Penny

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The Helix 2 was probably the best weapon credits could by when it came to taking down a big apex predator. As a weapon for confronting a blood mad group of feral tribesmen, it had severe disadvantages. I fired again, blasting the arm from one of the onrushing natives. It wasn't a great shot, merely the result of a target rich environment. The spent powercell ejected and clattered across the deck of the cargo-10. I fumbled for another shell but the wave of natives was already breaking around the vehicle. Several fetched it blows with axes or clubs, as though it were a great beast. Iducked and pulled my side arm from a holster in my imitation hunter garb. The gun was an Amrak Arms Thousander, a heavy chromed pistol with two barrels, one large and one larger. I gripped the weapon with both hands the way I had been shown in the simulator. Two tribesmen were already trying to clamber over the side, stinking of sweat and the rancid grease they used in their hair. I leveled the pistol at the nearest but before I could squeeze the heavy trigger, the man was yanked away so violently his shoulders joints popped free. Lucius Raj, smashed the unfortunate tribesman against the side of the cargo 10 like a whip. Bones cracked and blood flew in all directions. The Thunder Warrior dropped the body as two of the enemy, braver or stupider than the rest, hacked at the post-human with weapons that had been old before M1. He crushed the skull of one with a fist and then seized the second with both hands, ripping him in half in a bloody display of strength. I watched in awestruck amazement, captivated by the shocking level of violence that Lucius could summon. A las bolt glanced of the combing beside me, singing the small hairs on my hand. I pulled the trigger on reflex and the gun hammered, the round flying Throne knew where.

Lucius raged through them like a human scythe, his building rage venting itself explosively on the hapless ferals. They came on regardless, shockingly willing to confront the Thunder Warrior and the spatter of gunfire. Their experience of las weapons had obviously stolen their fear of firearms, but that didn’t explain their willingness to die. I fired three rounds from the thousander, dropping one of them, wincing each time as I felt the shock in my wrists. Then I clicked the fire selector to the second chamber and fired. The breaching found roared and cut down three tribesmen as they tried to clamber onto the cargo 10. I saw two of our local guides go down to a raging berserker with a double handed axe, beheading one and then the other with a quick reversed stroke before a las pistol bolt blasted his skull apart. As he fell a dozen men screamed and fell to the dirt, twitching and convulsing.

A minute later it was over, the last of the raiders pulled down by Lucius who raged off into the woods in search of further victims. That was a better result than him venting his fury on us so I didn’t try to intervene. I climbed down from the back of the cargo 10, shocked at the extent of the carnage.

“Hadrian?” I called out in concern. He emerged from behind cover, smoking weapon in hand. I relaxed when I saw him and remembered my own weapon. I slid the thousander back into its holster, unwilling to risk trying to reload it in a manner that might cast doubt on my supposed expertise.

“Savages with las guns,” Selencia mused. I bent down and picked up the las gun. The weapons are, of course, ubiquitous across the Imperium. This model was pearl white with brass accents, its handle fashioned to look like natural wood.

“Very nice las guns,” I observed. It was far better made than the simple stamped metal models I was familiar with. Nice as it was, it was still rusted from lack of maintenance. I wondered if the locals even knew how to reload them.

“It is an Espair Pattern VII, probably manufactured on the forge world of Memdon or one of the subsidiary manufactorum worlds,” Lazarus supplied, picking up one of the weapons and working the action open to examine some internal detail. He sounded as though he had written a dissertation on the subject, though knowing the Skitarii, it was simply something he had encountered and uploaded into his internal data banks.

“Right, but why is it so nice?” I persisted, setting the gun down on the wheel guard of the transport.

“It is manufactured under limited license for specific clients,” Lazarus explained, without providing any actual information.

“What clients?” I pressed.

“Some noble houses, but primarily for the Eclesiarchy,” Lazarus allowed.

“Of course the Eclesiarchy has no need of las guns,” Hadrian said dryly, “being forbidden from keeping men under arms and all.” Everyone laughed at the notion that the church might abide by the ancient and toothless edict.

“So why are las guns made for Fraternis Militia in the hands of people who probably worship the Sun and the Great God Goo?” I asked. No one had any ready answer.

“Why did they keep coming like that?” Clara Strong asked, idly feeding shells into the rotating drumb of her weapon.

“If they are savages they ought to have fouled themselves when Lucius went berserk, I know I felt the urge,” she admitted. I turned over one of the corpses with my boot and looked into the dead man’s eyes.

“Mental conditioning,” I said after a moment, “someone used memetic conditioning to make retreat impossible.”

“Warp trickery and smuggled weapons, it sounds like the spor of chaos to me,” Clara mused.

Penny's Pencils

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Something about the situation didn't sit well with me. I had met a number of Inquisitorial operatives and to a woman they had been hard bitten and capable. Samara had been on a world reknowned for its hunters, it made no sense that she had been taken by surprise. I had spent some time trying to learn to use my gifts in a more forensic fashion, but it was still a work in progress. I was confident that with time I could contribute something but problably no way Hadrian would be comfortable with, and that wouldn't send the local running screaming. I wasn't ceratin that would be an entirely bad thing. I wasn't sensing any overt deception from any of them, but they would certainly gossip once they got back to the starport. If there was a chaos presence on the world, they would certainly have links in the port.

"There are enemies approaching," Lucius rumbled, his eyes drawn to the woods to the east. A flock of the native aviforms were alighting from the trees. He stood up off the fender of the cargo ten, the suspension relaxing at least a foot to be rid of the thunder warrior's weight. Pure aggression radiated off the trans-humans mind and I felt my hands flex in an unconcious urge to rend and tear. I tried to calm him but his rage was beginning to build.

"Let us move on," I declared formally. Getting Lucius away from potential battle might stop him going berserk.

"Hostile's approaching," Lazarus stated, spinning to face the treeline. The locals were begining to pay attention now, as the tension in the air became general.

"Let's mount up," I began. A blizard of las fire ripped from the treeline. Bolts flew everywhere. A nearby fruit pod exploded into steam and dropped burning fragments down onto the sand. Several bolts struck the Cargo 10s pinging away with flecks of burning paint. I jumped over the edge of the cargo 10 and rolled into the compartment to take shelter, then, remembering I was supposed to be a bad ass hunter, crawled froward to where my weapons case was stowed. The las fire was a blizzard, light was everywhere, snapping and crackling overhead. I opened the case and touched the controls as Lazarus had shown me. The rifle was nearly two meters long, a Transvasuer Helix 2, meant for heavy game. It lifted on grav compensator units which made it possible for one person to handle. I swung it towards the trees and sighted down the autotargeter. The trees jumped into view and I saw our attackers. They were dressed in furs with coats of chain mail and leather that clashed with the las guns they were firing. I was no soldier but even I recognised they werent doing a great job of it.

"They don't know how to use them," I said, then squeezed the trigger as my sight drifted over a one eyed brute with a pair of weapons he was firing one handed. The weapon crashed, a minaturized las cannon blast ripping from the barrel. It struck the inept gunman in the chest, blowing his chest appart in flaming steam, his arms and legs flying off in different directions from his vaporized torso. With a howl, the natives charged, firing wilding as they came, some throwing away las guns to draw swords and axes.

Ill Met in Ostland

"Can we fort up and hold them off?" Marius asked as a pair of arrows clattered of the dilapidated stone work, sparking there crude head against rock. Natasha muttered a vile Kislivite oath. There was a well armed and provisioned fortress on the other side of the river, but even if they reached it they would be murdered because of some southern nonsense she didn't understand.

"Meybe if piwdeer not soyaked," she complained, though it was likely enough that this was a scouting party and they had already sent for more of their foul kind. More arrows curvetted through the air though they were far to poorly aimed to be any threat. They needed time to rest the horses but there was no chance of that now.

"Ivan vould be insuuferible," Natsaha grimaced.

"What?" Marius asked.

"Always..." she put on a gruff masculine voice which made her even harder to understand in mockery of her uncle Ivan, "Tasha, a bow vill navar jam, Tasha you can yis a bow in the ryain, Tasha if you mess vith arrow you don't have to buy new..." The volume of braying was increasing by the moment, and a dozen more beasts had appeared to join the first wave. They must have misjudged the number of humans sheltering in the mill given they hadn't simply charged the place. That wasn't far off though as they were clearly working themselves up into a frenzy. Natasha looked up at the ruins of the old mill.

"Geyet hirses ready to ride," she instructed and launched herself upwards, catching onto a rotting beam and hauling herself upwards to the next tier of the mill.

"What are you doing?" Marius demanded but she didn't have time to describe it. Instead she climbed the crumbling stone until she reached the ancient and rusted pin that secured the skeletal blades. She braced herself against the rock and kicked, sending up a shower of rusted metal. Grunting with effort she kicked again, and then a third time. The pin gave with a crash and the sails dropped, landing on the slope and beginning to tumble. The sound was colossal, like a shipwreck Natasha imagined, as the old rotten wood turned end over end partially shattering with each turn as it tumbled down the hill towards the milling beastmen. It was disintegrating as it went but it had enough momentum that it carried itself down hill in showers of splinters. The braying beasts broke and ran for the safety of the woods, squealing in apparent terror as the blades truck the treeline with an almighty crash that shook dust from every poorly motared joint of the old mill. Natasha slithered down and climbed into the saddle. Marius had already led the beasts behind the mill so their escape, although in the wrong direction to reach Wolfenburg was at least shielded by the mouldering pile of rubble. They spurred off into the rain, heading down the hill and into the darkness, leaving pursuit, for now, behind them.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

"I'm just about..." Emmaline replied, furiously scratching runes and sigils into the deck, she added a final flourish. "Done!" Golden energy lit the runes, pouring out as though lit from golden fires beneath. The tempreature plummeted and the hot dense air of the Druchii's slave pens plunged downwards to fill the gap. The sails luffed and began to fill even as ice crystals began to form around the tafrails. Markus turned to scream orders, but the terrified sailors needed no instructions. They hauled the canvas tight and the Hammer began to move, no faster than a saunter, out towards the main harbor. The dark elves had formed a compact wall of shields and were moving along the quay sheltering from the crossbow bolts and improvised projectiles being hurled by the fleeing pirates. It was a shame that none of the guns would bear on the tight packed formation. Emmaline saw that they were making for a great chain that was sunk beneath the canal, clearly intended to seal the way to the harbor.

Morek evidently saw the problem too. He grabbed a barrel of powder and leaped over the side onto the quay. Howling an oath to Grimnir he charged towards the dark elves. Emmaline saw fire spark on the barrel a few moment before the dwarf charged through the shield wall, earning several cuts as he dove between the spear blades. His meaty shoulder struck where two shields joined and he crashed through in a confusion of flailing arms and legs. The powder keg went up with a concussive boom that rattled Emmaline's teeth. The formation flew appart in a gout of flame and fire, shields and spears flying in all directions. Several limbs and a couple of helms hit the Hammer's deck in a series of thumps. Emmaline balled her fists with the effort of concentrating, keeping the arcane wind blowing as canal behind them froze over.

"In a minute..." she gasped, "we are going to have to deal with that skank of a pony riding sorceress."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Jocasta was still enthusiastic about the idea of lances at dawn, but she had to admit that Beren's suggestion had alot of merit.

"We have been hoping to aquire charters to explore the ruins and the barrows," Beren said.

"And letters of introduction that will let us examine the libraries of noble families," Jocasta stuck in by way of twisting the knife and advocating for her own interests while she was at it. That might be useful if they needed to get access to the noble estate which sported the dwarven rune in its coat of arms. It wasn't likely that a noble family would welcome a group of rag tag adventuers to explore their land, essepcially if most of them were dwarves.

"I'm sure that a ... noble lady like Lady Giroux will be able to furnish us with the proper writs," Beren wheedled. That 'noble lady' looked like she was about to have a cornary on the spot, her face turning an almost eggplant shade of purple. Jocasta had no skill with lances, but her confident choice of weapons had clearly upset the woman. Jocasta wondered what her game was. It seemed unlikely that she was tangled with the demon, but whatever she was playing at must align with its fell purposes.

"I..." Giroux stumbled, but her liege lord was giving her a stern look which argued strongly against continuing to swim against the tide. She glowered but the aquiesced.

"I shall have the papers deliver by way of... appology," the last word hissed out from between her teeth, and she spun on her heel and stalked away.

Penny's Pencils

Ill Met in Ostland

Natasha collected a handful of twigs and stacked them in a square before adding some larger sticks. She crouched down beside the timber and began to spark the flint of her carbine, sending showers of sparks down over the tinder. It stubbonly refused to catch despite her best efforts. The powder in her pouch was no help, having been soaked to slurry during the river crossing. She bent down and blew, coaxing a few whisps of smoke from the pile, then cursed and sat up straight, pushing her hand to her side.

"Are you alright?" Marius asked.

"Da, ze vound opened," she hissed, feeling the warm dribble of blood run down her ribs.

"Here let me..." Marius said, making his way awkwardly towards her. Natasha suddenly looked alarmed.

"Stop!" she hissed. The merchant made a dimissive sound and kept coming towards her, reaching out with a hand in comfort.

"Stop!" Natasha repeated, more urgently.

"Seriously, you'd rather bleed than let me take a look? I promised you its nothing I haven't seen back in Altdorf..." he cut off as Natasha lurched across the cellar and clamped a gloved had across his mouth. Marius struggled for a moment and then stilled as a sound came from outside. Natasha held up a finger in front of her lips and, when she was certain he wouldn't make a sound, let him go. She pulled herself up to the lip of the cellar and peered over the ancient stonework. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but at the edge of the scrubby wood were a trio of figures. They were humanoid but they weren't human. All three were covered with fur and mixed the aspects of humans and beasts. One of them had gnarled antlers protruding from his skull, another cloven hoofs and backward jointed knees. All three carried weapons that had once been farm impliments but had been hammered into crude polearms by the most basic of methods.

"Beyest meen," Natasha hissed. The beastmen picked their way along the treeline. Suddenly one paused and snuffled at the air in a disturbingly cannine way before braying at its fellows. Their eyes turned towards the ruins of the mill.

"Can they smell the horses?" Marius whispered.

"I thynk eet is my blood," Natasha replied. Under normal circumstances the scent would have drawn them in moments but the rain was obviously providing them some cover. After a few minutes they lurched off down the hill and away.

"Soo mich for fyr," Natasha breathed in relief.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Dawn broke to find Palona wreathed in a pall of smoke it billowed thick and black from the shattered remains of the powder magazine bespeaking something more potent than simple gunpowder. Dozens of fires burned along the axis of attack and along the line Bianca and her scouts had ridden, adding to the omnipresent haze that rendered the enemy camp half invisible. Every now and again the wind gusted enough to drive away some of the cloud, revealing bodies laying where they had been hacked or shot, burial detail apparently still not having been arranged.

"What are they waiting for you reckon?" Cadger asked as he laid down two towers and scooped the pot. Bianca scowled but if the dwarf were cheating she couldn't detect it. He had fetched a blow from a mace in the night fighting, partially deflected off his shield, that had laid open a cut on his scalp. Nambi had tried to heal it, but as with all things dwarven the cut was partially resistant to magic. A paste of Bianca knew not what had been laid over it and hardened like plaster, save where serum had seeped through and colored the center a pale yellow, making it look for all the world as though someone had dropped a fried egg on her uncles liver spotted pate.

Torm and Nambi tossed in their own cards and Bianca began to deal again. It was a company tradition to play cards after a battle, the theory being you had been lucky enough to survive so you would probably be lucky enough to win. Bianca sucked at her teeth, irritated that she couldn't be out there answering that very question, but the Captain had flat forbidden it as too dangerous. She had three dead, Kali, Rivens, and Marcs, and she had yet to broach the topic of replacements. There were a couple of Aeon's infantry she was considering but it would be impolitic to ask so soon.

"Probably killed too many officers, takes time to sort out he new shitting order," Aeon opined, his smile brilliant against his dark skin. Aeon was technically the watch officer, and so the game was taking place in a guardhouse by the main gate. Bianca grunted. That was always a possibility with foes like this, particularly if a big wig contracted a bad case of sword to bowels without a clear successor. There was no way they could bring up enough food to feed their men, but they might not have realized that just yet. With any luck they would dally for a week and half of them would starve on the march back south.

"If I'd seen Torm and the Nargard come screaming out of the night it might take me a few minutes to find my balls too," Nambi said, opening the bidding by tapping two fingers on the table. Cadger growled and tossed his cards away. Bianca examined her own cards and followed suit, triggering a redeal, much to Aeon's evident displeasure. The rules of the game were arcane, a company tradition imported from the Gods knew where, and involved a sophisticated system of calling your shot with a certain suit as trumps. Torm grunted but didn't respond directly.

"You should have seen those Nargard, frothing at the mouth and slamming axes on shields. I think I saw one of them kill a man with his teeth," Cadger cackled. Black Ryann slithered into the post, his uniform neat and clean as always. The wizard rarely took part in the game, and was a notorious and obvious cheat, somewhat ironically for a wily intelligence broker.

"Cadger, Captain wants you," he barked, drawing a sigh of resignation from the dwarf who stood up and headed away towards the temple.

"Surely the mercenaries will tell them which end of the sword is sharp," Torm speculated, laying down a run of staves that was capped with a Hierarch, leaving the cards exposed for a second in case anyone had the Wisp of the Throneless King. No one did and he swept the pot, flicking Cadger's share back to his pile chivalrously.

"Ha, those sanctimonious bastards would say the sky was red if a lowly hireling tried to tell them," Aeon laughed. Play continued in a desultory fashion for a another few minutes. Bianca was getting ready to make her excuses and go find some company when Roni, a lanky scout hustled in looking troubled, his eyes scanned the room and then settled on Bianca.

"First... where is Cadger?" he demanded eyes wide. Play had already stopped all the participants too seasoned to ignore the interruption.

"He is at the Temple, whats up?" she asked, not in the most friendly of tones.

"I don't know, there is a dwarf and he wants to talk to Cadger," Roni blurted. Bianca stood though she was still confused as to why Roni was acting like the sky was falling.

"You speak dwarf don't you First, can you come talk to him? He is over at the Taproom," Roni asked, desperate to pass a potential problem up the chain to someone who knew what they were doing. Bianca did speak dwarf, having grown up among the hardy race after her own parents had been killed. It was vanishingly unlikely that the dwarf in question didn't speak a human language, but they were a clannish folk who often didn't trust outsiders.

"Sure, you head up to the temple and get Cadger. He is with the Captain but don't be afraid to barge in," she directed. She turned to speak to the others but Torm was already buckling on his sword belt, evidently having anticipated her request. Aeon was stowing his winnings preparatory to heading up to the wall to make sure all was well.

The dwarf in question was filthy, dressed in battered chain and a vast surcoat that had probably once been red but was now stained so badly it looked a rich brown gray. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, but judging by the uneven soot deposit over both eyes, it was an aid to limit a delvers eyes rather than a covering for a missing organ. Dirt was caked on him to an almost ludicrous degree but even so Bianca recognized him.

"Thossak Ironballs as I live and breathe," Bianca blurted out. The dwarf turned and peered at her in confusion.

"Cadger kon kanak gur?," he growled in equal surprise, then flipped up his eye patch, grinding at a reddened eye with a balled fist.

"Cadger kon gur macton Bianca," she replied. The dwarf seemed to relax, almost visibly deflating.

"You know this dwarf?" Torm asked, his tone showing that he didn't understand but expected to be made to shortly.

"He is one of Grimgi's Gak, his lieutenant actually," Bianca supplied.

"You mean, the enemy artillery company?" Torm asked, "how did he get inside."

"Time for that later," the Thossak broke in, demonstrating he could indeed speak Kindan, the common trade language of Shimmer Sea.

"We need your help, you and your company's," Thossak rumbled. Bianca arched an eyebrow, it was unheard of for a dwarven company to turn coat without a formal surrender.

"Ummm... I can take you to our Captain," Bianca temporized.

"You don't understand lass, those lunatics are about to assault the walls with everything they have, all sixty thousand of the bastards are whipping themselves up into a frenzy," he growled, "and they are going to launch it right after they burn our lads to appease their mad god!"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Jocasta let snort of delighted laughter at the gift and the poem, more than a little taken aback that Beren had found time to go out and find such a wonderful item. She opened her mouth, to say she knew not what, when the red head from earlier marched across the roof top to where the two of them were standing, a stubborn set to her jaw. Jocasta opened her mouth to tell the woman to go about her own business when a ringing slap took her across the jaw. Jocasta rocked back in shock, her hand flying to her face.

"You harlot, you lead me on about him to embarrass me!" the red head raged. Jocasta tensed her muscles, preparing to show this scarlet haired slut that you couldn't just go around slapping people but Beren was already starting to move between them. Suddenly Jocasta realized that getting Beren into some kind of trouble must be what her demonic patron had planned with the whole charade, the woman was trying to get into an altercation. Without fully thinking it through, which was to say the same way she did most things, Jocasta stepped between Beren and the red head.

"I accept!" she declared her voice ringing uncomfortably in the sudden silence following the slap. The red head reeled back, confused and frustrated that her plan was not going well.

"What?!" the strumpet demanded in alarm.

"I accept your challenge," Jocasta declared, "you have struck me in a demand for satisfaction." The remark was met with a low muted buzz, as the Baron and his party hurried over, the look on his face suggesting that he wasn't best pleased to have his founders day celebration devolving into farce twice at the hands of the same duo, even though Beren and Jocasta were technically blameless.

"Now Mistress Jocasta, I'm sure that Lady Giroux will withdraw her challenge and apologize for her reckless behaviour," the Baron said, a touch of steel in his voice. The red head Giroux apparently gave a thankful nod.

"Of course, I uhhh, beg your pardon," Lady Giroux said insincerely. Jocasta stepped forward and delivered a slap of her own, no theatrical tap, but a full armed slug that snapped Giroux' head sideways and raised a red mark on her cheek. The Baron let out a frustrated sigh.

"It is not our custom for ladies of the court to duel," he said through gritted teeth.

"How dare you you lowborn bitch!" Giroux raged, "we will meet and I will gut you like a ..."

"I get my choice of weapons right?" Jocasta asked, short circuiting everyone's prepared outrage. There was an awkward pause before the Baron sighed again.

"Lady Giroux did strike you so I suppose..." he began.

"Great," Jocasta interrupted, "lances it will be, on horseback and everything!"

"I don't know how to use a lance," Giroux spluttered in rage. Jocasta crossed her arms.

"Might have thought of that before you went around slapping people," she snapped.