POOHEAD189

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

They got suited up in a relatively short amount of time. Dirk felt he would have taken longer, but apparently Jocasta had more up her sleeve. He doubted she was priming her hair, even if it was unmistakably lustrous. Once he made sure the armor was tightly secured and all systems were green, he stepped out and met her in the living room, a hand on the hilt of his left DMX Heavy-Blaster. Jocasta's drone popped up, fluttering before the two of them as she loaded her gun.

"I didn't expect us to suit up so soon after getting naked." Dirk replied, the modulator in his helmet giving it a slightly more dry tone than he likely had, but then again maybe not.

"I still didn't see your face. That would be scandalous," She quipped, giving a wink. "Where do we go?"

"The docking bay is on the northeastern section of the resort. Once we step out, we'll go down to the ground floor and then work our way forward and left until we hit hanger doors. If we move quickly, we can take them out before they ruin our vacation and no one has to hunt for them across the planet."

"Do you know who did this? Any suspects?"

"I can name a few." Dirk said, lifting his gun, barrel up as he stepped to the doorway. "When we find someone, we'll ask. Maybe the front desk?"

Just as he was about to open the door, Jocasta grabbed his arm and placed a finger to her lips, stepping ahead and opening the door so little not even a finger could poke through. Her drone fluttered to the crack and squeezed its tiny body through, zipping away after a brief struggle. Seconds passed, and Jocasta gave the thumbs up. Dirk opened the door, still wary, gun pointed professionally as he stepped into the hall. It was eerily quiet.

"Stairs or elevator?"

"They'll be watching the stairs, and the elevators are easy for them to guard..." Dirk mused. He turned on his admittedly poor heat sensors in his helm, and couldn't tell where any warm bodies were except the ones that hugged the thin doors of the hotel rooms, watching the halls anxiously as Dirk and Jocasta moved slowly past them. Dirk walked with a cool measure of confidence, like a wolf approaching a meal he was too powerful to have contested. "Can you use your drone one more time? I have an idea..."

---

5 minutes later...

Amber held herself together well. Her glasses were taken and smashed and her shirt sleeve had been torn off in the rough handling they have given her, but her virtue and most of her dignity had been left untouched. The men, rough sorts with various slug guns and blue collar ganger apparel with no cohesion in appearance save for tattoos of the legendary Celestial Pheonix, were hustling the guests they had found in the public pool toward the gymnasium, throwing all the staff by the stairwell that led to rooms marked for the 5000's. Amber herself was up against the wall, her hands tired from being held up for the past twenty minutes or so. It felt like a lifetime. She knew of a few more high profile guests that were dangerous in a fight, but she didn't know if she could count on their goodwill or aid. Some were drunk, some likely asleep, and others probably oblivious to the situation. More than likely they were also apathetic.

Whatever was happening, it had been lightning quick. However they got here, it had been planned meticulously, and not by these low-life fucks. Someone had trained them relentlessly and sent them here, with little to no strings attached that would lead no investigations back to the source if this failed. She didn't really care, she just wanted them gone so they didn't shoot her and let her have her coffee.

Ding

Amber's eyes bugged out, and she turned her head to regard the elevators. Had some idiot come down to ask for toothpaste!? She waited for a few brief moments as the toughs with guns approached. Twenty meters...ten meters... There were notable mutterings and curses in a tongue she didn't recognize, and the elevator doors opened to reveal a small container. Amber wasn't an expert in ordinance or anything military, but it didn't take a genius to realize whatever it was, it was likely going to explore.

It did, and Amber fell to her feet from sheer fright as the item detonated. A flash of air and heat washed over her, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant, being sixty meter from the comparatively controlled explosion that took the lives of at least eight men. And then guns began to blaze, but they came from the stairwell of the 3000's, where Dirk and that new partner of his had gone. And these guns didn't fire slugs...

Newbie here

Lovely to meet you!

A returning member, not a new one

Grand to see you again!

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The room had an odd crispness to the air, and it made me feel as if I were aboard a starship. The heliox was pronounced, and strangely I felt whatever was causing the air to have such artificial quality could oxidize or be manipulated in ways to expunge all life in the vicinity. My theory was based upon the fact I found myself in a room of unmistakably xenos quality. The walls of this vast archaic chamber looked to be made of some dark adamantium-like metal, with vents of energy pulsating every handful of heartbeats. More modern, likely fluorescent light had been installed above via steel pipes that had been set up by the hands of Ignatius' workers. Men in enclosed suits of white seemed to be congregating at the central mechanism that pulsated as the walls did, though with a greater brightness and volume. I found I couldn't look away with ease, it's dimensions derelict and uncannily wrong to the sensibilities.

"Did you hear me, filth?" Julius asked, and I barely had time to give him my due attention before he slapped me across the face with considerable force. The sting actually helped to awaken my receptivity to our current predicament. I still didn't speak, letting the pain fade to nothingness. Urien cursed in his tongue, but otherwise said naught at all. It wouldn't serve us to try anything at the current moment. My only hope was in Emmaline and Lazarus, who were thankfully missing from the congregation of prisoners. Julius grabbed my hair and pulled my face up to look at him.

I simply gave him a look that promised death. He did not take it seriously, dropping my head again.

"What a pity, Blasius. Or shall I refer to you as Hadrian? I do like being more casual with my guests."

At that I did look up. Julius sneered at me, grinning like a terran shark. I wondered how exactly he knew, and whether or not that would matter at this point. Of course, he could have known I was Hadrian Drakos the entire time, but that wasn't likely. Emmaline was another option, but if she were in on it, she would be here laughing with the rest of them. As it was, I felt it likely did not matter. Still, it had the desired goal of getting me to speak.

"Even when I'm in chains, you're insecure. You're a pawn Ignatius. A lackey to this man beside you, scraping at his feet as he in turn scrapes to the abominable, cowardly things he calls gods." I said. His ire was as predictable as gravity, but before I was struck again, he calmed somewhat. He likely thought I was trying to get a rise out of him. Perhaps that was a secondary objective, granted.

"You know nothing of our pact, or what we are doing here, fool. If you had, you never would have come here. By week's end, no one will be safe." He said. His sister smiled horrifically. Bahometus stood silent, his staff idly coalescing energies languidly as if he were bored. His red eyes ever on me, and as I regarded him, he tilted his head in a bestial fashion. Had I not seen him thrice before, it might have struck me as odd.

"What can a third rate house and a thrice defeated sorcerer do under a mountain?" I asked, making it known how unimpressed I truly was. The Ignatius family, including a few of his extended family who watched behind them, looked about ready to tear me limb from limb at my lack of respect.

Bahometus chuckled, finally showing a hint of being aware of the conversation. "You needn't play these games to sate your curiosity, Inquisitor. We have nothing to hide from you." He relished, his daemon mask shaking lightly from what I imagined were the movements of his cheekbones. The mask itself breathed as if it were alive. Ignatius looked at him aghast when he said Inquisitor, and it appeared he had neglected to tell his business partner of such information. He lifted a clawed hand to indicate the alien contraption that throbbed with energy and reached the ceiling in the center of the room. "What you see before you is an engine of terraforming by a strange race that were old before your God Emperor was even born. No doubt you see the symbols you recognize."

I peered at the mechanism, and after a few moments I realized he was right. Arcane symbols that looked wholly unnatural were etched onto its metal skin, including the symbol of tzeentch I had seen on the walls and various heretics. As I studied the symbols, a shrill beeping went off. Julius Ignatius pulled out his comm, clearly not in a patient mood and asked what was happening. He began to speak hurriedly, and then sent his sister off in a hushed tone. I smirked, though I did not know exactly what was happening.

"I take it you've heard of the Eye of Terror, Inquisitor." Julius pipped in, giving a smile that was as self satisfied as it was malevolent. He turned moods quickly. "My colleague and I felt another would do the Segmentum Tempestus good. It would certainly light up the mood of this dreadful backwater."

"A single machine with your magics can do that?" I chuckled, my effete nature giving way to more base insults. "You'll have an easier time making me believe your family used to be worth anything beyond wiping my ass."

Bahometus held Julius back with a gesture of his hand, and he stepped forward. "I don't care whether you believe it or not. But did you not notice the view from orbit? Where are we right now, exactly?" He asked, letting me mull it over. "Are we at the center of some great circle? Would it be strange if there were more devices like this, and is it not idealic for such circles to be the basis of incantations?... I wonder why Moldar was made with such a strange design, unlike any other Imperial world. Ring cities are quite an oddity, Inquisitor Drakos. It was almost as if the ruins were left to be built upon..."

As the horrifying implications ran through my mind, the chains around my wrists were unclasped by militia but kept chained together as workable handcuffs. Urien and Bolskar had the same treatment, and we were led from the alien room into another corridor. The archway was made of the strange material, but the hall was more imperial, which was a definition that disgusted me. Nothing was imperial about this heretical place. I loathed the ruinous room with xenos tech, but when I found myself and my comrades being dragged into a large arena filled with lights and voices, I found I would much rather go back to try and figure out how to stop this thing.

The crowd was full of Ignatius household staff and opulently seated guests, as well as a few men and women I recognized from the Banquet Hall. Fittingly enough, I spotted the unrepentant Jacoby Bowlingcock in the crowd, smiling at me ferociously. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

As it was, there were two cages made of decidedly thin steel bars that Urien and Bolskar were placed in at gun point. Urien had to be hit with the butt of a rifle, but he complied at my nod. The thugs escorted me to the center of the ring, and a small compartment on the dirt laden floor opened up and lifted a small rise. To my surprise, on the small top was a pallasch sword, the likes of which I had dueled Jacoby Bowlingcock with. The guard gestured I take it, and I did not see why not. As soon as my hand enclosed around the hilt, all guns were trained on me lest I try anything. I did not, and so as the moments passed, they retreated out of the ring and let me stand there with the sword in my hand, wondering what dread they had in store for me. I did not give them the satisfaction of fear, and instead saluted my two comrades with the blade. Behind me, I heard a small lift activating.

I turned, and watched the entrance for whatever horror lay within.

At first, there was no sight of the adversary. But instead, I found the darkness had begun to move. I blinked, only to realize the darkness had transformed into a humanoid shape, and it stepped out into the light in all of its xenos repugnance. Standing there was what could perhaps pass as a human were my eyesight poor. A very tall, lithe figure garbed in black, with a face of pure malice and knife ears protruding from its greasy locks of hair. It breathed in, and I could see fangs in its maw. I blinked again, and I found it had moved two meters to my right. That alone showed me the danger I was in. I recognized the monster from the holo-discs I had been forced to study in my days as an interrogator.

An Aeldari, more specifically a Dark Eldar. Masters of torture. It waited patiently as a small opening appeared beside it as well, and up lifted a little top with it's own weapon. A serrated blade of black steel. I watched it close its hand around the hilt, and give a practice swing. I could barely see the movement, and I had focused on it with all my concentration. It turned to look at me, moving with a grace I could not hope to match in three hundred years.

I was not going to make it out of this alive. And it would be slow.

Why is everyone so horny on this site?

People seem to be horny on every site

A Thousand Legends ~ Sundered Veil

Zauri Traveler

Yazju Fleetscale

“A frog in a well knows nothing of the sea.”

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 52 Race Zauri Sex Male Height 6'7 Weight 307 lbs. Level 1 Health Points 32 ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y Rice Glue Kindling Large carving knife Eight pounds of dried meat String Vial of ink 4 vessels of paint Coin sack Flint & Tinder Sword Sharpener ____________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T - Large Dao - Wakizashi - Gozuko armor (If inapplicable leave blank or mark as NA.) ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Might: 10 +2 +4 | 16 Dexterity: 10 +2 |12 Perception: 10 +2 |12 Wisdom: 10 +2 |12 Charisma: 10 |10 Constitution: 10 +4+2 |16

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Green like moss, Yazju has the look of a quintessential Zauri. Tall, fearsome, and deceptively lazy looking. On his nose and head are stubs of old horns he's filed away to better fit in with the mainlanders and be more amicable to the locals. Yazju has the appearance many animals have, with the idiosyncrasy as seeming as if he perpetually smiles. Admittedly, much of the time he is trying to smile, but the look only shows his teeth and makes it seem like he's enjoying some dark joke or has seen something particularly tasty to eat. ____________________________________________________________________________ BACKSTORY Yazju was born to a strange clutch, his eggs hatching during a great sea storm. He heard one of his sisters was blown away, taken by the wind and then the birds. What would her jaracal have been? Yazju still wonders that to this day. A question without an answer was always oddly refreshing, even tinged with sad truths. His people usually had answers, as Runiq watched over them and everyone was always studious of their jaracel. Yazju had one of those once. He grew up as most Zauri did, learning the ways of their culture and faith, and helping his fellows in the community. It was when it was time to learn his path that he was curiously undecided. For twenty days he pondered the question, and at the insistence of his father, he took the life of the shaman. As odd as Yazju was, he admired his people's ideas of Runiq and the after-life. Religion and philosophy played dual roles, and he wished to delve and learn more of them. But his hands were always bored. Always fidgeting. Twelve years in the faith, and he felt restless. His learning had stagnated. Yes, he felt fulfilled, but fulfilled does not always mean filled, yes? Many Zauri came to him for guidance and with great questions, and he would answer what he may and grant them ofuda to ward off the spirits. But he felt an unease. One day he felt like cracking jokes, and other days he felt like learning how to fight with the warriors. Not all Zauri were content with their lot in life, but Yazju had a more strenuous case than most free thinkers of his people. He began to shirk his spiritual duties, thinking he could learn more about the divine plan of Runiq and the realm they lived in, by living it himself. He began to work his body with the warriors and achieve true patience with the fishermen. But what he enjoyed most was that of crafting with his taloned hands. His brother Hakfu had become a salesman of trinkets, and though he had counseled Yazju to remain as a Shaman, he did help his lost brother on learning a few arts of the trade. Yazju spent many nights carving rather than memorizing the stories of old.Oh he still knew many by heart, but a single-mindedness was prized for such things, for without stories, how did one remember the past for later generations? Then came the day the head Shaman was fed up with Yazju. No, he did not scream or kick Yazju out. Zauri are not very unkind to their own often. But he gave Yazju a choice to leave or be dishonored by staying, and Yazju decided he would leave. Perhaps one day he would come back, engorged in experience and would petition to be allowed back in the order. But as it was, Yazju thought this would be a fine experience. What manner of storms or adventures could be had on the mainland, with the other peoples? It would take decades to find out, he thought, and so far the theory had proven true. Nearly ten years on the mainland, fighting and carving and inculcating and eating. It was fun, and friends made it more worthwhile. Fujiko, for example. Yazju had met her on a job of claw-duty. Yazju thought she was good people, and she cheered up Yazju when he failed at selling nick knacks. Somehow Yazju cheered her up, but whenever he did, he did not know how he had. Yazju just supposes he has a way with women, as the mainlanders say. ____________________________________________________________________________ PERSONALITY Yazju is an oddity to the Zauri, but in the view of the average mainlander, he's pretty typical. Bestial but seemingly apathetic in countenance, Yazju has a vast love of life and learning, and does his best to be cordial to those he meets. He understands everyone is trying to find their way in this life, and that comes with its own hiccups. However, he can be snarky, even when he doesn't mean to be. That is to say, he doesn't have the filter many do, and that, coupled with his sense of humor doesn't translate well to many of his would-be customers. Yazju has a vast amount of patience and a heart of gold, but when he is angry, the cause of his ire will see the wrath of Runiq from him. His long life and sturdy body have made him into a capable warrior and threat to any who rubs him the wrong way. Lcukily, Yazju enjoys food and talk more than war and ruin. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK Yazju sees life as his oyster, but not the world. The world is strange and vast, and for everyone to find their own Jaracel. ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC ...

A Thousand Legends ~ Sundered Veil

Accepted! Post Dax him up!

@Shu

He's actually probably the most un-dax lizardman I've ever made! A friendly crafstman and salesperson

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Well, she seemed to be endeared to my complete lack of charm, he thought sardonically. Then again, even that was based on his own steed's unease around the former thief. He looked at the beast with suspicion, as if it were paid off to thwart his efforts at conversation.

Galt's devil-may-care attitude had a lot to do with the treatment he had received in his life, mostly due to his station. Women, for instance, had the tendency to look down on him. Granted, a few of them had called him handsome and spoke true enough, but they had been with him for that reason and then left him for better prospects. He supposed it was pragmatic, and he had not learned enough about them to grow attached regardless, but if they weren't using him, they were laughing or scoffing at him for his lack of money or stable job. Strangely enough, many of the noble ladies focused on the same, except the shoe was on the other foot now. Silke wasn't like that, at least as far as he could gather. He listened to her intently, curious on her thoughts laid out plainly. So she was wanting to effect changes? He couldn't disagree with that sentiment, at the very least.

"Oh, I'm careful." He said with surety, though he gave her a wry smile. "I'm not looking for complications, even if complications tend to be the most fun. Like you..."

Galt smiled wider, his dark eyes meeting hers. It caused his charm to bloom into magnetism. "You make things complicated. Not for me, but others around you. They don't quite know what to make of you. I look at you and I feel similar. You don't seem to want anything from the other nobles, but you move them effortlessly and speak to me as if I'm not a prospective thing to conquer. I suspect you've noticed I've treated you the same, out of respect." He laughed at the supernatural possession claim. "If you're a spirit, or even a witch, you're certainly the prettiest witch I've ever seen. Most of the ones who claim it have warts or crooked backs." He found he was still looking into her eyes, and turned away to hide his bashful look in the dim light of the evening.

"You ask me of my ambitions, and honestly? I haven't thought that far. What would ambitions get me?" Galt said into the air, thinking aloud. It sounded very much like playing a hand that could end up making him lose what he had. "In fact, I don't see why I need play in any great game. These people around me, everyone, I've had to scrape through the mud under their boot heels since I was seven. Now half of them like me and the other half simper at my feet. I don't feel pride or that I deserve it. I was lucky, like anyone who's born into something. But I won't jeopardize it either. I've got a guaranteed ticket to not starve nor want anymore. If what you're asking me is to risk that, I would need a solid reason or assurances that it would be worth it in some fashion."

He felt it was very much not the answer she wanted to hear. And though it was true, Galt was a born risk-taker, however he had only been in this life for a fortnight, and he had barely gotten used to it. He knew soon he would get bored and want to stir up some trouble, but enough to make him an enemy of people who could strip him of lands or coin? He wasn't sure.

Well, he was. But he did not want to admit it to himself.

He looked at her, more tenderly than earlier. "I'm not a monster... or the cutthroat people thought of me, but I'm no hero, either. I wish I could say I would do something for the good of the system and the people, but I never had the luxury to learn of such things..."

He cleared his throat, regaining some dignity as he patted his fist to his chest. "I suspect I'm not quite what you're looking for. Which is a pity, you seem like what many men are looking for. I feel I would only disappoint you."

President Lincoln

I am Abraham Lincoln, many know me as honest Abe or The Great Emancipator, just going to settle myself on in here and just hope to make friends and roleplay :)

@Abraham Lincoln

It's truly an honor, sir

A Thousand Legends ~ Sundered Veil

Zauri Traveler

Yazju Fleetscale

“A frog in a well knows nothing of the sea.”

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 52 Race Zauri Sex Male Height 6'7 Weight 307 lbs. Level 1 Health Points 32 ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y Rice Glue Kindling Large carving knife Eight pounds of dried meat String Vial of ink 4 vessels of paint Coin sack Flint & Tinder Sword Sharpener ____________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T - Large Dao - Wakizashi - Gozuko armor (If inapplicable leave blank or mark as NA.) ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Might: 10 +2 +4 | 16 Dexterity: 10 +2 |12 Perception: 10 +2 |12 Wisdom: 10 +2 |12 Charisma: 10 |10 Constitution: 10 +4+2 |16

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Green like moss, Yazju has the look of a quintessential Zauri. Tall, fearsome, and deceptively lazy looking. On his nose and head are stubs of old horns he's filed away to better fit in with the mainlanders and be more amicable to the locals. Yazju has the appearance many animals have, with the idiosyncrasy as seeming as if he perpetually smiles. Admittedly, much of the time he is trying to smile, but the look only shows his teeth and makes it seem like he's enjoying some dark joke or has seen something particularly tasty to eat. ____________________________________________________________________________ BACKSTORY Yazju was born to a strange clutch, his eggs hatching during a great sea storm. He heard one of his sisters was blown away, taken by the wind and then the birds. What would her jaracal have been? Yazju still wonders that to this day. A question without an answer was always oddly refreshing, even tinged with sad truths. His people usually had answers, as Runiq watched over them and everyone was always studious of their jaracel. Yazju had one of those once. He grew up as most Zauri did, learning the ways of their culture and faith, and helping his fellows in the community. It was when it was time to learn his path that he was curiously undecided. For twenty days he pondered the question, and at the insistence of his father, he took the life of the shaman. As odd as Yazju was, he admired his people's ideas of Runiq and the after-life. Religion and philosophy played dual roles, and he wished to delve and learn more of them. But his hands were always bored. Always fidgeting. Twelve years in the faith, and he felt restless. His learning had stagnated. Yes, he felt fulfilled, but fulfilled does not always mean filled, yes? Many Zauri came to him for guidance and with great questions, and he would answer what he may and grant them ofuda to ward off the spirits. But he felt an unease. One day he felt like cracking jokes, and other days he felt like learning how to fight with the warriors. Not all Zauri were content with their lot in life, but Yazju had a more strenuous case than most free thinkers of his people. He began to shirk his spiritual duties, thinking he could learn more about the divine plan of Runiq and the realm they lived in, by living it himself. He began to work his body with the warriors and achieve true patience with the fishermen. But what he enjoyed most was that of crafting with his taloned hands. His brother Hakfu had become a salesman of trinkets, and though he had counseled Yazju to remain as a Shaman, he did help his lost brother on learning a few arts of the trade. Yazju spent many nights carving rather than memorizing the stories of old.Oh he still knew many by heart, but a single-mindedness was prized for such things, for without stories, how did one remember the past for later generations? Then came the day the head Shaman was fed up with Yazju. No, he did not scream or kick Yazju out. Zauri are not very unkind to their own often. But he gave Yazju a choice to leave or be dishonored by staying, and Yazju decided he would leave. Perhaps one day he would come back, engorged in experience and would petition to be allowed back in the order. But as it was, Yazju thought this would be a fine experience. What manner of storms or adventures could be had on the mainland, with the other peoples? It would take decades to find out, he thought, and so far the theory had proven true. Nearly ten years on the mainland, fighting and carving and inculcating and eating. It was fun, and friends made it more worthwhile. Fujiko, for example. Yazju had met her on a job of claw-duty. Yazju thought she was good people, and she cheered up Yazju when he failed at selling nick knacks. Somehow Yazju cheered her up, but whenever he did, he did not know how he had. Yazju just supposes he has a way with women, as the mainlanders say. ____________________________________________________________________________ PERSONALITY Yazju is an oddity to the Zauri, but in the view of the average mainlander, he's pretty typical. Bestial but seemingly apathetic in countenance, Yazju has a vast love of life and learning, and does his best to be cordial to those he meets. He understands everyone is trying to find their way in this life, and that comes with its own hiccups. However, he can be snarky, even when he doesn't mean to be. That is to say, he doesn't have the filter many do, and that, coupled with his sense of humor doesn't translate well to many of his would-be customers. Yazju has a vast amount of patience and a heart of gold, but when he is angry, the cause of his ire will see the wrath of Runiq from him. His long life and sturdy body have made him into a capable warrior and threat to any who rubs him the wrong way. Lcukily, Yazju enjoys food and talk more than war and ruin. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK Yazju sees life as his oyster, but not the world. The world is strange and vast, and for everyone to find their own Jaracel. ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC ...