Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Herr Murmann gave Amal a skeptical look. A crossroads Delbertz might be but the appearance of a strange looking merchant from an unknown land was still an unusual thing. The Innkeeper reached up and stroked his mustache, a wary look in his eye suggesting that he feared some scam or trick.

“Very well Herr Baba, we do have such a room upstairs, the Graf Von Boflinger and his entourage patronize my inn you know,” he said puffing up proudly. The effort was wasted on Amal who didn’t know what a Graf was and his lack of reaction seemed to irritate Murmann who no doubt expected the eminence of his tavern to impress.

“I must warn you that it isn’t cheap, ten silver pieces a night,” he smirked, clearly intending to take the foreigner and his bimbo down a peg. Ten silver was an outrageous price for a room even in the very best of coaching inns.

“That includes food and wine I assume,” Emmaline replied, allowing the bright enthusiasm in her voice to cool several degrees. Murmann grinned.

“All the food and drink you require frauline,” the innkeeper said patronizingly, “now I can offer you a cheaper room…”

Emmaline pulled a pair of gold pieces from her pouch and slapped them down on the bar. Murmann’s mouth worked for a moment and he looked suddenly crestfallen, either because his plan to put an uppity foreigner in his place had failed or because he hadn’t thought to try go gull them for more money.

“A deal then,” she said brightly. Murmann sighed and swept up the two gold pieces.

“Yes a deal, we have a beef stew with wild vegetables in the pot and ale,” he made a gesture towards the casks behind him.

“Do you have any dwarven ale?” Emmaline asked eagerly. Murmann’s mouth worked sourly for a moment.

“I’m afraid not frauline, this isn’t Altdorf afterall,” he groused. In truth it would be a rare inn even in Altdorf that could boast of the rare and expensive Dwarven Ale, but hope did spring eternal.

“Wine then, two bottles of your best, and fetch us a roast chicken and some bread,” she commanded. The innkeeper flushed, clearly regretting his offer to provide them with all the food and drink they wanted for the scandalous fee. Emmaline suspected he would still make a tidy profit from the transaction but it certainly wasn’t going to be the near robbery he had intended.

“Fine, Greta!” he yelled. A tall somewhat lanky woman in a grease spotted smock and cream colored dress appeared from the pantry behind the bar. She looked to be in her early twenties, a daughter or niece rather than a wife, although one never knew.

“Take these fine folks up to their room, the Graf’s room if you will,” he called to her and then produced a brass key from beneath the bar. He passed the key to Amal though Emmaline doubted it opened any lock that the thief couldn’t have sprung himself in less time than it took to fumble a key.

“Yes Dev, right this way Herr…”

“Baba, Ali Baba,” Amal provided, picking up on the nuances of the language quickly now that he had more direct exposure to it than Emmaline’s occasional tutorials. The followed Greta up the dark wood stairs at the rear of the taproom and down a long hallway lined with doors. The Graf’s suite was at the end of the hallway set off from the rest of the inn by a large and sturdy looking door of polished oak. A brass lock was fitted into the door, but it apparently wasn’t routinely locked because Greta pushed it open with a theatrical flourish. Emmaline and Amal stepped inside. It was a nice room with a large window with glass panes looking out over the square beyond. In one corner stood a large four poster bed hung with silks in the Brettonian fashion. Artworks, oil paintings of unknown figures and a few landscapes hung from the walls. There was a table and an upholstered settee and several mirrors of polished silver.

“Thank you this will do nicely,” Emmaline told the serving girl. Greta like Dev seemed a little nonplused by the lack of response. To her it doubtlessly seemed a very grand thing, but both Emmaline and Amal had seen the splendor of Araybian palaces. This was a very nice room for the Empire but it couldn’t compete with the opulence of the rich south.

“Do you have any baggage?” Greta asked after a moment, more for something to say than any actual concern.

“No,” Emmaline and Amal answered at once. Greta blinked in confusion but covered it quickly with a smile.

“Well I will bring your food up to you in a few moments if you want to get settled in!” she declared brightly before vanishing to leave the two strangers alone. @POOHEAD189

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-375

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline felt as though she were waking from a long dream as the carpet seemed to set them to the ground. It wasn’t quite audible but she felt more than heard a sigh of exhaustion as the enchanted object coiled itself into its customary roll. After years as a slave and months adventuring with Amal to be standing among the green fields and surrounded by the foreboding forests of the Empire seemed too incredible to believe. The moment was somewhat ruined by the pounding in her head from where the late and, as far as Emmaline was concerned, unlamented Gerald had clouted her. She rubbed the bruised area irritably with her fingers as she gazed at the town before them.

“Do you know where we are?” Amal asked, gazing around him at what must have appeared to him very strange sights indeed. Emmaline did not, having slept until they were well inland. Even if she were awake it was far from certain that she would be able to locate them. Emmaline was from Altdorf and though she had traveled a little in Riekland she had never been to any of the other provinces. The town ahead of them was surrounded by a palisade wall though she could see a tower flanked gate that was open. The wooden tower was surmounted by a banner that depicted a white wolf on a blue shield backgrounded in red. Emmaline certainly wouldn’t have recognised every province's banner but the mark of Ulric was clear enough.

“We are in Middenland Spring of my Heart,” Emmaline replied in Arabyian. The use of a guttural Riekspiel name in the middle of the the flowing tongue of Araby was deeply dissonant and Emmaline blushed slightly in embarrassment.

“Is that in your Empire?” he asked, smiling at her blush. She nodded, while she had told him alot about her homeland it had never run to discussions of political organisation.

“It is one of the Electoral States…” she paused and simplified the explanation, “like a kingdom which has sworn its allegiance to the Emperor Karl Franz.” Amal nodded, he was a clever man but Emmaline didn’t imagine a detailed breakdown of Electoral politics was going to be useful.

“Are we near Marienburg then?” he enquired.

“Nowhere near,” Emmaline replied cheerfully, “but at least we are on the right continent.”

They weren’t challenged by the guards as they passed through the gate and onto the paved streets of the town. Emmaline had lost track of the seasons somewhat during their travels but judging by the fact they weren’t being buried by several feet of snow and the trees had yet to change color, it couldn’t be too far past midsummer. The town seemed prosperous, filled with houses of the familiar stone and half timber construction with steep pitched roofs of tarred shingles or, less frequently, thatched hay. Wagon’s rumbled over the uneven paving stones and street vendors cried the virtues of their wares. Men and women bustled about their tasks or lounged about as was their wont. There were a few soldiers, or at least town guardsmen wandering the streets, though no one paid them much mind.

“What in Sigmar’s name are you two,” a matronly woman gasped as she saw the pair of strangers walking up the boulevard. The woman was covering the eyes of a child of perhaps eight years of age and glaring sideyed at her husband who was doing his best not to stare at the blond newcomer. Emmaline looked down and was reminded that she was still clad in nothing more than the stolen silk shirt. She cursed her own foolishness for not thinking of it.

“You can’t walk around here dressed like that!” the woman snapped in outrage.

“We were attacked by beastmen on the road,” Emmaline lied quickly, turning her bruised head to show the woman.

“I was bathing in a stream when it happened and we escaped with only the clothes on our backs!” she went on, warming to the subject. It didn’t exactly explain why Amal was carrying a rolled up carpet but by the way the woman’s eyes widened at the mention of beastmen, that wasn’t where her mind was going.

“Beastmen! Joachim, go find the watch and warn them!” the woman declared turning her husband away from Emmaline and giving him a shove in the general direction of the gate. Amal grabbed Emmaline by the arm and pulled her into a cramped alley that was nearly completely blocked off from the sun by the overhanging roofs. He might be in a strange land but he knew his way around cities and the arts of a thief. When the woman turned around they were gone, having apparently vanished into thin air. Amal was a stranger here but ‘go get the watch’ wasn’t a phrase he much liked in any language.

“Well she does have a point,” Emmaline admitted, “we should find a pawn shop or a money changer and get some new clothes.” She giggled suddenly as they exited the alley onto a small square.

"I wonder how the exchange rate on lizardman sqigglies is," she snickered thinking of the strange variety of coins in their modest hoard.

Merchants were selling goods from hand carts pushed up against the walls of buildings with colorful awnings of fabric stretched over them. A few of the permanent shops had the look of pawn brokers and their were several tavern along the northern side of the square. A man, standing atop a large fake sausage that must have been made of painted timber, was shouting about the best sausage in Delbertz, which at least gave them a name for the town.

@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene marveled at his fiancee’s skills. Solae would certainly never have aspired to the rank she had been granted, but the Empress had made an excellent choice in elevating her to high office. It was possible that the choice had been made on the spur of the moment but Rene didn’t think so. The PEA call had been, had to be in fact, tagged with Solae’s genetic information when it was routed to the Empress and she wouldn’t have answered the call without reviewing what information was to hand on Capella, if nothing else she would have wanted to make sure it wasn’t some ploy by plotters to locate her in her hiding place. Still it had been a bold move, for the sake of the people of the Eastern Cross Rene was glad she had made the decision that she had, though he knew in her heart of hearts Solae might have been happier without such responsibility. Ironically it was people who wanted power most who were least to be trusted. Duke Tan essentially ruled an entire sector of human space and yet it hadn’t been enough, whereas Solae Falia wanted nothing more than a simple life and had been thrust into prominence by his actions.

They talked idly for a few more minutes before four Kalderi entered the courtyard of the manor through the stone lintled gate. Two of them Rene recognized as Andayll and Totlya both dressed in sober robes of dark blue. The second pair were new to the humans, both appeared to be male but dressed in what Rene was coming to think of as casual garb for the Kalderi, or at least, casual garb for the strata of Kalderi society that he and Solae had thus far interacted with. It was a human assumption that there were rich and poor of course, Rene didn’t know for certain that was true of the Kalderi. Some had grander houses than others and he assumed there were artisans who built the various wondrous devices, or at least designed them, but he hadn’t seen any evidence of them. Many humans felt that such economic divisions within the Stellar Empire were unnatural, but so long as humans continued to reproduce faster than their economy grew, and faster than they could terraform new worlds, inequity would continue. Rene was not an economist but he had been taught, and believed, that it was the role of the nobility to use their wealth and power to improve the lives of the common people by providing peace and stability. Perhaps if they had the leisure he could learn more of how the Kalderi had, apparently, met that challenge.

“Duchess Falia, we have come to discuss Totlya’s grievances,” Andalyll declared without preamble. Solae nodded solemnly. Lithyll had explained that speaking with the Voice of the Wronged meant that Totlya was entitled to tell his whole story without interruption. Under normal circumstances Rene would have readied some sort of recording device, but he was confident that Mia would take care of electronic records. Totlya stepped forward, pressing out his wings slightly to appear larger than he was. Rene was pleased to see that despite their differences in culture and physiology, there were some things which were apparently true of all young males.

“My mate, Bel’rian, was taken by force by a human trader who spirited her away on his ship,” Totlya declared, his words so rapid they almost tumbled over themselves. There was a momentary awkward pause before Andalyll beat his wings slightly. Rene wasn’t certain what the gesture meant but Totlya glanced at his kinsman and then turned back to the humans.

“Bel’rian is a collector of human art, she frequented the trading district. That is where she first met this human abductor, a trader named Bouradine,” the Kalderi explained, expanding his admirably succinct but not particularly useful description of his grievance. The disgust in his voice was evident when he spoke of the trader.

“Bouradine is a pirate, an outcast even among their own kind, they lured my Bel’rian to their store under the guise of providing her with new works of art. She went in and has not been seen since. The human coward was seen taking a large shipping crate from their store to their vessel at the starport before it flew off. When I went to his store I found it abandoned, cleaned out of everything of value. This human has abducted my mate, I demand redress! ” Totlya ended the tale on a shout, his voice having been steadily rising as he recounted his grievance. Andalyll looked a little embarrassed at this but none the less nodded his head.

“The community agrees that Totlya’s account is more or less correct, though it is unclear whether Bel’rian was abducted or went willingly.” Totlya opened his mouth to voice what was clearly an angry objection. Andalyll held up a hand and a wing in a blocking motion which silenced the youth.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The Brettonian was staring down through the fog as though transfixed. Emmaline gripped the carpet with one hand and shook the Knight's shoulder with the other. She sneezed so violently that her eyes watered generating a puff of gold dust as the magical overcharge worked it's way through her system. The sneeze seemed to penetrate the trancelike state that had settled over the Knight and he blinked his eyes.

"Set down," he commanded in a strange tone. By now their flight had carried them several miles from the wounded shaman but that still wasn't far enough for Emmaline's taste.

"We can make it to the village and probably to the mainland," she began but Brenly was shaking his head. Emmaline wasn't sure what has happened but it seemed the circle of ancient stones had somehow acted as a magical amplifier. She had heard of such places though in the stories they were usually associated with horror and Dark magic.

"Set down, there," Brenly insisted, stretching forth a finger to point to a patch of rolling fog that, to Emmaline, looked no different to any other. Emmaline glanced at Amal who shrugged and banked the carpet down towards the mist. As they sank through the fog they found themselves on the sandy shore of a small lake fringed with oak and beech trees. A small island could be seen in the center though it was hard to make out details through the mist. A soft light was moving on the water and Emmaline's eyes widened as she realized it was a woman wreathed in gossamer silk. She stepped across the water as though it was solid ground, her bare feet raising no ripples as she glided toward the shore.

"Asaph's tits!" Emmaline blurted in shock though if anyone heard her they didn't take their eyes from the woman approaching. She seemed to glow with a sourcless inner light as she stepped on to the pale sand if the beach and made a graceful beckoning motion to Brenly. The old knight took a step forward and sank to one knee lifting his stolen elven sword in ritualistic submission. The glowing woman reached out her hand and touched him on the forehead in benediction. The scene seemed to freeze for a moment and then she was gone.

"Asaph's tits," Emmaline repeated in shock. She had not sensed even a breath of magic though what had transpired had to be sorcery of the highest order. This time her words seemed to jolt the men from the reverie that held them. Amal and Douglas both voiced variations of 'what was that's in their own languages. Brenly stood seeming somehow to have lost the stiffness of age and weeks of imprisonment and hardship.

"It is the Grail quest," he said his voice filled with wonder. Amal looked blank but Emmaline had read enough salacious Brettonian literature, or at least literature set in Brettonia to understand.

"Ummm, I'm not sure if I should be congratulations you or not," Emmaline admitted ,"but we should get going before the magic dissapates."

Brenly shook his head firmly.

"I won't be going with you, I must stay till the goblin sorcerer is defeated," he declared his eyes shining with certainty. That sounded very noble but also a good way to get flattened by a giant green foot.

"You go," Brenly told them, "your path lays elsewhere. Douglas can take me back to his village from here."

"Aye," Douglas agreed ,"fir ta beest ya dinna show her faces after Gerald anaway." He glanced nervously at Brenly and then at the fog from which at any moment greenskins might burst. Emmaline nodded.

"Farewell then sir Knight," she told Brenly and performed a creditable curtsey, somewhat spoiled by the fact the borrowed coat rode up over get hips as she did so.

Penny's Pencils

Scum & Villainy: Black Market Runners

"No payment...you realize the ship is the payment right?" Miranda began, wondering if the fool could possibly be that dense. She gave up on arguing the point, he was certainly sexist so why not simple as well. Shaking her head and adjusting her expectations downward she went back to work. The pirates claimed they had taken care of everything, but if that were true they could certainly have just had Rico fly them in to retrieve their boss. They needed a plausible reason to be on the station if things turned out to be more complicated than advertised, well that could be arranged. While she had what she needed for herself, the cameras on the ship itself weren't of good enough quality for her purposes.

"Do either of you have holos of yourselves, preferable something not quite current and at high definition?" she asked.

[Asking for assistance on a hacking roll to create some false documents]

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

One of my other partners was like 'ok so this Sayeeda character sounds awesome but why have I never heard of her before!'

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

That's nothing, I've literally switched to a different to mid post because my mind wanders

Task Force: Sentinel - Occult Covert Operations

Real love the idea of a soldier/occultist. He is arcane and what not but has the special forces operator mind set. Tacticool pentagramic watds, I abdure thee written on white phos grenades in sharpie