Austronaut

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Biancca stepped quietly from behind her horse. She had left the feast in the wake of the hob-goblin’s unfortunate demise. Well, demise anyway. Her newfound companions made her a little nervous and she didn’t imagine that the addition of a lot of wine, beer and brandy, was going to make the situation any more desirable. Past experience warned her that she would be wise to be ready for a quick getaway. If this all turned as sour as Marienburg Ale, which it gave every indication it was going to, she wanted to be ready.

The next logical step was to check over her horse. The expensive stallion seemed sound enough, she hadn’t pushed him after she had gotten clear of that tangle in Verano. It didn’t do to be caught on an open road with a spent horse. The horse did seem a little restive, probably the simple hay affronted his elevated sense of self worth.

The sound of horse's hooves on the road caused her to freeze for a moment. Could it be someone had tracked her and sent a bounty hunter or assassin after her? Feverishly her mind compiled a list of former lovers, jealous wives and disgruntled business partners. It was a depressingly long list for such a young woman. With quiet care she reached into her belt and drew one of the ornate duelling pistols. Snapping open the frisson, she checked the priming and then snapped it shut before gently drawing back the dog's head which held the flint. By this point the newcomer had reached the drawbridge, he didn’t make any immediate effort to enter.

He called out in a booming voice harsh and guttural, a man of the empire? Probably he was another mercenary, come in response to the madman’s summons. The thought of another human eased her misgivings. He might not stay of course, but if he did it would be a significant comfort to her. She had worked with dwarves and even goblins before but another member of her species, besides the enigmatic barbarian, would be welcome.

Creeping to one of the crumbling arrow slits she looked out across the shallow moat. The man was well armored, at least by Tilean standards. His horse looked sturdy as it used to hard gallops as well as long treks. A variety of weapons including a rather complicated looking pistol. Stranger and stranger. His face was, to be frank, a bit of a disappointment, he had obviously been burned or scared at some point and the resulting look was quite ominus. She considered again if this man might be a bounty hunter. Maybe, but she doubted he had come so far for her.

Cautiously she tucked the pistol back into her belt and stepped into the doorway so she was silhouetted against the doorway. She couldn’t help but pose a little dramatically.

“Hello Senor!” she called to the horseman.

“There are a few souls here, though I won't vouch for their condition,” she held up her hands indicating she was weaponless.

“If you are here for the offer of employment, come on in and join us.”

David Drake - Hammer's Slammers

Alright two interested parties are enough to get off the grand, stand by for a proper thread :)

Bringing back an old Sci-Fi Military RP Idea

I think i played in the original version of this and it died way too young. Id love to play a marine officer if that is available. A lightly seasoned lieutenant?

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Biancca felt the tension ease out of her as the gathering descended into more or less civil discourse. She smiled sunnily at the dwarf.

"Mad as a march hare by all reports," she agreed, making no effort to conceal her voice.

"Still it is the interrogative of the prosperous to be eccentric..." blank stares greeted her. Elocution clearly wouldn't be a large part of this job, if she agreed to take it.

"I mean to say the rich can be crazy if they have the gold," she amended, with a concerted effort to use smaller words.

The goblin's ate with a feral enthusiasm that made the half-ling and barbarian look like courtiers. She hadn't served much with greenskins in the past but their evil reputation and unreliability were almost a mercenary by-word. That left the barbarian, the halfling and the dwarf. She wondered how reliable any of them might be. Still she needed the job which meant she needed them.

"I am pleased to meet you Bjorn Bearblooded," she declared formally pushing herself to her feet and taking a long swig from her glass of wine. It really was an excellent vintage she decided.

She stood with a flourish, pivoting slowly to take in the assembly bowing slightly to the assembled group.

"I am Biancca Del’Arivara, I am honored to meet you all," she lied outrageously, "I'm sure our patron will appear in due time and let us know exactly how we can win glory, honor, and most importantly gold in his service."

David Drake - Hammer's Slammers

I have had the idea for a while of doing an RP in David Drake’s Hammer's Slammers universe. For those who don’t know Hammers’ Slammers is a series of novels and short stories that takes place in the relatively near future in which mercenary companies operate, in large part, as a replacement for standing armies. War has become to expensive for the average world, too much investment in hardware and training for relatively short term goals. The solution is to hire mercenary forces to do the bulk of the fighting for them.



David Drake is a Vietnam veteran and his fiction is heavily influenced by this experience.



I would like to have a small group of Slammers (3-4) who become caught up when one of these little brushfire wars goes wrong. I don't want to nail down too many details up front because it is my hope that we could fill in the details collaboratively.



I know it is kind of niche so please let me know if there is interest. I would prefer players who are familiar with the fiction but we can make do if you are sufficiently interested.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

For a moment Biancca was too stunned to react. The Halfling brushed past her towards a large table laden with food. It had somehow managed to escape her notice, probably owing to the tense and immediately dangerous confrontation that had drawn her eye. Now though, her attention was drawn to the platters of sliced meats and vegetables. Several large decanters of wine rested on the table and her mouth watered in spite of herself, it had been a long and dusty journey afterall. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world. The Halfling was already tucking in with a disgusting enthusiasm and a general brawl seemed yet to develop.

Adopting a bemused expression, she swaggered across the room past the would be combatants, strutting with all the confidence she had learned from pirates and courtesans both. Stopping at the table she poured herself a glass of wine. Eschewing a chair, she perched herself on the edge of the table opposite the Halfling so she could keep her cool gaze on the dwarf and the greenskins.
Maintaining her expression of amused disinterest she plucked an apple from one of the fruit platters and began to eat.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Feeling overdressed was not normally a sensation which bothered Biannca. It was better to shine in silk than to sulk in sackcloth after all. Still, looking at the dilapidated keep, she felt distinctly overdressed, it’s crumbling ramparts and general disrepair did little to inspire confidence. Still, she had ridden all the way here, and if it turned out to be a fool’s errand she at least intended to collect the money she had been promised for appearing. With a vexed sigh she nudged her black stallion with the heels of her leather riding boots. The horse huffed out an affronted breath but started, reluctantly, down the shallow slope towards the castle.



The horse was of the finest Arabyian bloodline, the young groomsman had boasted in an effort to impress her, but it would take months to turn the brute from a show pony to a useful steed. Perhaps she was being a little uncharitable. The stolen horse had come with a new saddle and the cursed thing had been doing its best to pound her bottom into submission every mile of the week long ride. Even making such allowances, it was with some relief that she slipped from the saddle when she reached the courtyard.



The castle failed to improve its aesthetics up close. Clearly there would be no silken balls or galas here. With a sigh she tied the horse’s reigns to a post, sparing a speculative glance towards its structural integrity. No welcoming party, no guards. She had the sudden and unpleasant notion that she was the unfortunate heroine in one of those awful Dietrich Schlief novels. She certainly looked the parts, her polished black leather chest plate, form fitted over her tunic of slashed red and scarlet silk. Conscious of making a good impression, she brushed some of the dust away, making herself presentable. She fished a comb of carved ivory from a pouch and ran it through her hair. First impressions mattered afterall. With another sceptical look at the castle, she unfastened her weapons from the saddle. She fastened the leather belt around her right hip so as to leave her rapier and dirks in easy reach. Next she took her pair of pistols from a saddle bag, checked the priming, and thrust both weapons into her black and silver silk sash.



“Hello the castle?” she called, feeling foolish even as the words left her lips. There was no answer. Had other mercenaries arrived before her and looted the place? It seemed unlikely, not enough fires, looters always started fires. Reluctantly she climbed the stairs into the dilapidated building.



Biancca slipped quietly through the halls of the castle. Some efforts had been made to keep the place at least marginally clean, suggesting it wasn’t abandoned. She heard voices ahead of her and resisted the effort to draw her weapons. They sounded heated, angry insults maybe. Her soft leather boots made little sound as she ghosted forward to a crumbling stone doorway. Inside she found herself confronted by a sight that was so incredible she was momentarily stunned. A greenskin, a dwarf and the largest man she had ever seen, stood locked in tense confrontation. The man appeared to be wearing some kind of vast white animal pelt. A bear? The Dwarf was pointing a pistol at the greenskin. They were all snarling and none of them smelled too pleasant. Her hands moved unconsciously down to the butts of her pistols.



“What in the name of Myrmida is going on here?” she demanded intent on taking control of the situation. Before her words could register on the strange group, there was the tearing sound of ancient timber giving way and a clanging, clattering roar, like a metallic avalanche. Above the roar she thought she could make out some sort of inarticulate cry. Instinctively she stepped back into the shelter of the doorway. It wouldn’t do to spoil her outfit.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Next post?

Let sleeping dogs lie.

You cannot have elegance without precision!

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Got my first post in!