POOHEAD189

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I should have known better, but it was a fortunate mistake.

What men were left that skulked through the brush had been dealt with except for the dumbfounded man, standing before Emmaline. The two brutes beside me were equally baffled, and it gave me some hope they had not expected to find a psyker, much less an Inquisitor. Perhaps this was some ill-fated attempt at trying to kill a Jovian-Clan representative. Then again, they were going to great lengths for such a simple matter. It didn't make sense. Due to my training, I compartmentalized that thought for later and moved before they had their wits about them.

I turned and used a diestro-style cut at the bigger man, the fellow only having enough time to flinch as my power sword cut him from collarbone to waist in an arc that stained the eye with its light. A horrific steam made by the blood in his body boiling from the high temperature blade wafted into the air, and he fell in a heap of two pieces. I strode forward in time to meet the second man's attack, his face congealed into a mask of rage. The stun baton and the power sword met in a clash of sparks, but the power sword was by far the better weapon. I needn't have riposted, the stun baton's power coupling shattered and its integrity broken, but with a flick of my wrist I amputated the weapon arm. He was too shocked to even cry out, and I kicked him in the chest. Swiftly, feet on the ground, I turned and smoothly unholstered my autogun. I fired two bullets at the confused man who had just about made up his mind to continue his assault on Emmaline, blood spouting from his neck in spurts.

Lazarus and I were of different minds on many things, but I had been told more than once that my dedication to my field gave me a mechanical ability to solve problems with little thought to anything else. I simply viewed it as pragmatic, but swift killing did have a certain coldness to it. On the ground, the one eyed and now one armed man grabbed at his stump of a shoulder and tried to catch his breath. Apparently his enhancements were truly just above the neck.

"Emmaline!" I called brusquely, time being of the essence. She hopped off the fountain ledge and approached. I held out my hand for the staff, and she gave it to me with a look that made me regret ordering her over so harshly. I'm not sure if she was felt guilty over some view of breaking my trust or complicating the mission. We would speak of it, later. With my staff in my left and my power sword in my right, I confronted the man on the ground. The blood was finally starting to seep out of his wound, if gingerly.

"Who sent you?" I asked him. At his spitting in my face, I used my will. "Who sent you?"

"Balal Ignatius!" He said without restraint, marveling at his own words.

"Who is Balal Ignatius?"

"Of the Ignatius Family."

"Who of the Ignatius family?"

"Of the Ignatius family!"

"What was your mission?"

"To kill a Jovian Elite and his Adeptus Bitch."

I took a full second to absorb the information and find a conclusion. It seemed we would have to take up Emmaline's offer to their estate, after all. With a look of contempt, I stabbed into the man's heart without a second thought. He bucked and attempted to breath, but was dead within seconds. The blood was purged from the blade as it thrummed with energy, the air steaming lightly around the sword. I deactivated it and sheathed the blade.

"Let's go," I told my companion. We made our way through the maze of shrubbery as calls and questions began flying up into the night air. It seems our mystique was growing, if nothing else. I would need to come up with an explanation on what happened to myself and my date by the morning, but as it were, I could not trust any pursuers to not be assassins themselves. Two minutes later, we made it to the street. Ground cars were parked along the road, likely owned by people spending the night at a local dive. I walked over to a compact but aesthetically pleasing one, likely an expensive model. Using the force staff to concentrate, the locking mechanism lifted and I opened the door, tossing in my weapons save my autogun. Kneeling down, I hotwired the vehicle, sparks flying from between my fingers.

"Where did you learn that?" Emmaline inquired with a catch to her voice. I could not tell if she was impressed or not.

"Can you drive?" I asked Emmaline, checking my gun's magazine.

"Now, if I said no..." She started. I looked at her and saw her smile. I looked away, hiding my own.

A Thousand Legends ~ Sundered Veil (At Capacity)

Interesting

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I stopped and froze, something piquing my psy-empathy. I wasn't what one might call an 'Empath,' but you learn a technique or two under the tutelage of the Inquisition. Old Terrans would call it 'intuition' or something vague like a 'feeling,' but I knew what it was. Beyond that, I could see it with my eyes. There were many nobles glancing our way, but a few on the waiter's staff either looked at us directly or made certain not to look in a way that seemed too suspicious. It brought a chill down my spine.

"One more dance?" I asked Emmaline with liquid cadence to my voice, pulling her back out onto the balcony, gently.

"What?" She asked breathlessly, eyes widening. The sound of her voice made my heart tremble. Emperor but that was a good kiss. I could tell the prospect wasn't wholly unwanted in her eyes, but it warred with confusion on the sudden turn of events. I closed the door and pulled her close to it so we weren't as easily spied on.

"Something's wrong." I warned her. "Something..."

The night behind her was dimly lit, as it was opposite from the Banquet Hall's main drag. There were many buildings, yes. But beyond the large botanical garden were smaller streets and three to ten story buildings ubiquitously scattered along the landscape until they congregated with the larger structures of the main city. There were many lights, but not entirely bright. I saw another light turn on for the briefest of moments, and my mind yelled at my body as I realized it had not been a light, but a glint of something in the rays of the moon. I knew what it was in my body before I could conceptualize it in my head.

"Down!" I ordered, but Emmaline needn't have heard me as I took the liberty of pulling her below the vine-enshrouded balustrade. Just at that critical moment, a las-shot cauterized the stone where our heads had been. It was eerie, seeing it and not hearing a thing, or even being unable to see the source as it was fired. It was shot by a longlas, equipped with a suppressor that hid the location of its shooter by nullifying the flash and severely reducing the noise. Standard procedure for any sniper in the Astra Militarum was to find a new location after every shot, and most civilian assassins utilized kinetic sniper rifles. Still, we couldn't trust whoever attempted to kill us to go by the handbook.

Vaguely, I realized Emmaline was on top of me. Were it a different circumstance I would have liked the experience, but as it were we had a situation.

"Are you ok?" I asked her just the very moment she asked me, our voices mingling in the suspiciously quiet night air.

"I am," I said just as she gave a shaken 'Yes, I'm...'

"We need to go through the gardens." I told her, gently moving her to lay to the side, my back guarding her body from any shots, though I hoped we were still out of their visual. I took her hand in mine and gave her a nod. We had to move quickly. She returned the nod, resolve in her eyes. It made me smile. I had chosen my teammate well. "Hold on to me."

She did as she was bid, and with a quick movement, I hoisted her up and leaped off the balcony. We had two stories to drop, and I used my admittedly mediocre psychic powers to slow our descent on the second half of the drop. My feet hit the ground a bit harder than I would have liked, but nothing was broken and no further shots had been fired. She got to her feet and was about to make a quip, but the tall hedges began to shudder from some movement beyond what we could see.

"Six of them," She whispered, her eyes very far away.

"Together?" I asked, retrieving my pistol and pulling back the hammer. Damn, I did not want to lose my cover with gunshots ringing out.

"No, two man teams." She reported, and at my insistence we both backed up and fled into a different corridor of green, hurrying as quickly as we could manage in our current dress. Perhaps we made it twenty meters before the brush quaked and shook, and two men leaped out to bar our way. We pulled up short as the foes watched us in the gloom, ominously watching us as if trying to ascertain if we were the correct prey. One man had his left eye replaced by a set of bionics Lazarus could appreciate. The other looked like a short Ogryn, brutish and large, but undeniably a standard big man rather than an abhuman. Both wore carapace armor and stun batons, as if they had relieved a few adeptus arbites of their equipment. Briefly, I felt Emmaline's hand touching my own.

Are they after Hadrian Drakos or Blasius Deckard?

A prudent question. But one we did not have the luxury of finding out.

I'm not sure, but they have unfortunately found Inquisitor Drakos of the Ordo Malleus.

I put my gun back in its holster, and the two watched with a dark chuckle. They carried their stun batons as if they had used plenty of bludgeoning weapons before, moving with a confident swagger. I was not certain if Emmaline knew much of that particular armament, but a stun baton's name gives a misconception of its viciousness. They could certainly stun, but I had bore witness to an arbites use one at maximum power on rioter's arm. The limb was hopelessly damaged beyond repair. One hit in the head or anywhere vital and we could very well be dead.

"You giving up, eh? Smart." The balding man with the eye snickered. His thin nose and nibbling mouth made me think of a city rat.

I turned from them and handed Emmaline my force staff, who blinked when she caught the haft of the thing in her hands.

"Be extremely mindful with that," I informed her carefully. Her psychic powers far outstripped my own. "In my hands, it's a formidable weapon. In yours, well, there might be extensive collateral damage if you're not entirely in control."

Once I had hammered it home to her, I turn to the approaching thugs and, with a gesture of my shoulder to move my cloak aside, I reached for my sword. I could hear their chuckling as I retrieved my 'antique sword,' but as I pulled it out, their laughter died on their lips as they noticed the embossed skull on the hilt and the broad blade of what was undeniably a power sword in my strong hand. I activated the weapon, the blade bursting into life with a dim light, sparks racing across the length of it. My slug thrower might not be entirely effective against carapace armor, but my power sword, well...

It could cut into the armor plating of a Chimera.

Maverick Malediction

Iron was unlatched, and the gate creaked open loudly before the two tired, unscrupulous rogues. Calliope still clung to Neil, the thief hefted her up a bit so he could do one last walk before he could put her down. Damn, as tired as his arms were, she felt nice against him. Taking in a deep breath, he strode in. Had he been less hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, he would have taken more time to look around. Still, what he saw wasn't wholly uninteresting.

He had never been to Bania before, and he hadn't known what to expect. It was off-putting seeing the town so very much alike to the ones he was used to, and yet so alien at the same time. The houses and less elite building were made of pure wood. Neil did not have a background in buildings, but he had a keen eye and could tell the timber was axe-cut if he hazarded a guess. Three men with large mustaches, one sporting a wispy beard that pierced the air all smoked from strange pipes, watching Neil and Calliope and commenting to one another in their native tongue. A woman walked alone on the otherside of the road with a strange rod in her hand, carved in the likeness of a wiseman, hurrying to finish some unknown business. Children played with a dog under the copse of a roof, and men and women occasionally passed by, going about some tasks of their own.

He saw temples with elaborate rooftops and statues of either men or gods, Neil could not tell, framing the short and wide stairways to their doors. Along a spring to the north, past two other streets was a bathhouse, and a strangely shaped windmill spun in the distance. All of the buildings around ten feet apart, if not more. Particularly the storage sheds and other outbuildings, likely to prevent the spread of fire. Neil realized halfway through his observations that Calliope was whispering in his ear and explaining bits about the town. He felt certain she was trying to remind herself to keep up the act, but he appreciated being the guinea pig, all the same.

Once they made it down what Neil guessed was half a mile, there was a clearing in the town. Neil didn't believe it was the center of town, but it looked to be a hub. The structures were broken up from a street pattern to a circle, leading to six different short streets that would look like a star from a birds-eye view. In the center was a stone firepit, ablaze with a lively bonfire. A man with a long beard and clad in robes chanted a litany in a language Neil guessed was not Banian, at least not the modern dialect. Next to him was a totem of a three headed god, and at the entrance of every road were big men with bardiches, watching the townsfolk go about their business like hawks. They did not look to be the normal guard Neil had seen swaggering around, armed with sabers or shorter but broad-bladed axes.

It was inevitable one of them would spot the sly, roughed up aristocrat carrying a pretty, regal looking dark haired woman wrapped in cloth.

"What are these guys?" Neil asked Calliope quietly as one approached. He bore a long hat that draped right, looking almost crumpled to Neil, and a thick, long coat that covered what he imagined was padded and iron armor. He looked strong enough to wield his huge weapon, and even used it like a walking stick, one handed.

"Streltsy," Calliope said, and called to the man in Banian. Neil heard the words Yiga and Gregor, but couldn't catch anything else as the sorceress spoke to the tall brute who eyed them. Neil had to admit to himself, Calliope speaking a foreign language by his ear did something strange to him, but he tried to push that away for now and think on the problem at hand. If there even was one.

The Streltsy barked something, and then motioned for them to follow. He looked like his face was set in a perpetual glare, but evidently was convinced to help by the dark assassin's speech. Calliope smacked Neil like a horse on his behind and Neil's legs started moving before he even realized, the two being lead to an aesthetically pleasing and homey building with a porch and a large sign above it in Banian text and the symbol of a golden bear's paw. Surprisingly, the Streltsy did not stop there, but stepped onto the porch and walked in. Neil followed in his wake, raising an eyebrow as he stepped into the blessedly warmer room.

All eyes turned to regard he and Calliope, who merely clung to Neil and met every gaze in hers. Neil didn't know what was happening, but everyone who looked at her turned away when she regarded them, shaken from some experience they saw in her dark orbs. Neil loved Calliope's mystique and she had his attention in more ways than one, but his arms were about to get pulled out of their sockets.

"Can we get a room and some clothes please?" Neil asked desperately, interrupting the Streltsy who spoke to a woman he guessed was Yiga. They both turned with unreadable expression, and with a small request from the woman, Calliope tossed her a small pouch of coins. Yiga mentioned one more thing to the Streltsy, who excused himself as the matronly woman led them up the stairs, and Neil felt relief.

Sails and Spells

Malcador had never been so afraid to be surrounded by pretty women.

Granted, he had never been surrounded by women that were weighing whether or not they wanted to kill him, so it was understandable. He gave a guilty smile and kept his hands where they could see them. Hair matted by the water, he slowly moved a bit out of his eyes so he could see them better. The Captain was daunting, and there was a pretty pale woman that watched him like a hawk. He couldn't defeat them all, but maybe if he swam away he could do something to bar their passage. It wasn't a good, long-term plan, however.

"I'm the resident mage of the Seawalker. I uh, see you've gotten acquainted with the rest of the crew." Malcador deadpanned, curling his lip in nervous disgust at the blood lapping in the water. He cleared his throat and fixed his hair a bit more, whipping his head for a moment. "Well, you see, other than my winning personality and good looks, I also happen to know exactly where some treasure is if you'd like to be escorted. Though you'll need to be a good swimmer, admittedly."

He looked at them with uncertainty, and gave a small wave to the boatswain who twiddled with her knife. "If you're interested, all I ask is that you spare my life. That sounds pretty easy, right? Just...not killing me? Yeah?"

Shiny new member. :)

@WitchyWoman A pleasure to meet you!

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

When she accepted, I didn't quite know where it would lead. But the Amalthians believe the Emperor works in mysterious ways, and perhaps he does at that. Had we left then and there, my life would perhaps be far different. But I do not think in idle 'what-ifs' so I will continue.

She took my hand, and we began a slow dance routine we had performed in front of the others before the servitors inside began to play a different tune. It was a weird juxtaposition of both festive and romantic, with a slow albeit energetic beat accompanied by an acoustic guitar and a guest singer that sang in a language I can't quite remember. But our dancing inevitably changed, the two of us stepping apart in unison and giving extravagant bows, before we did a step by step dance that had us shaking ourselves and moving side to side, the movements keeping a smile on our faces. I had learned the dance before under cover, but where Emmaline had become a practitioner that rivaled me, I could not know.

I found I wanted to find out.

Minutes passed, and she gyrated herself and then spun. It gave a silhouette look to her sparkling black dress, her ponytail whipping me in the face as if she were trying to playfully throw me off, her jewelry bouncing and clinking together. I caught her raised hand and had my other on her lower back, at the ready. She stepped back and I forward, and I felt much like a schoolboy as she gave a laugh like angelic clinging bells. A few more passes, and finally she spun one last time and fell back into my arms, and the music slowed to a stop as we looked to one another beside the balustrade there on Moldar, under the light of the moon.

We had only known one another, what? A fortnight? Dammit, I didn't care.

My heart thudding in my ears, I leaned in and kissed her.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Marching, Markus could handle. He had done it much the last decade, and he would likely march until a blade cut his life short one day. As it were, he did not mind being paid to do it. And so he and the lady Lannister had made great haste to the tourney, with a new companion in tow. A hulk of a lad with a dumb expression and a willingness to please. Could be worse, Markus knew. Could be one of Celena's cousins. Truth be told, he had never liked Lannisters. From his admittedly short exposure to them over the years, they had always seemed too golden for his liking. Undeniably arrogant with nothing to back it up save money, and something about the way they spoke made him feel like he was covered in sword oil.

Celena was an exception, however. A pleasant surprise to the sellsword. She was an outcast just as he was, and though she had the same money as other Lannisters, she had deigned to give him a bit of it which helped his opinion of her immensely. So far it had been a relatively easy job as well. A lot of walking, a lot of standing in front of doors while she made secret deals, a lot of drinking, even sometimes together. He found he enjoyed her presence, which was the last thing he had expected. They hadn't bandied many words, but Markus had never been one for long conversations unless he was with an old friend or lover, and Celena was neither. But a business relationship suited them, he thought.

Now they found themselves in Summerhall of all places, at the tourney grounds where plump lords and simpering courtiers watched as the more daring of their lot shed money and paid in blood. Markus had not yet decided on his bet for the jousting, but once their tents were set up and he had grabbed a good night's rest, he'd find a drink and some beef and get to that. As it were, the sellsword groaned in bed, and thanked the seven Celena had provided him one. The bloody Red Keep was certainly new to him, but a bed being provided on road was something he could get used to. Sliding out from under the covers, he passed the snoring Dunc and opened the flap, letting the daylight of the early morn filter in as he stepped over behind a tree, dropping his trousers.

Markus was a rugged, well built and lean man with a stubble and a mane of dark hair that caught a few maidens eyes, but he never really had a penchant for dressing up or capitalizing on it. He relieved himself beside the tree and sighed contentedly. As his luck demanded, a courtier galloped by on a mare, likely carrying an unimportant message but treating it with the importance of a royal death. He dropped his jaw when he saw Markus's bare front, his face betraying his thoughts of telling him to be decent or to simply leave and gossip of it later.

"Jealousy does not become you," Markus grumbled wryly, and with a huff the fellow in red livery galloped away contemptuously. Yawning, the mercenary pulled his trousers up and went into the tent to gather his normal apparel and weapon, strapping it all on with practiced efficiency. They weren't hauling anything, so Dunc's position needn't be amended. Rather, Markus didn't want to wake the boy up, glad to pretend the tent was private for the moment. A scant minute passed, and he stepped out into the world, the lumbering beast he had been when arousing had been replaced with a panther-like grace as he strode towards Celena's tent, intent on finding out the schedule for the day.

Rather than step in, however, he merely took his position at the front of her quarters. The paymaster would come out when she was ready, and even if it would be a pretty sight, he had no intention of drawing her ire by walking into her tent while she was indecent. He also found he respected her too much for that, as well. Instead, he gazed wolfishly out at the tourney grounds and the myriad of retainers hustling past them as if their lives depended on it. Considering all of the pompous charlatans and their delicate tempers, some of them just might have their lives threatened by the end of the day.

My Hider

Markus wakes up, makes a spectacle of himself, and then stands ready for Celena's orders.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The gardens below cascaded in various smaller fountains, the hedges carved into varying geometric shapes and designs between walls of foliage that guarded the perimeter before reaching the wall of the outer Banquet Hall's designated area. I had found a few napkins and wiped what blood I could from my cuts, swabbing a bit of alcohol and pressing them to the wounds with a mere grunt. Once I was done, I looked a bit more disheveled but still confident and ready to work. I replayed the earlier scene over in my head, wondering if I had let anything slip or if I had not yet considered something.

Emmaline's hand on my wrist brought me back to reality. At her comment, I replied in a like manner.

Not in the way I had imagined, but it served its purpose, I agreed. Did you garner any leads or information?

I think if I asked it, we could be invited to the Ignatius estate.

I smiled at that, glad of a job well done on both of our ends. Motioning for her to remain here, I walked back into the Banquet hall and procured two glasses of red dammassine and brought them back to my partner in seconds, handing it to her gently. She took it, but her fingers brushed my cut and I winced.

Don't worry about it. I've gotten worse than this. I told her, and held my glass out to her so she could toast with me. I hoped she was not reading my mind at that point. All of the excitement of the evening and our jobs relatively maintained, I could focus on other things like how radiant she looked in the moonlight.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I felt somewhat emboldened by Emmaline's compliment. I was no outcast to subterfuge and high class gatherings, but they always irked me unless I felt they were worth it. If this didn't yield positive results, I would likely be in a sour mood. However, Emmaline brightened my outlook. Perhaps this needn't be such a dull affair after all, and we stepped in and were greeted with the fanfare I had come to suspect. We danced for a small amount of time, admittedly to show off a bit whilst simultaneously trying to dissuade the proposals either of us were likely to receive. I was bitterly disappointed in that estimation, and my face went blank for a moment as we were mobbed.

Before I knew it, the bodacious psyker and I had been separated and barraged with suitors and mistresses. Some of the fair women that flocked to me were very obviously married and looking for better prospects, whilst others were attempting to appear as untarnished virgins ready to be claimed. I had never been to Fenris, but talk spoke of a ferocious beast there called the 'kraken' with dozens of limbs that tore you to pieces. So for the first time in my life, I could say the sentence "I feel like a wolf brother initiate on a raft." At least twenty hands tugged at me or waved in my direction. I swear I was pinched thrice, and someone had the audacity to smack my bottom. I had to make sure no one accidentally grabbed at my power sword, and I had to keep myself from using it on the mob.

I leaped out of there at the soonest sign of a weak breach in the wall of dresses, hopping back and landing beside three gentlemen in mercantile livery, the closest one sported a mutton chop beard I could never hope to achieve in my lifetime. Holding my hands out as the pursuers followed my wake, they stopped and watched me like terran deer.

"Only a few at a time, ladies. I am but one man, after all," I assured them in my best sycophantic tone, the timber of my voice smoothing out to a princely hum that would have caused my skin to crawl if I heard it from any other mouth. They filtered in hurriedly but with a tad more control, fanning themselves and fluttering their lashes, a few of them squeezing their chests together in casual ways for my eye to catch. My smile was wide and silky, but my eyes were watching the exits and the outliers of the party. To the north, a keen-eyed man stood alone and watched as two officers spoke at a table meters away. To the east, two servants traded a slip of paper for some unknown purpose. At my right were three men who did not know what to do as they stood beside me, watching with interest or jealously, it was hard to tell. They spoke politely enough. The mutton-chop man had no chance to introduce himself, but I had overheard he was Haldemir, and I recalled the name in the logs in my dossier. Haldemir, a house that transported fuel across Moldar and to its two satellite moons. Their wealth having risen two centuries ago to great merit.

As the women approached and spoke to me, I gave them varying degrees of greeting and unctuous compliments of their virtue and beauty. It allowed Emmaline to get what information she could while I distracted any jealous women that might take umbrage with her presence. As the time passed, however, I grew bored of the affair, though I did my best to hide it. Twirling a goblet of dammassine red in my hand, I muddled through the trenches of small talk with less and less fervor.

"What is a fine man like you doing at such a humble planet?" A raven haired woman of middling years inquired, her ball gown blue and squeezing out the best she had to offer.

"The food, my dear."

"Tonight, my husband goes on a business trip to Tildarmae. Would you deign to escort me back on this lonely night?" A redhead with green eyes to match her envy asked of me. She fluttered her lashes with enthusiasm.

"I can call you a groundcar, my lady."

"We haven't been properly introduced. I am Vidalia of Galmieux. Let's dance, and we can grant one another a massage in my private lounge after." A smokey voiced vixen offered as if she were granting me an honorable home of office.

"I'm sure you have an ointment for that."

As the mistresses were quelled, the queue was mercifully disrupted at its halfway point, though by an unlikely savior. A younger man, perhaps my age, perhaps a year or two my junior, approached me with a withering glare. I could not imagine what I had done beyond speaking amicably to the women and the portly gentlemen beside me who chuckled and traded jokes as they slowly got drunk. The party was also quite large, the women around me likely a fifth of the crop of ladies that still danced and gallivanted about.

"Let it be known I mark this insult sir," the mustachioed young man announced, standing over most of the women by a head.

"To what insult are you referring to, old boy?" I queried honestly, chuckling as if he had given me a rousing good rib at the bellboy's expense. He held me in his gaze and waded through the gaggle of women, squaring up to my position. He pointed at the crowd.

"That was my sister you just rebuked, sir." He said, and for the life of me I blinked and did my best to not truly laugh with incredulity. I succeeded, thank the Emperor, but truthfully this was a queer man. I dare not ask the prudent question of 'which one' so I tried a different approach.

"My apologies. She is a lovely woman, but I am only on Maldor for business and short term pleasure. I am certain your sister deserves a man of commitment and faith befitting that of your noble house." I commented, and the barest flicker of my eye to the right caught Emmaline speaking to a tall, ominous fellow. Noted. When I looked back a micro-second later, the man seemed undecided on something, ascertaining whether my apology was in good faith or just plain good enough.

"Perhaps she intimidated you," He said at long last. "But you are correct, sir. A fellow such as yourself should stick to quick women like the bint you walked in-."

I backhanded the man. Hard. He staggered back and nearly knocked a short, perfumed woman over, and once he straightened he seemed as surprised as I felt. Inquisitor Kronus had always taught me to value the honor and well-being of those of my team, and even in cover it was hard of me to let go of those teachings. There was something else in me that felt particularly vindicated of the slap when I realized the acid comment was directed to Emmaline, but I didn't explore that bit. Rather, we both looked at one another. I let some of my anger show so as not to give off the cool reserve of my office.

"You go too far, sir." I warned tempestuously. "Speaking of the Lady Von Morganstern in such a disagreeable manner is unbecoming of a gentleman. Perhaps my comment on your house was unwarranted. On Jupiter, this would not inherit."

"How dare you, you insufferable popinjay!" He accused angrily. I wondered if he had ever looked into a mirror. The mark of my hand-print was now growing bright red on his cheek. With a quick movement, he reached for the elaborately hilted sword at his belt. Women squealed and the men beside me backed away, save for stout-hearted Haldemir, who watched with rapt interest. The man held the point less than a foot from my neck, but I did not flinch. "You are a knave sir, Sol system or no. I challenge you to a duel of honor."

"Here? Now?" I asked curiously.

"How very bohemian," My portly companion of circumstance huffed.

"I concur, my good Haldemir." I said. This young man must have been spurned recently. Only an idiot or someone who had something desperate to prove would cause such a fiasco in public, particularly with a man from the Jovian clans. I looked at him flippantly. "I have nothing to gain from this. I did not dishonor you nor your sister, sir. You dishonored the lady Von Morganstern and I merely responded in a fashion honor demanded. Is this the manner of Moldar? To jump on any slight?"

A few of the older men with grey streaks in their beards and wizened faces nodded in agreement to my assertion. The young fop knew I was right, but he had a choice. Back down and apologize, or go with his pride and win the duel. Losing was not an option to him, for if he did so he would be both dishonored and emasculated in front of every suitable woman (and male) peer he knew. I saw a gleam in his eye, and I knew he would choose the stupid decision.

"Nothing to gain? Well if honor is not enough for you, sir. Then ask of what you wish for, sir, and I will grant it."

"I haven't a sword," I confessed, and at his look to my belt, I shook my head. "This is an ornamental weapon," I lied. "I would not dare mar its blade."

"Fetch us a sword!" The fellow cried to his servants, who rushed out to fulfill the task, pushing aside other servants and apologizing profusely to the dancers. He grinned at my direction. "Now you will name your price. It will not matter, as you will not win against the swordplay of Jacoby Bowlingcock."

I burst out laughing. This time I did break character, but it was so unexpected I did not truly prepare myself for such a challenge. Perhaps it did my cover well. An experienced Inquisitor would have given the name due diligence, but I felt Bowlingcock was the epitome of poor names. Hell, I still do to this day. He, however, did not feel the same way. His entire face grew red, causing my mark to disappear as the rest of his profile matched.

"I-I apologi-" I began half-heartedly.

"Save it!" He cried, waving the sword menacingly. "If I am to win this duel, I will speak of your adept however I like."

"No," I said, sobering up. "That I cannot allow. But if you win, my date and I will leave this planet tonight without a fuss and pay a sum equal to the food of this party to you and your family for honor tarnished."

"Very good, and if you win?"

"You will grant me a title of land here on Moldar, in the capital of Gralinmakke." I demanded icily.

That surprised everyone in our vicinity, who now watched in fascination. Jocoby blinked, clearly thinking it odd. It was, admittedly. But for my investigation I could either garner a favor from one of the lords on the council, or use the right of nobility in the capital to join the council. If this idiot was going to keep me from doing the former, I'll get it with the ladder. He asked me varying questions such as 'Jupiter not good enough for you' but I ignored him. Instead, I focused on the sword that was presented to me by the servant that brought it. A cursory glance showed me it was a fine weapon. A pallasch cut-and-thrust sword, straight bladed and double fullered. The hilt was of the basket style, but not covered in leather or restrictive, rather all of the bars flow into the knucklebow and converge on one point at the butt of the sword to give the hand breathing room to maneuver. If I had to guess, the blade itself was thirty five inches in length.

I could not tell if this was an unusual affair or not. Half the party continued on as if nothing was happening, and the music even kept playing. Some people were so into their drinks that they did not look my way, and Emmaline had begun dancing with the villainous looking man to the right. I admired her dedication. I hopped my antics were not harming her information gathering. At the southern end of the Grand Banquet Hall, a place was cordoned off for the two of us and the half of the party that was there chattered and whispered and gathered around in a wall of flesh. I unbuckled my belt, and handed my power sword, force staff, and jacket and cloak with my auto-gun to Lord Haldemir. It was a good gamble, as after the duel he gave them all back in pristine condition.

"First blood drawn from the torso," Jacoby called. "And we have an agreement. Your payment and departure, or your land!"

"Good man," I said, and could not hide a smile. Jacoby seemed confident, but Inquisitor Kronus had shown me various style of blade fighting, and I had practiced with him thrice weekly for ten years. Power Swords were like any blade, just more effective on the modern battlefield. They required the same training and care.

"Sister, tell us when to begin," Jacoby called, and I saw a woman step out of the crowd. I was fairly certain she was one of the ones who had pinched me. Her hair was blonde, but it hadn't quite the rich luster of my companion, and truth be told I don't even remember speaking to her. She raised a hand, gave her brother a knowing look, and then a disapproving one my way, and counted to four before dropping her hand and shouting "Begin!"

Time seemed to slow.

I am sure you know this, but sword duels are not like what you hear in the stories. They are quick, bloody, and unceremonious. Skill is not the only factor in a duel. It has to do with your health, your strength, your mood, even what you last ate. And a bit of luck on the side. However, if you keep your wits about you, skill can decide a match swiftly.

Jocoby swiped at my blade, and I blocked with the strong of my sword and riposted with a perfect thrust. He leaped back and swiped at me, a blur of steel crossed my vision as I pressed the attack, cutting the shoulder of his undershirt and ruining it. He hacked at my center, blades clashing loudly. To his credit, he regrouped quickly and stabbed at me quicker than I would have thought. With a deft movement of my blade and sacrificing the cuffs on my left wrist, I knocked the blade aside and cut him across the torso with a slash that was less shallow than I had anticipated. With a quick gesture, I knocked the sword out of his hand with the flat of my blade and let him sink to his knees, defeated. He idly gestured around the bleeding wound, breathing in heavy disbelief.

Flippantly, I wiped the sweat from my brow and walked over to the Lord Haldemir, who handed me my coat. As I was bleeding from my left arm and apparently from a small cut under my eye, I wasn't going to put my coat back on. But I strapped my belt and power sword onto my hip and collected my things, making idle talk with Haldemir.

"Have you been to Venus, sir Deckard?" Haldemir asked quizzically.

"Ah! The finest parties on Venus. The wine is to die for." I replied. "You might find good business there."

"Truly?"

After another few minutes and with assurances from Jacoby's father they would honor the agreement, I made my way to the northern balcony and leaned on the balustrade, awaiting Emmaline.