AndyC

Mechwarrior 4 [Rant]

Sigma Lead would be so disappointed right now.

Mechwarrior 4 [Rant]

Came in here expecting to talk the finer points of a 23-year-old classic PC game, only to find we're talking about its prettier-but-less-fun sequel from 4 years ago. My disappointment is immeasurable.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

@AndyC @PatientBean @Supermaxx @TGM @Natty @Webboysurf @Sep @Mao Mao @Bork Lazer @Mintz @Redcord @udonoodles @Roman

Tagging those who have not yet contacted me. Please let me know via the OOC or PMs on whether you are continuing with the RP or not, and a rough estimate on when your next post will be up.

In the event of Andy, I understand you've been waiting for the event to progress and I'll be typing something up after I post this to help move things forward, without taking agency out of your or udonoodle's hands as the two players currently still involved.

Starting Monday, I'm going to begin enforcing the two-week (14 day) posting requirement more strictly.

@Retired

I'm still around; just needed a nudge to get me back on task.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Nui Awa Hydroelectric Dam
20km East of North and South Nui Awa
March 26th, 3030

"Remember," the Sword Bearer had told them just before dawn, "what we do today, we do for the good of Espia, whether the people realize it or not. Without the guiding hand of the Celestial Wisdom, this world is lost to chaos and disharmony. The people of Espia have lost their place in the heavens: it is up to us to put them back in their place. They must be reminded what happens to those who defy the Celestial Throne."

Now, the unnamed Swordsman gripped hard on the handlebars of his Mótuö Chë Shang No. 2, the two-stroke engine on the single-wheeled monobike snarling angrily as he opened up the throttle. Many of the other Swordsmen had chided him for clinging on to such an ostentatious luxury item, an expensive and flashy toy created by the gluttonous capitalists for the amusement of the hated bourgeoise, but while he had enjoyed the thrill of driving it in his previous life, he now wanted to take this symbol of greed and excess and use it to strike a blow to his oppressors' hearts.

"The Nui Awa Dam has long been a symbol of the stranglehold of the capitalist oppressors," the Sword-Bearer had reminded them, "the property of the Aqua Vitae Corporation that ransoms life-giving water for filthy lucre. The people of Espia have become dependent on them, rather than accepting the Chancellor's grace and charity. By destroying it, we will give them no choice but to fall upon the mercies of the rightful ruler of this and every other world."

As he weaved between a pair of Jeeps, the Swordsman heard the whine of electric rotors overhead, and looked up to see a Gossamer drone whizzing over them. Typically a surveillance drone meant to watch over the populace, this particular drone, as well as a half-dozen others that flew with the convoy, was instead loaded with cannisters of chaff.

The Swordsman suddenly felt his bike swerve, having taken his eyes off the road for just a smidge too long, and he fought hard to keep the monobike upright. Even with the months of practice, the extra weight of the shoulder-mounted SRM slung across his back made maintaining balance difficult, as did the blocks of plastic explosives taped to both sides of the bike.

"The mission of the first wave is to disrupt and distract," the Sword-Bearer had briefed them. "We expect the dam to be lightly defended, either by AVC security guards or perhaps a light NPDRE garrison. They will attempt to set up a blockade across the roads once they realize what is happening. By sowing chaos and fear, the first wave will slow their efforts long enough for the heavier assets of the second wave to smash through any defenses they might have. Together, both waves will clear the way, and the heathen pig-dogs will be introduced to Gonggong."

As he raced the Mótuö Chë Shang No. 2 to the front of the pack, he felt more than heard the rumble of the engines thrumming around and behind him. Nearly a dozen Burro trucks, their beds converted to carry machine guns and rockets. Six or seven speedy Freedom 900 hover jeeps, their holds packed with high explosives. And close to forty assorted civilian cars, trucks, and motorcycles, all rigged with bombs.

In just a few short minutes, the Swordsman knew, every one of them would be dead. The thought did not fill his heart with dread, but with pride.

"Your lives belong to the Celestial Throne," the Sword-Bearer told them. "In your final act, you will bring glory to the Chancellor, and strike down those who sin against the will of heaven."

In a previous life, this Swordsman had been the son of a wealthy banker, one of the bourgeoise who kept the working people under their hateful thumb. He had come to learn the evils of capitalism in university, and joined in several student protests, before being approached by the man he would come to know as the Sword-Bearer. He had learned his true purpose, how his life could serve the greater good rather than be wasted on excess and vice. That day, he had forsworn his name, foregone his possessions (barring the monobike that the Sword-Bearer claimed for their motor pool), and devoted the iron in his blood to help form the blade that was the Heavenly Sword.

"Our victory is ordained by the heavens themselves," the Sword-Bearer claimed. "And even if it were not, it is a simple matter of probability. In order to stop what is coming, our enemy will have to be lucky every time. We, on the other hand, only have to be lucky once."

With a hungry grin, the Swordsman gunned the engine of his monobike, leading the first wave on to their eternal glory.

---

"Frackencrack," Lieutenant Lyons gasped, looking at the signature of their newfound co-worker's Battlemech on the monitors of the Mobile HQ half a kilometer west of the dam, "is that a Marauder?! I'd heard the Cassandra Jeong was loaded, but wow. It's a good thing Mr. McCord's on our side."

"Hoooo boy," Cadet Higgins groaned, "as if you weren't going all gooey for the new guy enough."

"Excuse me?" the Lieutenant bristled, "I was not 'going all gooey' for a potential ally at any point. I've just been trying to get some background information on him, to make sure he can be trusted. That's all."

"Sure," Higgins sneered, "that totally explains why you kept giving him doe-eyes all throughout the briefing, hoping he'd notice you."

"That is NOT--"

"Not that I blame you," he continued to egg her on, "Lord knows it must be lonely, being surrounded by guys who won't look at you twice because they all heard about the incident with you and the month-old Aurigan sushi stinking up the latrines for a solid week. No wonder you'd need to look for a man who didn't share a DropShip with you."

"At least my previous boyfriends weren't paid for," Lyons retorted, and Higgins' wolfish grin turned sour.

"Look, I wouldn't bother with the new guy, Lieutenant," Cadet Windham chimed in. "It sounds to me like Giggles is going to beat you to the punch. Honestly? I ship it."

"You would," Higgins rolled his eyes. "Hey Lyons, I ever tell you how I found Windham's stash of creepy fan-fiction, where Grayson Carlyle and the Kell Brothers tie up Lady Death and give her a--"

"Colonel Wayne?!" Lieutenant Lyons called out over Higgins, "Do I have permission to shoot my cadets?"

From the back of the Mobile HQ's command module, the Colonel answered, "If you can find two cadets who are better at reading sensors and comms, I'll take them around back and shoot them myself."

"Fine, fine, I'll drop it," Higgins backed off, before realizing who he was answering and adding a quick, "--sir."

"You're lucky we don't have access to the admin staff," Lyons chided Higgins. "When this is over, I'm going to bury you under so many formal complaints of inappropriate conduct that you'll--"

"Heads up, guys, time to go to work!" Cadet Windham interrupted. "Got a pretty sizeable reading on seismic sensors. Well, I don't think it's one big thing, but a whole bunch of little things."

"Do we have visual?" the Colonel asked.

"Not yet, sir," Lieutenant Lyons responded, swiveling her chair to face the controls for the Mobile HQ's NapFind camera drone. "I'm going to maneuver the drone into position, see if we can get eyes on what's coming. Maybe we're lucky and it's just some unexpected morning traffic."

Colonel Wayne keyed his comms to open a channel to the Green Knights. "Look alive, Knights. Multiple bogeys inbound. Remember: collateral damage here must be kept to a minimum. Check your targets, make each shot count."

"Eyes on the convoy, sir," Lyons said. "Count upwards of fifty technicals, wheeled and hover mostly. Looks like almost exclusively converted civvie vehicles, sir, next to no armor on any of them."

"Well, this oughta be a turkey shoot, then," Higgins grinned.

"What's a turkey?"

"No idea."

"I think it's a type of fish? Isn't that an expression, shooting turkeys in a barrel?"

"Not now, you three," Gaius cut them off. "We're on the job."

---

"Sword-Bearer, Sword-Bearer!" one of the other Swordsmen shouted over comms. "I'm seeing Battlemechs! They've got 'Mechs guarding the dam!!!"

"What kind of Battlemechs?" came the Sword-Bearer's voice.

"I....I don't know. Fucking big ones!"

The Swordsman on the monobike felt a lump in his throat. They had prepared for a token resistance. Security guards, a few armored cars, a tank or two at the most. They weren't prepared for fighting 'Mechs.

"Is it the Crimson Fists?" the Sword-Bearer asked.

"I-...I don't think so, Sword-Bearer! They're not red!"

"Gawain's Green Knights, then," he concluded. "...this changes nothing. If anything, it will make our victory that much sweeter. Now, not only will we strike at the capitalist pig-dogs, we will destroy their sell-sword mercenary prostitutes as well! Go forth, and cut down the enemies of heaven!"

The Swordsman felt the weight of the SRM on his back, and for the first time, it felt puny. Against infantry, he could cause mayhem and havoc. Against Battlemechs, he would be little more than a temporary inconvenience.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the dam looming large, and remembered his mission.

He was not there to fight with Battlemechs.

He was there to destroy that dam, and remind Espia of the wrath of heaven.

With renewed vigor, he sped his monobike forward, letting out a scream that was drowned out by the snarling engine.

They need to get lucky ever time, the Swordsman repeated to himself. We only need to get lucky once...

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Abandoned Neodymium Mine
Eunsan Mountain Range
250 Kilometers Southwest of Balya Gora
March 25th, 3030

"Mine!" Sunny von Kemp declared to no one in particular, using a scavenged marker to scribble a short sequence of geometric glyphs on the side of an empty supply crate that had become her 'room' in the past few days. "Nobody can touch it, it's mine!"

"You sure about that, Sunshine?" came the gruff, scratchy voice of Pops, straining from effort as he and another AsTech set down an identical crate onto a hand-truck to load onto the convoy. "After all, if no one can touch that crate, you're gonna have to move it all by yourself."

Sunny's expression soured for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, I'll put your tag on it, too, so you can help move it."

She drew a slash mark by the first line of glyphs, then added another. "There, it's fixed. Now I just need to tag my books, and--oh! Hang on a sec!"

As Pops and the AsTech worked, Sunny picked up a sharp piece of rock from the cavern floor and ran to one of the walls. On it, she drew an X, and in each of its four corners, she started drawing simple symbols.

At the top, she drew a flat, straight line.

In the left corner, two circles connected by lines to form a cylinder, and a trio of wavy lines coming out of the top.

In the right corner, a square with a wide line along the bottom, then a U-shaped line connecting it to the side of a triangle.

And in the bottom, a long diagonal arrow pointing down, with five tic-marks through it.

"Hey, cut that out!" the AsTech helping Pops with the crates scolded her. "The Colonel says we leave no trace behind!"

"It's for Lena," Sunny demanded. "You wouldn't get it."

"Kid, I hate to tell you this, but your sister's--"

"--really gonna appreciate that when she sees it," Pops interrupted the AsTech, his eyes poking out from over the rims of his mirrored shades and shooting the 'tech a deadly glare.

"She better," Sunny smirked, "it took me for-ever to remember this stuff. Now, where's my Never Ending Hearts Revolution? I need to tag it so nobody else tries to take it!"

As Sunny wandered off to mark her property, the AsTech turned back to the old man. "How long are you gonna keep lying to the kid about Wrathchild?"

"Who says I'm lyin'?" Pops shot back.

"C'mon, Pops, we all heard her 'Mech go down during the coup. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to tell her."

"A dead 'Mech and a dead Mechwarrior ain't the same thing," Pops insisted. "'sides, even if I did believe Lena didn't make it, what good does that do Sunny right now? Everybody needs somethin' to get us to keep movin', get us from one day to the next. Right now, the thing keepin' that girl's spirit up is the thought of seein' her brother an' sister again. You really wanna take that from her, right when things are startin' to look up?"

"...I guess not," the AsTech shrugged, "But she's gonna hate you for leading her on when she finds out Wrathchild isn't coming back."

"Well, you let me worry 'bout that," Pops said with finality.

As they worked, the AsTech kept looking back at the markings Sunny had left on the wall.

"So what exactly is that, anyway?" he asked.

"Low-sign," Pops asked. "Somethin' you won't find outside Von Strang's World, way out in the Barrens reach of the Periphery."

"That's right," the 'tech nodded, "you and Wrathchild and the kids are from the Barony, right?"

"Hell, I'm from every-damn-where and no-damn-where," Pops chuckled, "But yeah, Lena and Sunny and Diego are from a backwater planet run by a crazy old aristocrat family, the Von Strangs. Planet's got huge veins of diamonds, so most of the folks there are miners, gettin' kicked around and held down by the Von Strangs an' their goons. Since the aristocrats and their cops, or the 'Highs,' went outta their way to bust up any attempt from the miners--'the Lows'-- to organize, over time the Lows started leavin' messages in secret, in codes that the Highs couldn't figure out. Far as I know, nobody in the Sphere who isn't a Strang's World Low knows how to interpret Low-sign. Well, nobody but me, the kids, an' maybe a couple of folks in the Knights that Lena's taught it to."

"Huh," the AsTech nodded. "So what's it mean?"

"The line up top?" Pops pointed at the first glyph on the X pattern. "That's the floor of an empty room. Means there's nothin' here, that anyone who was here left an' isn't comin' back."

"And the circles with the squiggly lines?"

"Ah, see, that's a trash can," he answered. "Means there's something of interest to be found in the garbage. Or in our case, the scrapyard."

Following that up, he pointed at the square and triangle.

"That's a rich man tipping his hat," the old man explained. "Means there's friendly folks with money."

"So what's the last one?" he asked, regarding the arrow with the tic marks.

"That's easy," Pops grinned, "Directions. Down's south, of course, and the tic marks are how many days it'll take on foot."

"I think I get it," the tech nodded. "So all together, that says we've left this place, but if you travel five days south you'll find interesting friends at the scrapyard."

"More or less," the old man said. "Every group of Lows has their own set of signs, so even if the stars lined up an' the Guard happened to have another fella from Von Strang's World, chances are he wouldn't know these signs himself. So it don't matter a whole lot if we leave that sign behind, because nobody but Lena would ever know what it says."

"And she's d--"

"She's gonna be happy to read that," Pops insisted.

Finally, the two loaded on the empty crate, the one that Sunny had marked.

"How about these marks?" the 'tech asked.

"Simple Low-sign alphabet," the old man answered. "Her initials, S.V.K.-- other words, the property of Sunny Von Kemp."

"So those other marks she made are your initials? What letters are they?"

"Hah! Wouldn't you like to know," Pops chuckled, as the two continued their work.

Elsewhere in the cave, Sunny was marking the inside collars of a few T-shirts that had been handed down to her, some of whom had come from the volunteers who hadn't come back from the supply raid. On each one, she wrote the Low-sign for S.V.K.

"Mine," she said to herself in a sing-song voice, "Mine, mine...."

---

Outdoor Recreation Yard 2
Women and Children's Ward
Fort Tie Shan
March 25th, 3030

"Mine," the little sandy-haired boy muttered as he scratched symbols into a hard rubber ball. To a stranger, these symbols were nonsense, but to those who knew, they were the letters D.V.K. "Mine."

"Whatcha got there, kiddo?" came a warm, smiling voice from behind him. Diego turned and looked up to see the Captain, Miss Sally, putting on the kind of smile that Diego knew grown-ups only did when things were really sad.

"A ball from the rec room of the Clover," he said. "The other kids keep trying to take it, so I'm putting my tag on it. It's mine."

"That's a good idea," the Captain encouraged him. "And hey, I'll talk to the other kids' parents about making sure they play nice."

"It's the new kids," Diego said with a frown. "The big kids who came in the other day. They don't have parents to talk to."

Captain Roth nodded, her smile becoming a frown. The prison fort was getting crowded, with a huge influx of new inmates just the other day. She'd gotten word that most of them had come from the southern city of Yuzhny Portveyn, where the Espian Guard had just finished off the last of Governor Xiu's loyalists. Plenty of the new prisoners had been loyalist fighters, FPA guerillas, political dissidents, or just as likely, their friends and families.

Fort Tie Shan was near the bursting point with people, and tensions were getting high. Only the fear of reprisals from the guards had kept all-out violence from breaking out, and even that wasn't going to last much longer.

"Well, the next time the other kids try to take something from you," Sally said, kneeling down to pat Diego on the shoulder, "You come to me, and I'll set them straight myself."

"But they're not our crew," Diego said.

"We're all in one crew here," Sally answered, "they just don't know it yet."

As Diego went to play, a younger woman approached the Captain. Like her, the woman's hair was silvery white, a quirk of genetics rather than the effects of aging. Her upper lip was almost permanently curled in a slight sneer, as if she'd always just smelled something foul.

"I've got the latest inventory," Cynthia Roth, the Captain's younger cousin and Quartermaster of the Green Knights, said, keeping her body language casual lest the prying eyes of the security guards focus on the two. "Like everything lately, it could be worse, but it could also be a hell of a lot better."

"We'll think about what could be some other time," the Captain said, "and we'll focus on what is for now. How are we on meds?"

"The Fort's medical staff wouldn't spit on us if we were on fire," Cynthia scowled, "so we're starting to burn through what we smuggled in when they took us. We've got enough antibiotics for about another week, but what's concerning me are the painkillers and uppers. I think some of the men are taking more than they're supposed to, and getting addicted."

The Captain nodded. While the women and children had for the most part been left alone beyond detainment, most of the able-bodied men were shipped to nearby manufacturing plants and used as slave labor during the day, only brought back near the dead of night. The guards had no concern for their well-being, and failure to work was met with severe punishment, so many had taken to sneaking pills to give themselves energy or dull the pain to keep working.

"And the food and drinks?" she asked, a coded question. At the very least, the warden hadn't begun starving the inmates, so actual food and drink wasn't a concern yet.

"Well we've got enough silverware to seat twenty," Cynthia answered, "and can probably mix three or four Martinis, though I'm still looking for the keys to the champagne cellar."

Both Sally and Cynthia Ross knew that eventually, the warden and guards of Fort Tie Shan would turn their attention to them. Either the Green Knights would stage a rescue, or cause enough trouble that the NPDRE would begin threatening the prisoners to get the Knights to surrender, or the Knights would all die and the prisoners would outlive their usefulness. In any situation, they both knew a fight was coming, and had begun to make plans.

'Silverware' meant they had gotten their hands on enough loose pieces of metal to begin making crude blades. 'Martinis' meant the chemicals and containers to make Molotov cocktails. And the 'champagne cellar' meant the gun locker.

It wasn't nearly what they'd need to stage a breakout, but if Gaius and his men were coming to get them, it might be enough to split the guards' attention.

And Gaius was coming for them, Sally knew it.

If only because she and the other inmates were still alive.

"I've been running the numbers in my head," Cynthia said, "and it's really making me wish I'd listened to Mom and Dad and just gone to law school. But no, I just had to go play space-hero with my cool cousin and her not-boyfriend, because I wanted to--"

"Hang on," Sally interrupted her cousin's griping, looking at the patch of dirt in the yard in front of them. "do you recognize that?"

Before Diego had run off, he'd drawn something in the dirt. An X pattern with four symbols in the corner. Sally recognized the code as something Wrathchild had shown her and the Colonel, something called 'Low-sign.'

A triangle with a crescent at the top corner. Devil horns, the Captain saw, which means a dangerous man.

A circle with three long lines reaching down from the bottom half, and a cross in the upper right. The man has a long beard, and is missing his right eye.

Three small triangles, and above them two crossed bones. Dangerous to children.

An elongated diamond, with the long end pointing up like a dagger, and a short line poking from the bottom. Get a weapon, protect yourself.

"Wasn't there a new guy who came in last week with the new prisoners," the Captain asked, "with a beard and only one eye?"

"I think so," Cynthia shrugged, "Why?"

"Just a piece of business I'm going to have to take care of," she said, her voice becoming a growl, her hands tightening into fists.

In a corner of the yard away from the eyes of the guards, Diego dug in the dirt until he found something he'd buried days before: a screwdriver, its head ground and sharpened into a long point.

On the handle, he'd scratched the letters D.V.K.

"Mine..."

---

'Diamond in the Rough' Bar
NPDRE-Occupied District
North Nui Awa
March 25th, 3030

"Mine!" a young woman's voice all but shouted over the din of the crowd, a raised hand signaling the source of the call. Seeing the woman in question, the bartender turned toward her and handed her a tall glass of amber liquid capped with creamy foam.

The young woman threw back the frothy brew in a few quick gulps, then let out a contented sigh. Damn, but she'd needed a good drink, and as dingy and crowded as a soldier's bar was, at least the beer was good and cold. While part of her wanted to order another, and another, and maybe a few more after that, she had to keep her senses sharp. She was deep behind enemy lines, after all, and this was, as the Colonel optimistically put it, a target-rich environment.

A little over a week ago, she was a Mechwarrior, leader of a lance of Green Knights, trying to keep this backwater world from tearing itself apart. Then they'd been sucker-punched, caught off-guard by enemies they never even knew were there.

Her Wolverine had been shot out from under her, blasted into a smoking heap, and she'd been left for dead. As far as anyone on Espia knew, Lena von Kemp was a corpse.

At first, her only thoughts had been on survival. She'd lived off of scraps, scavenging bits of food and tattered rags, scurrying away from the enemy soldiers like a rodent. It wasn't until she happened upon an unlucky Espian Guardsman wandering off alone that her thoughts shifted to the offense.

Lena subconsciously rubbed the bandages that wound tightly around her left hand. Poor bastard had given her a fight, but in the end, she'd gotten a canteen of clean water, a few days of rations, a change of relatively clean clothes, and a pistol for her trouble.

Since that night, she'd linked up with a train of refugees fleeing the capital city and down to the cities of Nui Awa. Along the way, Lena had claimed a few more Guardsmen. She'd relied on jumping them alone in the dark at first, but here, with so many enemies about, she'd have to be more subtle about it.

Tonight, she was on the hunt for bigger prey. Grabbing canteens or the occasional blessed fresh pair of socks was one thing, but she wanted more. She wanted access to the NPDRE's facilities, passes to get her onto their bases, into their armories, anywhere she could start doing some real damage. That meant reeling in an officer, and to pull that off, she needed to play it cool.

"--another heroic victory by the Crimson Fists!" came a newscaster's voice as someone cranked the volume of the holo-vid screen over the music. "Yes, these gallant masked avengers once again delivered the people's justice, smashing through a terrorist cell of the vile and traitorous FPA!"

The holo-vid screen showed footage from a skirmish earlier that day, of Crimson Fist Battlemechs rampaging through a heavily populated area, blasting vehicles that the newscaster claimed were 'cleverly disguised' FPA technicals. The big money shot was a wide shot of the Fists' lance leader, a 70-ton Warhammer, firing both of its Particle Projector Cannons into an alleged FPA hideout that looked mysteriously like a civilian apartment complex.

A cheer went up throughout the bar, and a young captain raised his glass. "To the Crimson Fists!" he shouted, bringing another cheer. Some obnoxious electronic rock began playing, and even though her blood boiled, she'd found her target. She joined in the cheer, catching the captain's eye. He gave her a hungry smile, which she returned as she began to cross the room to approach him.

Her stomach churned at the thought of what the boy had in mind, but it would all pay off in time. The Espian Guard, the Crimson Fists, they'd learn soon enough that Lena Von Kemp wasn't a corpse...she was a vengeful ghost. And she was going to haunt those fuckers forevermore.

"Omhygod, the music here sucks, doesn't it?" a voice chimed in as someone sidled up to her.

"Hm?" Lena turned quickly, a bit of split-second restraint all that was keeping her from drawing a weapon.

She was met with a dark-skinned woman, maybe a few years older than Lena, with a shock of bright green hair. She wore a skimpy fluorescent top and mini-skirt, a necklace with a pendant just over her cleavage, and a plush white fur coat over it, an outfit picked specifically to catch a certain kind of attention.

"I said this music sucks, doesn't it?" the party-girl repeated. "I want something I can really move to."

For a moment, Lena raised an eyebrow. Yeah, the music wasn't great, but it was the sort of dance music that was popular on this world. And the way she emphasized words was--

...no. Couldn't be.

Lena tested a response, just to be sure.

"The band's just better on tour," she said. If the party-girl didn't take the response, then it was nothing, some passing remarks about shitty bar tunes. If, on the other hand--

"Maybe, but you'd have to spend a lot of time on the road to know where they're playing next."

Spacers' cant. A secret language of smugglers, bandits, pirates, and gun-runners found in the reaches of the Periphery. Pops had taught it to her when they'd first escaped Von Strang's World. Like Low-sign, it was a way to communicate without anyone being able to catch on to what was really being said, a coded dialect of key words and phrases disguised as idle chatter. Starting a conversation using words like "move," "tour," "road," or any other word about travel was often a way to tip someone off that you could talk the talk.

"You spend a lot of time with touring bands?" Party Girl asked, keeping to the theme of chattering about music. What she'd really said was You're from off-planet, aren't you?

Lena wasn't sure what Party Girl had in mind--if she was a potential ally, if she was trying to run a scam, or if she was some kind of spy--so she answered carefully.

"Not in a while," she answered. "I've been hitting up the local shows these days." It was playing along, but ultimately a non-response: I've been on Espia for a few years.

"Ah, well, a show's a show," Party Girl shrugged, "and showbusiness is showbusiness."

Lena bristled. Emphasizing 'business' in this regard either implied that she knew Lena was a mercenary, or was implying she was a prostitute.

"I don't know about showbusiness, but--"

"No worries," said the stranger. "I'm always on the lookout for talent, and I thought maybe the bands you toured with did paying gigs."

This time, the implication was straightforward: I'm looking for mercenaries.

"Yeah?" Lena blinked, trying hard to maintain her poker face. "What kind of shows are you into?"

"Oh, I like my tunes loud and heavy," she answered. "Some tunes that really stomp."

Lena gaped for a second. Spacers' cant varied from every planet, moon, station, and asteroid, with as many dialects as there were stars in the Sphere. But anyone with even half an inkling could read it plain as day.

I'm looking for men with Battlemechs.

"...I...I don't know if that's my scene," Lena said, trying to regain her composure. "One sec."

Lena excused herself and broke away from the conversation, nearly knocking over a barstool as the headed to the bathroom.

Once inside, she took a few deep breaths and splashed some cold water on her face. Who the hell was this person? Why was she hitting up strangers in a bar looking for off-world Mechwarriors? It didn't make any sense.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to throw you off," Lena heard Party Girl say, looking up to see she'd followed her in here. "I was taking a gamble there; I see it freaked you out."

"Who the hell are you?" Lena demanded.

"Just someone who's doing what you're doing," the stranger said, "Getting valuable things from stupid drunk soldiers. I figured you're an off-worlder, you're fairly good-looking, and you're hanging around in a soldiers' bar. So either you're a working girl, a scam artist, or you're hustling these idiots for information."

She tried to play it cool, but Lena knew she'd blown her cover.

"Well, you're partially right," she admitted, "and partially wrong."

"I'm sure," Party Girl said condescendingly. "Either way, if you want to talk more 'music,' I won't be hard to find. But if you're just here hunting for another target, you should know...this bar's my turf. Friendly warning."

"Right," Lena nodded. "In that case, I'll be seeing you."

"Sure you will," Party Girl nodded.

As she passed her on her way out of the bathroom, Lena noticed the pendant on Party Girl's necklace: it was in the shape of a long, thin silver dagger.

A stiletto.

Lena tossed a few coins on the bar to pay for her drink, and wandered out of the Diamond in the Rough as the soldiers began to get rowdy. As the night settled over North Nui Awa, she wasn't sure if meeting this stranger made her feel less alone, or more so.

She ducked around one of the corners and picked through her pockets, finding the combat knife she had taken from her first kill. With the tip of it, she began scratching symbols into the building's facade.

A circle with two wavy lines draping down from either side. A woman.

A coil with a forked line at one end like a snake, and three wavy lines beside it. Green hair.

Two interconnected circles, with two straight lines inside the circles, and a wavy line in the section where they overlapped. Talks in code.

A cross with devil horns. Could be friend or enemy, be careful.

Lena knew it was next to impossible that anyone who ever saw this graffiti would ever know what it meant, but she had to hold out hope somehow that she'd eventually get back in touch with her unit. She'd left dozens of messages like it from here to Balya Gora; if the Knights were still out there, maybe she'd get lucky and some of them would stumble across it.

As she began to leave, her eyes were drawn to the window, staring once again at the footage of the Crimson Fists and their "heroic" battle.

Even if she never saw the Green Knights again, she'd find a way to make those bastards pay.

Her eyes locked on her target, and she once again began to carve.

She wasn't staring at Party Girl as she marked her target.

She wasn't even staring at the captain she'd planned to take.

She was staring at the Crimson Fists' 'Mech, the imposing form of the Warhammer, as she carved the Low-sign for L.V.K. into the wall.

While the mark was on the wall, Lena stared at the Battlemech on the screen, and knew her goal.

Mine.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The location concerned her in more ways than one, though. With a rigid stamp of the boot she stood up, as she often did during these briefings, and spoke to the Colonel once allowed to speak: "First, sir, are we allowed our own arms?" She could've meant many things, but a brief reflexive grip of the saber on her belt suggested she wanted to bring something all the more archaic and conspicuous. "Beyond that, given our contact's location...what are we to expect from Stiletto themselves? Is there anything known about this individual?" She wanted to know how sober the two of them could expect Stiletto to be, but that was already too harsh on their contact...

@wikkit

Daschke had a point. Even with backup in close proximity, sending unarmed operatives into enemy territory was a major risk, and one he wasn't entirely willing to take. On the other hand, if they were stopped by NPDRE soldiers and searched, having weapons on them might put them in just as much danger.

"I'm authorizing you to carry a small sidearm at your discretion," the Colonel decided. "Something that you can easily hide or ditch-- the NPDRE doesn't have total control of North Nui Awa, but we can safely assume they'll be setting up checkpoints at major intersections. Sgt. Dalton's team will scout approaches to the city first to see if we can avoid contact with the Espian Guard on the way in. If it's doable, you can go in armed. If not, the safer bet would be to ditch the weapons on approach. Once in the bar, make sure at least one of Dalton's team has eyes on you at all times. Do not enter the bar without finding at least two exits first, do not go to a second location with anyone, do not accept drinks from anyone, and do not give away any information about yourselves or the Green Knights. As far as anyone knows, you're refugees who fled from Yuzhny Portveyn a few days before the Heavenly Sword attack."

"I may be able to help in that regard," Cassandra spoke up once again. "A perk of helping run the planet's largest corporate empire is that my marketing department happens to have some top-notch graphic designers, who are used to working with a tight turnaround. I can put a few people I trust on the job and put together some false documentation, good enough to pass if some jack-booted grunt stops you and asks for your papers."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, wondering why Jeong would sit on that potentially major asset until now. Was she merely struck by inspiration in the moment, or did she have other cards she was playing close to the chest?

After a moment's consideration, Gaius returned to answering Ramrod's questions.

"As for Stiletto," he stated, "we have very little info to go by. We have reason to believe Stiletto is female, and originally from off-planet. The majority of Espia's population is ethnically either Slavic or East Asian, so anyone who doesn't fit the bill is a possible contender. Prioritize anyone who looks like an out-of-towner, but be subtle about it."

Turning back to the Green Knights at large, the Colonel began to wrap the briefing up.

"Each of these missions has the potential to turn things in our favor," he said. "Contacting Stiletto can hopefully get us into touch with the FPA and a possible ally in the fight. Scouting the spaceport will give us a clearer picture of what the NPDRE is planning to use and who is funding this operation. And protecting the dam will not only save lives, but ingratiate us with the locals so they may provide us with information you can't get from the top down. Splitting up the team like this is a major risk, but it's one I wouldn't even consider if I didn't have absolute faith in your ability to succeed. Stay sharp, keep your head on a swivel, and trust your teammates. This is how we start to turn this fight around."

He nodded to Lieutenant Lyons, who switched off the projector screen.

"You have 24 hours to make your preparations. Dismissed!"

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

-Collab with @Hound55

"Watch your tone, Hephaestus," I say with a fair amount of indignance. "I am no hireling to act at your beck and call. And I am in no mood for nonsense."

"Hey, I'm just asking you to help me de-escalate a situation here," the deformed weapon-smith says, putting his hands up in mock innocence. "And I was just thinkin you might be willing to do me a solid since, y'know, I made pretty much your whole kit--"

"I seem to recall more than one of my enemies wielding weapons that bear your signature as well," I glare at him. "Still, I will speak with this visitor. If his reasons for coming here are more just than yours for calling upon me, then you and I will have words."

Hephaestus backs away, knowing better than to prod at me too much. Then I turn to see his visitor.

The first glance tells me he has a similar arsenal of divine weapons, though they appear to be of Roman make rather than Greek. He wears the garb of a centurion, a worshipper of Mars. The Roman iteration of Ares.

Given my past experiences with Ares and his various incarnations, challenging me to a fight would be a spectacularly poor decision, even were I in a better humor.

"Now then," I address the stranger, my left hand resting on the Lasso at my hip, my right hand slowly reaching for the pommel of my sword, "I would recommend you explain your reason for being here, and I would very strongly advise you speak only the truth."

Never a backward step.

The gods had strange ideas of what makes a mortal worthy. It molded Jonny's movements and decisions for the common good.

"An ironic compromise of the self". Was how Question had described it. Trust him to find some kind of dark amusement to it, even if he noted it with such a flat delivery.

In order for him to be seen as worthy of the gods, he had to front up to every challenge. And that show of strength was often not the best approach for negotiating common ground, when met with other... strong confident types.

Right now he was face to face with one who personified such traits.

This was a delicate situation to the point of being downright precarious.

He had only a few things in his favour. Diana's empathy for his own situation, and sympathy for the plight of women.

He'd been sent here by an aggrieved Aphrodite, eager to distance herself from the husband she'd long ago been arranged to marry. And if anyone could understand the situation of a... questionably mortal person getting trapped in the machinations of the gods, he was looking right at her.

But this still had to be conveyed from a position of strength. From one that Jupiter and the gods would deem as "worthy" of their favour.

"I was sent here to deliver a message from this one's wife, who wishes to be left alone."

Jonny stepped forward, gesturing to Hephaestus.

"If you choose to blindly take up arms for his cause, I would be disappointed but nonetheless would be forced to match your mettle."

He deliberately kept his hand clear of his hilt. Potentially a fatal error with one such as whom he found himself face-to-face. But whilst he must project forward to be worthy, he sought to keep threatening gestures to a minimum.

"But I must confess, when I found myself charged with delivering this message I was unaware I would once again find myself in the affairs of the immortals."

---

"'Blindly' take up arms for Hephaestus?" I question him, stepping forward, an eyebrow raised. "Know this: one does not survive long in the dealings of Olympians by entering anything 'blindly.' Nor does one survive long by insulting an Amazon."

In truth, it's likely he means no insult, but his very presence here is an act of intimidation. Aphrodite chose someone from outside her own pantheon to act as a messenger. Not only that, but she chose an agent of the Roman gods, styled after a worshipper of Mars. The Romans' image of Venus and Mars as an idealized couple-- the poetic union of Love and War-- was far simpler, less scandalous, than Aphrodite's torrid affairs with Ares.

"You have found yourself embroiled in troubles that were old when your gods were new," I tell him. "I do not know what Aphrodite has told you, but her role in this is far from innocent. This is a goddess, after all, whose whims and fancies have doomed entire kingdoms. Now she wishes to intimidate and insult her husband, by sending an agent of her adulterous lover."

"That's right!" Hephaestus declares, his courage doubling now that he's safe behind me. "You tell her I'm not backin' down 'til I get what's mine. An' the next time she sends some gladius-swingin' knock-off around, I'll--"

"You're no helpless victim in this either, Hephaestus," I cut him off, not taking my eyes off the armored newcomer. "For all you have bemoaned your wife's unfaithfulness, you have had more than your share of dalliances as well. I am sure the Graces and the sea nymphs would tell quite a different tale from yours."

"Hey, that was only after she started foolin' around with Ares, not--"

"And I am certain Athena has not forgotten your attempt to force yourself upon her."

"....look, that was a different time back then, okay? Zeus had set the precedent, and the rest of us kinda--"

"Enough," I say with cold disgust, "before I let the newcomer 'test his mettle' on you. I am only here because it is mortals who suffer most when the gods begin to bicker. It will be to everyone's best interest to quell this dispute before it flares up again."

Turning my attention fully to the centurion, I move my hands away from my weapons, folding my arms across my chest.

"Now then," I address him, "Aphrodite sent you to deliver a message, did she not? And that message has been delivered. Unless there is other business you wish to attend to here, I suggest you take your leave."

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

FF post is up, let's get this ball a-rollin'.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

"So what are we thinkin,' guys?" Johnny Storm asked his compatriots, globes of flame encircling his hands. "The usual?"

The arrival of the Fantastic Four had turned the fight between the gunmen who had assaulted the Roxxon tanker and the huge armored figure protecting it into an intense standoff. None of the masked attackers had fired off another shot, but neither were they lowering their guns. The armored brute stood his ground, daring anyone to give him an excuse to start swinging his massive fists.

"I'm in favor of the usual," Sue nodded with a confident grin. "Contain, ascertain, and detain. Doesn't look like it should be much trouble."

"Dibs on the big fella," snarled the Thing, just as eager to commence with the action.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Reed Richards countered. "Let's see if we can de-escalate the situation. I believe there may be more going on here than--"

"Heads up, we've got incoming!"

Tentatively, Victor lowered himself down to the ground, red boots plodding to the ground with two muffled footfalls. He adjusted the cells in his body so as to slick his hair back hands-free, and stepped forward. He leaned in, across the Fantastic Four, and drew an open palm across his face as a hello.
“Hi. I…” He paused, furrowing his brow. “...Work here. Are both groups present the bad guys, or are we cooperating with one of them?”
Victor smiled sheepishly, before remembering where he was. He straightened up, taking two steps forward and holding his hands out. His fingers crackled with an arcing blue energy, the Arc Reactor thrumming and glowing through his suit.

“It’s interesting that the tanker hasn’t exploded yet,” he announced loudly, still ready for a fight. “I shall kick any asses in its vicinity and move it to a safe location. If that is agreeable? I’ll defer to seniority.”

@udonoodles

"Hey! Who are you callin' 'senior,' junior?" the Human Torch said with indignity.

"Ahhh, don't mind him," the Thing waved the Torch off, "he's just cranky cuz he got his first gray hair the other day."

"HEY! That's not--"

"The Vision, I presume?" Mister Fantastic interrupted, his elastic body stretching and warping to slip past the Thing and Human Torch and nudge them each to one side. "Reed Richards. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've been rather impressed with the advancements in cybernetics and digital intelligence that Stark Industries is developing. If it's not too much of a imposition, I'd very much like to compare your design schematics with some of my--"

"Reed! Focus!" The Invisible Woman interjected, turning their attention back to the gunmen and the brute. "We can trade notes after we've dealt with the active threat, all right?"

"Of course, my apologies," the elastic man said sheepishly, before shaping his hands into the shape of a megaphone. "Attention, all of you! There is no need for further violence. Put down your weapons, surrender peacefully to the proper authorities, and we won't have to--"

Reed's call for de-escalation was interrupted by a swirl of green clouds overhead.

"Awww, ain't that a shame," the Thing muttered.

Overhead of The Fantastic Four and The Vision appeared to be a cloud of green mist, which quickly coalesced, forming into a vibrantly viridian portal, from which emerged none other than the green-clad Mysterio, descending from the skies in spectacular fashion; it was eye-catching, if nothing else. He turned to his fellow heroes on the scene, giving them a brief bow. "Apologies for the abrupt arrival; you may refer to me as Mysterio. But beyond the niceties, I am here to aid in this endeavor, if you will have me." Turning his gaze from them to the myriad goons and the menacing enforcer superhuman, an unseen grin crosses Mysterio's face. "Shall we, as they say, take out the trash?"

@Mintz

"Ah, screw this!" one of the gunmen yelled as he raised his rifle at the crowd of superheroes. "I'm not goin' back to prison!"

With a loud staccato chatter, the burst of gunfire effectively ended any chance of a peaceful resolution.

The rest of the gunmen followed suit, the air suddenly filling with hot lead. Before they could reach their targets, the bullets pinged off of seemingly nothing, changing directions as if they had hit a solid wall. Some ricocheted outward, towards the few civilians still out on the sidewalk, only to bounce back again. Some shot back and forth across the street like high-velocity pinballs, never reaching the sidewalks before another invisible wall deflected them away.

"I've got the area contained for now," came the disembodied voice of the Invisible Woman, straining from the number of force fields she had to hold up. "Disarm the shooters first, take out the active threats! Then we deal with the Roxxon truck and the big guy if he wants trouble! Johnny, draw their fire!"

"On it, sis!" called out the Human Torch, taking to the air as super-hot plasma coated his body. In response, most of the attacking gunmen opened fire on the flaming figure arcing towards them. Johnny made no attempt to dodge the incoming bullets, as the radiant heat from his personal plasma field was enough to vaporize the bullets before they could reach them.

"That's our opening!" Reed called out, his torso stretching out into a long flat sheet to wrap around one of the gunmen, while his right hand shot out well past him, wrapped around a light pole, then clocked a second gunman from behind. Two down, a dozen to go. "Vision! Mysterio! Let's see what you can do! Ben, if the large one gets aggressive--"

"Way ahead of ya, Stretch," the Thing said, squaring off with the hulking armored man. "So whaddya say, Pipsqueak? You gonna play nice an' just answer a coupla questions once we're done with these guys? Or are you gonna--"

*KRACK!!!!*

The gunfire was temporarily drowned out by the thunderous impact of the armored man's fist colliding with Ben Grimm's jaw. The craggy orange hero reeled, kicking up chunks of pavement as he tumbled before slamming into one of the garbage trucks that had penned the tanker in.

"The name's not 'Pipsqueak,'" he growled, looming over the Thing, "It's Armadillo. And like I told them, you don't know who the fuck you're messing with."

"Ahh, see, that right there?" Ben said, a grin splitting his rocky face as he picked himself up. "That's what I was hopin' you'd say."

The two charged at each other again, trading blows that sounded like cannon fire across Waterside Plaza.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

Apologies for holding folks up on that. I should have a post up today.