POOHEAD189

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Standing there in his fashionable attire, a vest that accentuated his shoulders and a swept cloak of red that clung to his raised right arm, Galt made quite the count. His black hair was untidy, but in an attractive way, thanks to one of the king's courtiers fixing him up and Galt subsequently messing it up in his own fashion. It gave him a new, roguish quality none of the lords or giggling ladies had ever seen before. In fact, more than a few of the latter watched him with interest, wondering what was going on in that heroic, wily head of his.

Galt was just hungry.

He was privvy to none of these assertions, nor any of the machinations that were likely being whispered or spoken of behind closed doors. As the gentlemen and gentry began filtering into the dining hall, Vedrick Frankhardt had Galt near the hearth, a few meters away from the very head of the table. Of course he would not sit there, as it was the King's seat, but he stood where all would see. The King was not present, likely dealing with some business elsewhere before the meal. However, Duke Valdemar of Mrugalstern appeared, breaking off from the crowd. A hale man passing his middle years, his wide smile spread the salt and pepper beard he sported as his arms went out wide. Resplendent in red and purple and silver, the loud colors he wore betrayed his eccentric personality.

"What am I supposed to say again?" Galt asked Vedrick quietly.

"Call him 'Your Grace' and give a bow, before informing him what an honor it is to see him." He whispered to Galt, before stepping back to greet another courtier and shake his hand in perfect poise. Galt slowed his beating heart with a deep breath and repeated what Vedrick said to himself quietly. Once the Duke was a mere pace away, Galt began.

"Your Gra- UGH," Galt was suddenly swept up in a hug by Valdemar, crushing him in his arms. Galt was lean but not a small man, however Valdemar was suitably large for one of his lofty station. He laughed happily and set Galt back down, letting his breath. The former thief tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. He gave out a wheeze of "_{It's good to see you again.}"

"My boy! It is rip-roaring to have watched you in the ceremony. The power, the honor! You will make a fine count, I just know it!" The Duke exclaimed, his smile reaching his bright blue eyes. Behind him, the lesser nobles began to congregate and speak to one another in earnest now, some eyes looking Galt's way and other's staring at the Duke's back, whereas a few were discussing private matters of military or secret import in the corner. Drinks were served and families gathered together, but no one had yet taken a seat. Galt could only give the party a glance the scant second it took for the Duke to stand aside and introduce his wife, a woman about a decade older than Galt, prim but warm in countenance. "Allow me to introduce you to the Lady Dahlia, my darling wife."

"My lady," Galt said with a relieved smile, glad to see she would not also lift him up like a ragdoll. She presented her hand, and he gingerly took it in his kissed it. Galt was not used to noble company, but he had done his fair share of flirtation in his life, and there was very little difference between a suave greeting to a noble lady and trying to woo a busty barmaid unused to being treated like royalty. "It does my heart well to finally meet you."

"Oh no, I am just so grateful you saved my darling, Valdemar." She intoned. Her hair was woven into a braid that nearly reached Galt's height, and he couldn't begin to fathom how it was tied up in such a fashion. It looked more difficult to weave than the locks of a bank. He had to keep his fingers from wiggling when he saw the glint of her bejeweled rings that graced her hand. If he stole something here, he would be slain so quickly he wouldn't have time to regret it. Blinking, he realized she was still talking. Damn, I was just looking at the jewelry. Fuck. "-and the baron was much detracted from the whole ordeal. I nearly guffawed, darling!"

"Er y-yes of course," Galt said with what he hoped was a winning smile, shifting his gaze to Valdemar. "Your Grace, you never told me your lovely wife was such a gifted story-teller."

Behind the chattering Valdemar and Dahlia, a very proper looking gentleman whom Galt had never seen before, one Vincent Kasper, waited patiently with a hawkish expression. Behind him, a few nobles began flocking to stand in line to speak to Galt. Galt did his best to hide his nervousness. He did not expect a pretty woman to glide over and whisper in the man's ear, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away, eyes never leaving his as he tried to protest but could not out of the veritable cage politeness brought to such an event. Well, at least that lightened the load a bit.

"We really should not keep you, my boy. I will go and await the king's approach. But we simply must talk more soon, yes?" The Duke inquired, and Galt nodded. He might be out of his element, but he was glad he had saved the man's life, and not only for the vast rewards he was receiving. As the Duke left, he called for whomever would like to accompany him to meet the King in person. A few of those awaiting Galt jumped at the opportunity, seeing the chance to raise their station in a once in a lifetime opportunity. They would be able to speak to Galt later, of course. Not that it diminished those looking to meet him, but it thinned the herd of the impatient ones. Except for one.

A woman Galt thought was quite lovely. He cleared his throat and stood to his full height. Vedrick gave a bow, something Galt was a bit too distracted to think on. "Count Galt, may I present the Lady Silke Kasper."

"My lady, uh, how do you do?" He asked, making sure his voice did not waver. He offered his hand to shake, and then pulled back since that wasn't proper etiquette. Vedrick's eyes went wide, and Galt looked at him with a mixture of guilt and accusation, as if to go "I know I fucked up, but I'm your responsibility."

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"Jobs like those don't show up often. I know you've probably done your fair share of shit bounties before." He said, taking a taste from some of the Nova Tears himself. He decided he should get a bit of the hard stuff, if only to keep him talking. He wasn't usually one for conversation, particularly with a naked woman. When that happened he tended to be busy with something else. "It's only been the last two years I've built my reputation up enough to get them thrown my way, anyway."

"That doesn't answer my question," she pointed out wryly, and then giggled. The drink was getting to her visibly now, if only just.

"I had a lot of debt until a few months ago." He admitted, but he didn't extrapolate further. She raised her brows, so as to goad him to continue. He merely took another heavy drink of Nova Tears, and then after a long silence, he halfway sidestepped the explanation. "My armor costs a lot to maintain, though. That and this hotel room. But Volkavax's name goes almost as far as mine, by virtue of him never leaving Neo-Mecca. I get a discount when they know I work for him."

"Wouldn't being infamous make your job a bit harder? You don't have an ego thing, do you?" She jested with a gesticulation of her voice, her last question emphasized through a full-bodied voice one only made when teasing. It was a bit tattered when she burped suddenly, evidently surprising even herself by the widening of her eyes and the following rueful smile.

"There are two ways to be a bounty hunter. One way lies subterfuge and anonymity. Makes the job easier in a lot of ways, no one suspects you, and you can get in and out of places you've been to before. It's got its uses... I don't do that." He explained. Dirk didn't seem old, at least judging by the lean body and trim muscles she could see rising out of the bubbling water. But he spoke as if he had thought on the intricacies of bounty hunting as if he was an old pro, with more than a couple of years under his belt. "The other bounty hunters, the ones that make names for themselves. They don't do it for the flak, at least the good ones. They do it because as soon as your mark hears your name, they're pissing their pants. They know they're being hunted. They know the hunter after them won't stop. They'll get nervous and make a mistake."

He took a good swig after that, letting her digest the information. "Besides," he said, clearing his throat. "Assholes'll be less likely to get in your way if they know you've killed bigger things than them."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"By my right as the King of Ardelan, by the power granted to me by the throne, and the by the will of the Gods, I summon thee to serve as Count of Gavony! Rise to your station, Galt Harrowmark, and be recognized!"

It was a surreal experience, being annointed by the Sword of Galaden on this day, the day of Galt's coronation. He felt the weight of the sheathed blade in his hands, realizing to his surprise that it was not a broken heirloom, but a well forged sword that happened to be used for ceremony. He would be able to admire it later, but right now he was far more focused on the bloody King of the country, who loomed over him with his scepter, granted to him by the Bishop of the Holy Sepulcher. Galt tried to take deep breaths, but he was feeling a bit overwhelmed, almost dizzy.

No, you are not going to faint in front of all these lords and ladies, he scolded himself.

After a few, long seconds, he realized the meaning of the king's words, and he stood up abruptly. It was a bit too hasty, and he nearly shook from nervousness. Galt wasn't what you would consider a brave man, though he would bet a mint coin that he had been in more scrapes and near-misses than most of the dandies in the room. He tried to think of that when he gazed across at the masses now gathered, all eyes on he and the King.

Among the Grand Hall of the King's Palace, row upon row and balcony upon balcony were filled with aristocrats and commoners, merchants and laborers, locals and foreigners. The chamber was hallowed, built with whitestone and furnished with tapestries of green and gold, and a red carpet that lined its vast entirety. As the music reached its crescendo, Galt was filled with a trepidation that rose in his breast. Perhaps he had truly earned this, even if he felt unworthy or out of his element. The golden light of the sun that pierced the stained glass windows shimmered on the silks of those that watched him, and he bowed before the congregation of citizens, truly humbled by this magnificent honor.

The applause wasn't deafening, but it was a wave of noise that sounded like a roar to Galt. No one had ever clapped for him before, actually. He lost himself in the pomp and ceremony going forward, blinking and leaving the raised platform he had shared with the King as swiftly but as stiffly as he could. He made his way out through the postern gate that led into the dining hall, the thousands of tons of stacked stone around him had a surprising amount of cold to it. No wonder the hearth was so huge, and all the lords and ladies were swathed at all times of the day.

The walls were lined with footman, wearing steel breastplates and conical helms with plumes atop them. In their hands were spears, nine feet from base to steel tip, and small, crested shields at their sides. As Galt entered the hall, servants hustled to and fro, placing plates and silverware down, bringing it casks of ale and bottles of wine. The smell from the kitchen was intoxicating, Galt tugging his collar a bit, his hunger agitating him. To the left, out of another corridor stepped a man with an impressive mustache and a resplendent red cloak over a vest. He gave a small gesture of relief with a wave of his hands and stalked toward Galt, smiling.

"There you are! I was just looking for you." He said breathily.

"Who are you, again?" Galt asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. The courtier looked aghast and offended for a moment, but they pushed it down. Galt guessed servants, even highly valued ones, had to swallow their pride a lot, which was likely why he had seen a few kick people below them as well.

"I am Vedrick Frankhardt, one of the royal aides. You are to be the guest of honor when the ceremony concludes, which will be any moment now. Follow me and I'll show you how to stand properly and give a greeting they would expect." He explained, beckoning Galt to follow. Galt sighed, loathe to leave the smell of the food, but he did so without complaint. The guards around him kept his tongue behind his teeth. He might outrank Verdrick and any of the guards, but this was the first time in his life a footman wasn't trying to cut his head off. It would take some getting used to.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"I know a few guys who would love to meet you." Dirk snorted as her hair shimmered from one shade to another. He had meant what he said, when he mentioned how useful the changing colors were. Disguises were a great boon for certain bounty hunters. He was going to speak more about it, but then Jocasta asked him a question. Dirk answered promptly.

"My job is fun," He said levelly, and though it was impossible to tell with the helm, it was somehow clear he was looking directly into her face. Dirk wasn't being entirely transparent, but he did feel like he was being honest in a sense. He always liked to say he kept himself out of the job, but that generally meant he did not grow attached to marks. No one ever warned him about the double edge to that sword. That he truly liked bounty hunting beyond a paycheck. When Dirk was young, he had read a quote from a man who lived in the latter part of the Second Millennium, before the cataclysm and rise of human expansion.

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."

He didn't put much thought on it as a boy, but it had stuck with him all through his years. How true it had turned out to be.

"Well if that's your idea of fun, why not tell me about your last job?" Jocasta asked wryly, lounging across the hot tub and twirling a finger in the water as the bubbles increased.

---

Planet Rhylonn 7
2 Months Previously...

Ambrose Talerman smirked, the wind rippling through the streets, his suede jacket undulating. Across the rooftops illuminated by the noonday sun, shooters looked down the scopes of their long guns, prepped and ready to fire when Ambrose or Herdilane himself gave the word. The day was hot, causing every man to perspire heavily even after a mere ten minutes under the blazing rays. Every man except Dirk Crimson, his phenoplate armor coming with a small, albeit outdated coolant system that regulated the temperature within. Biosignatures played along his feed, indicating the locations of every shooter in his field of vision. Their long guns were even older than some of the modifications of his signature red armor, but they a punch to their shots. He could only take a few of them before he was pierced, and there was always the possibility of making it through some of the thinner gaps.

"How 'bout it?" Ambrose called theatrically, making a spectacle out of the ordeal. "First hit wins?"

Dirk didn't answer for a long, drawn out moment. He glanced over his shoulder instead, secretly finding two more enemies at his 4 o'clock. The gun on the left room, above the awning, was plasma based. Customized in a way even his helm couldn't decipher. That could be a problem, he thought. Turning back to Amborse, he gave a nod that elicited a laugh of satisfaction from the underboss of the Black Novas.

"When do we start?" Dirk asked, cooly.

"When do we start? Good question, when do weee-" Ambrose's voice lowered as if it were to trail off, but he pulled on Dirk. His hand had taken the hilt of the gun even when he said 'Now!' Dirk had been a Helldropper in another life, honing his skills to the edge. Even so, it was a close thing. He had to guess there was only a fraction of a second different, which was enough when gun-fighting. Dirk pulled his DMX-15 Heavy Blaster a split moment after Ambrose, but he fired and aimed twice as fast. The super-heated ball of energy tore through the smiling show-off's stomach, knocking his body with the sheer force of the bolt's punch. His own gun shot was off, discharging to fire slightly to the left before the pistol spiraled to the ground out of his limp hand.

He fell to his knees, disbelief on his face as blood began to trickle with ever increasing frequency out of his torn abdomen. The silence of the settlement lasted another breath, and then shots rang out as Dirk rolled, dust roiling into the whipping wind as laser fire, slugs, and plasma shots struck where he had been just a moment prior. He took aim and fired, knocking a man off the roof with a well placed shot even as a lasbolt hit his breastplate. He gave a grunt and shot to his left twice, one shot hitting its mark, boiling the man's hand instantly and ruining his gun.

Crouched, blue flame erupted from the jump-pack he had on his back. Intake vents on the top of the pack greedily sucked in air to feed the jets, and the turbine blades expelled a long plume of vapor as Dirk was lifted from the ground with impressive speed. It was just quick enough to keep him from breaking a bone on landing, but that was only if there was a flat surface to land on. It looked like he was heading down the street for the manor of Herdilane. Red streaks and glowing green shots fly by him, but Dirk kept his focus on the target. He wouldn't and couldn't maneuver, and it costed him the pack. A lucky shot hit center mass between the jets, and Dirk felt his throat tighten and balance falter from the sudden lack of power. He unhooked the pack and let the momentum send him careening, not to the roof he aimed at, but the window he felt he could hit. Positioning his body aerodynamically to assist his descent, he crashed through the wide expanse of glass Herdilane had been, just moments before, looking out and enjoying his drink.

Dirk rolled, ungracefully to break through the Black Nova boss's desk and hit the wall, splintering the wood. Heraldine, a man who looked to be in his early 60's but was likely far older than that due to body augmentation, looked as if he had pissed himself. He dropped his glass and ran for the door, but Dirk was up and on him, slamming the boss into the wall. Outside, men cried out and orders were being given, but he didn't care. Now on his knees, Herdilane eyed Dirk with a mixture of nervousness and fear.

Dirk produced a small, smooth sphere with a grinded out middle and red glass where a light might blink were it activated, the center looked to be where the two sides of the ball detached.

"Swallow this," Dirk told him.

"Sw- What?" Herdaline asked incredulously. He seemed to be gathering his impudence, looking at the sphere suspiciously. "If you think I'm going to swallow anything, you can fuck right off." The barrel to one of Dirk's DMX-15 blasters pressed under the boss's chin firmly, the heat from the freshly used barrel still scalding. It made Herdaline yelp in an undignified manner and shudder. He now looked a bit more cornered, having lost his will as quickly as it had come.

"Listen here, bitch." Dirk stated. "Either you swallow this, or I'm making it a suppository. Your move."

---

"The old bastard didn't know it wasn't a real bomb until he was in shackles and I had another 2 million." Dirk said, Jocasta and anyone else who listened practically seeing his smile behind the helm's visor.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"Poor kids," He commented dryly, lifting his helm up just enough to take a generous sip from his frothing mug of Darellian. It was a good story. He suspected she would have done something on the streets of Grinemak, maybe take out a lone boss ostracized from the cartels from a high position. Not out of his lack of faith in her, but any bounty hunter would want the easiest job for the most money. Just good business. Chasing someone across the galaxy was a lot of leg work, after all. When Jocasta looked at him as if to elaborate, he continued. "Imagine growing up and realizing your dad was forced to be there, and your three half siblings have different moms he knocked up."

"Somehow I don't think it's too strange for that family," she sniggered, imbibing in some more Nova Tears with delight. She was treating it like a beer, but unless there was some heavy modifications done to her body, she was going to get perilously drunk sooner rather than later. Normally that wouldn't be a problem with a girl who was as shapely as she was, if he had invited her in to sleep with him. But she was a work partner. He wasn't going to make a move unless she did it first, so it was fair to warn her.

"Careful with that shit, you won't hear the details of the next job." He said, holding his mug aloft and pointing at her with an extended index finger.

"I'm handling it," she said, patting her chest so as not to burp in front of him. "You look like you could use some more. Does your suit burn calories or are you just big into crossfit?" She giggled. One could practically see the image of Dirk in sweat pants, a tight shirt, and his helm on whilst throwing weighted balls in a thought bubble above her head.

"When you've been doing what I've been doing for long enough, you don't get a lot of time for sweets. Or drinks for that matter," He said, taking another swig, letting the liquid gold glide down his throat for a concerning amount of time before letting out a pleased grunt. Placing the mug down, he turned her way. "Our target is Decartes Maggred. He's one of those guys who does what he wants because his dad lets him. Little in the way of inhibitions and he's got a mean streak. He'll likely be armed and have men that share his love of killing people who can't fight back. You know, your regular asshole."

Another cadre of drones flew over with a glass and a towel draped around it. He didn't exactly know how those things worked or what led them to act in a way he didn't think programming allowed. Idly, he ran a wet hand over a scar on his upper arm, the helm hiding the small wince he made. It was good to soak his old wounds in the hot tub. He didn't let the tenderness show in his voice.

"The reward is 4 mil, and a seat at a higher table. If you want to part ways after that, up to you."

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"No drinks?" Dirk asked curiously. He sighed a foreign, likely xenos curse and turned, stepping to the door, pressing his fist into a call button. Two lights glowed for a moment between the speaker for a second. "Drinks," was all he said.

"Yes, right away," a woman's voice replied moments later.

Pulling his fist away, he was satisfied and went to the cupboard, pressing a finger against a switch, letting glasses slide out on a display shelf, carefully placed in tight, shaped indentions in the wood that snugly held the cups and silverware. He grabbed two robust mugs, with stout handles and a sweeping design as if the outside of the glass was carved into waves. He placed Jocasta's mug on the counter, and brought his over to the hot tub. Out of sight for a moment, Jocasta would hear the revving of a machine and the tub begin bubbling, likely increasing in heat by every second.

"I'm going to take a dip. You won't have to wiggle your rump to join. Though drink all my booze and no promises." He replied, and there was a knock on the door that drew his attention. Opening it, a woman in a smart suit and blonde hair tied in a bun strode in with a cart of alcohol from varying different makes and planets. Dirk collected the selection, not saying a word as the woman looked around the room and then at Jocasta, clearly interested in her surroundings but quite clearly trying not to appear so. She saw Dirk give her a nod, which was obvious permission to leave. She did so with just a "very good," and Dirk closed the door behind her.

All the bottles were displayed beside Jocasta's mug, spirits, whiskey, rum, beer, vodka, etc. Dirk left the room for a moment, walking into a closet and closing the door. Within, he stripped himself of his armor and underclothes, taking a solid two minutes to undo the layers of plate and weapons he had stored. After he finished, he stepped out in a crimson bathing suit with black patterns along its fabric. He still wore his helm, but his chest and lower legs were bare. It was safe to say, taking a look at him, that he was ripped. A lean frame with very little fat, he had the build of someone who spent their time eating just enough to live and killing men for money. Despite his armor, he had an impressive amount of scars, not to mention the mystery of how he had a slight tan. On his neck, she saw the end of a sharp edged, black tattoo that slid up into his helm.

He poured himself a drink from a bottle of Darellian Whiskey and stepped into the tub, letting his arms rest against the edges.

"So, before me, what was the last job you did?"

"Tub should be ready," he said casually.

Hello, I'm Cobblestone

Awesome to meet you!

The Sunday Group

Mal watched the two approach, his brow raised in an open question. Jaelle was gorgeous, and he didn't mean aesthetically. She had appeared at just the right time, sheparding the two older folks to the back as best she could. The Petersons were innocent folk, and with them gone Mal didn't feel too bad wrecking their livelihoods. Strange how morality and guilt worked. Within the folds of his sleeves, his fingers moved, weaving the flows of magic around them to prepare for whatever was coming. He didn't cast a spell yet, not wanting to give anything away in case they were powerful spellcasters.

When they pulled out the silence pistol, Mal scowled. He moved like a practiced fighter, quick and efficient, left out shooting out and grabbing the gun's barrel with a flow of force, twisting his hand and breaking the gun's barrel. The second man was already aiming with a firearm of his own, Mal's eyes widened, bending his arm until it was position like he was about to pull a seatbelt down over his torso. The gun fired, bullets sparking off an invisible shield Mal had summoned at just the last moment. Bullets crashed into canned food and peanuts.

Mal riposted with a solidified collection of sharpened force, slicing across the two men's necks and beheading them. Or, that's what he had expected. He didn't exactly know what happened when he had used the attack. The razor edge of mystical aether energies turned into heavy molasses to Mal's senses as it passed through the two men. He felt fatigued even trying to run controlled magic across them. He couldn't exactly understand what was happening, and the assailants looked only a bit dazed.

"Back of the store!" Malcador cried to the Petersons. The old man, Liam, had shouldered the door a couple of times. As he went for a fourth attempt, Mal breathed a spell, the door weakening as he hit it. The old man nearly crashed to the floor, but he caught himself and his wife grabbed at him.

"Liam!" She cried. He grumbled and grunted, pushing himself forward. Mal was satisfied, but when he turned back, one of the men ran at him, attempting a tackle. Mal leaped to the left, kicking out with his foot. The blow truly did smart, but it succeeded in sending the guy to the ground. Malcador's heart raced, sweat beading on his brow. He placed his hands over one another, palms facing the ground. He breathed an incantation, not bothering with rhythm or cadence. His voice rose in octaves beyond human capability, and the men within didn't seem too worried, just merely note of Mal performing a spell. If they valued their lives, they would start running.

Blue-white flame coalesced around his hands, burgeoning like a a blow torch. Malcador didn't know who the hell these men were, but this spell was a dwemor that could turn the whole store into a cinder if he didn't control it properly, and even if it was, Mal's immediate vicinity was going to be obliterated. He called it 'Mund-spilli' or 'Destroyer of Worlds.' A bit of a misnomer, but it sufficed for what its intended use was.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"I hear girls like a little mystery," He teased back snidely, but didn't expand on it.

They stepped onto the dock, the water lapping against the dock supports was as azure as it was clear. Multi-colored, very likely harmless fish floated beneath them and nipped at algae and seaweed that flowed languidly with the soft tide. The docks around them were sparsely populated, a few people milling besides water-crafts next to the space-faring ships that came and went. What Dirk had said was true, the place wasn't cheap. But it wasn't an exclusive dive for nobles or rich traders. More than a few spacers were enjoying their bonuses here. The harem women had proven to be quite the entrepreneurs and business women, turning the planet from a pleasure spot to a hotel with similar 'services' marketed for the traveling businessman. From what Dirk had heard, the previous harem girls had taken up as the the administration of the island and heads of security, but a few of them had 'taught' their previous profession to down on their luck girls that needed a place to lay their head and make a living. After hiring contractors to refurbish the place and make it accessible to the average spacer, its popularity had exploded. Even after the downturn following the collapse of the Terran government, business was still good, albeit slightly stagnate due to inflation and lack of funds from the average populace.

Luckily for Jocasta and Dirk, they were gig workers. Politics didn't matter much to bounty hunters.

They made their way into the cooled, purified air of the hotel. Across the bottom floor, the walls and doors touching fresh air were all made of glass to see the vast ocean and the great 'Arch-Reefs,' tall bio-organic spires that looked like the rib cages of massive beasts that spiked out of the water a few hundred meters from shore. Tourists loved to swim over to them and leap off the top protrusions.

Dirk made his way over to one of the front desks, Jocasta following his lead. They waited for a few moments for the brunette lady at the desk to finish a task she was occupied with before turning from her console and adjusted her glasses. She cleared her throat, shaking her head to move a fringe of her hair before starting with: "Welcome to the Venustus Prospectus, one of our lauded and luxurious-..." She blinked twice when she laid eyes on Dirk, her voice trailing off. The woman's mouth opened as if in a question, and then it turned into a smile.

"Dirk! Hello, been a long time. You're looking good," She greeted him happily. Her hands, courteously clasped together to politely introduce herself to new people, were pulled back behind the desk as she cleared her throat once again. Her bewilderment was mixed with something hard to gauge. "I didn't think we would ever see you again. How did you...?"

"Amber, always a pleasure." Dirk replied, placing his hands on the desk. "Tell Sal I said hi."

"I will, but-"

"The usual suite please." He asked, and when she nodded her consent, he lifted a hand from the desk and pulled a chip out from a port in the chest of his armor, presenting it to her to take. She did so, swallowing what she was going to inquire and typing furiously away in the computer, inserting the chip into it. Small 'dings' rose as she coordinated the information. "I didn't come with the usual ship. Jocasta is my plus one and partner. We'll only be a couple of days."

"Partner?" She asked, raising an eyebrow and handing the chip back to him. He took it, even the other guests talking and walking through the large room were deafeningly quiet. The chip inserting back into the port was actually audible to the three of them, the 'ffft' of air escaping.

"Yeah, long story."

Maverick Malediction

"I would have, but there was a priest and an assassin on the ground and I chose looks over virtue." He said with a wink. Well, he hoped things weren't too wacky. But seeing as they were breathing air, the sky was blue, and there was a village that looked ordinary if not somewhat exotic showed they were probably on their on world, though time might be a factor. Then again, he doubted Therman kept his portal on a different time as its base 'setting' if he could call it that. Either way, they'd deal with it.

Neil waited for around half an hour, letting the food settle and allowing Calliope to warm herself. During that time, assuming they were on Torek, they needed an alibi. Calliope would be a noblewoman, traveling with her beau, when their caravan was attacked and they escaped with their lives. If they were in one of the northern climes, the two would use fake names and they went with two names from the most common northern regions, The Grey March and Bania. Neil would have chosen Norgard, but he truly did not look the part, so he went with the endless expanse of borderlands above Andred as his region, using the name Pate Galloway, and Calliope would be Dragoslava Grigoriev. Once they were sufficiently warm and in agreement over the names and backstories, the two were ready.

"Must we?" Calliope complained, understandably annoyed. Surviving an ordeal like hers that weakened her, and then waking up frozen, only to now leave when it was warm.

"Unless you want to sleep here tonight, yes. If it's this cold during the day, at night we might want to be in a bed." He reasoned, knowing she reasonably understood that but wanting to drive it home. Neil kicked the fire a bit away, not dousing it but moving it and letting the flames get some distance from them, before he scooped her up in his arms. She was as wound up in the garment as she could be, but she clung to him to help his burden and to keep warm. He didn't make any quips, but it felt extremely nice in his opinion, even if he felt like her pack mule.

Neil carried her out of the gulley, the river babbling beside them was beautiful, glimmering in the distant sun and flecked with ice and fallen leaves. Across the short expanse of water, a muskrat washed what was likely a crustacean it was going to devour, eyes on the two as they stepped out of the river bed and onto the road. To the right, there was a small expanse of open ground, sloping into a distant woodland where the river fled. To the left, the trees were far closer and more ominous, gnarled but thick with leaves. Ahead of them, smoke rose in the distance, and beyond the fires was a mountain range that dwarfed any Neil have ever bore witness to in the southern lands.

"Looks like I chose my name well," Calliope congratulated herself once they came over the next rise. Neil wasn't privvy to what she meant, but when he got a look at the town, he saw it was shaped strangely for a normal settlement. The majority of it was made of wood, but the tops of the taller buildings and towers almost looked like the sweeping spires of the desert kingdoms. Most buildings were squat and sturdy, with a fine edge to its architecture. Integrated into the intricate designs of the obtuse spires were sharp ones that speared into the sky, and a large, central building adorned with a curved large cube roof and patterns of green and gold across endless triangles. Oddly enough, despite the snow on the ground and walls, there was nary a puff of white on the tops of the roofs. Perhaps that was the point.

"This is Bania?" Neil asked.

Calliope nestled closer, eyeing the large town and likely too focused on plotting their next move for her to notice the swell of her bosom pressed against his neck. He hid his annoyance well, because this was a fucking tease and he didn't appreciate it.

"Once vee reach ze gate, let me do ze talking," She told him, flexing her accent. Words were spoken in strange, almost brutish tone interwoven with a graceful, silken air to them. She was good, he noted. He grunted as she shifted, hoping she could get them to an inn or a place to rest and get some drinks soon.

"Alright, just make it quick. You're getting a little heavy," He remarked, trying not to wheeze.