POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Now that he had some downtime, Neil decided to work on the hauler he had neglected for the past few weeks. He knew he had responsibilities to the Highlander and its crew, being first mate and the pilot and all. But mechs had always been a large part of his life and previous career. Something about him still called back to when he was a soldier and mech fighter, for the relatively brief amount of time it was.

He turned some music on with the room stereo. He'd rigged up a music system in the Highlander, personalized to play different songs in different rooms so as not annoy Sayeeda and Taya when Neil wanted to rock on. He was still a bit bemused that this music was archaic to them, as they had just arrived on Fotus in recent years. But that was how the universe worked, he guessed.

You weren't supposed to drink copious amounts of alcohol in the R.I.P., but he still had a frosty drink out as he worked. Shirtless, he worked on the left arm rig, making sure the steel was welded correctly. Sparks bounced across his arms as he tightened the coils by melting a bit of the steel. He still had to add the main power core, and he could definitely equip some more accesories. The jump stabilizers needed some heavy work too, but otherwise it was a workable machine. Honestly he could move and fight with it now, as it had its own power core. But the engine wasn't enough for what Neil had planned.

Turning, he dropped the welder to pick up a wire realignment tool before he noticed Indra was in the room with him. He was glad he was slightly buzzed, or he might have tripped over something in surprise. "Code 001" he said, and the music shut off immediately. Indra held her dainty hands up apologetically.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to stop you." She said, sitting on one of the barrels. It was annoying how beautiful she was. She somehow became even more attractive when she smiled.

"I don't mind an audience, but do you need something?" Neil wondered, wiping the oil off his hands with a cloth. "Most people don't like my music." he grinned.

"It's...not bad, honestly. There's a certain melancholy to it. I've never heard of it before." She confessed as he put his shirt on. He might be a helpless scoundrel, but she was royalty. "What do you call it?"

"It's grunge," he told her. "And did you need something?"

"No," she said, though she seemed to be holding something in. The woman stood up. "It was either here or in the cargo area where the...alien lurks. He looks at me as if he wants to eat me, and I think he does. Plus I like watching people work. Particularly on specialized things like...whatever this is."

"Well, I am happy to know I'm only the second worst thing on the ship," He said, clearly joking. She laughed. Neil had worked on the hauler enough for now. He reached into his bag and pulled out a deck he hadn't used in awhile, holding it up to Indra.

"Wanna play cards?" he asked.

"Cards? I've never-..."

"I figured, but it's easy. I promise." He said.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

More bandits streamed in from the hills, swords in the air as they screamed into the night. It was difficult to decipher where the arrows came from in the darkness, but a lone arrow still scythed by every few seconds despite the raiders now in the midst of attacking the caravan in melee. Amal grabbed a rope from the cart, uncoiling it until he had about 10 feet of rope to play with. He was a passable swordsman, and he was no slouch to combat, but he had never had formal training. In the middle of a maelstrom of swordsmen when he had naught but his dagger? He trusted his wiles and his agility.

Tying the end of the rope in a thick, mace-like knot, he twirled it above his head, standing atop the cart as the scene unfolded before him. Like a viper, he lashed out at a swordsman with his back turned. The weighted head of the rope coiling about his neck, Amal yanking the rope back and ripping the bandit off his feet. The man gagged and clawed at the rope as he was dragged behind the cart for Amal to finish him with a quick dagger thrust.

A cry from the north had him raise his head, and he watched in surprise and horror as Emmaline performed what had to be sorcery! It seemed she hadn't told him everything. Not that he blamed her, being a liar himself. Watching, she hit the ground with an 'oof' and dust lifted into the air, nearly obscuring the dervish with a shamshir running at Emmaline from behind. Amal leaped, sand flying as he landed behind Emmaline. He grabbed her arms and yanked her back as the shamshir struck the ground she had been on not a moment before.

"Worm!" the bandit snarled.

"Dead man," Amal promised, stepping over Emmaline. He nearly lost his innards as the man cut across Amal's midsection, but the nimble thief shifted his hips to dodge, ducking the next swing and stepping forward into the third to disembowel the bandit. By the way he jerked, Emmaline could see Amal's cuts were not clean and quick, probably on purpose. He dropped his shamshir into the sand, and fell unmoving into death.

Amal knelt down to pick up the sword, weighing it in his hands. "I would offer this one to you, but I see you have one." He observed with a dark humor. Behind him, the bandits were cutting through all but the guardsmen, who wouldn't last much longer. The screaming daughter of the merchant was dragged back into the waiting loins of the hungry bandits, and another trader was beheaded without ceremony, the head flying into the dirt.

The rare camel riding bandit chased down those who tried to flee into the desert. All but one, who saw that among Amal and Emmaline, three of his comrades had lost their lives. His head was covered by a dark turban, and his unclad upperbody was herculean. Amal looked at his shamshir, then to his dagger, wondering what to do as the man rode towards them. Perhaps wait for Emmaline to obliterate him with a spell? No, he couldn't count on it.

Oh.

The Camel brayed and loped forward, nearly at the speed of an Arabnyan horse. It was too bad Amal picked up the head of the trader and chucked it at the dark mamluk, striking him in the face. He flipped backwards, off the beast which suddenly slowed. The thief sprinted to the side where the Camel trotted to, grabbing its reins with a snort and a huff. He grinned and gave a hand to Emmaline, helping her up atop the hump before he vaulted up behind her.

"Get them!"

"I will take your tongue!"

The world now far taller to both of them, Amal slapped the reins and sent the camel gallopping towards the hills, north of where the bandits originated. They needed to make good speed, but the other camel riders were busy and with luck they would lose them. Emmaline looked back as the last vestiges of the caravan was cut down. "Ugh, why do they always wish to cut out your tongue?" She asked.

Amal gave her a wink as she looked to him. "I cannot speak for the rest of Araby, but they often wish for my tongue out of jealousy." He remarked with a suggestive eyebrow.
@Penny

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

@POOHEAD189
although that must be like rp #50 we are doing together :P

@Penny

*hides all of our RPs behind a closet about to burst* I don't know WHAT you mean

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

Does this mean I still have a shot, coach?

Into the Shadow

As Iseldis moved, Roland did as well. He sorely wished he had his sword, or this would have been little to deal with. But even with the Draugr's back turned, he found he only had a small amount of his stamina to use with his considerable strength. He hit the Draugr with a backfist to the head, sending the undead stumbling.

If it was hurt, it gave no real sign and turned, eyes glowing with an unknown power. It opened its toothless maw and struck with its notched sword, Roland leaping back from the slash. With a desperation, he flung himself forward a moment later behind the following swing, hitting the Draugr with his weight and sending both to the ground.

There was an otherwordly strength to the deceptively flimsy limbs, but even considering it, Roland was heavier and stronger. He managed to wrest the sword away to clatter onto the stone floor, and he grabbed the Draugr's head to twist it off. The dead thing held Roland's arms, keeping him from finishing the job. Roland growled, sending more power through his limbs to finish this quickly. The Draugr wouldn't tire like he would.

He suddenly moved his knee, pinning one of the arms beneath it and twisting the Draugr head, the skull ripping off with a swift jerk. The body moved slower now, but it was still alive. Roland silenced its unlife forever by taking its own sword and stabbing into its chest where a living heart might reside.

He hated to admit it, but after that one fight he almost had no fight left in him. He had briefly seen light flashing across the doorway, knowing Iseldis had used her powers. He needed to suck it up and remain battle ready. Breathing heavily and turning to see Iseldis looking over to him. He gave a small laugh, happy they made it through this first obstacle. "I don't know by what divine reasoning we're here," he said as Iseldis steadied herself. "But I'm glad its with you."

He didn't know what prompted the Squire to say it, but he found he was telling the truth. He used the sword as a cane for a moment to push himself off the ground, and he held out his hand to help her up. "Let's get the hell out of here. Together."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Yes, lets." Amal replied.

It took them an hour or so to make it to the northern gate of the city, arriving just in time for the noonday Caravan to embark. It wasn't the most common thing for two travelers on foot to accompany one of the spice caravans, but it wasn't rare by any stretch either. Amal remembered when he was younger, when the mad Sultan Ibn Alfar had poisoned the water supply to a portion of the city to punish them for their transgressions. He had watched from the walls as hundreds of people had left the city in a great migration, the vultures encircling them before they had even left the horizon line.

They approached as a man with charred skin and a contrasting white beard tossed woven bags onto a cart, working contentedly before it was time to go. He had merely four left to stack on as the trumpet blared from the gate, signalling it was time to embark. Amal knelt down beside the trader, picking up the heavy sacks with more ease than the older man, helping him pack as the first merchants stepped onto the road.

"Thank you, my friend." The trader said, his smile warm from the help. "Is a fine day for travel, yes?"

"Yes yes," Amal agreed. "We were looking to travel with your troupe today. You could bear two more bodies?"

The trader lifted himself up and squinted at Emmaline, her hood covering all but her chin. She was just a cloaked woman with a bag that jingled and clacked as she stood, waiting for him to speak. "Yes, I do not mind..." he said finally. "You and your...?"

"My wife." Amal explained, sliding between them. "She has had a rough night. The sun hurts her eyes."

The man laughed. "She must be a foreign woman," he joked. "The sun never sleeps in Araby."

---

Amal juggled the balls one of the travelers had given him on a dare. So far, even with the cart bumping along the desert road, Amal had kept track with the five. He seemed entirely in a joking mood now that they were out of Lashiek, the city now gone from their sight, disappearing behind the heat haze of the winding path. Amal's smile and bright eyes made him seem far less dangerous than Emmaline would know him to be, and as he finished his trick, each ball fell into his awaiting hand, the hand simultaneously tossing them back to one of the women watching.

Amal and Emmaline shared the wagon with an older man, who looked to be the trader's brother, so alike were they in appearance, and two women, likely his daughter and wife. It was lucky there was room, as there were only a handful of wagons on the road. The rest of the goods were being transported atop Camels, the lumbering beasts bobbing up and down in their strange, two step fashion.

The next day was much the same, though Amal and Emmaline kept to themselves moreso than the previous, as they had begun to ask questions on who they were and why they sought to travel to Copher.

On this day they walked. Thirty miles away from Lashiek, with another seventy to go before they reached Copher.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil pointed at the Captain. "Exactly," he said, and hopped off the crate he had taken to sitting on, making his way over to the anti-grav machine. He knelt down and made sure everything was self contained and fully functioning. He tapped the four number code into the base module he'd placed on it. The power couplings seemed stable. Good.

Taya knelt beside him as Neil worked, looking over his shoulder. "Neil, are you sure this is going to work?" she asked, watching like a prey animal. Neil nodded. "Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't endanger all of our lives if I wasn't sure this was going to work. I'm just checking the power."

She looked wholly unconvinced, and he noticed it. He placed his wrench down and held his hands up. "Look, I realize I am an idiot." He said. "But I'm also a smart guy." Neil did his best not to listen to how ludicrously stupid his own words were, and he let Taya figure out how to take that as he picked the wrench up and continued working. Everything looked perfect. It was the sixth time he had checked so he didn't doubt it, but they were in the belly of the beast.

Taya walked up and hugged Indra, the stunning woman nervous but attempting to console the younger girl. Taya looked at Junebug. "You were always the best Captain."

Neil dropped his wrench again. "Look, there's always going to be risks but- y- OK fine! Let's go back to Hahn! That sounds like a good idea right!?" Neil stood up, his hand in the air dramatically. "There's only the planet-wide search of Indra and likely ourselves now, with rampant slavery and dervishes who we've fucked over. Let's just stay there! Sure I'll just detatch the ship and fly on back in. It's not like we'll be completely out of fuel by then. No biggie!"

Taya grumbled, realizing she was being a bit presumptuous on this being a hair-brained Neil scheme. Briefly, she wondered if she was simply taking after Indra's worry. She felt somewhat attached to the woman, her being the link to a life she had left behind. The girl took a breath, and realized that her team had made it through everything before. She had never heard of a R.I.P. jump being performed this way, but it was apart of their job, right?

Even Indra seemed less enthused about going back to Hahn than taking the deep dive into the void of hyperspace. She cringed at the very notion they go back to the planet. "We're with you. I'm just not used to...all of this."

Saxon entered the room, now fully encased in his armor. His massive three toed feet stamped into the Xarconian ground, and he looked around at each of them. His eyes fell on Indra. "Who is this one?" he growled. The woman blanched. Neil just shot back with "She's our next payoff, so try not to eat her." He turned away from Saxon and made a cutting motion with his hand, shaking his head and mouthing reassurances to Indra.

"Very well..." the Xenos said, cleary not understanding it was a joke. Which was more worrying, likely. "How long was I in hibernation?" Saxon rumbled.

"Five days," Junebug said. "But you woke up at the right time."

It was difficult to tell, but it looked as if Saxon was grinning. Neil didn't know if it was from Junebug's approval or him thinking of the violence he had inflicted once he had awoken. The pilot still had a hint of jealousy over the proclamation he might be attracted to her, but he knew it was just his head messing with him. At least in this instance. Saxon would choose the 'joys' of bloodshed over a mate any day of the week.

Something shifted in the air. The crew felt it, and despite their being reassured, Taya and Indra looked nervous. Junebug glanced up, calling the AI. "Lonney, are we about to enter the R.I.P?" she asked.

"No Captain." Lonney said, which prompted her to ask why there was that strange shift. Neil blinked, realizing what it was. "Lonney, are we in the R.I.P.?"

"Yes."

"Fuck yes!" Neil said, pumping his arm. "We didn't even feel it!" The sensation of being hurled through the alternate dimension only gave them a slight shutter. They were smoothly going on their destination.
@Penny

Trying to feel less Alien...

@Raditz dont listen to Ammokkx. They're insane

Trying to feel less Alien...

Hey I think I know who this guy is

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

While there was a certain fluidity to his motions, Amal being rather debonair for an unwashed thief. But the slyness dissipated when she had spoken, his brows raising. "You killed the Emir?" he echoed, too stunned to speak in Riekspeil at the moment. Her admission and her smile set his heart racing. He stood up, and gave her an extravagant bow. He had learned to step correctly in order to mock the aristocracy, but in this case he was being sincere. "Forgive me, a woman has never told me something so beautiful."

Truth be told he was actually somewhat aroused, but he held himself in check. He might be an amoral thief, but he had once been a slave. Women were third class citizens in Araby more often then not, behind men and eunuchs. This woman had just been a slavery to a lecher for a year. It would be cruel to make an advance on her. He was simply happy to hear the news. Most men would kill to meet an Emir, but Amal would rather meet an Emir killer. He didn't enjoy murder, being a thief by trade rather than an assassin. But he made exceptions for Emirs, Sultans, and Satraps. If they didn't hire him, that is.

"The most I can boast of is stealing from a Satrap." He said with a wink. His eyes looked down as he remembered something. "I have killed an official of an Emir before." Crossing his strong arms, he shrugged. "He did not like me impersonating the son of his master. But his mistress had a jeweled necklace and I couldn't resist." It sounded unnecessarily low of him, and it was to an extent. But everyone with power in Araby had gained it through being ruthless. He had seen the official he'd killed cut off children's arms without hesitation, at the Emir (whom he had stolen from) behest.

With a sigh, he sat down on the pillow again and sank into it. "Now let's get some sleep. We have a lot of coin to spend tomorrow. Or I do."

---

The sun was bright and scorching, and the wind nipped at the nose and stung the eyes if one found themselves in a more deserted street. Even the milling crowds were used as protection against the elements. To Amal and Emmaline, however, it wasn't a problem. First, they stopped at a fabric shop where Amal bought Emmaline a hooded sari to hide her skin and her hair from prying eyes. Afterwards, Amal had gone straight to the bathhouse, Emmaline following close behind him through another low-way beneath the greater city. Amal had hopped up out of a faux sewer drain, and reached down to help her up before entering the bathhouse, named the Verdant Spring in Arabyan.

It wasn't particularly immaculate, but to Amal it was a luxury. He found himself lounging in a square pool of water within one curtained section of the steamed interior, sharing his bath with another guest. A dark skinned man named Bungalo (the name tattooed on his chest), so rotund that his stomach reaching the water had not yet begin to curve inward, giving him the look of a swelling ball. Various gold trinkets adorned his fat fingers, and his hair was tied in a braided, rythmic style Amal could never hope to match.

Emmaline had received her own private bath chamber, more to keep her hair color and eyes hidden than any modesty. Amal might be a wanted man in his daily life, but she stood out like a flower in the sand. The thief was focused on the moment, however. He relaxed, leaning back and his lower torso and legs soaked in the warm water. Amal lazily smoked a midwakh pipe filled with Dokha, giving him a very nice buzz and making him comfortably light headed. He had already washed his hair, turning it from a worn mane into lush, dark waves. Across the pool, Bungalo had three veiled women massaging his temples and shoulders. Their pantaloons clung to their legs, a slit at the side showing off their hips.

Amal envied the man, but not for what one might think. He would be too worried one of the women would steal from him. Bungalo was apparently powerful enough to where he needn't worry. He took a hit from the midwakh, smoking pouring out of his nostrils like a dragon. Letting out a grunt as he shifted, Amal reached up and felt his chin. He had a rough fuzz on his neck and lower face, the hot water on it feeling particularly nice. He grabbed the gold sack he held beneath the pit of his rested arm and dangled a gold piece, whistling for the girls to see. All three of them popped up to look at Amal, watching the gold coin and then looking to the young thief.

As one, they sauntered over to him, and he gave each a gold piece to give him a nice shave. His eyes stayed half open to keep his wits about him, but as their slender hands spread the cream on his chin and massaged his neck, he nearly fell asleep. Bungalo opened his eyes, seeing the women now on Amal, and the large man growled. His rumbling shook his belly, sending shudders across the water. Amal took it as him passing gas.

"Happens to the best of us," the thief said, his chin nearly free of the facial hair. Bungalo waved and gestured to someone unseen. The women's hands suddenly disappeared, and Amal felt his chin and clutched his coinpurse, to his surprise realizing they had neither stolen from him and they had given him a clean shave. Amal leaned his head back to see if the girls were still there, only to find he was looking up the towel of a large man. "Allah," he coughed, retching. Three more men appeared beside him, holding cruel axes and thick bladed knives.

"Stealing my women?" Bungalo said, his accent heavy. He had to have come from the Great Desert, at least in his thinner days. Judging by his physique he hadn't been a desert nomad since the time of Nagash. The men over Amal sneered and took a step forward. The one he had taken an uncomfortably close look at was a northerner whp wore a forked beard, nearly as jeweled as Bungalo's fingers. Amal backed away from the edge, holding up his hands, one of them holding his coinpurse.

"Bungalo please, here take what gold I have. I don't wish to fight."

"Fight!?" the man chuckled. "You are too much."

"Coming from you?" Amal retorted. Bungalo's eyes blazed once he took in the meaning. He slammed his meaty fist on the wooden edge. "Take his balls and his gold! He will work for me to pay off the debt of ruining my bath." Amal heard metal on metal behind him, and he took that as his cue. Instead of trying to flee by awkwardly trying to run out of the water, Amal dived into the scented pool. Bungalo tried to stand up, but his ogre-like girth kept him from even sitting up too quickly.

The thief, having used the side of the pool's steps to yank himself through the water, had launched himself across the pool over to Bungalo's side. The hefty man had placed his hands in the water to push himself up to rise, and when he pulled his right hand out of the water, it was devoid of rings or gold. A quick jerk caused Bungalo to stumble, and his henchmen saw Amal's head rise from behind Bungalo, his dagger slicing a neat line across the fat man's third chin. Eyes widening, Bungalo stumbled forward, before his leg buckled and he fell face first into the pool, the waves of water tossed out of the bath hampered his men from pursuing. One slipped and hit the ground hard, falling into the reddening water with his boss.

Emmaline's bath tarp would open for but a moment, and Amal, soaking and bare from the waist up and wrapped in a drenched towel spoke six words. "Meet me across the courtyard soon." Before he disappeared again, familiar cries of pursuit passing by her relatively quiet and serene bath chambers.

---

The back alley the woman entered was somewhat cool compared to what she would have expected, but then again she was still somewhat glistening from the bath. There was no sign of Amal as of yet.

Amal had given them the slip, and his roguish luck having not run out yet, he made it to the otherside of the marketplace and hastily bought a handsome, open vest with red trim to wear rather than the rags he had left behind, loose fitting pants coming with it. The older man in the Dastar didn't question why a naked man was buying clothes, knowing the bathhouse was across the way and that many unruly activities occurred within.

Now on the north side of the marketplace, Amal had snuck his way behind many of the fabric vendors to a very well known spot he frequented. His back pressed to the wall, he knelt down and picked up a broken shard of glass. To any passerby, it would look like debris. But it had been placed their for any thieves willing to speak to the most infamous broker in Lashiek, Salim Dalib. The rogue angled the glass shard thrice to flash the sunlight into the alleyway.

A conical basket within, set beside a dung heap, suddenly sprang to life. A man who was as short as most Dwarfs stood up from within, the top of the basket actuall his hat, a vast beehive like headdress of white fabric swirls. "Who comes to see the illustrious Salim Dalib?" he asked ceremoniously, his voice snake-like. Amal stepped into the alleyway, holding his hands out with a great smile. They both erupted into "My friend!" as they approached and embraced.

Salim Dalib laughed. "Aha, tis good to see you my fine young friend. Look at you! You look as clean as a Sultan! Do you plan on entertaining anyone tonight?" He asked with a suggestive wink. "If not, I can arrange it for you. I have a few girls who-"

Amal held up a hand. "Not exactly. I simply recently came into some money I thought I could use a change, but if you please we need to talk business. I am on a schedule." He raised an eyebrow and gestured, as if to say 'of course I am a busy man.' Salim nodded, smiling like a rat.

"Of course, of course!" he said, rubbing his scrawny hands together within his wide sleeves, eager to see what Amal had gotten with his wiles. "What do you have?" Amal reached into his pocket and presented the rings that had been on Bungalo, all gold and glinting. Salim Dalib's eyes bored into them with an infatuation, and he reached forward to grab, before hesitating. "These will fetch a high price. Except for one. May I?"

Amal allowed the broker to reach within and grab a trinket. A ring with the likeness of a grinning skull upon it. "The others will make you rich, my friend. But this? It is worthless. It's not even gold!" He held it up to Amal, quickly flashing it. "See the texture? Fool's gold! Worry not, I will take it off your hands." He pulled the ring back to place it in his pocket, but Amal was on him in a flash. Within the time it took for Salim Dalib's heart to beat, he was pressed against the wall with Amal's dagger to his throat, feet dangling in the air.

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?" Amal asked, staring right into the brokers eyes. Salim Dalib shook his head. "My friend, would I ever-" His neck was pricked by the dagger blade. "Ok, ok! Wait! Yes, I know what the ring is...Only Corsair Captain Lords may wear one! This is one that belonged to the Abyssal Skulls!" Vainly, Salim Dalib tried to squeeze out of Amal's grip, but the thief was too busy assessing what this meant.

He had killed a Corsair Lord.

Salim Dalib dropped to the ground, gasping. "W-Wait! Where do you go!? Amal!" But Amal had already vanished into the crowd, finding his way where he said he would meet Emmaline. The cloaked woman was there, blue eyes gazing out of the shadows of her hood as he approached. He looked a bit bewildered, and he pulled her closer by the arm to whisper. "I have decided I will leave the city. If you want to live, you should as well. I will travel with you on one condition...let us go by a land route."
@Penny