POOHEAD189

Pax Astra

Tiber caught the bottle and took a swig in one, fluid motion. The beer tasted malty, he thought. Just his style. He rubbed the back of his forearm against his mouth and cleared his throat. "Good stuff."

"Got plenty," she said, placing a hand on the table and taking her own sampling of the brew. They shared a second of silence, acknowledgement in their eyes. Two soldiers having to get back at it. She was attacked, he lost his place, but they were both tired needed to enjoy a cold one for a quick second. They were exhausted, as much as they didn't want to admit it. But Tiber wasn't ready to hit it just yet, and he doubted Sabby did either.

"Hey so, got any flood lights?"

"Yeah, why?"

"How about, since this is your place, I go out and check the guns to make sure they don't need any extra parts, and you can grab us some dinner real quick. I'd rather switch places, but I doubt you'd want me rifling through your cupboards-."

She snorted before he even finished, grinning and waving his concerns off. There were still some areas of the empire with antiquated ideas of gender and their roles in society, and the barbarians certainly thought that way. Obviously Tiber wanted her to know he didn't share those ideas. Apparently she knew immediately, and saw his suggestion was just pragmatism. If they didn't get some grub in them, they might collapse, and it was her house. "Sure, skipper. Let me know if you need anything. Might be able to scrounge some stuff up around here."

They bumped their bottles together in a 'clink' and went off to their respective tasks. Tiber stepped outside, and even as his eyes got accustomed to the dark, the flood lights went up and illuminated the assault ship. He opened the back and rummaged through his crates, fishing out the multi-tool, a combination of a torque wrench, arc probe, and fusion cutter. The other three tools he needed were, unfortunately, not together. The power calibrator and the tuning stylus he found in about ten minutes, but the macrosander couldn't be found. Not too bad, he probably didn't need it immediately, anyway.

Tiber slid under the body of the carrier, finding the main gun barrel and opening the bottom hatch. "Alright, what do we got here? Standard high-energy particle-beam. Sounds about right." He started to work, removing three wires of the circuitry to reach the power cells and inner workings. "Two twenty terawatts, looks like. Not bad. Uh, rotator needs some more oil. Power pack is half capacity..."

It took about twenty minutes, and he was happy to see the weapon was still operational, though not up to standard. He wouldn't sell it to anyone but an enthusiast, but even if it wasn't like new, it would fire. It could probably rip through two inches of steel plating if need be, and maybe more under focused fire. If he had to guess there was around sixty laser bolts in capacity, around 40% of its usual number of shots. He coughed out dried dust that drifted out of the opening he'd made, and rolled out from under the gunboat after sealing it up again.

"How's it look?" Sabatine asked, standing in the doorway. Tiber closed one eye to better focus on her with the lights beaming in the face.

"I'll tell you inside. But it could be worse." He assured her. "Got another beer?"

Pax Astra

The trip was quick. Only once did Tiber had a small suspicion they might plummet out of the sky, but turbulence not withstanding, the assault craft flew like a charm. Tiber loved their miniature vacation, but seeing the expanse of the beach was a welcome sight. They passed scant shrubs and light copses of trees that grew into farmland and rolling hills, with cottages and roads and cattle from all across the galaxy. Sabatine started to talk about places she recognized, like the Kendal's place and their shooting range they kept out back, and she complained about how their Horox, a reptilian bovine creature, always loped up to her when she came by to visit.

Tiber landed them at the front of his shop, the repulsor lift soothing as it powered down. It was no Onocentauri mecha, but this craft was definitely military grade. Ran well, armored, and could survive more than a few years in the wilderness. "I know you didn't call dibs on this thing, but I definitely want to take it on a few joyrides at some poin-"

"Tiber..." She said, placing a hand on his arm. He looked from the controls and out to where she was pointing. His steel gate had been cut through with what had to be advanced power tools, and it hung open, likely open from the inside, haphazardly agape. Tiber groaned, punching the button that opened the cockpit and vaulting out of it. Sabatine had to turn the vehicle off as the Legionnaire rushed into his workshop and cursed.

It hadn't been the epitome of clean, earlier. But the place was a mess. His spare parts had mostly been stripped bare, his droids had been either taken or broken, tossed to the floor in pieces, and his office had been broken into. The door's handle was gone, punched out by what looked like a gunshot. Tiber sprinted into the office and found his secret monitor, placing in the code and opening his vault. He was relieved to see his weaponry was still there, and some spare cash. But otherwise, almost everything else had been taken.

Even his booze.

"My Magnis! My shop! FUCK!" Sabatine would hear him cry as she strode in behind him. He walked out of his office and kicked a fallen wrench to clatter across the stained floor. He placed a hand over his face. He had a full, black goatee now after their three day sojourn. In his other hand was his Dobalta. "Some of these parts cost thousands of sesterce."

When he removed his hand, he didn't look distraught. He looked coldly pissed off. He tossed her the bleach. "Guess they didn't take everything."

At The Edge of The World

Beren whipped the rope until it wrapped tightly around his thick arm, eyeing the newcomer warily but not with any hostility. The man wore red and gold colors, accentuated with a cloak of burgundy. Emmaline fixed her wide brimmed hat, as if being presentable to this man was the first order of business.

"When we must," Beren answered him, and stepped in front of Emmaline just in case. "You're not a native. Who are you?"

The shapely woman poked her head out past Beren's shoulder, whispering to him conspiratorially. "He's a Basilean. A protostate it looks like. You know, a legionary."

"She's well informed." The legionary stated, keeping his crossbow down. He looked relieved at their evident traveler's garb and attitude. He stepped to the side and indicated they follow. "I am afraid I have to ask you both to come with me. I'm sure you're going to Darkwater. This is too far out of the way for you to be hunters, even though your lady here looks dressed for it."

They saw little reason to argue or fight on it, and Emmaline looked overjoyed at the prospect of a bed and a roof a few days before they reached their destination. Beren had to admit it sounded nice, and so they followed him into the trees. Apparently it wasn't far, as they used this river for their water source. Thew man introduced himself as protostate legionary Drachus.

"And what are you doing all this way down in the dark continent?" Emmaline asked him as they rounded the bend. The road led past a jumble of stones and moss covered cypress trees, and before them was a large palisade wall of spiked logs. Before it was a well-dug gulley, spanning the breadth of the wall. A wooden bridge stretched over the short expanse. For a temporary dwelling, it looked efficiently made.

"Why, colonization of course. The Emperor wishes to take hold of the riches here and regain what the old praelian empire has lost."

A droplet hit Beren's bicep, and another plopped atop Emmaline's hand, and within seconds a light rain had begun to fall on them. Beren closed his eyes and raised his head to appreciate the coolness on his skin, but the rain became heavier, and Drachus called for the gate to open. Emmaline huddled under Beren's shoulder like it was a miniature cliff face to keep dry. He felt obligated to help her with that, keeping what rain he could off of her as the gate slowly opened for the three of them.

Pax Astra

It had taken some real doing, but it looked like their scheme was starting to bear fruit. Tiber had fixed the grasshopper to a point, but only just enough to get it moving again to haul the assault craft another few feet before black smoke erupted from the engine and sent a beacon hundreds of feet high in the clear sky above the sea. The assault vehicle wasn't fully out of the water, but it was exposed enough to be workable.

"Now the only way off the atol is to fix this thing," Tiber said, wiping the sweat off his brow. He looked at Sabatine. "You didn't plan this, did you?"

"You have a mind for deviousness, Legionnaire." She said by way of answer. "It'll get you into trouble some day."

For two days and nights, they worked. Firstly they pulled out a tarp and made a makeshift shelter, digging a small perimeter around their camp and making lines for their tent location. Removing all of the tools out of the crates was easy enough, but sifting through them to find what was needed was harder. Sabatine had her work cut out for her, swimming from the shore to Tiber's perch atop the light vehicle to bring what supplies he had needed. The sun was terribly hot, but they had brought a sizeable amount of water and they took frequent breaks in the cool lagoon, near the shore of course. On the third day, Tiber hopped into the cockpit and strapped himself in.

He flipped the breaker switches and adjusted the angling jets, thanking Jupiter the manual controls for maneuvering hadn't been shot. Sabatine stood on the shoreline in her fatigues, watching under the shade of the tree canopy and sipping a bottle of gin. Tiber saw the lights on the power meter flicker on, and his breath caught. "Come on, baby..." He breathed, readjusting the power to the throttle and praying it would work. He pressed the control to the ignition, and he suddenly heard a warbling rumble as the thrusters came to life under the water. He needed the vehicle out of the water now, or the sea would come rushing in at its bare circuits. The vehicle lurched, but it didn't fly up. Fuck, he searched around the cockpit and checked ship integrity, before his eyes passed by the auto-filter. He punched it, and he heard water gurgling as the ship coughed out what sea and sand it had inhaled the last decades it had been under the lagoon, giving the thrusters what it needed to practically leap out of the water. The ship shot out, and Sabatine flinched as if to dive away, as it looked like it would careen for her. But Tiber caught the vehicle caught it with the angling jets, and as gently as he could, he lowered it onto the beach.

Air siphoned out as the assault ship's cockpit opened, and Tiber laid a hand on the outside.

"Hey soldier, heard you had some thugs to kill. Guess I could give you a ride." He offered nonchalantly.

Pax Astra

Pax Astra

Tiber crawled back atop the grasshopper with her, breathing in deeply and coughing out droplets of water. The two soldiers lay there on the deck, panting. Sabatine tossed Tiber a towel, and rather than dry himself, he wrapped it around his bleeding forearm.

"I'm great with animals," Tiber told her confidently. He coughed again. "That snake was just an asshole."

Sabatine smiled despite herself, and the two shared a short laugh. She pulled herself to her feet and made her way over to the cockpit, hopping over the back of the seat to land on her ass and rev the vehicle up. "So you never told me, are the cables secure?"

"Nah, I just felt like picking a fight. I need to go back down there." He told her, his tone indicating the cables were indeed secured. She pushed the throttle lightly. The craft moved forward gently, before slowing to a halt. It tipped a fraction of a degree, and Tiber looked over the side. He cursed, the sediment and blood had yet to fully clear. He supposed it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

"More power!" He called to her over the engine.

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

Thargas Anvilmar

---

Commander Anvilmar had not anticipated the proceedings would be so tumultuous. And yet, fortune seemed to favor them and their cause. He and Geradin exchanged looks, not entirely skeptical, but evident surprise on their bearded faces. Geradin was the first to regain his wits, giving an inclination of his grey-haired head to those assembled. Coming home to their King with promises of Alterac and its mountain passes was not what they had asked for, but the longer they thought of it, the more they felt it was a great gift indeed. One could only imagine what untold riches lay underneath the rock, and the tolls, even at low prices, would give staggering wealth to the depleted kingdom of Khaz Modan.

"That is a Kingly gift," Geradin said. "I think the Light that our friends have not forgotten our devotion."

The Dwarves would help in the war regardless, their word as strong as iron and their ties to the alliance, everlasting. However, this would boost morale and silence the senators that had begun to grumble at Magni's decision to mobilize so soon. Anvilmar spoke up, having made up his man. "Then Alterac it be! We will wait for confirmation from yer kings, but let it be known that we accept these terms with more heart than ye could know. Thank ye."

The wizards exchanged looks and spoke of spying on the enemy, which he could appreciate, and the Ashbringer spoke to a few other members of the council, but it seemed politics as usual. That is, until a great wolfish thing had entered the council, and had even deigned to knock beforehand. To Thargas Anvilmar, it looked much like a gnoll he and his lads often skirmished with along the northern and southern borders of Khaz Modan. He almost reached for his weapon, but when no one else jumped to defense, he thought about it. It was larger than your typical gnoll and more lupin in visage, and it spoke words like a man, not an oafish yelping thing. He realized it had to be a Wolfen. He had never seen one before, but word of them had reached him in a few tales.

Genn Graymane! So the cursed king was here. The Dwarves held no enmity of him or his realm, and if everyone else was ready to bury the pickaxe as it were, he saw no reason not to join in.

"We of Khaz Modan welcome ye to this council, King Greymane. It's good to have more lads join us." He wondered if they would have to reiterate all that had been said so far to the hairy royal or if they could proceed. He supposed he had already gotten most of what he wanted from the gathering, save the plan for the movement of troops. He spoke once more, addressing all assembled now. "Me boys will need some food soon. We have some rations left from the trail, but if ye want me lads to be at fighting shape, their bellies will need more than the coneys they can catch. Other than that, we're ready to kill some restless dead for ye."

Pax Astra

Luckily the two had the wherewithal to put all of their tools in easily moved crates. A quick survey of the little seashell-shaped isle showed them a nice spot at the edge of the lagoon where they could land the grasshopper and unburden the vehicle so they could better prepare it for what they had in mind. Sabatine and Tiber hauled the crates out and even disassembled the two back seats to create more lift, carrying all of the items a dozen meters from the surf to keep any wind-washed waves from soaking them, before hopping back into the grasshopper and skimming over the water until they reached the center of the lagoon.

"Glad you brought the cables." Sabatine said, unwinding the fiberweave and taking the small stopper at the center of the cable, attaching four smaller hooks to what looked like a miniature platform. The central cable was twenty feet long, and the three attached cables doubled the length. As she prepared them and laid them out to be readily accessible for her new partner, Tiber stripped off his shirt and shoes, revealing a well proportioned and hard muscled form, deeply kissed by the sun. "Looking good skipper." She teased.

"I don't know. I hear the Empress likes shorter guys." He remarked back. Truth be told, he felt out of shape. The Ultimus Legiones had been hell, but he had never felt more on edge than during his service there. Tiber had felt he had slacked off in the Onocentauri, when he had been given double downtime and a reduced training regime. This past year he'd been positively lazy.

"There's surgery for that." She joked, winding the cable around the mount on the back of the grasshopper, triple checking the integrity by monitoring the hooks were in place, and placing her boot on the stern and yanking on it, striking the cable with a few bumps of her fingers. It thrummed beautifully. "Shave off a few inches and you'd be proper roman."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get the engine going." Tiber sat down on the starboard edge, trying to add rhythm to his breathing. Only an extremely small contingent of the Imperial military actually required real diving, but training for zero G combat was often done in the ocean, and as fortuna would have it, the Ultima Legiones did teach their men how to dive in case of extenuating circumstances or off-the-grid infiltration. Sabatine tossed him the platform with the other three cables attached. He caught it and found one of the hooks at the end. "If this doesn't work, we'll need to think of something else."

Three...two...one...

"Maybe we can ask the empress for help?" Sabatine said just before his eyes and ears were full of water.

Tiber flipped backward, plunging into the lagoon. To do the combat swimmer stroke, one needed dive in or kick off as you would in freestyle, but at the end of your glide, execute a large horizontal scissor kick instead of your normal paddle. As the horizontal scissor kick tilted your body so one arm is slightly higher than the other, you needed to pull that arm back while leaving the other outstretched.

He rotated the movements back and forth, gliding down towards the bottom of the shallow lagoon. Frilled and large finned fish ranging from the the size of hand to a gladius rifle floated like asteroids in space until they zipped out of his way like they were powered by some means of jet propulsion. Last he checked, he could hold his breath for a period of one hundred and eighty seconds. It was likely down to two minutes now.

Tiber saw a snake-like creature sinuously gliding across the water to his left. Three meters long if he had to guess. He kept an eye on it but found it paid as much attention to him as a falling rock. There were a few dangerous seabeasts on the planet, but other than the venomous, multicolored Coroda Fish and a few sharks, the more dangerous beasts were in far deeper waters. Kicking his feet another three times was all it took to reach the last stretch to the gunboat. Finding a hold on the armored canopy, he pulled himself down to the left and grabbed the hooks strapped to his belt loop. The ship was half submerged in sand, and if he really needed to he could come back down and clear some of it out. As it was, it looked like only the left side was exposed enough to be hooked. He found a nook under the grill at the front, and then another two spots around its armored plating, one by the repulstor lift and the other at the angling lappet.

He felt a tinge of burning in his lungs, and once satisfied the hooks were secured, he kicked off the small encryptor dome at the top and sped back up to the surface. The grasshopper should have the capacity to lift the thing when accounting for buoyancy, provided the sand didn't interfere. The sun above him grew brighter and brighter, and he idly wondered if this would work until he saw a movement to his left. The flick of a serpentine tail. His head whipped to the side to see the serpent that had ignored him earlier gaping at him with razor sharp teeth protruding from its maw, dead eyes locked on his form. Shit, he thought. Apparently the creature had decided he didn't like Tiber so close to his flight path. It suddenly shot at him like a missile, Tiber reaching for the knife at his boot, only to realize he hadn't brought one. You stupid bastard.

Angling himself to face the vicious thing, he treated it like he would any knife fight. Limbs up front and feet spread and ready. It darted up and then down, going for his face. Tiber whipped his large forearm across its path, needle-sharp teeth biting into his flesh, blood beading out of the punctured skin of his arm. He whirled, grabbing the fish-snake hybrid with his other arm to squeeze its body, kicking at its sinuous belly from below with his feet. He didn't expect this thing could kill him, but he was about twenty seconds away from a critical need for air, and he had another ten seconds to swim.

Maverick Malediction

A lucky servant who had survived the explosions poked his head into the ruined collection of rooms, beholding the scene of Neil standing naked over a dead sorcerer with the murder weapon. His eyes went wide at the very fact Neil, and evidently Calliope, had survived an attack from the what had to be the Seven Princes. He apparently could not help himself and rushed into the room, eyeing around to make certain no spell was flung his way before he pointed at the thief. "You brought decimation to our house!"

Neil looked at him for one, long, incredulous moment. He tossed the piece of bloody ceramic at the servant, who yelped. "Next time I'm planning on getting murdered, I'll try to remember if it's in someone else's house. Don't want to be rude." The fear of the seven princes was likely cultural. If Neil and Calliope had killed them, why did this idiot think harassing them was a smart move on his part?

"You have brought ruin upon us, by Hayashim!" He cried, trying to slap Neil. It was so audacious Neil was actually caught off guard and got the worst of it before he engaged the man, the two having an audible slap fight for a moment before the fit thief realized how silly it was and shoved him away. The slim man stumbled back, but glared at Neil. "Ruin I say! The seven princes will come back! And then you will not-eeeeuuuuUUUUGHGHGHG!"

Neil's eyes widened when he saw the fellow's eyes bulge and his neck tighten like someone had yanked a noose around it. Vein's bulged and then popped, blood suddenly and horribly sucking out of his body through his eyes and mouth, staining his scraggly beard. It continued for a span of seconds until the crimson liquid was completely drained from the once living servant, coalescing in a floating ball. Neil glanced to his left and saw Calliope step naked into the room, idly flicking her hand, commanding the ball to splatter across the floor in arcane symbols that began to glow iridescently as soon as it struck the tiled floor.

"Ew," Neil said. The withered corpse hit the ground even as the magic began to take effect, the magical flames that still licked the curtains and spread across the chambers suddenly vanquished. Wards against scrying was placed, and the doors to the room shut. What little blood there was left in the air coagulated into a ball and neatly dropped into an empty wine glass Calliope held in her hand. To his surprise, she drank the blood as if she were a vampire or a dorcha. The dark woman drained the glass before his eyes and gave a satisfied gasp of delight, tossing the glass away to shatter against the wall. Neil was horrified, but strangely aroused. When he realized that, he looked up, as if to the gods, and said, "Something is very wrong me with. But you made me this way. Why?"

"Much better," She said, and then her eyes grew sharp and focused like a sweeping falcon. She sauntered past Neil and began to brush aside kindling, using her magic to move aside the larger pieces. Neil went to help her, the two naked interlopers eventually clearing aside the debris and even a magician corpse. Neil caught sight of a strange binding and reached for it, pulling out the dark book he knew so well from the fortress at Kalx Moralis. He handed it to Calliope, who laughed happily when she reached over and retrieved the book she had sought for so long.

"I'd say we should leave like the dead guy said, but I don't know where we would go." Neil told her. He looked them both up and down. "New clothes would be good too."

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Torm was a picture of calm and reserved, and his men tried and failed to copy their commander. A few coughed and mumbled and others tried vainly to get their horses in line. Lycurgus seemed agitated as well, likely from the dozens of tones of rock and soil above their heads. Horses enjoyed confined spaces when they had sufficient exercise and food, to sleep for the night. But when mounted or feeling tense energy of men around them, they were discomforted. Torm rubbed his mount's neck, letting out a soft 'sssh' to keep him steadied for another few minutes. The sound of soft digging and dwarven curses up ahead was interrupted by a gruff word and the figure of Bianca bounding into view down the tunnel.

"What's happening up there? Bianca!" Torm called, and she stopped in her tracks. She seemed in the midst of indecision. The knight spurred her on. "If we need to move, we need to move."

"The Captain has given us leave to go if you deem it so." Black Ryann stated, leaning over his suitably dark mare. He held his staff lazily in a grip no doubt taught to him at whatever academies he had attended, arms crossed with the haft locking them in place with a deft stance.

"I deem it so." She said, waving them forward. "You'll see cages and a pyre. Hurry."

"Good!" A boisterous voice cried from the contingent of heavy cavalry. Torm took his helm from the chain around Lycurgus' flanks and placed it over his head. His poleaxe in his right hand, he spurred his steed forward at the head of the column. "Slow at first lads! No one get overzealous until we can ride in formation."

With a gesture, the horses began to move. Torm and Black Ryann at the head. Something shimmered around the magician, a coruscating globe of something semi-solid. An almost intangible sphere around his person that was no doubt a protective enchantment. Torm knew better than to ask the man if he could aid the rest of the party like that. No doubt he would if he could, and truth be told, he wasn't in the mood to argue with the black robed sorcerer. They passed by the stout sappers, the dwarves leaping out of the way and telling them to give them hell. Torm would have acknowledged them, but his face was unreadable under the helm. Instead they simply moved quicker, ducking as Lycurgus made it through the hole in the earth. The magician and the first of his men followed suit, and as they filtered through, it gave him a chance to look over the situation.

The size of the army was staggering, and they were all laid there in great, rough columns, He could see preachers crying out to their strange deity and the men being whooped up into a frenzy. Torm saw hills to the north, right of the army. A small contingent of crossbowmen were stationed there, but they were stationed for show mostly likely. Even if they were wary of a sorte, the crossbows would hit as many of their own troops as the Silver Swords. Changing the spot of his gaze, he garned the pyre. He cursed when he saw the dwarves being marched to it, some of them already strapped to the soon-to-be burning logs.

"Can you do something?" Torm asked Black Ryann, pointing at the pyre. The magician rolled his eyes, but Torm waited for him to answer. Even under the great helm, he could feel Torm's glare.

"I am certain they have magicians in their army, but even were that not the case, I would need to be far closer to halt any flames." He explained, his horse nickering in the air.

The last of Torm's men had come out of the tunnel, their horses leaping forward to skid into the tufts of earth and grass at the slope of the hill. Torm shook his head, lamenting they were about to face insurmountable odds against less than 24 hours after the last insane plot. At least it wasn't his idea this time. He raised his poleaxe high. "Safeguard the dwarves! Wheel right after we pass the cages!" He called.

Hoots and cries of acknowledgement met him, and almost as one, the heavy cavalry stepped over the rim of the hill and descended, gaining speed as they barreled toward the small picket line and the zealots that even now danced in fervor.