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Through Darkening Skies - original weird fantasy sky pirate adventures

Alas, I am but a simple servant or aide-de-camp.

Through Darkening Skies - original weird fantasy sky pirate adventures

What sort of crime do I have to commit to join this party?

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Ziska

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Doc, the Colonel is going to start asking questions soon...and you're not really my type to begin with."

"OW!"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think you'd feel that, Ziska. The numbing agent should have been working already," Doctor Nakajima said, pulling a length of synthetic monofilament thread with a fine needle through Ziska's skin, stitching together the brow that the Firewitch had sundered with her neural lash.

"I'll forgive, you just this once," Ziska muttered, her fingers digging into the pitted plastic of the repurposed table on which she was sprawled. "What's your deal anyways, Yuri? Why are you always so—"

"Stop talking, Ziska! Please! I need to concentrate, this is going to leave a nasty scar if this isn't done right."

"What? Another one? Well damn, I guess I won't be winning a modeling contests any time soon, huh?"

"Ziska," Doctor Nakajima said,"Please."

Ziska sighed, burying the clever quip that she had planned. There was something about the look that Nakajima shot at her. She could see something else in her eyes, something she respected, and something she felt compelled to listen to.

"How's the pain?"

"Not bad, three out of five, I've had worse," Ziska said, hiding a low gasp beneath a forced cough.

"Really? It hurts that little? How do you really feel, Ziska?"

"Never been better, Doc, just let me show you."

"Stay down, Ziska, you're a mess."

"I'm always a mess, Doc. That's my secret charm."

"I would tell you to be more careful, but I know you're not going to listen."

"Sorry, Doc, I would, I really would, but I've got a war to fight. My type of war. No rules. Not this time. Besides, what's a cut for some proper intelligence? I'm still fine. I can still fight. I can still pilot a BattleMech."

"Not if you keep this up."

"Yeah, well, the Colonel wanted intelligence and I wasn't going to let him down. Trading up is all that matters. And we hit the jackpot as far as intelligence goes."

"What did you see?"

"Cannons. Rockets. Bombs. Some fresh new aircraft. MechBusters and a bomber. Quite the arsenal for a masked band of no name mercenaries to command as they attempt to oppress an equally backwater planet. Doesn't add up. Not that it matters. I don't care who's bank rolling them. I saw her. I saw her face. I know her now. She can't hide from me. She can't run when we burn her out. Let's see how the witch likes fire, shall we?"

"Who? What are you talking about, Ziska?"

"The Firewitch. This is her handiwork," Ziska said running a finger along her newly repaired brow. She's a mean one, Doc. Not like Dalton...and not even like me. She's a real piece of work."

Ziska felt Yuri's hand gently squeezing her shoulder. There was real concern in the doctor's eyes.

"Still, she got me twice. In two sorties no less, back to back. Not bad, not bad at all. I'll give her that much at least But now...now I've really got to return the favor."

---

Rising from the collection of oversized tires that she had claimed as her chaise longue, Ziska couldn't help but smile. Lena was alive. The Green Knights had a nuke. The spoils of battle, indeed. They were moving up in the world as far as mercenary companies went. She wasn't sure what the Heavenly Sword was going to do with two more compact nukes, but she found that the notion didn't bother her. Let them pop off a nuke or two and see what happened. She would have dared them if she could. The planet needed some shaking up. It was high time to redraw the map. She was tired of listening to the same old stories.

"Lena's alive? Excellent news, Colonel" Ziska shouted, barging over and practically slapping the Colonel on one of his impressive shoulders. In the background, Doctor Nakajima tried desperately to catch hold of Ziska before the MechWarrior could cause more of a racket.

"And we have a Davey Crockett! By Blake's holy loafers, you all were busy while Tarak and I were skulking around in the shadows. When's the rescue op? I'm not sure about the rest of us, but Von Kemp deserves saving. I recall she owes me five thousand c-bills and I'd rather not be left holding that bag."

"So how about it, Colonel? Just say the word. Give me Dalton and his merry band of misfits. Oh...and let me borrow the Davey Crockett. We'll show this planet what it means to conduct diplomacy."

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Sorry I haven't really had my eye on the guild all too much recently and I just realised how long its been since anyone posted here. Are we waiting on a collab or a specific post?

@Kassarock

Same, down to write a collab if you want to get stuff moving a bit, I enjoyed the first posts, so def want to keep this going.

Rise of Rasalhague

Zohra

---

"Damage?"

"Nothing noteworthy, Leutnant. Wear and tear, mostly. Some minor damage. Some bent armor panels. Fixed it, though. Even had time for a fresh coat of paint. Better than the rest of these antiques. You got some luck, maybe, but you chose well."

He was right, Zohra knew. The electronic warfare equipment was gone from the RVN-2X, courtesy of whatever military outfit that had claimed the BattleMech before the FRR. A pity, state-of-the-art EW equipment would have been nice, but given the state of the some of the other BattleMechs, Zohra was certain that she had little cause to complain. The weapons were functional well within parameters. A Davion inspired refit, the RVN-2X had gained 2.5 tons of armor and a Cyclops Eye large laser mounted in the left torso. According to Zimmerman, the CE LL had been salvaged from a ruined Drillson Heavy Hover Tank.

Before she had redirected him, Zimmerman had spent several minutes explaining the greater reliability afforded by the slit-like emitter design and the endless benefits of avoiding the use of vulnerable long and focusing mirrors in a military grade laser. Beam of light and stream of particles, was mostly what she remembered, and what that meant for penetrating power. The SRM-6 was standard, Harpoon-6, mounted in the right torso with one tone of CASE-protected ammunition in the left torso, a pleasant boon, given the realities of combat. Two Capellan made Kajuka Type 2 "Bright Blossom" medium lasers, nominally intended for Aerospace Fighters, rounded out the weapons Zohra now commanded. A more than respectable loadout for a light mech capable of hitting 97.2 km/h. The C-Apple Churchill targeting/tracking system functioned admirably and Zohra couldn't help but note that Zimmerman had tweaked it admirably based on a brief conversation during her simulation runs.

"Zimmerman?" Zohra finally said, interrupting her brief thoughts of delivering long range doom and violence, and forcing herself to look up from the puttering diagnostic computer that she held in her lap.

"Ja, Leutnant?" the MechTech replied from where he crouched over foot of the Raven-2X, adjusting the step actuator based on the feedback from the program that he had told Zohra to run.

"Please, for the thousandth time, Zimmerman, call me Zohra. You are the expert here. I do not need you call me by my former rank... We are not in the DCMS or any other military outfit."

"Jawohl, Leutnant Zohra," Zimmerman replied, offering a salute as he rose in a sudden movement, bringing his boot heels together with a loud click. The motion seemed so instinctive that Zohra couldn't help but wonder, once again, in the span of several short hours, what sort of MechTech it was that the FRR had assigned her. The squat Lyran had all the subtle touches military training scattered across his oil covered person. LCAF Zohra would have guessed, but she couldn't be sure. Zimmerman had offered no previous rank or military allegiance and she was too polite to broach the subject so early in their relationship.

"The runes painted on the mech? They're beautiful!" Zohra offered instead, beaming a smile at Zimmerman. "Who painted them? It doesn't look like Swedense to me, but I can recognize some of the letters."

Zimmerman shrugged, "It's not, Swedense. It's older by far. And I painted the runes. I had some time to kill. They said you would arrive earlier."

"What do they say? The runes, I mean."

"Old letters. Old words. Quotes I heard or read. Some good luck charms. Old prayers. Several choice messages for Hanse Davion and Theodore Kurita. You know, the usual."

"I doubt it could hurt at this point. What do you think of our chances, Zimmerman? We seem to be embarking on quite the risky operation."

"The odds are long, but I bet that you would last at least ten missions. If it makes any difference, Leutnant. The others...well maybe don't go making any close friends. I heard little by the way of good news before they posted me here."

"Thank you, Zimmerman," Zohra said with a laugh. "That is very reassuring to hear. I will try not to disappoint you."

There was no malice or offense in her voice an she spoke true. She did not begrudge the support personnel their gambling. They were a speculative venture and there was no need to pretend otherwise. Self-created delusions did not last long once the LRMs and large bore autocannon rounds started flying.

"Good, I don't want to owe Elena any money."

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Woo, posts.

Survived a move, will catch up soon.

Rise of Rasalhague

Mechs!

Finally done moving, will have a post tonight or tomorrow. :P

Rise of Rasalhague

Zohra

---

Sitting attentively in the front of the makeshift briefing room, Zohra absorbed the briefing and rapid fire questions from her new comrades in arms with a carefully cultivated stoicism that she felt more than warranted given her present circumstances. She had few options without a BattleMech. Risks, even great ones, were now nothing more than necessaries.

Pirates were no great surprise. The FRR was in a precocious position. Pirates would no doubt seek to take advantage of the fledgling republic. The natural tendencies of these interstellar scoundrels would have to be checked. She could sympathize with those unwilling to harm surrendering pirates, but convention and the law was clear concerning the matter. Pirates were afforded none of the judicial protection offered soldiers and mercenaries operating within the scope of the law. To engage in piracy in all most all nations of the Inner Sphere meant forfeiting one's life if one were to be captured. The noose or a firing squad following a brief trial was what waited. All civilians knew this, all soldiers knew this, all mercenaries knew this, and assuredly all pirates knew this. It was why pirates, in her limited experience, fought with such blind fanaticism, victory or death was all that remained for the poor wretches.

Her new colleagues represented a diverse constellation, if appearance and accents were anything to go by. She was not unfamiliar with such company. Tempers were cool enough. Jibes were not so cutting so as to be truly offensive. Not yet at any rate. There would no doubt be tension when rounds and missiles started flying, but such was the way of things. She was pleased at the majority of questions, not that her opinion carried any particular weight, but she sensed an unanticipated current of professionalism coursing beneath the predictably crusty layer of mercenary bravado that was exhaled into the room.

"We should strike quickly and true," Zohra added with a smile and nod at the last speaker. He looked like the sort who might know how to play a guitar, a thought that pleased her greatly, wishful as such hopes might be. Even at a distance she could smell the alcohol emanating from the space he had occupied. Zohra concluded with great confidence that he was just the kind of mercenary that would polish off a case of the Hefeweizen brew that she had found the Steiners were so fond of drinking in one sitting. At least when the petty social generalsweren't busy sipping glasses of wine filled to brim with vintages far too expensive for her own much less refined palette.

"What pirates lack in endurance they often make up for in tenacity and a remarkable propensity for creative violence. We should not overstay our unexpected welcome or allow ourselves to be drawn into a lengthy battle."

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Alright so now that we have most of the pleasantries out of the way we can move things along to meeting in bradena. If everyone is still here I will post next Monday as I am out of town

@Hyyde322

Sounds good!

I am as ever, still here and happy to write.

Rise of Rasalhague

Zohra

---

"You are a strange Drac."

"I'm not a Drac."

"Ah, but you served the coordinator, did you not, Zohra?"

"I did, but that doesn't make me a Drac," Zohra puffed, rolling over onto her back as she studied the nondescript building within which she found herself. Sandberg Imports was real she suspected. The legality of whatever was inside of the countless crates neatly arranged on the floor below seems far less certain. Her grandfather had always told her to avoid the Yakuza. However, the man had never left Algedi, much less met a Yakuza wakagashira willing to buy him a drink, Zohra reasoned. For all his wisdom, the ancient Abdullah had missed out on a great many things, not that she had any intention of telling him.

"Then what does it make you?"

"Azami."

"A-z-a-m-i," she said, spelling out the words in the singsong tones Zohra had come to expect from the native Rhasalgians. "What does that mean?"

"It's a people. My people. A system of planets and a faith."

"Controlled by the Combine?"

"Ha, it is complicated. We rule our own planets. We follow our own faith. However, for these privileges House Kurita demands a hefty fee. We pay this price in minerals and by the services of our precious Arkab Legions."

"We call that indentured servitude here and we fought long to escape it."

"We differ in our views, I suppose," Zohra said with a sigh, a frown tugging at the edge of her lips.

"I am sorry, have I annoyed you? Her companion purred, a hand running playfully across Zohra's chest.

"You? Never, Mathilda, never, I am merely distracted by other thoughts. My pleasant time here with you must unfortunately come to a most unwelcome end. And soon...far too soon. Duty calls and I must answer."

"No," Mathilda replied and Zohra could see the hint of anger in her pale eyes, eyes that seemed to be carved from the very ice that covered Skandia. "Whatever business you have, it can wait. No need to rush off. Stay a while longer. Come back to bed."

"I would happily and with all my heart, my dear lady, were it not for the shuttle expecting my imminent arrival at the spaceport."

"Liar!"

"Never, I would never lie to you my sweet," Zohra said, gently grabbing hold of Mathilda's head and pulling her into a long, lingering kiss.

Rising up from the bed as the two finally separated, Zohra dressed meticulously, ignoring the annoyed noises that eminated from the bed. Her clothes were where she had left them. Folded in a neat pile on the night stand. And no worse for wear. A high achievement in her opinion, considering the quality of the tavern where they had spent most of the night.

"You have no BattleMech. You have few paltry sum of C-bills remaining. And you owe me a sizable debt, Zohra," Mathilda scolded, sitting up and pulling the fur blanket up against her chest as she fumes with annoyance. The scene would have made a good painting Zohra mused.

Mathilda did not call her dispossessed, Zohra thought, reflecting on the subtle kindness. True or not, by choice or cruel circumstance, no title..or insult for that matter, had stung Zohra as much to hear.

"Indeed, I did not have a BattleMech, not until this morning, but I have secured fresh employment with a new mercenary company backed by your very republic. More importantly, they are offering me a BattleMech to pilot."

"Ack! I have heard of this. It is a bad idea. Fritiof called it a fool's errand when they told him about it. Mercs are not liked here. This is an easy way to get rid of them."

"You and your brother are right, no doubt, but I had little choice. I needed a BattleMech."

"And what of your debt to me?"

"Do not worry, my fair mistress, Zohra Amina Imalayen does not leave her debts unpaid. I will repay you in full, Mathilda, I swear upon all that I hold dear, but first I must see to the requirements of my new duty."

"Ah, duty, an accursed word, well brave MechWarrior, you have had your fun, and so now you can heedlessly choose to abandon a helpless woman."

You hardly seem like the helpless sort, Mathilda. Those gentleman that you command seem like they could give the Fox Teeth's a run for their money. Ex-military, I would wager, by the look of their weapons and not the lazy kind given their movements. You know, I was half convinced that they were going to throw me through the window of your office when I came calling."

"You looked like a Drac," Mathilda said with a shrug and impish grin. She patted the empty spot on the bed next to her, "Come back to bed, Zohra. Ignore this silly contract and whatever lies the FRR sold you. Come here and I will help you forget all about your metal monstrosity."

"A tempting offer, I promise you, but I have C-bills to earn and a galaxy to save."

"Save! You mech jockeys are all the same! More like destroy! You and these Ronin will grow no plants and build no buildings."

"En dålig hantverkare skyller på sina verktyg. Isn't that what your people say," Zohra said with laughter in her eyes.

"A weapon is not a tool."

"Every tool is a weapon and every weapon is a tool, at least according to the instructors back on Algedi."

"You are hopeless, Zohra."

"Usually they call me an optimist."

"Hopeless suits you better," Mathilda said, sneaking up on Zohra, wrapping her arms around the MechWarrior's waist as her voice faded with resignation. Standing by the bed, Zohra could feel Mathilda's warm breathe against her neck and her soft lips as they traveled downwards. It was really a shame she had to go.

The conversations never changed, not really. Sometimes she imagined it had been the same, thousands of years ago on Terra. The interaction was music played to the same rhythm, over and over again across long years the same faint pull on the strings of heart. Different faces. Different places. And yet, little ever changed. Goodbyes were sad, no matter for how long. But she couldn't stay. She couldn't falter. She had a BattleMech to pilot.

Stepping out into the cold, Zohra shivered beneath her thick wool lined leather jacket. Skandia was a pretty planet, but it was too cold for her tastes. She longed for the pulsing heat of a BattleMech cockpit. She had stayed too long. She could feel heavy threads of affection tugging at her heart. Two weeks had almost been too long. She was unsure her liver could survive much longer in the many taverns of Olaus.

Shouldering the battered duffle bag that contained her worldly possessions Zohra began to hum an ancient tune as she marched towards the spaceport.

Destiny and her BattleMech were waiting.