr Baker,” the woman replied in a sultry voice as she stepped into the room. She wore a form fitted dress of black silk, tight enough to require the slit that snaked up her thigh to reveal her stocking beneath. Dark hair was elegantly coiffed shimmering slightly with the few drops of rain that had fallen on it in her passage from the taxi to the front of the slightly run down building. It was obvious to the P.I that she had come from somewhere, though where exactly remained a mystery.

She crossed the room and took a seat across the desk from Baker, lifting one leg to cross on her thigh before leaning forward and tugging the cigarette free from his lips. Holding it between two slender fingers she took a long drag and then allowed the smoke to stream out from between plump pouty lips. For a moment she seemed disinclined to speak, simply pondering the run down office and the somewhat disheveled man behind it. Reaching forward she taped the ash from the end of the cigarette into an overflowing ash tray, the action seeming to galvanize her into speaking.

“I need a man to find someone for Mr Baker,” she said at last, her tone containing a slightly ominas edge.

“I asked around, and I am told by…” she paused with another glance around the office, “reliable sources, that you are the man for that kind of thing. Outside rain began to rattle against the window pane with increasing intensity, pressaging the coming storm.

Obscure RP Genres

Epistolary RPs need some love