Penny

Wealth and Warpstorms

+pending alcanderization+

Camilla had heard of biting cold, and of bitter cold. The cold of Thyrum was both those things, she could literally taste it in the back of her throat and it bored into her skin like thousands of tiny awls. She cranked up the heat exchange in her body glove, forcing hot air to jet from the neck to protect her face, the improvement wasn't much, but better than using a face enclosing helmet.

"Whee we landn in th' wylds?" Alcander asked. Camilla set off, boots crunching in the snow as she followed the coordinates in the auspex, heading up and over a small rise.

"None of the automatic landing beacons were responding and they weren't answering hails. I'd rather not figure out that their anti-aircraft defenses were the only thing these peasants could keep working," Camilla replied. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach the top of the rise, by which time Camilla was regretting her decision to be cautious. The wind whipped up in intermittent sheets of white, and she was forced to pull the hood of her fur cloak up over her head. Jocasta produced a set of goggles so large that it made her look like some kind of stinging insect. THe combat servitor merely plodded along, oily looking ice crystals forming at its nostrils and around its exhaust vents on its backpack. From the crest they could see a barren arctic wasteland, with tall dagger-like mountains erupting in the distant north. Periodically snow flashed by and obscured the view, but it was so windy that this never lasted more than a few moments. In the valley below was a great frozen lake, the snow scoured from its icy surface till it shone like glass. On its shore was a vast chunk of unwholesome looking ice. It was a fortress of sorts with three walls and a forth opening onto the lake, though long moles ran out even there. Rusted vox masts and other paraphernalia peeped up from behind the wall, and guard towers of timber and corrugated iron projected from the top of the wall, the muzzles of heavy weapons protruded from towers, though to a piece they pointed upwards at the kind of crazy angles that suggested they were unmanned.

"What in Terra's name is that?" Camilla asked. Imperial architecture varied a great deal from place to place, but for a penal colony this was unusual in the extreme.

"They formed the ice into walls, then shaped it, probably with flamers, the shimmer you are seeing is most likely prometheum residue or some other accelerant that..." Jocasta provided helpfully. Obviously her goggles provided some kind of magnification that let her take a closer look.

"What because razor wire was just too easy?" Alcander asked, producing his own set of magnoculars and buffing the lenses with his sleeve to clear them of ice and frost. He lifted them to his eyes and stared for a moment.

"Movement down there, and signs of recent habitation, probably cook fires too, be more obvious if this wind wasn't sweeping the smoke clear the second it gets above the ground."

"You think they have gone feral?" Camilla asked. It wasn't unknown in backward posts, left alone for God Emperor knew how long between visits with civilization.

"Might have been a good thing to ask... oh I don't know... the Imperial Navy picket?" Alcander put in, sarcasm all but dripping from his tone.

"No matter," Camilla replied calmly. She unslung a large lever action hunting rifle with elaborate engravings cut into the barrel both as decoration and to keep down the weight. She worked the lever, jacking two shells into place.

"Let's say hello."

As they reached the icy ramparts they found a gate house of sorts. A section of what once must have been a hemispherical habitation unit had been cut and used to create a gateway. Several large pieces of timber, perhaps local pines of some kind were in place so they could be used to block the entrance, though they were not deployed that way now. Camilla, having grown up in her fathers castle-like dwellings, entered carefully, eyes upturned in case there were murder holes or other surprises. There were none and she passed through into a courtyard around which completely normal ferrocrete hab and admin units had been set up. Lines ran between some of them and garments of some kind flapped on them in the gusty wind. A trio of men dressed in an odd combination of flak armored chest plates and large mono slot helmets like those welders used, sat around a fire. They jumped up when they saw Camilla's party and chainmail clinked around their legs and arms. One of them had what looked like a coif protruding from beneath his helmet. Two of them held long hafted spears of some kind, the other had a shotgun and what looked to be a chain blade over his back. They started to move to level their weapons but froze as the faced the combined firepower of Camilla's detachment.

"Who are you and what the frak are you..." the leader dropped as Camilla cracked him across the jaw with the butt of her rifle. The helmet flew off and he sprawled to the ground. He was a pudgy man, his lips thin and drawn back in a snarl of hate, a brushy red beard matted with grease and filth did not improve the look.

"Alcander, introduce me if you would," Camilla said in a quiet deadly tone.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Once I partied for myself, now I partied for the Emperor. It is a surprising fact that dancing and drinking are often necessary tools of the trade when blending in with almost all strata of Imperial Society. The attendees at the charity gala probably wouldn’t have appreciated the fact that they essentially went in for the same entertainment as mutants and underhivers at Pound bars, only with more violins. But appreciated or not I had been to both places and everywhere in between. I was able to dance with considerably more abandon than the rest of the company, even more conservative dances pushed to the point of scandal with exaggerated hip movement and passionate embraces. It reminded me a lot of dancing on the mess table on the Caledonia just after I had joined Hadrian’s band, though then of course I had been dancing alone. Hadrian too revealed hidden depths. The Inquisition actually trains its operatives in most aspect of high culture, but he had also seen the full gamut of Imperial society and not just on Pacitus. Some of the young crowd were able to keep up but the old and augmented were left behind. For me it was as though we were the only people in the room, dancing just for each other and the half scandalized glances were from some other, lesser reality.

The champagne glass in my hand we refilled many times between dances, and though I was asked several times by the younger men I danced only with Hadrian, an attitude almost as scandalous as the dances themselves. Despite the steady stream of liquor, I did not become drunk. Every few dances I paused to apply an ivory and gold stim injector to the inside of my wrist. To the assembled gathering it no doubt looked like simple drug use, angelum or pax, popular party drugs. In Fact it had been loaded with a cocktail of drugs which neutralize the effects of alcohol, a standard piece of kit for Inquisitors who need to keep their minds sharp and heads level while undercover in places that required a high ethanol diet. You could drink as much as you liked with no worse effect than a slight lemony taste in the back of your throat If anyone noticed a lack of drunkenness it was easily explained by my party girl personal, Hadrian was more abstemious even though the Naval penchant for drink was the stuff of jokes throughout the Imperium.

Periodically throughout the night, auctions of sorts were held. The various glitteratti vied with each other to spend more on this orphanage or that scholam. Sometimes there were titles for sale, mostly things like the freedom of the city or other honors which wealthy socialites liked to collect but had little practical effect on the Imperium writ large. Several pieces of art were also sold, including some rather magnificent illuminated manuscripts containing the sayings of Saint Agripina, allegedly related on her deathbed. Given the size of the tomes I figure it had to be a rather drawn out death. Hadrian bid on some of the items, especially a rather splendid pair of pearl inlaid dueling pistols but he was inevitably swamped by other bidders. It seemed that our display of wantonness with the dancing had shown up the local nobs and they wanted to make sure that this uncoth upstart and his bimbo were outclassed in at least one area. That made me smile as given that we were cut off from our funds we could ill afford the prices being asked, and at least the local charities were benefiting from the snobbery. Assuming any of the wealth actually trickled down that far of course. In my experience there is never a shortage of bureaucrats willing to extract a ‘fee’ as money moves from one place to the next.

It happened just before the final dance. By then I was rather distracted and was forming certain designs on the body of my dance partner, half convinced that nothing of note would happen despite Hadrian’s certainty to the contrary. I was just finishing a particularly energetic round when there was a sudden surge in the artificial canals that had been set up around the dance floor. Men with large rubber masks, rebreathers with huge round eyes like gas rebreathers burst from the water. There was a collective gasp by those who witnessed it directly which spread like falling dominos through the crowd. Hadrian, who had been in the process of dipping me by my waist, dropped me without ceremony and dived behind a planter box. Gun fire erupted through the crowd as our attackers, dressed in soaking body armor, came out of the canals, rose scented water streaming from their battle gear.

I rolled to the side, miraculously avoiding the legs of panicking dancers. A rather fat baroness who had been scowling at me took a las bolt to the chest and fell screaming, rubies from her golden necklace clattering down like hail. I got behind a marble bench that held finger food as las fire stitched across the floor in sparkling ricochets. I pulled a small deringer from my gater belt and popped up in time to see another group of attackers clambering up onto one of the faux islands, unslinging las guns. I thrust out my hand and summoned my Will.

“Drop them,” I commanded, my empowered words cutting through the spreading chaos like a templem bell. Every single person in the vast hall who still had a drink dropped it in a shattering avalanche of glass. Unfortunately not one single attacker so much as flinched and I dropped back behind the bench a heart beat before a blizzard of las fire ripped across the top, showering me with burning finger sandwiches and pieces of tableware. I didn’t bother trying to shout a warning across the room to Hadrian, no doubt he wouldn’t be able to hear, and he didn’t need to, the fact that my psykanna had failed would be as obvious to him as it was to me. I scrambled along a few feet and popped around the side. Three men were charging my position, literally blasting apart a pair of waiters who had frozen in place between us. I fired all four rounds of the deringer. It was a tiny weapon, but very powerful, its capacitor fed las lens able to take far more punishment than a las gun which might expect years of continuous service. The knee of the lead man exploded, spattering the white uniformed corpses of the staff with even more blood. He went down in a heap, screaming and tripping his companions. I tossed the pistol, I had no time to reload it and no ammunition either, and snatched up a knife that was smeared with some kind of cake. Leaping to my feet I darted away through the crowd, heading towards where I had last seen Hadrian and trying to avoid being trampled by the gaudily dressed nobility of Pacitus.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Naril@Fetzen@POOHEAD189 Ok, all characters are approved, please move them to the character tab, Ill be looking to get started towards the end of the week!

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

“As though we were smugglers not poor honest men!” the crew roared in unison. Camilla del Atranto sawed out the notes on her violin, short vicious jerks which would degrade the bow in a matter of a few weeks. A smile crooked her lips as she considered what her mother would think to see her playing pulley hauley shanties after all the money that had been spent to perfect concertos meant for elegant drawing rooms.

“Belay that catterwallin’” Antonio Domenquez, the first mate of the Espri’d’Mar snapped. Camilla lifted her bow and the music stopped, though the shanty continued for several more seconds as the crew completed the stanza out of sheer spite. Domenquez stalked past her keeping his glance clandestine. He hadn’t addressed her more directly in the five weeks since he had grabbed her in a moment of drunken enthusiasm. The scar on his face was hardly noticeable now.

Esprit’Mar was rounding a low cape lined with verdant jungle. After so many weeks at sea the smell of greenery, trees, and tropical flowers was a pleasure. The sweltering tropical heat was less welcome. Camilla took off a broad brimmed felt hat and fanned herself. She had seen forests before of course, but what passed for forests in Medica were manicured, managed things, almost parks compared to this. And this wasn’t even the mainland, where the explorers told of trackless primeval rainforest that stretched beyond the horizon. As the ship came round the cape the smooth passage began to judder as the prow struck small waves and moved closer to the eye of the wind, little wavelets buffeting them every second or so. The bay opened its jaws, revealing masts and sails of dozens of other ships, each tethered to the settlement of Port Pact by wharves and jetties. Smoke rose from cookfires and industry, though compared to Atranto and its Blacksmith’s quarter it seemed pale and anemic.

“Where will you go once you are ashore,” Domenquez asked, coming to stand beside her at the railing, the interest in his tone casual enough to be obviously faked.

“Iontana,” she replied shortly. Away. Domenquez chuckled, though Camilla wasn’t complete sure he spoke and Medician.
“Not a big place, really no place to go,” Domenquez replied, the threat evident in his voice. Sailors were scrambling up the rigging now, bringing in loops of baggy sails in Castilian reefs, to take the way of the ship as it turned into the bay. The unpleasant slapping of waves against the prow easing as the sea began to follow. Camilla pirouetted, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword. Domenquez took a step back, then flushed with embarrassment.

“No where to go!” he called after her as she headed for her small cabin and her few possessions.

As the Esprit’Mar pulled alongside the long wooden jetty, Camilla leaped from the bulwark onto the timbers. She almost lost her dignity and plunged into the ocean as she realised that the sea legs she had so painfully acquired meant that her land legs were unreliable. She threw out her arms and balanced herself moving swiftly down the jetty.

During the months at sea Camilla had enjoyed ample time to plan. Unfortunately without much information finding her lost love was going to be something of a challenge. His ship had been headed for Free Sail, but she had languished in prison for nearly a month and by now he might be anywhere. Her stomach tightened at the thought that he might have jumped ship or simply sailed back in the mean time. She had convinced herself he wouldn’t, partly because he wasn’t a fool and partly because she needed it to be true. If he was here, she had no doubt he would make a splash she would eventually detect. Hopefully before that idiot Domenguez sold her out to the Exchange, or obliged her to redecorate his intestines.

Passing a billboard Camilla slowed, her eyes focusing on the word Adventurous Souls Wanted. An idea occurred to her and she suddenly began to smile. She could search for him but he could search for her too, all she needed to do was to make a name for herself. She headed for the Golden Cove Hotel with a skip in her step that had nothing to do with land sickness.

In Medicia the term hotel was a noble one, bespeaking wealth, sophistication and opulence. Those expectations were sadly let down by the Golden Cove. It was a white washed adobe building in the Castillian style and had, in it’s day, been a fine establishment. Unfortunately that day had been sometime before Camilla del Atranto had been born. The white wash had been discolored by years of blowing mud and cracks ran through it where local moss was taking hold. The once fine roof of terracotta tiles had been patched with palm leaves and tar giving it a rather sickly look. The clientele was in somewhat better shape, though they would have been laughed out of any drawing room Camilla had ever been in. Still it wasn’t as though she had better lodgings to get too. Pulling her plumed hat down low on her brow she strode in to find a rather pudgy looking man sitting on a chair of woven wicker, puffing lazily at a cigar.

“Where will I find Sir Edmund Lauwrence?” she asked in Castilian, making a silver coin appear and walking it over her knuckles.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

5, 4, 5,

Enlisting Alexius to help Molly is able to merge the AI cores, replacing Cho's ur-bots functions with non AI programing to mimic it long enough for the ur-bot to be wiped.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

@Lurking Krog Excellent, I was waiting for you to get in the game before I tried it :D

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

@tealrootssss The CS is a nightmare to use I'm afraid.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

@ctrlsaltdel Is there anything I can do to increase my attune roll (take stress ect). I dont like my chances with zero points in attune.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

Camilla Del Atranto

C A M I L L A
C A M I L L A

^{"Don't hate me just because I'm beautiful, I'm also very rich!"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ Portrait _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Camilla Ariadne Lucrezia del Atranto - The Rose of Atranto _________________________________________________________ 23 | It is complicated _________________________________________________________ Unafilliated | Medician N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Classical Education Camilla is educated at the pinnacle of Medician culture. She can discuss theology and natural philosophy with the same ease she can plan a cotillion. She can also sing, play several musical instruments, and dance at the height of fashion. It also includes the feminine art of poisoning. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Schiavona Side Sword A masterpiece weapon commissioned for Camilla by her father. The pinnacle of the Atrantian arms industry, it is single fullured and made of prime steel with an intricate wire guard hilt that has been gilded with gold and inset with several small rubies. A personalized piece from a city of master blacksmiths, it is precisely balanced for its owner and kept at a razor edge. ◼ Journal and Writing Equipment As an educated woman, Camilla keeps a comprehensive journal, recording social engagements, poetry, ciphers, questionable illustrations, petty insults, and off color jokes. ◼ Violin Camilla possesses an extremely expensive violin that was given to her by her mother. It is inlaid with gold and mother of pearl and is the peak of its art. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Acrobatic Lithe and graceful, Camilla has spent countless hours dancing and fencing. She is extremely light on her feet and capable of great feats of coordination and balance. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Hates these borderline unusable character sheets One of the few people in the world who seems to understand what a waste of time these overly complicated character sheets are, Camilla has attached additional information to the bottom of this sheet. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Camilla del Atranto is the only daughter of the reigning Duke Federico del Atranto. While the Duke still hopes for a male heir, he dotes on his daughter. From an early age she was indulged beyond the normal bounds of her sex. While she was trained in the traditional feminine skills of poetry, pageantry (dance), and poison (healing) she was also permitted to learn the more masculine arts of hunting, hawking, and handwork (fencing). While she is adequately skilled in the byzantine social customs of her homeland her true talent lay in dance and, not coincidentally, fencing. Her father, ever indulgent, provided her with a series of swordmasters to advance her education. Her ability with a sword made her something of a jewel at the court of Atranto and helped aid Federico in his diplomatic maneuvering. A high spirited girl, filled with the confidence she roamed far beyond her social station, associating with guardsmen and travelling out into the often fractious city. Though firmly in the Vaticine camp religious, Atrantian politics often put the city at odds with the Holy See due to internal Medician power dynamics. Several years ago this resulted in a period of intense rioting where the populace, whipped up by fanatic preachers, engaged in a protracted orgy of rioting against the Duke’s ‘ungodly’ policies. Caught up in these disturbances and the ensuing intrigues and street fighting, Camilla engaged in a whirlwind love affair with a foreigner by the name of Aneillio Edoardo. When order was finally restored and Camilla was dragged back to the palace by her father’s somewhat exasperated guards she was informed that she was to be married of to the ambitious and unscrupulous Duke Cesare de Monte Calabra as part of the settlement with the Holy See, a move that would see control of Atranto pass to Monte Calabra in the event the Duke, now an aging man, was unable to produce a male heir. Camilla was furious at being bartered away in such a trade and repelled by the despicable Cesare and swore she would never wed such a brute. Her father, knowing her tempremeant too well, had her imprisoned until the day of the nuptials. The day of the wedding dawned and the reluctant bride was escorted to the cathedral by her fathers guards. Dressed in wedding day finery she was all but frog marched to the altar to meet the grinning Duke Cesare. The ceremony began but at the moment the priest asked for objections Aneillio stepped forward and swept back his cloak, calling out his objection and swearing to prove it upon the Duke’s body if need be. When the Duke scoffed at the challenge of a commoner and ordered his guards to kill the interloper Aneillio tossed a sword to Camilla and drew his own. The Cathedral descended into chaos as the pair fought their way free of Cesare’s troops, the fighting spilling over into the city. Aneillio had arranged passage out of Atranto on a merchantman but by the time they reached the docks the city had descended into something between a riot and a revolution as partisans Vaticine and Atrantian independence clashed in the streets. Aneillio was able to reach the departing ship and leaped aboard only to see Camilla knocked off her feet by Cesare’s guards as the distance between ship and dock yawned open. With her lover carried off to see Camilla was dragged back to the palace. Duke Cesare had been badly wounded in the fighting and was furious, but not furious enough to have the young woman strangled out of hand. He declared that as soon as he was recovered they would be married and made it clear that she could consider her days numbered after that. Cursing and swearing Camilla was led away to a cell to await her fate. Fortunately for her there were plenty in the city who thought of her fondly, particularly as the grip of Duke Cesare’s soldiers grew more onerous. A priest, offended by the ungodly ways of Cesare, arranged to dress her as a nun and smuggle her out of the city on a ship bound for the New World. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Camilla is on the run. Cesare needs her to confirm his rule of Atranto and any number of other factions could use her for their own ends. This makes her interactions with the Exchange very fraught if her identity is discovered (which obviously is very likely). Her primary goal is to reunite with her love Aneillio. Beyond simple survival she will eventually want to make a name for herself and to raise money and support to take back her city. As a classically educated noblewoman she is also fascinated by the tales of magic and wonder out here at the edge of the world and will go to considerable lengths to learn more about it. This is particularly true of healing and creative things. While she is technically quite competent in things like palace intrigue and the art of swordcraft she has led a very sheltered life which is likely to land her in trouble as often as not.

---

Additional Talent

Great Beauty
Known as the Rose of Atranto, Camilla is the model for several famous paintings and works of statuary. While this opens some doors for her, it can be something of a double edged sword if you were, for example, on the run from a bunch of people.

Tyrants of Illiac Bay

Delphine wrinkled her nose at the smell of wood smoke and burned flesh. The worst of it seemed to be coming from the docks where columns of black smoke still rose lazily. Gulls circled lazily on the resulting thermals in unusual numbers. What was attracting them did not bear thinking about. There were few people in the street, though eyes peered out from doorways and windows. Somewhere a man was sobbing, a savage heartsick sound that made Delphine flinch.

“How did they breach the wall do you think?” Amal asked as they headed towards the center of town. Delphine twitched her nose slightly and scowled, the subtle but unmistakable scent of void salt tainted the air.

“Daedra,” she said shortly. Amal cast a sideways look at her.

“Really?”

“Really,” Delphine confirmed. They passed into a small square where several armsmen in the livery of the Baron of Holbine were attempting to defend a wagon against a dozen or so townsfolk. A shower of debris and rubbish struck upturned shields and the armsmen scuttled away, surrendering the prize. The townsfolk swarmed up onto the wagon and began tossing sacks of flour down to their fellows. The soldiers milled around for a few moments and then slunk away, unwilling to put their lives on the line for the food. Delphine wondered if they had been in town when the slavers struck.

The town hall was one of the few buildings in Keogria made entirely of stone. It was built around an ancient abbey of Dibella with a large central tower at the center of two crossed halls. What once had been cloisters were now gardens that featured carefully tended apple trees. The city guard, never a large body and more accustomed to taking bribes from merchants and busting up drunken brawls, were there in force. Most of them looked to have had a rough night and several of them bore bandages or visible bruises. They eyed the two adventurers with flat unfriendly eyes but made no effort to stop them as they crossed the lawn and entered.

Marcel Gross was sitting at a desk, his three hundred pound bulk all but concealing the abused stool beneath him. His bald pate shone and his fatty neck spilled over the side of a stained velvet doublet. He looked up at Delphine and Amal as they entered and narrowed his piggish eyes. Undeterred, Amal tossed the bag of ears down on the table top with a wet slap. Gross reached out and opened the bag then paled with disgust.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“The bounty on the mine, we cleaned it out of goblins, and an ogre,” Delphine declared proudly.

“An ogre? Surely you…” Gross reached in and pulled out the dinnerplate sized ear of the troll and went a shade of green. He thrust it back inside and began routing through a desk. Finding a key he stood and half waddled over to a large iron bound chest and unlocked it, counting out coins with deceptive agility. He turned and bounced a leather pouch on his palm and tossed it onto the desk. Delphine checked quickly, earning herself a glare from the alderman who was already sitting down and going back to his paperwork.

“Get out of my sight,” he wheezed and waved a hand dismissively.

____

“Are you going to pay your thieves or your mages?” Amal asked as they stepped out of the town hall. Delphine jingled her pouch enjoying the very temporary clink of septims. It was almost physically painful to think of what she could accomplish at the mages guild with such funds at her disposal. She could get access to alchemical texts and equipment that would allow her to do all manner of wonderful things.

“The Thieves Guild,” she said reluctantly, “on account of the fact that my magic will work better if I still have my thumbs.”

“What about you, have a bender planned?”