POOHEAD189

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

Dirk wasn't a small man, but Chalnarc was slightly taller and far burlier in frame. The Bounty Hunter turned to regard him, his visor's system singing his signature out amongst the crowd, having scanned an old picture of the thug to make identifying him with his tactical equipment easier. Dirk Crimson closed his cuirass plate so as not to alarm anyone else, and simply waited for Chalnarc to make his way over.

"What do you want?" The ARKer asked churlishly. The impatience of the man oozed out of his tone, and it only made Dirk smile inside of his helmet. A smile that would have chilled ice if it had been openly seen. "Who the hell are you, and how do you know me?"

"Oh, I've got a shipment of Cyclopean Edge for the boss." He explained, referring to the hardcore drugs that were mostly created in Vat labs of the megacities. Small wars had been fought over growing rights for the stuff, but Dirk had never partaken. If you wanted to remain crisp, you stayed away from the ganger shit, even if it was supposed to be like injecting yourself with a savage form of liquid rapture. "An old friend owed you a favor. Thought he might give you bragging rights on scoring this for your boss. Come on, I'll show you outside where I got it stashed."

Chalnarc looked like a confused mutant bulldog, anger warring with curiosity. "Hey you-" He started, but Crimson was already heading out of the cantina, waving for him to follow. Had this been a less inconspicuous town, Chalnarc might have been wary of Bounty Hunters. But he already looked like he was hopped up on something and so lumbered out, elbowing the crowd out of his way and stepping into the blaring sun. He placed a large guantleted hand over his eyes to adjust his bloodshot orbs to the intense lighting. Maybe if people like him hadn't destroyed the ozone of the planet, there would have been little need, Dirk thought sardonically.

"Answer my fucking questions" Chalnarc demanded, trying to focus on the figure on the sand that was Dirk Crimson, standing with the sun at his back. "Who's this old friend you're talking about?"

"Mephisto Sabre." The Bounty Hunter said, letting the name sink into the large tough. Dirk expected the man to question him, or even to run away. To his credit, he moved like an animal. The thug grabbed his large shotgun and brought it to bear just as Dirk unholstered his DX-15s, firing two laser slugs just before Chalnarc could take a wild shot. The first slug melted half of the shotgun's barrel whilst the other hit Chalnarc in the leg. Apparently he wasn't entirely homegrown human and it only made the thug grunt, dropping the shotgun to take out his Valk-blade, doing his best to steady himself once again.

"Nice sword." Crimson remarked. "Tell you what. I'll let you live and take you back if you give it to me. Keep it, and Mephisto won't mind a corpse."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal was in an entirely different world here. In Araby there was only a small to middling middle class, and even they hardly had to worry about societal expectations...murder, for instance... that didn't have to do with how other business associates or aristocrats would see them. It was strange to him, having lived through the slums, that Emmaline did not simply want this man dead. A man who obviously had wronged her and wanted to even now take advantage of her. He instinctively knew it wasn't just because they were in a crowded area that she had halted Amal from attacking.

Maybe it was simply because Amal had always been wary around alchemists and sorcerers. Except for Em, of course. At that moment, an idea dawned on Amal. He spoke before Emmaline could.

"We'll pay you back in two days. Does that sound good to you?" Amal asked, drawing Emmaline's and Albrecht's gaze. Emmaline did her best not to look so questioning, but it was clear she was curious. The man snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"My good fellow, I'm not sure what you are to her. A passing fancy no doubt. She's always been into...spiced goods." He said, evidently considering that to be 'generous.' "But I can't hold your promise to any regard. She needs to make that promise for me to believe it. Nothing against you, but this is a transaction between her and I."

Amal looked at Emmaline, his eyes asking her to trust him. They could speak about it once they made it up to their room, but as of now they needed to make a decision.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal raised an eyebrow, still unaccustomed to seeing someone Emmaline had known in a previous life. The man had given Amal an unpleasant glance for a brief moment, then seemed entirely occupied with Emmaline. Not only in priority, but almost in disdain. The Arabyan had the distinct impression this wizard did not care for foreigners, but maybe he simply was too preoccupied with his seeing Amal's woman.

"Apprentice... so this is the one." Amal declared, fully nonchalant despite the dramatic air of the moment. He had a feeling they might run into him at some point. He'd wait for Emmaline to give a clue on what to do before he made any rash action. Or so he told himself that for the moment. The patrons of the Inn had gone back to whispering and speaking among one another, and Emmaline's magic had shut off from the conversation across the room. Whether it would have been detected by the older wizard or she was simply done with it, Amal didn't know.

"I haven't been so elated to see someone from my past in many years." Albrecht intoned. "You seemed to have ripened into a fine magician yourself it appears, if the fact you are still alive is any indication. You could have easily settled in the brothel life, or become some fool nobles mistress. Unfortunately, I have to bring up a bit of sourness that you might have forgotten about..."

"My fees..." Emmaline mumbled.

"Always a quick one! Yes, your fees. The money you owe me, plus interest." The wizard had a lightly sadistic finish to every word he spoke. "Had it not been so long, I might have given you a discount had you paid me in...other ways. But as it were-"

Emmaline grabbed Amal's wrist, knowing her lover and companion too well to not foresee the knife coming. He had already produced one of his blades in his hand, though his expression had changed only in the subtlest of ways. It was difficult to ascertain if Albrecht had ignited a wall of protection over him or not, but if he hadn't his throat would have already been bubbling with blood. Amal looked at Emmaline, seeing her hand and shrugging, letting the conversation move along. No one spoke to his woman in such a way when he was around.

If Albrecht had sensed the impending danger, he gave no sign. "-as it were I have some fees of my own, and I simply must pull rank and demand what is owed. Surely you have it, my dear?"
@Penny

The Blackwood

@Fetzen Oh yeah, I'm going to update you alone. Don't worry

The Blackwood

Three days past the city of Andorhaven, the sun was finally loving some of its luster. The past few days it had been bright, with ne'er a cloud in the sky to hide the passing of Aeryn the dark maiden. When carriages or patrols passed her, she did well to either hide her face or hide her presence, but now the Blackwood bore over her in full. The melancholic dim of the looming forest was almost a comforting blanket to her, though even she would be aptly aware of its myriad of dangers. With no steed to speak of, she still made good time. Elves, even dorcha could move swiftly under both the sun and the moon, needing little in the way of sustenance unless tired beyond the norm. However, closing in on four days of travel without much respite would wear on nearly anyone. She would need to make camp for the coming night, if for no other reason than to sit and eat what rations she had, and to acclimate to her new surroundings.

The landscape was filled with brush and thick grass, the trees growing thicker and covered in moss. Some had great rending claw marks that told the paths of great beasts, but none looked fresh, thankfully. If she continued east, in two days time she would make it to the Blackwood Baronies, if the peddler was to be believed. Perhaps there she could get her bearings and find rumors of treasure further south, or even find work as a mercenary. The Baronies weren't known for their tolerance, but many Barons were often desperate. Who knows, some might be in need of a woman who could pull off subterfuge and assassination. The possibilities, much like the Blackwood, were nearly endless.

Moving from tree to tree, Aeryn's keen ears could pick up soft sounds in the distance. A few guttural giggles, though it was clear they weren't at her expense. She could hear further than most could see, and her eyes were nearly as keen. If she were to look to the south, a small scene unfolded before her. Three hunched figured, skin mottled and burnt and ears stretched like they were made of hot wax, anyone of Dorcha blood would recognize gundarogs. They poked and prodded a dead man in the brush a hundred yards away, having found a nice treat in the small clearing they now stood in. The largest gundarog took its jagged sword and began sawing at the man's left arm, clearly taking a large piece to feast upon. Aeryn then heard another noise. One she wouldn't recognize, and yet it was hauntingly familiar.

Her eyes saw movement before it became apparent what else lurked in the Blackwood. To her (and particularly the gundarog's) surprise, a huge wolf the size of a warhorse suddenly charged out of the tree line, moving like a normal wolf would when going after a rabbit or a deer. The large gundarog had no chance in hell, the thing's maw clamping over half of its body and rending it mercilessly. Before the second monster could make a cry of anguish, it was shoved into the dirt by the predator's paw, crushing its rib cage and keeping it immobile and helpless. The last gundarog loped away as quickly as its long limbs could carry it, sending it straight into the direction of Aeryn. Gundarogs had good eyes in the dark, but it wasn't looking at Aeryn as it ran. What was the dorcha to do?
@Stormflyx

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal grinned in their kiss, endeared at her cleverness as always.

Their serving woman had returned, tense at witnessing the obviously loving kiss and set their food and drink down as amicably as she could manage, turning to give Amal a nice look at her rump as she walked away. Had it been before Emmaline he might have, but he was already too focused on listening in to the would-be thieves discussing the tail end of their plot to one another.

"-takes the Griffon Seal off the third floor of the princes palace. Me and Hef'll be waiting there in the carriage we got from ol' Baggsy. You got all the papers Hef?"

"We don't need 'em remember?" An equally coarse voice replied. "We already gave the guards more'n their fair share of gold. They'll let us go easy as that."

"You, you idiot! The papers for passage on the river barge. We need to be out of Altdorf in two hours or the entire city will be in an uproar. Give 'em a short drop and they'll be able to tell Lanse and Heinrick here weren't servants, and Deterik isn't a guard. We need to be out of sight, out of mind. Get it?"

"The Seal of Magnus" Emmaline breathed, blinking. Amal wasn't privvy to such knowledge, but the Seal of Magnus was a golden brooch that could turn almost any blow and keep the wearer from harm with powerful protective enchantments. Though of course, its real value lay in its significance. You couldn't sell it in the Empire without being detained, but any wealthy border prince, tilean city-master, or sartosian despot would give their weight in gold to be able to claim such a prize.

"Tomorrow night then. We meet at the 4th pier at sundown. All goes well, we'll be gone before an hour is over." The thug concluded.
@Penny

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"His name would be Chalnarc," Crimson declared, his face unreadable behind his Modified XE combat helm. He hadn't reached for his weapons, but he carried himself like a man who had survived because he could draw them faster than his adversaries. The Bargonian paused, black eyes boring into the Bounty Hunter until it set down the drinks and plates it had been holding, disarmingly. It muttered an acquiescence. As it lowered its arms below the counter it began to speak, before Dirk placed a hand over the harnass at his shoulder, unlatching apart of his breastplate to reveal an armored compartment. When it opened, a timer was set on a diminutive, square device. Wires stretched from it into his Fenoplate cuirass.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Crimson said, causing the Xenos to freeze. "Put your limbs on the counter, mutant. All of them."

By the look on the Bargonian's face, he had caught him just in time before the thing had alerted whatever counted out here as a security force via a button behind the counter. Dirk continued, his voice low and threatening.

"I don't need to explain to you that this is a uranium detonator. If I don't get what I want, or if say, my heart stops beating, half of this shithole you call home will be lost in a flash of hellfire. The other half won't be so safe, either." He warned, his voice as steady as bedrock. Of course, he was lying. The device was a uranium detonator but he had disabled it, rewiring it to make the timer only appear set at 5 seconds. "You're going to get Chalnarc out here, alone. If I see anyone with him. I don't give a fuck if it's a waiter or one of those dancing girls. I will kill everyone here and myself... Do you understand or do I need to speak slower? I hear you Bargonians speak fluent moron."

He spoke with such soft menace that no one without modified hearing or psychic abilities could hear him over the din of the festivities. The many-limbed bartender croaked both angrily and anxiously, but it nodded. One of its hands slowly reached over to a small Voxphone behind him, picking it up and dialing a number. Mere seconds later, the thing warbled in its own tongue. Dirk knew by the tone in its voice it wasn't betraying him. Now he need only wait for Chalnarc to walk in here. He was likely in the VIP section with his fellow cronies and his boss.

The intel he had received told him there were ten ARKs in this town, though they could hardly be called ARKs, as most were prized top rated security-for-hire, praised for their loyalty and precision in tactical firefights. Everything he had heard about Chalnarc and the crew he ran with was they were up-jumped thugs. Ex-military, yes. But they were lazy, and merely lauded over the poor townsfolk and other, lower thugs that did their dirty work. Whoeever their boss was ruled over this town like a warlord. If Dirk was lucky, he'd bag Chalnarc during the mosh of the music and take him out too quick for anyone to follow.

Winter Tales

I won't have the time, but I love this roleplay. It's adorable

The Blackwood

Will attempt to update people this weekend. As you can imagine, working at Fedex during the holidays is gruesome, which is why the last 3 weeks have been exceptionally slow. Apologies!

The Blackwood

Hey, don't ever feel pressured. It's just that rolling might bring you stuff you didn't realize/expect. :)