Penny

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Emmaline resisted the urge to struggle as she was led up the stairs by one of the guards, the other remaining below to bar Markus from attempting to follow. The guard grabbed her rump with a grin and muttered something in Arabian that she didn't follow. They reached to top of the stairs and the door opened before them. A moon faced man with very smooth skin and a completely hairless face guestured her in to the rooms beyond. The guard opened his mouth as though to object but the hairless man snapped at him in Arabian, Emmaline caught the word fool but not much else. The guard gave Emmaline a shove and she stumbled on the top step, staggering into the arms of the smooth skinned man. He was dressed in a silk robe of plain but very fine fabric.

"Come girl," he said in passable Reikspiel closing the door behind him.

"A blonde eh, did they take you as a slave off a ship," the fellow inquired politely.

"Yes master," Emmaline replied demurely as they passed through a large hall floored in priceless rugs and lined with works of art from a variety of cultures. There were several other closed doors which Emmaline presumed led off to private quarters, though she saw no servants other than this one.

"A pity," the man replied as he led her to another large set of doors, these ones inlaid with gold and precious stones. The servant knocked respectfully on the door and a voice called from beyond in acknowledgement. The door swung open and she was led into a vast bedroom. The central dome was vast and hollow above them, hung with green plants and painted with a convincing fresco of the night sky. They even sparkled with some sort of luminescence which she couldn't identify.

"Thank you Khazeem," said a powerful looking man who rose from a divan in a robe of white silk with golden stitching. He was tall and fit though there was a slight plumpness around his midsection which showed that he ate well regardless of how much effort he put in to staying fit. His eyes were dark and slightly beedy which gave him a look of rakish cruelty.

"I will take it from here," Mavikim said, making a waving motion with his hand. Khazeem nodded and stepped back through the doors closing them behind him with a resounding boom, leaving Emmaline alone with the Arabyian lord. He gave her a long look and his lips curved into an appreciative smile.

"Well you are a cut above what they usually send me," he told her walking over to her and beginning to circle like a shark. His fingers stretched out and brushed her hips as he moved around her like a stockman inspecting a cow.

"Which one of them sent you?" Mavikim asked curiously.

"Hakeem of Copher," she replied, plucking the name of the hedgewizard they had spoken to earlier. Mavikim arched his eyebrow at the statement though his inspection didn't cease.

"I've not heard of Hakeem, what favor does he ask for?" Mavikim asked curiously. Emmaline's mind wheeled for a moment before landing on a plausible lie.

"Revenge, against a pirate known as Von Roberts," she extemporized quickly. Mavikim cocked his head.

"I had heard an Imperial pirate put in here a week ago, I'm not surprised he was as offensive in Copher as he was here."

"Shall I dance for you Lord?" Emmaline asked feeling more than a little nervous at the strange Arabyian's attention. Mavikim laughed cruelly.

"That won't be necessary," Mavikim laughed and he took Emmaline by the hand and lead her into an alcove in the back of the vast chamber. She just had enough time to recognize that she was in trouble before she was shoved roughly against a rack. Emmaline cried out in shock but Mavikim bent her wrists back and fastened brass shackles with a click. She kicked out, catching Mavikim on the hip. The Araybian grunted but it was like kicking a block of granite. He seized her ankle and locked down first one and then the other so she was completely immobilized.

"Not much point in fighting girl, you are payment afterall, I suppose when I am done with you, you can at least take solace in the fact that Hakeem will be granted his favor. Brief solace that is," he chuckled evilly. Emmaline muttered a spell, preparing to blast Mavikim with a lance of golden light, but the winds would not come. It wasn't that the wind was weak, it was just... gone. Mavikim took up a large knife, tested the edge of on his thumb and then slashed away her clothing with practiced care. Her eyes flicked to the to the corners of the room, and too her horror she saw that runes had been inlaid in the tile work, warding runes to make the area null to magic. Realization dawned and cold gathered in the pit of her stomach. Mavikim did have a Djinn whose favors he hired to others, and as he did so he defended himself from Araby's sorcerers, but living in a fortress that would repel magical attack.

Mavikim chuckled at her chagrin, though it didn't seem that he had realized that she had tried to cast a spell. Leisurely now he moved to a side table which was covered with a velvet cloth. He whipped it back theatrically to reveal, knives, pincers, whips and other implements she couldn't name.

"It is a big favor that Hakeem asks, but I think you can make it worth my while."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

A long silence hung for a few moments over that pronouncement as the two lovers considered the threat which had swept up over the sector while they had been out of contact. Bel'sian looked at Bouradine and nodded.

"If you will agree to speak for us your Grace, then we shall return with you," the merchant responded gravely.

The conference continued for a few minutes more, both Bouradine and Bel'sian seemed to accept that they would be returning to Ranal Pindi. The fact that Bel'sian wasn't objecting too strongly suggested she at least held on to hope that Solae would be able to make good on her promise not to separate them. That was good, Rene would have been willing to stun both of them and bring them back as prisoners if that was what it took to complete Solae's mission, but he was pleased it hadn't come to that. He realized that Solae had deliberately led with their problem and then moved on to Duke Tan, probably in a deliberate attempt to make their own personal problems look small and thus encourage compliance. If that was the case, then it certainly seemed to have had the desired effect.

"How did the soldier come to be here?" Bel'sian asked as the discussion turned more general. Rene, who had been pondering that himself suddenly recalled the data chip he had retrieved from the escape pod. In the confusion of the mudslide and the chaotic aftermath he had truthfully forgotten all about it.

"This probably has the answer, but I haven't had a chance to review it yet," Rene said more for Solae's benefit than the two lovers. She gave him a nod and continued to speak with Bel'sian as he crossed to the rooms small terminal and sat down, inserting the chip into the reader. A challenge appeared and Rene entered the last access code he had been given. The computer prompted him for a retinal scan and he complied. The words Lt. Colonel Renard Quentain flashed onto the screen followed by 'Access Granted'. He frowned surprised that the record had his current rank, that made the information on the chip very new, days old at best. Three options appeared. A locked dispatch addressed to Her Grace of the Eastern Cross - Solae Falia and a similar though now unlocked communication to himself. The third file was what he actually expected to find, the black box recording of an Imperial Navy Destroyer designated the Gwyidion Kay. He hesitated momentarily, unsure as to whether he should immediately pass the message on to Solae. He glanced over his shoulder and found her still speaking to Bouradine and decided to wait. Resisting the urge to open his own communication he tapped the icon for the black box. Data began to spew over the screen. Rene engaged an active sound canceltion field by flicking a switch.

"Mia this is starship vector data, can you compress it to a visual for me and run all bridge commands and communicaitons as a crawl below?" he asked. To his mild surprise the screen immediately flickered into the view from a ship dropping out of of a jump. Handsome crew men stood at their posts silently and a holodrama actress in a naval uniform stood on the bridge command lecturn, her name tape reading Ap'Gwyn. Rene shook off his momentary disorientation. He shouldn't be surprised that the AI was not only about to carry out a complex instruction but also made it as sexy as possible.

"Mia please use historical footage of Captain Ap'Gwyn, if you have access to it," he said dryly. The picture shimmered into that of a severe woman with a hawk nose and dark piercing eyes. She was in her early forties with prematurely graying temples.

"Contact!" one of the sensor operators shouted and a red pulse flickered on a command screen. He tapped a few keys. The blackbox data showed that the ships had just jumped into the Dunbarton system. The first of the twin systems which formed the chokepoint into the Eastern Cross. Even in Mia's dumbing down of the flight recorder data there was alot to keep track of.

"Thirty light craft in close to the primary," the sensor operator reported.

"Mia please display their sensor data in standard fleet format as a sidebar," Rene instructed. A plot position indicator appeared beside the action on the bridge. It showed a swarm of contacts into the system, clustered around sole habitable world in the system. Like all such worlds there was considerable orbital infrastructure, designed to support in coming shiping that was stressed by the long, low Q graident, jumps, and to provide a base for the Fleet should they need to defend the area. Judging from the Gwyidion Kay's sensors, that was just what Duke Tan's fleet of light pirate chasers was doing, attempting to block the Fleet from entering the Eastern Cross. Only that wasn't going to work. the Gwydion Kay was a modern destroyer, and according to the sensors she was in company with two other ships of similar build, the Halifax and the Song of Ostri. Rene had no formal naval training, but he had spent long nights listening to his father and his cronies talking about naval matters, thirty retrofitted freighters weren't going to be able to stop a trio of state of the art warships.

"Hail them," Ap'Gwyn was saying. Rene fast forwarded through thirty minutes of exhanges, during which Tan's forces, first plead innocent, then claimed that the destroyers had been misled by false orders, then started making threats, all the while both fleets accelerated towards each other, Tan's slowly, Ap'Gwyn hard enough that the crew had to strap in. The black box didn't contain a copy of Ap'Gwyn's orders but clearly they had been sent with the understanding that Tan's forces were hostile. At about a light second's distance, Ap'Gwyn ordered her flotilla to open fire. Mia's simulation lacked the gut rattling immediacy of heavy torpedos being launched at twenty G acceleration, or the spine shivering crack of railguns punching projectiles down range at noticeable fractions of light speed. Rene frowned as three of Tan's warships vanished from his plot, destroyed by fire from the flotilla before they were even in range.

"Incoming," a sensor operator reported, his computer generated voice lacking any emotion whatever. Rene watched as hundreds of missles ripped from the enemy fleet in a ragged volley. To maintain that fire rate they had to be mounting them externally, a dangerous practice often used by pirates and others who didn't plan on being in a situation where the enemy might strike first. Ap'Gwyn reacted in text book fashion, altering course and drawing up and away from the ecliptic of the system, assisted by the gravity of a nearby gas giant. Point defence batteries opened up, spewing tungsten pellets in glowing streams, ripping appart incoming missles with computational precision. Even with the massive barrage the destroyers, working together should be able to ...

"Contact," the sensor operator reported in the same bored mechancial voice. Rene, who had just seen another two score of icons appear at practically knife range couldn't help but imagine the mans terrified scream. Another fleet, larger than the decoys that Tan had stationed where the navy expected them, had been hiding in the upper reaches of the gas giant. Missles streaked up out of the gas at almost point blank range. Ap'Gwyn's face, recorded by the bridge cameras and thus accurate among so much of Mia's fabrication, never moved from its set expression. The woman must have zero-g lubricant for blood. It should have been over right then, the destroyers were committed and at such speed now that altering course was all but impossible but Ap'Gwyn nodded as though she were in a tactics exercise in a class room rather than fighting for her life.

"Adjust course to one zero, six three, niner zero," she ordered calmly. Rene boggled as without a moments hesitation the naval officer dove her little fleet straight into the gas giants upper atmosphere, plunging through the enemy formation like three knives, slipping under then initial ballistic courses of incoming enemy missiles. The weapons would wheel around and come back, but that would take valuable seconds. In the meantime the naval units spat death in long glowing tracers picked out by gas, their heavy weapons meant to support battleships ripping the ambushing force to glowing rags within a handful of heartbeats. The tactical read outs displayed twenty three of Tan's ships obliterated within a few seconds as the destroyer flotilla plunged past them in a perfect zero deflection attack.

Burning gas erupted into a blazing halo across the bridge view port as the velocity of the Gwydion Kay's long acceleration ignited the gas that contacted it. The effect of the dive was two fold, gravity added to the speed of the maneuver, helping to wrench the ships out of position, and the friction of the not quite void slowed them unpredictably. All the while the point defense systems hammered at incoming from two different directions. By now the guns would be white hot, starting to seize as replacement barrels were rotated into place. The Halifax vanished from the sensor read outs, Rene winced a moment before the log reported - ISN Halifax destroyed. He could easily imagine the hit blasting appart the destroyers engines and hurling it against the thicker lower atmosphere like an egg against concrete.

"Burn for extraction, and keep firing," Ap'Gwyn ordered as the two surviving ships burst from the halo of gas that formed the outer limits of the atmosphere. The sensor log reported thirty four enemy craft destroyed or crippled. A remarkable job considering the violent maneuver and the ambush. Song of Ostri reporting damage to her aft nacelles a line of text reported a moment before Ap'Gwyn's simulacrum demanded an update on the destroyer. Even though he knew it was only a simulation of events that were by now days old, Rene's guts clenched as the icon representing the Song of Ostri dropped slowly back into the cloud of oncoming ordinance. ISN Song of Ostri destroyed. The Gwydion Kay continued to accelerate away from the gas giant, by now its point defence system was begining to overheat from sustained firing, Ap'Gwyn mauvered so that her thruster plume washed directly back over the incoming projectiles, even though that wasn't the optimal course for the jump point. The dorsal and ventral PDC's blazed in short sharp bursts as the destroyer picked up speed, giving her more time to shoot down enemy incoming. Ap'Gwyn's rail guns fired back at the nearer group, ripping three more enemy ships open as easily as a child with a stick beheading a flower. Then one of the PDC's jammed. A missle struck amidships and the simulated Captain was hurled off her feet. Systems flashed red and alarms began to wail. Multiple hull breaches, system failure, fire control gone. Ap'Gwyn must have known her ship only had seconds to live as the spiteful wave of incoming missiles closed the distance.

"Abandon ship!" she called, still looking calm and unruffled. Six seconds later the display went blank with the message ISN Gwydion Kay destroyed. There was another minute of footage, appended from the life pod in which Savachev had escaped. It showed the enemy craft closing, shooting at those few life pods which had escaped in the six seconds between the Gwyidion Kay's crippling and her death. It had been pure luck that her own pod had been on the far side of the expanding ball of gas which had been the destroyer and her crew of nearly a thousand. Rene realized he was clenching his fist so hard that his nails were digging into his hand. He relaxed it only with an effort. Three thousand dead spacers. He swallowed at the lump in his throat. The waste of it all made him angry. All this so that Tan could have a slightly bigger throne. So he could feel his voice was slightly more important. Rene wanted very badly to scream, to break something and then his training kicked in and the analytical part of his mind took over. His pulse slowed gradually and he was able to think once more. End of Recording. The menu blinked back to the unopened files. He selected his own. To his surprise his father's face appeared. Alric Du Quentain looked considerably more careworn than Rene remembered. He was wearing fatigues in a grey on white Alpine Pattern. A glowing green timestamp dated the recording to a day after Solae had finally managed to use the PEA.

"Colonel," Alric began, his voice cold and without emotion.

"There has been an attempted coup on Capella," he declared without ceremony.

"The Empress is alive and safe for now but the enemy controls the orbital approaches until loyal Fleet units arrive to break the deadlock. Communications are uncertain as many of the PEA stations have been compromised. The enemy is sending out false orders to create confusion among the armed forces." Rene nodded, if the plotters couldn't stop the Empresses orders from getting through, they could at least flood the command net with false orders that would create enough confusion to delay a swift response.

"Your orders are to do what you can to keep the forces of the Traitor Alexis Tan from intervening in the wider conflict. We can prevent full scale civil war only if we can keep the enemy divided long enough to regain control. I am placing you in command of Captain Ap'Gwyn and her squadron, use them as you see fit but above all keep Duchess Falia safe. As long as Tan dosen't have her, he can't coordinate with his coconspirators." Alric's eyes flickered momentarily to something of screen and he turned and nodded decisively and said something that the microphone didn't pick up before turning back to the camera. There was a burn on the side of his fathers neck, something Rene recognized as a graze with a plasma weapon.

"I've attached what reliable intelligence I have for you to this communique," Alric continued. There was a long pause and for the first time in his life Rene thought he saw something like doubt or indecision in his fathers face.

"Renard I...," the older man began and then the moment passed.

"Good luck Colonel, Marshall Du Quentain Out." The pickup went dead. Rene sat for several seconds in silence, wondering what it was his father had hesitated over saying. Renard I love you. It might just as easily have been an instruction not to get bogged down fighting Gids but sense he might never know, Rene figured he might as well go with what he wished his father had been going to say. Almost reluctantly he dropped the cancelation field and stood up. Solae's eyes tracked over to him from her own conversation. He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Some matters have come up we should discuss your Grace," he said as diplomatically as he could manage.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

there are apologies and then there are apologies I suppose

Gold & Glory: AU thread

"You really think this will work?" Emmaline asked as they sauntered down the street. Unlike the slums they had left, this street was a wide bouldevard both sides of which were lined with mansions which ranged from large town houses to small palaces. Each house was set off by its own wall of low sandstone topped with iron spikes, broken glass and other impediments to thieves. Behind each wall were small gardens, some quite elaborate, whose lush green color clashed with the sandstone and did more to display the wealth of those inside than the onion domes and marble facades of the structures they fronted.

"Well it is working for me," Markus snickered. Emmaline was dressed, if that were the correct word in a brazier of red silk, and a short skirt of the same fabric, both of which had been hung with short chains of overlapping brass discs and elaborate lacework. Bangles and necklaces had been added along with rather intricately applied henna tatoos which covered the backs of her hands, crept up over her neck and ran from her hairline halfway down to her brow in a series of interconnected geometric designs. Her hair had been gathered up in a lose braid that hung behind her head and a series of guasy veils that covered her from head to mid thigh provided the illusion of modesty. Emmaline resisted the urge to stick her tongue out with some difficulty. Markus was dressed in chainmail wrapped in dark cloth with a scarlet cloak and an ornate helmet with a chain coif that extended down over his neck and shoulders. He carried a scimitar at his waist though he had his backsword tucked in under the cloth for good measure. There wasn't much in the way of a city watch in the City of Corsairs, various groups paid their own muscle to stop their competitors from taking what they would at sword point, and the resulting peace was rather a nervous one. High class prostitutes, like the ones Emmaline's costume deliberately emmulated, usually had at least one of their own toughs to see them safely through the streets.

"Well I guess that is a point in its favor," Emmaline murmered. It was just after dusk now and the city was moving from its langorous afternoon stupor into the roar of its busy night. Like many desert cities, the heat of the day meant that much bussiness was conducted in the cooler hours after sundown, and in more mercantile districts the streets had been crowded and the air filled with the scents of perfume, cooking meat and the ever present scent of the sour wine and aarak which passed as the local drink. Even in these richer areas, couple promenaded and self important servants strode along on their own errands. Emmaline and Markus had scouted the area earlier with the map and identified Mavikim's palace. Predictabley it was the largest on the street, and contained four onion domed turrents as well as a vast central dome over a three story marble edifice. The domes had been painted with bright metallic golds, greens and reds which swirled around them, and gold or brass glittered from the arabesque windows on the upper stories. A pair of guards, equiped much the same was as Markus was, though in cloth that was cleaner and finer, lounged beside an iron wrought gate flanked by two large stone pillars, each surmounted by the carved forms of crouching lions. Beyond the gate was a palm lined path which lead to the main door, the way illuminated by several lanterns which had been housed in green glass.

"What is your business?" one of the guards demanded as they approached. At least that is what Emmaline thought he said, her Arabian was rudimentary at best, fortunately Markus had more experience in these parts and spoke the tongue better. Both men were alert now, weight distributed with the tell tale poise of experienced fighters who expect trouble. One of them looked back over his shoulder briefly as though signaling to the house.

"What else," Makrus asked making a theatrical guesture at Emmaline, "One of the finest dancers in the city for the entertainment of the house of Mavikim."

"We have heard of no such arrangements," one of the guards objected, tearing his eyes of Emmaline with obvious difficulty.

"And while I am sure you are the close confident of the Mighty Mavikim," Makrus interjected, "we are expected." The guards wavered, clearly uncertain about letting in strangers and also about upsetting their master. They seemed on the point of interrupting further when Markus reached out and drew several stray locks of Emmaline's hair from beneath the gauzy veils, running it through his fingers to demonstrate that it was fine and blond.

"Who else but Mavikim could afford such ... exotic luxuries," Makrus continued. That seemed to convince the guards, whores might be as common as rats in a place like this but pale skinned and fair haired ones were a rarity beyond price.

"Well the Master does like them blonde," One of the guards snickered, the tension going out of the pair, "Who knows maybe he will even share with us poor servants one day." That bought a chuckle from both guards as one drew a key from a pouch and unlocked the gates.

"Go up to the house, the servants there will take her off your hands," the guards explained.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

"I fear it might be rather a night for making fools of ourselves," she responded, her eyes tracking the departing coachman and her hand lifting from her purse where it had unconsciously dipped during the altercation. Perhaps the coachman was more American than he seemed given his haste to investigate whatever fancy had been pursuing this Mr Gray. She hadn't yet applied her own masquerade mask, nor did she see a particular reason to do so now.

"I'm Opportunity Knox," she said extending her hand to shake his, "and yes I know."

"I suppose you can call me Madam Green, if your taste for melodrama is as acute as my American Cousins," she told him, taking a step towards the carriage and folding down the ramp. She didn't doubt it would irk the coachman if she alighted without waiting for him.

"I take if from your get up that you are headed for Wilde Hall? You are welcome to ride with me, an apology for interrupting your run with my body," she said with a snicker.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Although Arabian fashion varied considerabley across social strata Emmaline had opted for the dark flowing robes and veil of a successful but not too successful merchant's wife. Though flowing the robes had been cut for a less generous figure than Emmaline's and clung at her hips and chest, worse still it was slightly too long and she tripped several times on the hem before Markus shortened it with an improbably sharp knife. In a couple of days the hacked off hem would fray, but Emmaline doubted she would be wearing it long enough for that to be a problem. Fortunately Markus' presence was enough to keep the various pimps, pickpockets and murderers who haunted the slums dusty alleys and dilapidated bazars. Whenever they passed close to the merchants they were assailed with shouts and descriptions of the wonderous goods that were for sale, but they made those claims to everyone whose eyes lingered for a moment too long.

"It should be..." Emmaline began, scanning a boulevard lined with wineshops and falafel vendors. Her eyes fell on a faded sign with three moons on a blue background. A few wizened men squatted in the doorway throwing dice and gulping wine from a skin they passed between wagers. They glanced disinterestedly at Markus and with somewhat more interest at Emmaline but they scooped up their dice and skuttled out of the way as the pair of foreginers entered. The interior was a single large cool room which was bisected by a wooden lattice of faded and cracked timber. The first section was a wineshop with a bar against one wall that was lined with casks, wineskins hung from the ceilings in the dozens, though if there were any method of distingishing them from one another Emmaline couldn't see it. In all likelyhood there was no way and no point, simply a quantity of watered wine that could be had for a few coppers. There was a doorway cut into the latice which Emmaline headed for the doorway, ignoring a greeting from a fat looking man who slouched behind the bar.

Beyond the doorway the room was lined with shelves that were stacked high with scrolls. Some were familiar vellum and parchment, but the majority were the papyrai that many mages in Altdorf had prefered. The material was rare and expensive in Altdorf but apparently not in Araby. A man sat in the corner of the room at an impressive stone topped desk. The desk was carved with a bewildering variety of sigils, a large sheet of paper was spread over it but the sigils shone through the thin material. A very ordinary looking quill was drawing itself over the parchment, periodically rising to dip into a clay inkwell. The man looked up, revealing that one eye was missing and had been replaced with a piece of rough quarts which had been shaped into a rough sphere by blows of a chisel. It sparkled with an internal ight of indeterminate color that dimmed as he lifted his gaze away from the table.

"What can I do for you," he asked in thickly accented Riekspiel. Emmaline didn't bother to ask why he chose that dialect despite having never met them before.

"I need a map," Emmaline responded in Tilean, more to be irritating than for any other reason.

"Hakeem, has maps, if you have coin," the Arabyian said cautiously. Hakeem Al'Hadi was a name Emmaline remembered from late night drinking sessions in the taverns which surrounded the Colleges of Magic. The Celestial College adepts often debated how exactly it was done, but they appreciated the work of Hakeem and people like him. Arcanocatography was unknown among sanctioned Imperial mages. Like many talents of hedge wizards it wasn't well understood and likely involved drawing on several winds of magic at once, a practice which was a dangerous gateway to dark magic.

"I can pay," Emmaline answered, though that wasn't quite the same thing as having coin. Hakeem smiled professionally, though the effect on his ruined face wasn't pretty.

"Then we can do business, as soon as you show me your payment," the Araybian said suspiciously. Emmaline reached into a pouch and withdrew two bars of iron she had taken from the cargo and set them on the table.

"Ah you are a jester then? Or just fool enough to waste Hakeem's time?" he demanded narrowing his good eyes.

"This iron is from the mines of Tobaro," Emmaline explained as though the arcanocartogropher hadn't spoken.

"One piece we will take to Lustria, the other, to Ind," she continued. Hakeem sneered, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye.

"You know something of my craft I grant you, but I would be a fool to believe that two outlanders could really deliver on such a deal. Perhaps if you spent the night with Hakeem..."

"All I require in trade is a map of the city, a small investment on such a return, and as for if we can deliver..." she inclined her head to Markus.

"This is Markus Flintbrook, the most fearsome captain upon the seas, if anyone can do it, he can, he has sailed far and killed hundreds who stood in his way," she told Hakeem. The threat was not subtle and it didn't take Hakeem long to make up his mind.

"Fine, I will take it on faith you will do as you say," he drew a map from one of the shelves and handed it to her. Then he placed his hands over the iron and muttered a quick incantation. Both bars glowed for a moment with the same light the sigils emitted and then dimmed.

"This one for Lustria," he said pointing at the smaller of the two, "and this one for Ind. Better if you had brought gold." Emmaline snorted.

"If I had gold to spare Id have just paid you," she snickered. Hakeem snorted somthing that might have been a laugh and then made a dismissive gesture. OUt in the street Emmaline unrolled the map. It was a simple depiction of the city, though areas of it glowed with a soft blue light when Emmaline focused her vision. THe bright spots showed areas where powerful magic had left after images. She tapped the brightest.

"Albrect told me that all the stories of Djinn he had heard were ledgend, except perhaps that of Mavikim of Lashiek," she explained.

Urban Shadows

Players essentially create that kind of lore

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Morgan made an amused sound as he picked up a set of dividers and paced off some distances on the map. He made a grunting noise.

"Winds will be fresher close to the southern coast this time of year," Morgan mused. Markus nodded and put another forkful of egg into his mouth, considering. He tapped a chalk mark on the chart.

"We best alter course south then," he said around a mouthful of sausage, "else we would have to backtrack around the reefs." Morgan nodded his head and began to roll the chart up.

"Will three days be enough?" Emmaline asked, snatching a sausage of Markus' plate and popping it into her mouth before he could object. Morgan and Markus both snorted at the question.

"If there is a sailor who can't blow his pay in three days I've yet to meet him," Morgan explained. Markus nodded his agreement.

"Aye, they will be broke as Brettonian crofters, drunk as the Grand Theoginist, and poxed as any Marienburg whore besides," Markus snickered.

"Do we have coin to pay them with?" Emmaline asked. Markus and Morgan exchanged looks. Funds were low she knew, but she wasn't certain how low.

"We can pay the men," Markus confirmed, "but we are going to have to find some coin if we are going to have to find more coin."

Post a random fact about yourself.

I’ve been through and seen enough stuff that barely anything phases me anymore. When I went to boot camp, I didn’t suffer physically, but mentally, they got to me. I was broken down and built up and I’ve been a different person since. To add to that, I lived through the "behind the scenes" stories you hear about the military; your own people harming you.

If that wasn’t enough, it doesn’t help that I’m susceptible to intrusive thoughts and I beat myself up over it these days. It’s not debilitating, but it’s not something I should have to deal with.

@Xandrya

I'm sorry you had to go through that, and are still going through it :(

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The passage out through the Fool Rocks was less eventful that the way in. Though the sailors kept weapons near to hand and plugs of wax in their pockets, no sirens were sighted. According to Tobaran sailors, several of whom had signed on with the Hammer, the feeding cycle was over and wouldn't begin again for another month. The creatures were always about, but most often encountered when trying to feed. Emmaline explained her adventures in Tobaro to Markus, including the confusing welter of visions she had experienced in Arcane Street. Despite her best efforts, up to and including casting spells on the bracelet, she wasn't able to further rouse the artefact to action. In fact she was half convinced she had imagined the entire thing until, when she was trying to work a particularly risky spell on the bracelet, the snake momentarily animated, gave her an irritated look, and then solidified back into a slightly different configuration. Regardless she found that she was drawn to the bracelet, and when she slept with it under her pillow she was assailed by strange dreams of brown skinned people in linens bowing down before a strange statue of a serpentine looking figure whos features she could never quite make out.

On the second day out Morgan bustled into the cabin while Emmaline and Markus were sharing breakfast. Emmaline was customarily nude and made a prefunctory effort to cover herself with a sheet which had been kicked to the floor the previous evening. The corsair ignored her completely and spoke to Markus.

"We have a problem captain," he declared bluntly. Markus arched an eyebrow inviting Morgan to continue. Sailors didn't get old by sugar coating bad news and so Morgan plowed onwards.

"There are some rumblings among the lads, they didn't get shore leave in Sartosa or in Tabaro and they aren't happy about it," Morgan reported grimly. Emmaline got the impression he was holding something back but the privateer plowed onwards.

"Also we are down to less than a weeks worth of booze," he replied grimly, "if we don't get them some time ashore, and a supply of rum, I don't think we will make it all the way to Lustria."