POOHEAD189

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The crack of Neil's rifle resounded only after the slugs had torn through two of the Spider gangmembers, leaving exit wounds you could slip your fist through without fear of bloodying your hand. To his right, Sayeeda had vaulted over a dismantled car and disptached two others, though Neil didn't see the gritty details of what transpired. He only saw her walk out and blow a bit of hair out of her eyes. He noticed she would need to put it in a bun soon. It would probably be a good look for her if she let it continue to grow.

"Rearguard is down." She said conversationally. They weren't far from one another, but it was still more expedient to use comms than to draw attention to themselves. A few stray gunshots weren't likely to draw attention, but unknown voices were a different story.

Neil grinned, reloading his gun. Not that he wasn't going to use it for his next trick. He reshouldered the strap on it and pulled aside his grenade launcher, the familiar weight of the loaded weapon somehow intensely satisfying in his hands. Neil saw Sayeeda give him a movement signal, something she had begun to teach him a few months previously. He wasn't 'fluent' if that was the word, yet. But he knew she meant to go further right, and Neil already knew his next position. He passed by a few scrap heaps of burning metal, vaguely aware they were aircars that had exploded. Likely from explicit detonation. The pilot made it to a rudimentary dumpster and climbed atop it, before vaulting onto the roof of a outerlying, boldly placed home. It was still a good distance from his position to the fence that guarded the Scorpion base, but he had used grenade launchers enough to know if something was too far to be out of effective range. It was right in the sweet spot.

He only caught another glimpse of Junebug's lithe form slinking through the dark, until she was completely out of sight. He got comfortable, placing a foot on the edge of the roof and resting his grenade launcher against his shoulder, leveling its scope with his eye. He waited, watching the night flash with gunshots and laser beams, accompanied by muffled shouts of curses and threats. He almost started to idly whistle, but he received his captain's "in position" not a moment too soon.

"Show time, babe." He told her on comm. It was the last thing she'd hear of him before there was a brief silence, followed by the destruction of vast swathes of the scorpion fence, along with dozens and dozens of wounded and dead spiders at their vulnerable rear. Shrapnel and flame whipped out and cut through tendons and sprayed blood along their comrades. Neil felt somewhat guilty about the PDST he was causing for some, but it was swiftly lost by the beautiful spouts of flame and destruction he had caused.

This time he did whistle. Appreciatively.

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

Zebulon was entirely at a loss at what to do. It was common knowledge that guardsmen tended to be woefully unprepared for the various horrors they faced in the galaxy, even among the guards themselves. Their field manual was used for toilet paper or wadding of different sorts, more often than not. However, he had faced Orks and traitors before, and now cultists in the streets. What he never thought he would have to deal with was speaking amongst high ranking imperial officials, a commissar, and a planetary governess who apparently adored him. It made him a tad apprehensive, which likely amused both of the women in his present company, likely for different reasons.

What COULD they do, without wholesale opening fire on the populace and letting the Emperor save his own? He guessed any inquisitor or someone in the administratum would suggest it, regardless of loss of life. He had to learn the hard way when he left his home that the Imperium was a 'big picture' sort of state.

As the 'council' of the planet was debating amongst themselves, Zebulon was lost in thought and mostly ignored until the governess called upon him to speak.

"Corporal, you have been awfully quiet." She commented, watching him.

The general barked a laugh, unable to help himself. "Because he's not allowed to speak unless spoken to."

"Well, I am speaking to him." She shot back, her tone now cold and firm. "And he may speak freely here. If these cultists overrun the palace, we'll all be dead, rank or no."

"Which is why we should kill them all!" The general growled, trying and failing to appear intimidating. The governess, attractive though she was, was much better at the game than he and rose out of her seat.

"I said I was speaking to the corporal," she warned, her tiredness and agitation evident in her voice, making it clear her next warning wasn't an idle threat. "Speak again out of turn and you will be forcefully ejected from the palace grounds, general."

That made the man button his lip begrudgingly, and all eyes turned to Zeb. He swallowed and cleared his throat, speaking his mind with a question first.

"Do we know how the rebels coordinated their movements?" He asked. The governess waved her hand so the general may speak. He acted as if he didn't notice the permission.

"No, if we knew that we would have stopped them." He sighed. "Besides, they're a mindless rabble."

"So all voxx channels are secure?"

"Well...As far as we know." He replied, likely unsure himself but confident his subordinates had already checked.

"Are you telling me you are uncertain?" The governess asked, venomously.

"I have not been briefed on it!"

"See to it you are," Zeb interrupted, immediately regretting the tone he gave the man who could ruin his life a dozen times over in a thought. "These are mostly mindless rabble, but there must be some sort of intelligence behind it. Even Orks have a rough heirarchy. Speaking of which, my time on Lorn IV did show me that killing the leader generally solved a problem as well. If we can take out whatever communications they have and kill whoever leads them, it might not decimate the threat but it will reduce it significantly. At that point, I think we can go on the offensive."

The Black of Night - Urban Shadows

Caber dropped nimbly to the deserted concrete street as if he had merely done a skip and a hop from the river across town. He idly rolled the foresleeve of his shirt past his wrists and slid a wave of his dark locks out of his eyes. Before him was a large puddle of sewage within the crack of the broken road on 3rd street. The fae merely took a step and somehow he ended up across it as dry as a log of firewood. That was not strange to the magical being. The range rovers and what he sensed within the Oakenshield was a bit more concerning.

Many didn't know about the dive, but it had quickly become one of Caber's most beloved spots to find a drink. Nestled between the bosom of 3rd street, to the right of an office building and left of a store that sold adult toys. Oakenshield had exquisite lagers, vodka, and mead. Tall stools for any and everyone to use at whichever stilted table they found. Some were small enough for two and others large enough for six or more if the group got creative. At the very back was a stage for dancing or singing. Sometimes a lucky, indie band would be booked to perform. Often on weekday nights, the keeper of the bar would simply turn the radio on. His name was Robert Oats, but most just called him Barley. An oaf, but a good man and a regular fountain of information. He owed the man for a number of things, not least of which was the rumor of a certain black dog roaming 1st street naught a year ago. Caber didn't divulge the significance, but it was one of the last vengeful spirits that still lurked within the city from the wave of London immigrants Caber had sailed over with. The beast would have sniffed him out and attacked him, or killed others and leave behind the residual celtic essence some might stamp upon Caber. He de-summoned the thing in short order and sent it back across the pond.

As Caber approached the open door of the Oakenshield, he heard the Doobie Brother's blaring their ironically named 'Jesus is Just Alright' over the speakers. The 70's of the last century had been endlessly amusing for the Fae, even with all of the human contradictions and blunders that went with it. He smiled widely and stepped into the bar, though if one looked closely he gave the room a wide sweep with his eyes, far more curious than he was letting on with his expression. The small foyer hall led to the always-open door of the bar. There a few larger tables, lower to the ground, were for larger groups and for people looking for full meals. It was further from the music as well. Posters and pictures of musicians that had visited the bar over the last fifty years plastered the walls next to plaques of wisdom and poems from days of yore. Barley had a liking for older things, which Caber certainly appreciated.

Barley couldn't compete with more pleasant company, however. To his disappointment, he saw no delectable women within. But he did see many faces he had never seen before. The majority of the patrons were rough, square jawed, and apparently big fans of denim.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing he noticed about them or the Oakenshield this night...

Summary

Caber muses on the bar, on his debt to Barley, and his lack of enthusiasm when he sees these mortals

Staff update

Thank you for being apart of the team, Stormy Storm. We love you <3

Ban the Person above you

Banned for not thinking they're fun to speak to.

The Black of Night - Urban Shadows

Oddly enough, I got 1 and 6. So 7!

The Black of Night - Urban Shadows

Caber has been carefully watching a group of humans, tied not by blood but by creed called the Ordo Exilium. They consider themselves modern knights, though Caber never had too much respect for real knights, much less these men. They're monster hunters and would-be demon slayers. Most of them were inducted due to the unexplained or disbelieved death or kidnapping of a family member by a supernatural entity. They're not the best at their jobs, but they can handle mundane monsters and certain abberations with the poultices and mixtures they concoct, and the special silver or salt filled bullets they use. Recently they've been sneaking around downtown, and Caber has suspicions they're going to disrupt some demon black market soul dealing and spirits that just wish to be left alone.

The Black of Night - Urban Shadows

@Penny I think I'll go with the pattern and say 'night.' Variety is always good^^

The Black of Night - Urban Shadows

We start by each of you declaring which PC you trust the least.

@Penny

Penny

For a moment I thought I'd choose the Devil's Advocate, but Caber would respect contracts of all sorts. So probably Anders due to the transformation.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

Kayden figured his fellow students were brave, or at least brazen. He had always been a bit of a swashbuckler and cavalier when it came to battle, himself. Still, it did him well to see he wasn't a bad judge of character, and to fight alongside like minded individuals. However, he didn't really blame Lienna or any of the others that deigned to stay behind, truth be told. If one wasn't prepared to fight in a battle, one simply wasn't prepared. It was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact he knew many people in his kingdom that were vital for the survival of his people that had never used a sword in their life. And call him sexist, but he also felt it was a bit more acceptable for a lady to not volunteer than a future lord.

He was also quite happy with his future bride to be staying behind. Unfortunately, he did have to get back in the accursed carriage. It did not do wonders for his morale, even though he knew once he stepped out of it into the sun, he'd feel far better. He had seen two battlefields in his life, though he had only really fought in one, and only very briefly. He had barely crossed swords with a brigand before his master-at-arms interfered. Sir Gregor only had his safety in mind, but damned was it infuriating. Though not as infuriating as the lecture he received later for riding forth from that very man.

Once the carriage stopped, he leaped out. He felt almost weightless for a good moment before he touched the ground nimbly. The screams and the fire and the smoke were very real, but he kept himself together. The sensation of the sword in his hand grew keener, as did his sense of sight and hearing; even his sense of smell. He couldn't already feel the matter of life and death this day truly was, and he would have it no other way.

By the professor's orders, he didn't run into the fray, even if he knew there might be others in need of aid. Instead he awaited his classmates to get in formation and he stepped to the left flank, hawkeyed and ready to skewer any that drew near in any attempt to cut them off or surround them. Some might think that was keeping out of the main battle, but Kayden knew the most important part of any battlefield was guarding the rear in case of a flanking maneuver, and true to his concerns, just that occurred.

A brute of a man (though evidently quick on his feet) had made his way behind one of the nearby homes of the outer village as Clarissa gave her rousing speech. So powerful was it that it even made Kayden's heart soar, and he was one who knew the importance of adding some flair to a rallying cry. A flicker of movement behind another carriage, this one overturned and burning, drew the prince's attention. The large hulking man stepped out, a broad bladed axe in his hand, wickedly notched. He grinned and scratched his nether regions with his off hand, chuckling darkly under his breath and approaching confidently.

"Give up now and I'll see if I can get you some toiletries like soap." He offered, grinning. Was that a gleam on his whitened teeth? Whatever it was, it had pissed off the bandit, who swiped at Kayden with his axe, coming in from the prince's left. Kayden couldn't block it effectively, so instead he danced back and merely slapped the passing weapon with the flat of his blade. Like a viper his blade came forward, passed the guard of the brute who thought to recover by turning his stroke into another one by swinging in an X formation. It wasn't a stupid move, but Kayden had been dueling since he was but a lad. He moved with precise and well honed muscle memory, and his blade bit into flesh before the prince spun out of the way of the next, weaker attack.

Kayden blocked a third slash, and ran his blade across the axehead and down to run along the man's fingers, bloodying them. His axe left his grip as he cried out in protest, but a blow from the flat of Kayden's blade to his head sent him reeling and falling to the ground like a pollaxed ox.