POOHEAD189

Dark Streets - Urban Shadows

The Veteran

Name
Ǫlni

Look
Male, white (norse), uniform

Demeanor
Professional

Character Stats
Blood: 0
Heart: 1
Mind: 1
Spirit: 0

Starting Factions
Mortality: 1 []
Night: 0 []
Power: 0 [+1]
Wild: 0 []

Who are you?
"I am Ǫlni, son of Brúni, who forged the necklace Frigga asked for millennia ago on Tromsøya Isle. I have worked for kings and chieftans, jotuns and the aesir themselves! Long years have I slept in the bosom of the world, only to find it far different than I ever could have imagined. My sleeping brothers were of stone. Dead or slumbering, I could not say. But I have traveled midgard these twenty years in search of any awakened of my kin, and I intend to find them."

How long have you been in the city?
"Four seasons of yule, or what the americans call Christmas."

What was your greatest accomplishment in the city?
"An industrial warehouse in lowtown. Ate, I worked on the Hood-McPherson Building, true enough. But it's too much glass and plastic. The warehouse is made of good stone and sturdy timber, and it shall be used for an actual purpose beyond the mewling of men."

Why did you stop?
"Stop? I'll continue, human. But first thing's first, I must find more of my kind."

What do you desperately need?
"I need the tools to make great wonders, like the artifacts of old. I need my brothers back at my side, and the Gods to approach us once again for our craftsmanship!"

Gear
- A warhouse, an old pick up truck, a smart phone (company phone), workspace
- Magnum Revolver

Debts
Someone relies on you for training or knowledge. They owe you
2 Debts.
• You’re working on something big for someone, and it’s nearly
ready. They owe you a Debt.
• Someone keeps pulling your ass out of the fire. You owe them
2 Debts

Workspace
A forge, junkyard of raw materials, machining tools

Drama Moves
Old Friends, Old Favors: When you first encounter an NPC—rather than
putting a face to a name—you may declare them an old friend and roll
with Mind. On a hit, they offer you comfort and aid, even if it exposes
them to danger or retribution. On a 7-9, tell the MC why you owe them a
Debt. On a miss, tell the MC why they want you dead

Too Old for this Shit!: When you get caught up in a fight you tried to
prevent, you get armor+1 and take +1 ongoing to seeing yourself and
others to safety.

True Artist: When you create something for someone using your work-
space, mark their Faction

STANDARD ADVANCES
Advances available at beginning
of play:
[] +1 Heart (max +3)
[] +1 Mind (max +3)
[] +1 Spirit (max +3)
[] A new Veteran move
[] A new Veteran move
[] Add 2 more features to your workspace
[] A move from another Archetype
[] A move from another Archetype
[] Change your Faction after 5 advances you may select:
[] +1 to any stat (max +3)
[] +1 any Faction (max +3)
[] Erase a scar
[] Erase a corruption advance
[] Erase a corruption advance
[] Advance 3 basic moves
[] Advance 3 basic moves
[] Retire your character to safety
[] Change to a new Archetype

CORRUPTION ADVANCES
[] Take a corruption move
[] Take a corruption move
[] Take a corruption move
[] Take a corruption move from another Archetype
[] Retire your character. They may return as a Threat

Corruption Moves
[] Back at It: Take a standard move and a corruption move from another Archetype. Whenever you use those moves, mark corruption.
[] Pack Rat: You may mark corruption to reach into your kit and find just the thing you need to deal with your current situation.
[] Catch You Fuckers at a Bad Time?: Mark corruption to arrive in a scene. Mark an additional corruption to bring someone with you.

Dark Experiments: When you “work over” someone (alive or dead) in
your workspace, mark corruption and roll with Mind. On a 10+, ask 3. On
a 7-9, ask 2:
• What is your weakness?
• What are you hiding?
• What are you afraid of?
• What are you, really?
• What are you planning?
On a miss, ask 1, but someone from their Faction knows what you did.

Harm
[] Faint:
[][] Grievous:
[][] Critical:

Urban Shadows - Tales from Corvus Bay

I was debating on whether I wanted to join for a couple of hours, but if I get to use a certain concept in mind, I'm in.

Warm greetings!

@Sorin Welcome! Let me know if you have any questions

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"For a moment there, we thought they might have to use the resuscitrex on you, but you were lucky. The bullet went clean through, didn't shatter bone... Other than loss of blood, you'll be fine. Though the medicae says you'll need to take it easy as long as possible. Still got a hole in you." Rikkard explained.

"It feels like it," Zeb admitted, hoarse. He looked down at his bare torso, white bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach. He placed hand on it, and felt an immense ache. The soldier rubbed his eye and tried to unmuddy his mind, but it seemed like he might need more rest. "Where's the Commissar?"

He looked up, only to see Rikkard stand up from his seat, looking at the curtain. Zeb turned to see it moved aside, and a tan man stood there. To say he was ripped was an understatement. He looked to be made of pure scars and muscle, with a strong jaw but graced with high cheek bones. He wore camo pants and a single, sleeveless top on. Around his close cropped hair was a bandana. In his hand, he held Zeb's catachan fang. It looked far more comfortable in his grasp, seeing as there was no mistaking him as one of the fabled jungle fighters of that legendary death world.

"You know, you don't look like much. Especially for a Commissar dog." The fighter said, taking his eyes off the fang and settling them on Zeb. Even if the guardsman was at his best, he didn't think he was up to taking this man in a fight. But maybe it was just the mystique of the death worlders that had him thinking that way.

"Did that fang belong to you?" Zeb asked him. The catachan shook his head, frowning for the merest second. Zeb then said. "Then you have no claim on it. So I assume you're here to give it back to me."

The catachan looked him with a neutral, almost harsh gaze. But eventually, he gave an amused smile, and flipped the short sword and caught it by the blade. Rikkard stiffened, as if he was going to go for his weapon. The catachan ignored him. "I've heard of you, and I saw the racket you started last night. You've got balls, you and the woman."

"Commissar," Rikkard corrected him. This time he did shoot the wounded guardsman a black look, before returning to regard Zeb. Surprisingly enough, he held the catachan fang out to him. Zeb took it gingerly, thinking it was a trick. But he took it without any mischief.

"I don't like Commissars, or their dogs. Remember that if you get back up. And once you're dead, I'll take that fang off you. I'll lend it to you for awhile, though."

"Thanks," was all Zeb gave him, and the fighter only stood there for another heartbeat before disappearing behind the curtain, as if he never was. Well, hopefully that didn't overly complicate things. Zeb turned to Rikkard. "So specialist, where's the Commissar?"

"I'll get your crutches. She's awake but she's not enjoying being off her feet."

Pax Astra

"You know, I make a mean steak." He said, popping the cork off and setting it down to the left of his plate. Her steak smelled delightful, he admitted privately. Venison steak was new to him, but he would try anything once. "Maybe once this whole thing is over I'll invite you over to a cookout."

He admired her for how much she had things so well ordered here. He could survive like an automaton if he were alone in the wilderness, but he found he was a bit too disorganized when out of service to have such a spiffy place as Sabatine's. Maybe he wasn't giving himself enough credit, but he was impressed nonetheless. When he tastes the steak and drank a bit of the beer, he whistled appreciatively. "On second thought, I'll need to invite you over to cook with me. This is officer good."

It was partially a joke. Officer good was a stupid, half ironic slang-term for anything above expectations. But his praise was honest.

"Something else to focus on? I'll take that as hyperbole, Sab. From what I know, he's the kind of man who needs exile or death before you can take your eyes off of him. I think he thinks the same of us, or he soon will. I don't know anyone else who can catch his attention, unless he's harassing other legionnaires you know of."

Her mouth was full, but she shook her head, waving her fork around as if to go 'you know what I mean.' He smiled to himself and took another sip of the beer. His mind went from the food to the fight they had ahead. No way in Hades were they solving this without more death. It made him oddly nostalgic.

"You know, on my first tour my team got a call to this cog. A friendly. It had been hit abaft and boarded. They needed a senator for information. They didn't tell us the details. We had unus nulla to kill any invader on board. Nothing we never did before, but when we got in, we were told they were dissimulo persona-" Military slang for impersonating a roman legionnaire. "- and it seemed to check out. They wore our colors but had hand-me down arms, something a barbarian might carry. We hit them hard. I remember taking my cultro to a throat, and he spoke something in our language when he died." Tiber seemed to pause, as if in thought. He sighed and shook his head once. "Anyway, we rounded the last of them up and took the senator. We were not given leave to let any of them live, other than him. Before we followed orders, one of the men told us we were tyrants. He called us fools. We found out right there, we had been killing romans. The senator had fled Terra with his personal retinue and with whatever arms they could find. The damage to their ship wasn't from invaders, but terran batteries in their escape. We were bringing back a senator for execution, not saving him. I just... I don't know. It stuck with me, after that. I guess I'm just glad I know I'm fighting with and for something I really agree with."

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, and Tiber broke it with a chuckle. He gestured with the earthenware bottle. "Sorry, beer's strong. Must be hitting me already."

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"By the golden throne..." Zeb said in horror as they spun off the path and barreled into a mob of the green xenos. The grill of the ATV hit a bulky ork, sending it to the mud. The vehicle bucked like a horse and landed on a smaller ork, shoving it to the ground. Hagman had the wherewithal to keep the foot on the gas, but it only lurched forward a few meters, crashing into another xenos.

"Full auto! Go for the head!"

Zeb's cry set them into action. Katia dodged a flailing choppa and sliced through the thick arm of the ork with her sword. It's limb hit the floor of the ATV with the weight of a heavy branch. The ork howled, but his cries were silenced by Zeb shoving his lasgun in its face and firing five shots through its eye and into its tiny brain. He did not let up, firing into the crazed crowd as Grimdal and even Rikkard open fired. If they were shooting into a mass of men, it would have been like scything through wheat. Orks were unfortunately made of sterner stuff, and most of them were more injured than dead. A huge bullet ripped through the front windshield, and a choppa cut four inches into the door in a crude attempt to cut Zeb in half. Behind them, one ork grabbed the bumper and ripped it off with strength beyond any man.

Over the mob of Orks, more ATV's rolled in. But they kept to the dyke as they were told, firing into the Orks with their lasguns as the roudy xenos attempted to elbow past one another to get them. One ATV, the third one in the vanguard, burst into flame and careened forward, before swerving into a mass of orks much like Katia and Zeb's, only it exploded on impact. The orks around it had been so busy fighting one another, they were engulfed in flames before they even realized it. Zeb only saw the spectacle for a moment, just before a bullet punched into his side. He gave a wordless cry, the sergeant's vision going white as he hit the dash of the ATV. He was vaguely aware of Katia firing into the ork mass as they bore down on them, and a voice saying. "Take him! We can't all live."

"What?" Zeb croaked, shaking. He felt cold, and yet there was hot wet on his stomach. He gritted his teeth and tried to rise, but he found he had little strength in his arms. The thrumming in his head drowned out all of the sounds of battle, and he looked up to see Katia standing over him, screaming in his face. Her voice eventually penetrated into his mind.

"-UP! THAT'S AN ORDER!" She said, and amazingly, he feebly reached out to take her hand. She took it, and lifted him up with impressive strength for one so slim. She must have been muscled like a greyhound. He felt the numbness of his body give way to pain, and every breath was agony. But it was a blessing by the God Emperor, for it woke him up.

Katia covered him in her cloak, and just as his hearing came back, there was an intense sound that broke his ears again. White hot flame erupted from very close, and before he knew it he was dragged forward, stumbling with his feet and a multitude of hands on him to keep him steady. Looking back and forth, he saw blearily saw Hagman and Rikkard. When he looked at the sweating specialist, he saw the looted stompah rise from the dyke, raising a hand that spun a buzzsaw the size of a man's torso. It looked as if it had seen them, but there was a terrible arc in the sky and a whistling. Zeb slowly realized it was a missile, and the explosive struck the ork mech directly, shattering half of its body and sending the rest tumbling into the mud.

Lasbolts flashed overhead and Orks fell dead at their feet. Zeb coughed from the smoke.

"Kat, give me a gun." He said hoarsely, stubbornly.

"Shut up, Zeb." She told him, and it was good hadn't listen. He lost consciousness mere moments later, fading into darkness as the battle raged.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

It had been a joke.

He had meant it as such, certainly. Galt was forthright (for a thief), but he wasn't so forward when it came to something as serious as matrimony. He felt Silke would wave it off and get her impeccable mind to calculating some sort of scheme that would get her out of her predicament, and yet... and yet she looked at him meaningfully. She looked at him in a way a woman had never looked at him before. In the way that drew him in, and he realized at that moment he wanted her to gaze upon him like that for the rest of his life.

The thought struck him like a hammer pounding an anvil. He didn't think one could read his mind by his small flushing. Like as not Silke would think he was embarrassed by her staring, or they were simply sharing another one of their lingering looks they so often gave one another but never spoke of. Weeks ago he had convinced himself he had been the only one interested, that it wasn't mutual. If she fancied him at all, she fancied him for being new, and perhaps his exciting rise to station piqued her interest, but nothing more surely. Now, however, he realized he had been an idiot.

He decided to play along, guiding out his chestnut steed as she began a pleasant fiction of him attempting to get out of learning his lessons. He smiled somewhat ruefully, trying to grapple with his thoughts and thinking of nothing else but just how clever she was. He even laughed at the joke, though her comment on how attractive he was set his heart racing. By the time she finished, he had stopped his horse, and it was entirely noticeable to Silke. He took a moment to gather himself, though he did not even know that was what he was doing. It was almost like he was watching someone else in his own body. He wrapped the reins of his steed around his arm so his hands were free, and he approached her.

Galt took her hands in his, his calluses against her soft skin, and only then was he aware of what he was doing. And he committed, though he felt as if he was only moments from shaking.

"If I became your husband, you could teach me everything you wished to and more, whenever you wished. We would...eat dinner together and laugh together, and there would be nothing that we could not accomplish. I..." He ran his thumbs over her slim hands, his dark eyes lifting up to bore into hers. He was already drowning in her eyes. He had never felt his flight response more than this moment, and somehow he also wanted to never leave this place.

"Let's make that announcement. Let's let the people gossip and complain and fret." He ended that last word in a short breathy chuckle, as if he couldn't wait to hear what ridiculous things people had to say. "Ever since I became a lord, all the money and food and luxury has not been what's run through my thoughts. It's been you." Galt fell to a knee on the grass. They had always done that in the tales, and somehow it felt right. Gods, what was he saying? It was a miracle he could breathe. "And if you would have me, Silke, I would be honored to be your husband."

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

Night had fallen, and aside from the piggish squeals and guttural warcries over a hundred meters away, most of the fighting had been reduced to flashes in the dark like lightning, as well as more distant rumblings from artillery and large looted tank shots. Katia had cordoned the force off into squadrons and set each of them a ground car. As it was, Zeb was with her, along with Colonel Hagman, Grimdal, and Specialist Rikkard. Their team would spearhead the group into the enemy line from behind in a clear form of leadership, which was a risky gamble but if it paid off, it would be invaluable for morale. Rikkard needed to be with them. If anyone could get the vox working, he could.

The night air was cool, a nice release from the heat of the day. Zeb's burn marks enjoyed the air kissing his skin, though going into Du-Retour was only going to be a temporary reprieve for the tired band. Like as not most men in there were as exhausted as they were, or would at least claim to be so. He shoved the thoughts of rest aside, or he might fall asleep on the spot. He came back to his senses, and evidently he looked particularly brooding because the men cast glances his way as if they felt he had the balls to rush whatever gap they could find without backup. Zeb stifled a groan, still not understanding the stories that coalesced about he and Katia. The Commissar maybe, he could see her inspiring loyalty and doing insane feats of heroism. But he was just a grunt that was lucky enough to still be alive.

A lithe form approached from behind them, Grimdal holding up his lasgun warily before an artillery flash revealed it to be Katia. The woman was equal parts attractive yet intimidating, but in the shadows there was a lupin fierceness to her sharp features. Zeb had gotten used to her, mostly. Emperor only knows what universe a lowly sergeant was comrades and even friends with a commissar, but it had happened.

"Get ready to move." Katia told them, hefting her bolt pistol and placing a strong hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. "Hagman, you're driving. Rikkard, stay low and get that vox working. How close do you need to be to catch their frequency?"

"Hard to say ma'am," He said, worry evident in his voice. "Maybe half a click to be sure, but a kilometer could work if I can get some feedback."

"The further away the better," Zeb said, though he felt his words were entirely obvious. "I think we should go in dark, Kat. There's enough light by shot to see a few meters ahead and the dykes are straight forward. The only thing we would have to worry about is running into Ork armor and I doubt they would be just sitting there in the way. They're unpredictable but Orks are usually moving, and they aren't as stupid as you'd think. They wouldn't leave machinery lying there in range of gun batteries."

The others looked at him strangely, and he glanced around, wondering what the deal was. He had been the only man here to fight Orks before back on Lorn IV. Then his mind rewound his words and he realized he had called her 'Kat.' For Katia's part, she decided to save him by not acknowledging it in the first place. "Sound advice, sergeant. Anyone else? Good. Now let's move or we'll be dead by sun up."

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."