Austronaut

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Every single character seems to have a vast library

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Whoops sorry I guess I should have waited for everyone, ill hold off before posting again.

Maybe I am a Hun rather than a Jerry if it is a WW1 reference, although I hasten to point out I am Austrian rather than German.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Double chocolate glazed. Victory. Lenya plucked the sugary treat from the tray and began the long mental process of promising that she would work out extra hard to justify it. Experience told her that promises made in this phase were frequently overblown so she applied a liberal dose of mental inflation to her imagined future exercise regime. She was just about to take a bite when Max arrived and excitedly opened his briefcase.

“Guten Morgen Herr..Max,” she responded cheerfully her eyes widening at the proffered book. She momentarily regretted leaving her copy of Die Shriken und Wunder at her desk. Lenya liked Max, raised among a tight knit family of women she was always a little uncomfortable around men. Her time in college and in the field had erased most of that old awkwardness but a kernel of it remained. It was the scholars caution that set her at ease. Generations of witches had stressed and internalized the need for caution and secrecy. Some of Wells and Raick's more... flamboyant employees made her nervous.

“In the original french?” she asked. After a moment of indecision she sat her donut down and wiped her hands carefully on a napkin. She could hear the doors opening as others arrived in the office but kept her focus on the book.

“Max this is wonderful,” she declared in english as she paged through the book. The English translation was woefully and, some said, intentionally mangled. It was amazing how much esoteric work came out of France and how rarely, and poorly it was translated.

She opened the book to a random page, the title read, Rue d’Auesil; with precise, if strange, directions. The familiar thrill of discovery ran up her spine.

“We must sit and talk I have questions, and my french is not so good as yours,” she declared excitedly. Hopefully it would prove a slow day and they would have ample time to discuss the book. It didn't seem like there was much of a rush on as yet.

“I have something to show you too but ...” her eyes fell on the donut once more, “perhaps we will eat first ya?”

Priest & Hawthorne Investigations (Redux!) - Supernatural Urban Fantasy!

Ohhh another witch... hmmmm

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

“Good morning missy,” the old lobsterman called as he reached out to grab her hand and help her aboard. He looked the very picture of an old salt with his bristly white bead, yellow canvas hat and a dark blue LL Bean jacket as ancient and weather beaten as he was.

“Good morning Bert,” Lenya replied as she stepped from the wooden dock onto the gently rocking deck of the unnamed lobster boat. Pots and floats lay beside neatly coiled lines. Ready to be hurled into the sea once Bert had safely delivered her to shore. Bert probably didn’t need the income, given the stipend she paid him to transport her to and from Islesboro each day, but in his mind he remained a lobsterman and lobstermen fished for lobster. There was a slight shudder and the smell of diesel combustion as Bert pushed forward the throttle and they moved away from shore at a sedate speed. He would be the envy of his old cronies once the season ended and he still had the steady work of water taxi to depend on.

Living on the island presented its own unique challenges but since returning from Micronesia she found that living near the ocean was exhilarating. She took her usual place beside the wheel, listening to Bert’s prognostication on the weather, discussion of the lobster catch and Augusta’s apparently chronic hatred for all fishermen with good grace. In addition to ferrying her to and from the mainland Bert also acted as an unofficial groundsman and handy man and as a useful go-between with the small island community. It paid to keep the help happy she had discovered. It was easy enough to let the strangely accented English wash over her with only occasional agreements and comments to give the impression she was paying attention.

It was a calm day, despite the chilly Atlantic wind, a sombre promise of winter storms yet to come, and the passage was quick. She thanked Bert and wished him luck with his pots as she stepped onto the quay. A brisk walk took her to the red brick post office. Opening her briefcase she took the package slip she had received yesterday and handed it to a bored looking clerk. The man heaved a long suffering sigh and went back into the mailroom to search for her package. A few minutes later he returned with a brown paper parcel, the rustic look somewhat spoiled by the various airmail stickers and customs forms currently affixed to its surface. Vienna Austria. Excellent. Tucking the package under her arm she walked to one of the various coffee houses which had sprung up recently and purchased her usual brew. Thus armed, she headed for the office.

She attracted little enough attention on her way in, beyond the occasional admiring glance from some of the locals. There was little enough to remark upon, just a blond woman in a business skirt and jacket with a briefcase. An attorney maybe, or a particularly successful real estate agent. The irony of the perception bought a slight broadening to her usual professional smile. She moved quickly through the public area, nodding politely to the firms employees before reaching the offices. Her nose twitched slightly detecting the scent of fresh donuts. Decisions decisions. Repressing her urge to make a beeline for the donuts she instead headed to her office. There was more mail in her in-tray, mostly academic journals to which she still insisted on subscribing in the old fashioned paper medium. There were a number of half-finished documents laid out on the table. Ritual workings she still needed to discuss with Emmaline. Carefully she gathered them up and tucked them into a drawer before setting her coffee, briefcase and parcel down on the polished wooden surface.

Opening another draw she retrieved a silver letter opener and carefully opened the package. Inside were several Adel vice blossoms and a small book. She tutted, her mothers understanding of international customs wasn’t what it might be. The book was unadorned and modern, a recent copy from her mothers library. The letters across the cover read, in German: Die Shriken und Wunder. She opened the book and thumbed idly through it. Modern printing reproduced ancient illuminated drawings and text. She supposed her mother had it in PDF but it seemed to lack the intimacy of paper. Thessonicus of Bregga had penned Die Shriken shortly before his execution as a heretic, a diary of his tragic dealings with a particularly vile demon. This was probably only the second copy in existence, medieval copyists and book burners being what they were. Max would be pleased. Leaving the book on her desk she rose and set out on the more important quest, to locate a chocolate donut to go with her coffee…

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

We have a ritual on the building you don't find us unless you really need us...

Let sleeping dogs lie.

I guess i'll assume @Eisenhorn isnt coming back?

Boots on the Ground - A Sci Fi Military RP

Sorry for the slow post alot going on!

Boots on the Ground - A Sci Fi Military RP

The four combat cars balanced uneasily on the thrust of their fans. The firing from the crowd had slackened as the infantry withdrew. Doubtless the indginies were praising buddha or whoever the fuck for their victory Buren thought darkly. Well this wouldn’t be the first time the Slammers had been caughts with their pants down and their dicks swinging and they had come back before.

The sun was starting to set now, night bought with it the illusion of safety. It was still several hours from full dark when the Slammer's night vision kit would give them the advantage over the locals. The stink of burning petrochemicals was on the wind. SOmething was on fire already.

“Roger that Dagger Fife,” he called over the crackly comm link.

“We can withdraw west to the Memet river, booster 15 percent overlay,” an overlay of the topographic map formed over his vision at low opacity. A red line obediently traced what the computer postulated as the optimum route.

“From there I can take Item south to uhhhh….” the hill didn’t have a name on local maps, being little more than a large bald.

“Hill 23 X-Ray Romeo, we can get hull down and give you some cover as you withdraw down to the rally point. Lay some smoke for us with your mortars if you can. Commandos might have good sensors but we will fuck the locals.”

Buren looked across his battered cars. That starship was down now, Gods only knew what was on it. One of the other cars snapped a three round burst at some unseen target. They were conserving the barrels now, constant firing would errode the bores and no one knew when or if supplies would come in. His shoulders itched. Buren hated mortars with a passion.

“Booster transmit route to Dagger Fife and hold for approval.”

God damn Cole, where was the icy bitch when you needed her.

Priest & Hawthorne Investigations (Redux!) - Supernatural Urban Fantasy!

Dr Emma Stern - Hexen

Name: Emmaline Von Morganstern (Goes by Emma Stern)

Gender: Female

Race/Species: Human

Age (Real and apparent, if applicable): 28

Appearance:

Emma is a tall Germanic woman with straw blond hair. She is pretty, although her high cheekbones and angular features seem to conspire to rob her of true beauty. She has a hiker’s lean trim build which bespeak many years of alpine life in her native Austria. Although her eyes are a piercing blue, they are usually kept behind the large glasses she wears to aid her with her reading.

Emma affects a stern masculine body language and takes pains to limit her femininity. Her hair is kept in a tight bun and her back rigid. She wears tailored suit of an academic cut when she is at work but is equally comfortable in sportswear when off duty or the situation demands it. Her taste in jewelry is her only divergence from strict propriety and she is almost always seen with bracelets and necklaces made of silver or polished copper.

Despite having lived in the United States for several years, and her best efforts, Emma has been unable to eradicate her crisp Austrian accent.

Personality:
Emma is first and foremost an academic and her scholarly career has been the primary influence on her personality. Competition with men and the institutionalized biases against women have encouraged her to do what she can to discount her sex. One of these tactics is to adopt the prim manners of a German Schoolteacher and her speech is frequently pedantic and over exact. Another is to keep her romantic side walled away beneath her professional demeanor.

Playing against these traits is a natural curiosity about the world and the people in it, which drives her closer to others the better to interrogate them. She has a dry and understated sense of humor and has even been known to laugh, though she tries to keep this under control due to her embarrassing tendency to snort when she does so.

In every situation Emma attempts to exude an aura of knowing control expected of a professor. Unfortunately the more uncontrolled a situation becomes, the closer this drives her to panic.

Powers, Traits, and Abilities:

Hexen - At some point in the mysterious past Emmaline’s ancestors acquired certain powers, most notably the ability to manipulate the energies around them. The first Hexen discovered that these abilities passed from mother to daughter and each generation made its own contribution to the craft. For most of recorded history this has required covens of women to work together but with the onset of modern mathematics this has changed. Emmaline can do the traditional tricks, like draw heat from the air to create ice, or call up a wind by creating a pressure differential, but her true calling is in the realm of curses. Emmaline has a talent for altering probability, she can, if she puts her mind to it, ensure that a particular person has a run of unusual good luck, or she can curse someone so that Murphy's Law punishes them with a special viciousness. Unfortunately in both of these cases the luck has to even out somewhere, and for every miracle there is a corresponding tragedy.

In addition to, or in conjunction with, her occult powers Emmaline holds a PhD in Applied Mathematics and has lectured at several major universities.

Background:

Emmaline sat straight backed in her chair, primly sipping at the adequate wine before her. It was expensive, sure, but somehow Americans always seemed to conflate expense with quality. She peered down at a napkin on which she was carefully writing an equation with an ornate fountain pen. The ink spread out through the porous medium in unlovely blobs but it would serve her purpose.

Across from her sat a nervous young man with his awkward date. There was an aura about him that spoke to her, the nervous way he ran his fingers through his hair, the slight sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. He was about to have the worst night of his life. Unless she intervened of course.

Concentration fell away in shattered shards as someone cleared his throat in front of her. With a vexed hiss she looked up and pushed the glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. The man before her was of indeterminate years and he wore a suit that probably cost as much as she made in a year.

“Professor Von Morganstern, I hope I have not startled you?” he asked in a smooth, almost liquid alto. She forced her professional colleague smile to her lips, uncharacteristically reddened by lipstick.

“Of course not,” she lied sweetly, looking down at the menu to give her face time to smooth way the incipient frown.

“You are Mr…” she began but he nodded cutting her off.

“Yes from the Agency,” he concluded before she could speak his name. She clucked she clucked her tongue disapprovingly against the roof of her mouth. He clearly didn’t fear her powers but he was demonstrating that he knew something about them by not speaking his name. The beginnings of a superior smile indicated that he had guessed what she was thinking. She glanced down at the formula on her napkin and then laid it face up on the expensive table cloth. Another sip of resinous wine. He slid into the seat across from her.

“I will be brief Professor Von Morganstern…” he began but it was her turn to hold up an interrupting hand.

“Professor Stern," she corrected, "I don’t go by my full name, also this isn’t a lecture you may call me Emma.” The clipped Austrian accent made the admonition seem harsher than she meant it. People weren’t always her thing. Screw it, served him right for showing off with her real name.

“I invited you here tonight because I want to offer you a job.” Emma sat back a little shocked. When she had received his letter employment was the furthest thing from her mind. It was rare to meet a man who knew about Hexen and rarer still for that meeting to end well.

“I already have a job mien Herr,” she began her english slipping, “As clearly you know by addressing me as Professor.” Her tone was defensive, a faint stirring of anger bubbled within her. He gave her an almost pittying look.

“Yes but I’m afraid that UCLA will decline your application for tenure, and there maybe little opportunity for you to earn it again. Faculty politicking I’m afraid.” He sounded genuinely sympathetic. Emmaline’s stomach plummeted, years of work and academic research for nothing. It was a given that his information was true, there was no lie in his voice and anyone who could discover she was a Hexen could penetrate the flimsy boundaries of University security with ease.

“There are few people with your particular talents in the United States,” he continued, his voice gentle and consoling. He waved away the waiter.

“We could use your more… ahem occult skills,” he concluded pushing a printed letter on expensive paper across the table to her. Fighting to keep her bottom lip from quivering with disappointment at losing her shot at tenure she mechanically scanned the document. When she reached the figure printed on it her eyebrows rose in spite of herself. The elegant man set back with a satisfied look on his face.

“With bonuses,” he added with a mischievous grin, lifting his glass of adequate wine to her. Reluctantly she lifted hers in tacit acceptance of his offer.

Across from her she saw the young man tense. With a hiss she sat down her wine and scribbled frantically on her napkin for a moment more closing the last few parenthesis, then sliced her thumb on a silver ring she wore on her ring finger, dribbling a drop of blood onto the paper with a muttered word. The boy stood up and drew a small box from his pocket before falling to one knee before his date. In the window behind him fireworks suddenly bursts, framing him and dazzling his intended as he knelt before her. Her moment of hesitation swept away by the fireworks, she cried her acceptance and rushed forward to hug him. In the background there was a mechanical pop as the buildings air conditioner coughed and died. Emmaline smiled, a few hours of discomfort for a lifetime of happiness. Fair trade. All the boy had needed was a bit of luck after all. The elegant man raised an appreciative eyebrow at her.

“I think you will make a fine addition to Priest and Hawthorne Professor Stern, a fine addition indeed.”