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Kingdom of Cethos

January 4th, 1910.

Letter of condemnation, declaration of support, and urging of caution by Gharn Lask.

The attack upon the Reich's prince was one of cowardice and treachery. Cethos and her people fully condemn such actions and offer the full support that can be given the Reich in this dark time. Such actions cannot be stood for. That being said, I urge my fellow rulers and the Kaiser himself to see through the fog of grief and rage and to think clearly about their own actions, and to proceed with caution. Our nations cannot afford to act rashly and must act with clear minds, lest we all suffer grave consequences.

Matra Prunak

January 6th, 1910.

Gharn Lashk, the Matra Prunak, sat around the table with his closest advisers, a large map of the world in front of them. His faded green fins pressed against the top of his head as he examined it. War was going to ignite. Everyone knew it, despite their public cries for peace and diplomacy. The Reich was not going to stand for the assassination, and the Uruks were not going to stand for any retribution the Reich might take. From there, old hatreds and alliances would force the various powers of the world into choosing a side, and chaos would reign.

He was counting on it. "Is everything in place for when war is declared?" His Military Commander, Shalan Gash spoke her dark blue fins standing proudly. She was tall, even for female Cethosi, and young. She had joined his rebellion in its final years, and rapidly risen through the ranks to the place she was now. It was years of her planning and preparation that set the kingdom up to grow in more power and might before anyone else could react. "Everything is ready to go at a moment's notice, Prunak. Our agents and allies in the islands are all prepared to act as soon as we give the word, and our armies are prepared to land and conquer at your demand. The Hyanids have offered no opposition to the change. I suspect that is because they are already ours in all but name, but nonetheless the transition will be smooth. They are ready to march at our order as well."

The Naval Commander, Ferez Paren spoke next, his faded blood red fins idle, as if bored. He had been with Gharn since the beginning and had always been a cooler head than Lashk. "The advance navy is prepping its 'war games' in the areas already. The rest are ready to deploy to defend our and our allies waters in a moment. We've practiced with the Etresnamaden endlessly and as such there should be no issues when we jointly defend the Rotteburg coast. The Kratorians are proud enough to attempt a seaborne invasion against such a force, and we predict high enemy casualties early on. It'll be just like old times, Gharn. " He ignored the Shalan's disproving look. He had known Gharn since well before he became the Prunak. That afforded him some familiarities.

Gharn nodded. "Good. Tell our diplomats in Sidara to secure the games to make them more friendly to Etresna, and to push for a non-aggression pact. I don't want to have their navy to contend with on our flank as well as the Kratorians. Use them as a platform to talk with the Sidaran and Anvegad coalition at large, and anyone they may draw in. Have our diplomats in Anvegad discuss stronger ties as well. Tell the agents we have in Faenaria to keep a close eye on the cowardly traitors as well. We don't want them finally finding their courage, centuries later, against us. And if they do, we want to slow them down."


Snazzy Title Here


Nanine and Judena

@Rtron and @DearTrickster

Afternoon, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E08

Nanine headed through Anvil, walking through the crowded streets, a cautious hand on her sword. While she trusted this city to offer shelter and food, she didn’t trust it to offer complete safety from the day to day dangers of pickpockets. And while her sheath and hilt gave the appearance of a simple, worn, steel sword, she didn’t trust the desperate to not go for it anyways. She was looking for a bookstore. While she had her own stories planned, and had a whole book of stories safely placed in her pack, she was always looking for new literature. Who knew, maybe she’d find something new on the Daedra, Dwemer, or the Thalmor while she was there.

As she rounded the corner of the street, she saw a familiar argonian in the distance. Recognizing Judena, the older of her two most recent Argonian travelling companions, Nanine made her way through the crowd towards the older woman. She hadn’t gotten a chance to have the appraiser date and confirm her family’s stories, what with how busy they had been fleeing the Dominion and the Dwemer, and was unashamedly eager to have Judena look at it now that she had a chance. ”Judena! I’m Nanine, from the caravan you were on recently. We met roughly two weeks ago, in Skingrad.” She hadn’t forgotten Judena’s condition. It was simultaneously terrifying and alluring to Nanine. On the one hand, the idea of having memories, things she was so used to having easily at her beck and call, slip through her hands to be forgotten forever no matter how hard she tried to keep them scared her. On the other, there were many nights when she wished she couldn’t perfectly recall how Wayrest smelled and looked as it burned, or the stench of her brother’s blood as he bled out in her hands, weakly grasping her arm.

No matter. She had other things to focus on right now. ”You said you were an appraiser of artifacts, yes? Would you happen to know anything about Imperial weapons and artifacts?”

While Judena had found herself spending a great deal of time by the bay, finding a center and shamble together some form of a routine. She had enough money to afford a stay at an inn, working in a nearby shop. “I am terribly sorry… Nanine? May I verify our meeting? I simply cannot recall your name but your face is vaguely familiar.”

She held up a finger, shuffling her logbook out from inside her shirt. She silently read back to when she travelled with the caravan and made a small ah-ha! Sound reading the descriptions of Nanine and others. “There you are. Yes, I am an appraiser.” She said proudly. “The best one you will meet this week, I can promise you. History, technique in metalwork, how old it is and I offer restoration services as well. Depending on how fragile the piece is, of course. If the dirt I intend to remove is what is keeping the piece together than unfortunately I cannot help in restoration.”

She explained, happy as ever to ply her skills. “Depending on your budget, anything related to Dwemer - has a relatively steep discount due to the urgency for more information.”

“May I see the sword to evaluate the cost of service?”

Nanine smiled at the pride in Judena’s voice, and how she puffed slightly and stood taller with it. It was always enjoyable to see someone in their element. Her eyebrow raised at the mention of it being a sword, however, and she looked around. She wasn’t about to pull the sword out here, where anyone could see it and mark her as a potential target. ”Not here. Would you mind terribly following me back to my room at a local inn? It’ll make sense when we get there, I promise.”

Nanine looked up at the Argonian as they headed towards the inn. Judena had lived a long time, and likely spent most of it as an appraiser. She would have stories to tell, if she could remember them, and Nanine was eager to hear them. ”So, Judena, how did you get into appraising? The Black Swamp doesn’t strike me as particularly...safe, for artifacts to be preserved throughout the ages. And how did you know the Imperial artifact was my sword? It could have easily been something in my pack, or my armor.”

“Ah! That is my mistake, I assumed it would be the sword you have been carrying and holding close. My notes mentioned it briefly but it has always been sheathed. With an observation of that nature I would go on to assume it is more precious as opposed to seeing practical use.” She commented holding up her hands, hoping not to offend. “If you wish for discretion I do not mind striking those observations away. I understand not everyone would like their actions being recorded by me. Rest assured it is all written in Jel and for my eyes only.”

She chuckled a throatily. “Many landstriders do not know of the secrets hiding in the depths of our swamps and home. Fortunately for many objects they do not factor into the local food chain.” Judena joked. “Mud, sap, roots. The difficulty certainly increases when you strive not to disturb the dig site when recovering historical pieces. I very much dream of the day when Argonia can share her secrets without fear of generational repercussions. Perhaps one day.”

Nanine’s curiosity was apparent as Judena spoke. Many scholars were always hungry for more information about Argonia, Black Marsh. Shrouded in mystery.

“I lived in the cosmopolitan coastal city of Soulrest, fortunate again to be exposed quite early to the various cultures and peoples. I was once a guide to those very secrets for a group of mages. Their expertise and wildly interesting stories of exploration captured my imagination. They brought me with them to the Imperial City where I learned everything I would need to know. As such, became an expert.”

“If you doubt my skills and ability to service, know that I have been appraising and collecting history-” Judena leaned down to Nanine, poking her nose. “Since before you were born, young one.” She smiled, showing gums.

Nanine gave a poorly suppressed giggle, smiling back at the Argonian as Judena’s nose poked her own. ”Oh, it’s nothing important enough that I demand it be struck from your journal. It’ll just be prudent that I don’t whip it out in the middle of the street. You’ll see when we get there, I promise.”

She held up her hands in mock defense. ”I would never doubt the skills of someone as enthusiastic as you, Judena. That’s not even considering how well aged you are. I was merely curious as to what gave away that the artifact might be my sword.” She gave a wry chuckle, hand on the hilt of said sword. ”I suppose I should consider next time that my over protectiveness might be the very thing giving it away as something worthy of stealing.”

She shrugged lightly, confident in her ability to defend it, before turning back the conversation onto Judena. The woman was a wealth of information and she wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. ”So you must have been all over Tamriel in your time, no? Any stories or regions of particular note you’d like to talk about? I’ve only been in High Rock, Skyrim, and central Cyrodiil. Which, I realize, makes me already far more travelled than your average person, but they tend to be very similar in everything except culture. And temperature, if you get even slightly north in Skyrim.”

“I have been to every province, the most I am familiar with to recall is that of Cyrodiil and my home Argonia - referred often by landstriders as Black Marsh. While I am quite the excellent appraiser for historical pieces, every piece is new to me. I was taught the hows and whys something could look and feel the way it does based on hundreds of variables. I would need to read from my logbooks if I were to recount anything exciting - truthfully my dear Nadean.” She explained, gently trying to help the youthful mage understand the limitations. “I was thankfully not born with this affliction but my decades of travelling are only remembered in the logs.”

“I apologize, Nabine.”

Nanine internally cursed her overexcitement. Of course Judena couldn’t tell her anything, her memory required the use of her logbook for anything not very old or very recent. And here Judena was, apologizing for something she couldn’t control. Nanien found herself being endeared to the sweet older woman. ”No, no. You don’t have to apologize Judena. It was my mistake for forgetting. And my name is Nanine. Nani, if you prefer.”

She gestured to the door of an inn it was one of the poorer ones, more of a large house with extra rooms than a proper inn. This is where I’m holed up for now. Didn’t have much money after leaving Skingrad, and the Legion didn’t give a whole lot for what information I had. Follow me, if you would?”

The moved through the smoky building, its only other inhabitant a cheery old nord woman, calling hello from the kitchen. In short order they were in Nanine’s room, a simple affair of one bed and a dresser, and she carefully closed and locked the door. ”Here we are.” She drew her sword, presenting it with a hand on the blade and the hilt too Judena. The white inscription seemed to glow, as the black of the ebony seemed to draw in light. ”This is my family’s blade, The Eternal Vow. My brother wielded it, and our father before him, and his father before him, and on to the era of the first Septim Empire. One of our ancestors earned this blade by serving Septim faithfully and saving his life.”

Nanine shrugged. ”Or so the story goes. All I really know is that it’s been in my family since before my father, and it is absolutely slathered with enchantments to increase its endurance and keep it strong. I could, technically, leave it in the bottom of a river for a year and it would be ready to use the moment it got pulled from the muck. I believe it also has a Soul Trap Enchantment designed to draw souls of the slain into it, to power the enchantments, as I’ve never needed to use soul gems on it. I was hoping you could date it.”

Judena sidestepped around it, from her pocket she flicked out some cloth gently cradling it. Her expression growing intense in concentration. She weighed it carefully in her hands eyes scanning the length of the blade and the hilt - clearly two different pieces from two different eras. Bringing it over to the desk she gently laid it down, in her hand she casted magelight, squeezing the orb in her hand dimming it considerably she let it go to float freely over the blade giving her more light to see the darker planes of the ebony. The sword itself showed its age in the way it was forged - there was a very good reason why smithies moved onto better methods to shape ebony weaponry. Judena wanted to get a better feel for it - allowing magika to pour into the palm of her hand she let the raw energy glide over and interact with these enchantments. Someone in her family had mind to ensure the hilt would not detach again by enchanting it, was this the result of generational work or the hands of one such master enchanter?

“There is a seed of truth to great tales.” Judena began. “This sword however is not from the First Era. It would not have seen past a couple generations of ceremonial use and the occasional fight if it had not been enchanted the way it has. The technique used to forge it is old but not that old. In fact,” She ran the tips of her fingers down the length of the blade - feeling out the ridges, scratches and tiny imperfections, “The technique for forging a blade this way began to decline quite steadily when the Septim Dynasty was established. Few pockets of rebellious Dunmer factions kept the ember alive but time saw to the erasure. In favour, to logically strengthen the durability capably seen in ebony as a material.”

Judena removed her hand and magicka pointing to the hilt. “The hilt is not the original.”

Bringing the light closer to show the fine seam at the base. “See? It was done with skillful hands but such a fix leaves visible clues. It is a far more modern piece by comparison to the blade itself. Third Era, definitively.” She picked it back up eyeing down it. “The inscription was added after as well, covering another, older one. The current Cyrodilic script on the blade wasn’t used at the time of forging.

She spoke as if to herself, “As for a date the blade was originally forged? I would narrow it down between year one hundred and ten third era and eight hundred and sixty second era. Further examination would be needed to get an exact date. Delving into your family tree and history would help connect the dates to the evidence found within the blade.

Nanine shouldn’t have been surprised. A blade that had been around as long as The Eternal Vow was claimed to have been would have undergone changes in its long life. Plus, the odds of her father’s stories being 100% true were very slim. As proud as her father was, they were still simply a relatively well off commoner family, with nothing to verify their claims but their pride. Still, she found herself blinking in startelement at all the details and mistakes in the story Judena pointed out.

She saw the line that indicated a repair, now that Judena pointed it out. As the examination completed, Nanine found herself wondering about the sword she had been devoted to keeping protected. Where was the other piece? What inscription was written over, and why was it changed? Questions for later. For now, she owed Judena for her services.

”Thank you, Judena. Here, take this for all you’ve done. It's been very enlightening.” She handed the argonian a pouch of coins, letting Judena out of her room. ”I hope our paths cross again.”

Magic and Music




A Collab by @Rtron and @Spoopy Scary

Nanine and Calen, Afternoon, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E208

Nanine wandered the city of Anvil, looking for something to do, or at the very least draw. This was the first time she had felt a modicum of safety, and not a constant fear that the dwemer were about to attack, and she planned to enjoy it while it lasted. Things weren’t going to stay like this forever, or very long. Either the Dominion was going to grow bored faking kindness, the dwemer were going to make their move, or the Empire was going to retaliate. Either way, war was going to sweep Tamriel again, and it was doubtless that she was going to be swept up in it. She wanted to enjoy this time while she could.

She saw a great many shops, none interesting her, as she wandered. Anvil was a thriving city, unruffled by the influx of refugees and certain in its safety behind the iron will of the Legion. Its shops were numerous, and the things they sold even more so. While idly staring at shops as she passed, she spotted someone from her caravan into the city. The Nord driver, Calen. With nothing better to do and always happy to see a familiar face, Nanine made her way over.

Calen was carrying some instruments in his arms and had a satchel of some kind around his shoulder, but he didn’t look comfortable, apparently unused to Anvil’s heat and the sight brought a small grin to Nanine’s face. ”Never been this far down south have you? You look like you’re fit to collapse.”

Calen looked up and forced a smile at her, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. His face was flush and rosy, but he still seemed to chipper up at the sight of a familiar face. “Oh! Hey!” He chimed. He shifted the weight of the instruments around to get a better hold of them. “Ah, yeah well, you know… a small price to pay for getting to see such a beautiful place! Isn't Anvil an incredible sight?”

Nanine looked around, taking in the architecture and beauty of the city. He was right, it was an incredible sight. But her home still held her heart. She smiled softly, remembering its sweeping towers and carefully kept gardens. “Anvil is beautiful, yes, but it is still surpassed by the Jewel of Starfall Bay. Perhaps it’s just, my bias because I was born there, but Wayrest will always be the most beautiful in my mind.” She paused, giving a small shrug. “Well, it was, before the invasion.” Shaking her head, as if to dispel the bad memories, she turned her attention back to him.

Noticing that the Nord seemed to be struggling, she held out an arm. “Here, let me take some of that off your hands. No sense in you being hot and exhausted.” Relieving himself of his burdens and muttering a quick thanks, he gave her a drum and a violin, and Nanine examined it all with an arched brow. “Planning on starting a band are we? I hope you weren’t going to invite me to join. I have no talent in the musical arts.” She gestured with the violin for him to lead the way, following behind. “Or is there another reason for collecting so many instruments?”

Calen laughed awkwardly in response as he led her through the market square. He replied, “Oh, I was just hoping to spend the rest of the day performing in one or two of the taverns here. Entertain, share stories, learn what I can about the locals -- the College taught me that different instruments can oft help with that; and should anyone wish to play with me, I’ll have a spare.”

”An actual student from the College of Bards? I’d thought you were just one of those carriage drivers who were good with instruments.” Nanine commented, her interest piqued. She knew next to nothing about the College, and having someone who had graduated from it themselves right in front of her was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

”What’s it like, learning at and graduating from the College? I’ve only heard tidbits and snippets of rumors during my time in Skyrim, and never had a chance to ask any of the bards I came across during my time there. I’m going to assume that you don’t summon Daedra to seduce them so that they will bless you with magical musical ability and powers.”

“Ah, well…” Calen began, looking deep in thought as if to find the right words. “The College is not what anyone thinks, really. Of course there’s music, but that’s just the format of… or the boat which carries the actual meat, if you would. While you can learn all you like about music and song, there is also no better place to learn about history! They’re all historians and chroniclers and preservers -- it’s would’ve been great pipeline to politics, if I had been so inclined, but Skyrim politics… uh, no, I’ll pass on that.”

Nanine was slightly surprised. Evidently, the bard college was more in depth than she had originally thought it was. ”Really? I thought they remembered tales, rather than pure history. You never hear a Bard singing about the laws that an emperor made to help keep order, or how the Redguard’s came across the sea, after all. I must confess, the idea that the College of Bards is filled with historians and preservers doesn’t mesh with my image of bards.”

She snorted. ”What, you don’t want to engage in the duels for honor, the constant cold, and the ever ready possibility that your subjects might not see you as warrior like enough and leave you or dispose of you? Why ever not, Calen? That sounds like the dream!”

The bard laughed, hearty and from the chest, and the wide smile on his face he bore afterward seemed to slightly impede his ability to speak pristinely, “No, no. But you see, who’s to say that history is boring? The story of the Yokudans migrating across the great blue has probably been immortalized in song over a dozen times over! Yes, much of history gets run through the cloth and is filtered by how memorable the event, or how tasteful the story might be, but I’m willing to bet my wagon that there is a song for damn near everything.”

Nanine grinned back at him. Calen’s smile was infectious, and it felt good to laugh and smile without the shadow of danger over her head. ”Very confident I see. I’ll have to take your word for it, Master Bard. Listing off ‘damn near everything’ would take far too long, and I would feel bad taking away your beloved wagon if you were proven to be wrong. You’ll have to tell me the histories and stories you know of sometime. I’d love to be able to add them to my own collection.” She looked ahead, checking to see where they were going and to make sure they weren't going anywhere that would bring trouble. As safe as Anvil felt, it was still a bustling port city, with its own dangers.

”You know, I think I might hang around after to see you perform. It’s been a while since I could fully relax. If you’d like, I could even add small harmless magical effects during your songs and tales. She winked at him. ” Won’t even charge you.”

Calen bowed his head gratefully and said, “That would be marvelous.”

However, it swiveled back around to the last place he remembered the front gates of Anvil being and sighed. Thoughts of the deemed came back to him, along with the worry and doubt they brought with them. Finally, he said, “I wonder how this will all end - the dwemer, I mean; and perhaps more selfishly, I wonder what kind of mark I would make. Being the first to record their second coming in history… heralding a new chapter in the book… I'm sure there's someone already working on it.”

Nanine paused for a moment, thoughtful. She’d often thought about the very same subjects herself in the past weeks. The future of Tamriel with their arrival, and her own future now that they have thrown much of the north into chaos. If history was any indication.. ”The Dwemer will fall. Their return was unexpected, and their new weapons powerful, but judging from how they’ve only taken Imperial city and not lain siege to anything else, or if they have I haven’t heard of it, and their reliance on their technology, I’d guess that they don’t have a large population.

They’re using their new and somewhat superior weaponry to give themselves an edge. Eventually, however, it will spread to the other nations they are actively trying to suppress. Such is the way of war. Unless they align themselves with someone, they will eventually lose due to sheer attrition. Or so military history dictates. They might have some ultimate plan that I don’t know about or some way to rapidly replenish their population, but even if they win and take over what they want to take over, they’ll eventually be overthrown. The Empire was able to keep its control for so long by being fair and just. That had faded by the time of the Oblivion crisis, and the Dominion and Argonia used their dislike of the Empire and its weakness afterwards to seize the independence and lands they have now. The Dwemer strike me as the kind of people to actively oppress and keep their conquered under their heel. That’ll breed rage and defiance, and it will eventually boil over.”

She looked over at Calen. ”As for your mark, well, you’ll just have to write a better account, no? Someone is already working on it, sure, but not someone with your way with words and flair. Anyone can write a dry account of what happened. Takes talent to bring it to life in your reader’s mind. Talent I believe you possess.”

“You’ve tactical mind!” Calen commented, sounding impressed. “Using history to such ends. Applied knowledge is something I think this war will benefit from. We’ve had years to study them, their culture, and their constructs, yes? From what I can tell, they know nothing of us, only that they expected someone to fill the void they left behind.”

”Not many of us did, though.”

As they followed the bend of the city streets, they shortly found their way in front of The Frisky Dolphin. The sound of music and rambunctious spirit emanating from within almost spurred Calen from his conversation from Nanine, but he still found himself wanted to share a few words with her.

“I appreciate your sentiments, ma’am. I think you need worry not about me. It takes more than a few intrusive thoughts to bring my spirits down! We’ve all got our place in the world and I know where mine is...”

Nanine snorted quietly. Ma’am. She wasn’t an officer nor an old woman yet. Sounded something more appropriate for Judena.

Calen gestured with the instruments he had in hand.

“The question isn’t whether I can do it or not, it’s how it will be remembered! I’ve no misconception that my name will be remembered -- my role is to record history and to be a witness, by Talos, not to become it -- but I do hope that the stories I tell will survive this era for sake of posterity. If not...”

The bard shifted his weight so that his back partially moved the tavern door ajar, and moving both instruments into one arm to gingerly accept the instrument he had lended to Nanine earlier.

“...Then I might as well appreciate the company I have, aye?”

”Indeed.” Nanine replied, carefully handing over the instrument. It wouldn’t do to make it this far only to drop it. ”We cannot control how history will view us or our work, only the now. And for now, I believe you promised entertainment for this fine inn and I promised to give magical effects on your cues. Let's go dazzle the locals, shall we?”
Lori tensed as Setz finally pried the capsule open. Whoever was inside of it was going to be very unhappy, given all that had apparently transpired, if they were alive at all. It appeared that her worry was all for nothing, as the only thing inside of the pod was a mist pocket she could feel from where she was. It was like a dull pressure against her 'Mist Sense' (the name she attributed to her unique way of perceiving Mist. Its likely just a side affect of her body getting ready to use magic as her insects notice and get ready to process Mist). Whoever had launched it had either died before they could clamber in, or it had been launched by accident during the attack, dooming whoever it was meant for. She began to lower her pistol, ready to begin the search for more bodies and evidence of what happened, when Setzer came under attack.

In a startling matter of moments, Setzer was on the ground, a magical knife against his neck. The girl, looking like she had just been through hell (which isn't surprising considering she fell from a flaming airship) yelled something at them. Lori had no idea what. She had never taken an Vangarian classes. You didn't need to know what people were saying to kill them, and if they had to take prisoners she would have just taken them to someone who actually knew how to speak the language and then left. While lacking a common language, the intent was fairly obvious.

'Don't move or he'll die', or 'Surrender or he'll die' or something along those themes. The Mist began to increase, the pressure growing around her as Mist Pockets exploded and the girl readied some very powerful spell. Lori's eyes narrowed and she glared at the girl on top of Setzer. The insects around her began to buzz angrily, sensing the anger at the girl and worry for Setz. Lori suppressed her first urge to shoot the bitch as soon as she had a chance. Setzer was still under her knife and she didn't know if any of them had shields strong enough to tank whatever the girl had planned. Lori's mouth opened, likely to open some sort of furious tirade.

Before Lori could do anything Zimmy ran forward. What the hell is this stupid girl doing? Lori seethed, watching as she stumbled through the foreign words (presumably to try and calm the situation) and haphazardly moved forward. She's still dealing with Mistburn! Still, the pause gave her enough time to reign in her first angry reaction. If only just. I'm definitely going to smack the ever living shit out of you when we're done here Zim!

"Like hell we're just passing through! We came here to save her ungrateful ass!" Lori snapped, gun still trained on what seemed to be the sole survivor. "Gideon, kindly inform this bitch that we're here to save her and any other survivors, and that if she so much as cuts him I'm going to put a bullet in her skull." While talking, she focused her magic. The dirt beneath Setzer's blade quietly shifted, wrapping around the hilt and pulling the handle to his grasping hand. She certainly wasn't going to leave his survival to some Vangar whore who tried to kill people who rescued her.

"And ask her what the fuck the diplomatic mission is doing over here!"
Gunsmith

Bangkok, Thailand.





Gunsmith stood slightly behind Argonaut, letting the other man's shields take the gunfire, examining the chaos as it unfolded. It would be an annoying fight, but nothing incredibly difficult. The suits weren't nearly enough to stop all of them, the trained soldiers would be cut down like chaff, and the metas were already being dealt with. The only one's who would be a problem were the ex-shadow assassins, and Vortex was already dealing with two of them while Cheshire and his group would be equipped, either through skill or enhancements, to deal with the rest. Gunsmith raised his arm, his railgun deploying, and fired a blast into the crowd of those soldiers with exosuits. He doubted they had enough armor to actually resist it, but if they did it would at least stun them for a bit to give them an advantage. "Alright, priority targets: ex-Shadow assassins, Metas, Exo-suits, everyone else. Keep an eye out for the invisible murderers, they'll probably be focusing you." A series of confirmation and then they were gone, their cybernetics tearing through the soldiers.

With his own squad heading into the fray, Gunsmith raised his shotgun and headed into the battle, bullets bouncing off of his armor as he unloaded his shotgun into the enemy, waiting for an assassin to try to attack. He wasn't so foolish as to let bloodlust distract him, and he wasn't so green to let some trained soldiers occupy his full attention.




Therma


Chihuanhuan Desert, Mexico





Therma looked at Nova, an eyebrow arched behind her mask. "I mean, I'm not opposed, but shouldn't you buy me dinner first?" Her wisecrack was soon drowned out by the woman's cybernetics going haywire and her screaming. Therma's first reaction was one of confusion and mild panic, before she realized just how much heat whatever was happening was producing. "What are you-you're insane!" Still, she drew all the heat offered into her body. She focused on making sure she didn't draw all the woman's body heat out. She wasn't sure how that would affect a robot (cyborg? She really wasn't sure what the doctor was) but figured it couldn't be good.

As around 650 degrees C of heat entered her, Therma could feel the power flowing through her veins, and with it the high. She grinned wildly behind her mask, winking at Nova. "Don't need to tell me twice, Sparky! I'll make sure to slap you if you pull my hand to your breasts again." She stood up, ready to tear through the enemy, when Perseus started nagging at her. Therma rolled her eyes, making sure the motion was carried through her head so that he would know. He was such a drag, putting her on clean up duty when she had this much power burning in her body. "Relaaaaaax Percy! It's fire. I'll have it all dead and gone in a jiff, and then you can save the day, or somethin'."

Therma leapt forward into the middle of the lab, laughing aloud as she drew the heat from the flames into her. The fires all around the lab began to sputter and die, their heat being drawn away. Bullets clattered off her armor, but Therma was heedless. She could feel her power rising, and with it, her high. In a few moments, the fires were all gone and Therma moved towards the mechs, her arm blades out and glowing with their heat. "Come on, come on! Time to turn all of you back to scrap and ash!" She sliced through one, the robot exploding, rushing the others with another cackle.
Lori bummed a pistol off of one of the Marshall's rolling her eyes as they left it to her and her friends. WARDEN trained or not, they were still kids. So much for the valor of the Marshalls. She hopped into the back of the truck and listened carefully to Zimmy's report. Great, Mist everywhere. Just what they needed for a squad made up of people who used magic a lot. She spent the truck ride checking over her pistol. She trusted her squad to keep an eye on their six as they made the approach, and didn't want to bet her life on someone else's gun maintenance habits. Fortunately, the Marshall had been evidently rigorous in his maintenance and the pistol was in fine condition.

She hopped out of the truck as they arrived, slapping a hand at Kitty as the girl dragged nails down her neck "I'm going to stab you!" She said as she brought her pistol up. It wasn't serious, but now really wasn't the time for jokes. Her insects flew out of her body and spread around the crater, examining everything. "Be careful, loves."

Lori kept her pistol ready as they fanned out. Reality was warped and there was a lot of devastation, but not much sign of the living. Her breath hissed out as Setzer and Gideon identified one of the bodies as both Vangar and members of the Royal Guard. There was only one reason why those bastards would be this far into Rassvet territory, in something that was more of a luxury liner than a war ship, with the Imperial Royal Guard aboard. She accessed the communication link, scanning the area around her.

"The pod is the only sign of life. Everywhere else is filled with the dead and the destroyed. My scouts can't find anything else. Quick question; Why the fuck is the diplomatic mission all the way out here? And who would shoot them down? Vangar Royal Guard don't just go into Rassvet territory unannounced, on what amounts to a military death trap, and plan to invade. Much less in uniform." She went over with Setzer as he approached the pod, covering him. Gideon would take care of Zimmy, and then she'd smack the idiot of a girl for giving herself mistburn. She smothered that voice in the back of her head, the one who kept telling her that there wasn't anyone out here to tell who was killed by what, and that she could easily finish off whatever survivor's they found. Just like they had finished off those who tried hiding in Astran. "I've got you covered for when you open the pod, Setz."

No. You're better than them. You're not going to do that. She wished she could sound sure to herself.
En Route to Hoth

Harsk was doing his ritual before every mission or planned fight, the first part being cleaning and checking his equipment. It was a good luck charm of sorts. It was always wise to have one's equipment operating at peak efficiency before you entered a fight, and the fact that the few times he hadn't cleansed and looked over hisloadout before a mission had all resulted in disaster (most notably, the loss of all his Jagganth points) only served to prove to Harsk that there was something to cleaning and examining his gear. Whether it be the Scorekeeper's approval (his personal opinion), the Force, or simply luck, it was something that had only ever helped him.

He had picked up Evamadi's communication while passing through the system on his way to another job. Upon hearing that she was a jedi, he promptly informed his client that he was no longer searching for the target, and had his X-10D droid pilot (fondly called Exxy) take them towards the planet. Where there were Jedi, especially Jedi in trouble, there was bound to be opportunity for Jagganth points. And rescued jedi had the full bank of the Republic behind them to pay him for his efforts.

Carefully placing the sonic rifle back on the rack, Harsk made his way through the small halls of his ship The Scorekeepers' Blessed (The Blessed for short), towards his trophy room. The second part of his ritual was to remember his past victories and their near failures. He walked into the room, stopping by each carefully preserved item. These were the best of his victories as both a slaver and a bounty hunter. A silverback Wookie pelt, the last berserker of his clan. He had killed seven of Harsk's fellow slavers before Harsk had ended him.

The hilt of a broken vibroblade, the weapon of a champion Rodian duelist. He had killed many Bounty Hunters before Harsk, and nearly killed Harsk himself. He was too reliant upon his blade. When Harsk broke it, he was left defenseless. The warped remains of a blaster sniper rifle. A Gungan sharpshooter's favorite weapon. Harsk had been trying to kill him with three other bounty Hunters, and had finally decided to simply blow up the building the target was in when those three fell to his precise shots.

A cracked Mandalorian helmet. The warrior had insulted a very rich Hutt before attempting to leave Nar Shadda. Harsk had tracked him down by the bodies and the screaming as the Mandalorian and his two fellows killed anyone trying to stop them. Harsk had ended up throwing a grenade to separate them and tackled the target off of one of the walkways and onto a lower level. The human had fought well, with all the brutal training his culture was known for, but there was only so much one could do when plummeting 40 feet and struggling with a Trandoshan on top of you.

And finally, in the center piece of the room, two lightsabers. One warped and blackened, completely unusable. The other still pristine, even after all this time. Drakran's training was invaluable in reclaiming his Jagganth points, and Harsk would never forget it.

As if summoned by the mere thought of his name, Drakran's voice echoed through the ship's comms. Harsk grinned at the message, heading towards the cockpit. "Harsk, two more ships detected en route to Hoth. One identified as Drakran's, the other unknown." Exxy informed him, the droid continuing to pilot The Blessed towards the ice planet. "Excellent. Patch me through to Drakran." Exxy complied, and soon Harsk was facing a hologram of the Zabrak sith. "Drakran, you're in luck. I picked up the transmission by that Jedi too, and was to curious to ignore it. We're already in the same system. I have your ship on my radar, along with someone else. Why don't we land next to each other, and then go investigate whatever this issue of Evamadi Tashar's is, hmm? I presume its the same goals as usual? Kill the Jedi, hurt the Republic? Tell you what, since Jedi give such a bonus to Jagganth Points, and I like you, I'll help you for half price."
Lori smiled faintly as the banter went on, leaning forward on her seat. There would be plenty of time to face the harsh realities that awaited them. For now, it was better to dream and to laugh. The grinding of a boot on gravel made her instinctively jump and tense, glancing over her shoulder. She only slightly relaxed at the sight of of the Marshall. This was a police state, after all. And WARDENS or no, if there was something only slightly wrong with their papers, things could get ugly.

Still, she trusted Gideon as he waved them down, idly reaching down and picking up her bottle as if it was still full. Her other hand remained open and facing the talking pair, ready to cast a ward should the gunman that Gid saw decide to shoot. He shouldn't, their papers were probably the most carefully organized in this entire area. But, as the Marshall said, 'you can never be too careful around these parts'. She watched them idly, waiting for something either good or bad to happen. Everything seemed to be going fine, Gideon's paper checking out, the Marshall getting ready to let them go. Lori relaxed back into her seat, ready to get another actual beer. Hopefully their night would continue uninterrupted after this.

She should have known better.

Lori stood up from her seat as the airship fell from the sky, a burning behemoth. "Shit." She breathed in a mix of horror and awe, reaching for her phone. The clean up for that would require more than just the seven of them and whatever the Marshalls had on hand. She looked down at her phone, ready to make the call, and then frowned. No signal. That's...inconvenient. She looked up as the ground shook and a distant explosion sounded. The ship must have made a final, explosive, landfall. She found the odds of anyone surviving that to be slim to none, especially after witnessing the parachutes getting shredded on the descent, but there was still a chance. They needed to investigate that chance at the very least.

"Bit too big for ours." Lori replied to Galahad, dropping her bottle and moving over to the truck. "Well, come on. We're the closest thing to a rescue team right now. If, somehow, it is one of ours we need to help any survivors. And if it's not one of ours, we need to then secure any survivors and figure out what the hell it was doing in Rassvet airspace at this time of night." She looked expectantly at her friends and the Marshall. This was, after all, his detachment.
Flipping hell. Talk about making a nasty character really damn believable and great to read. Great sheet dude, and I'm so glad to read such a great 'Dark Side' sheet after all of those sissy Goody sheets... I kid, I kid.... ;) There is SOOO much to unpack here. I'm so glad you got this finished in time. I absolutely want your character in this RP. His perspective is fascinating, his motives, his backstory. Just brilliant stuff :) Similarly to some advice I have already given, is don't be afraid to show his other colours - if he has any warmth, any 'good' emotions, to round him out and make him even more fascinating to watch and enjoyable to hate! I'm really excited to see a naughty bounty hunter and I think he'll add an edge to this RP I was hoping we would have. Post up the CS as is! :)


You're so enthusiastic and wholesome about these reviews Stormy, it's great. I really appreciate everything said. I'll see if I can't find a way to show some of his nicer qualities during the RP, and am excited for this RP to get going!

Rtron is one of our former players in our own now-ended grand scale SW rp. He is excellent at Trandoshans.

Warning: you may will end up getting a very detailed sheet once that happens.
For our last rp the bio segment covering about a month ended up as a 68-page collab (with coGM), and it did not even cover the last fourteen days.


Disclaimer: I've only written one Trandoshan before this.

Also fixed your Warning for you. :p.
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