Austronaut

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

Of course everyone is free to exercise as much narrative freedom as they wish

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

Lenya Adeline Von Morganstern stood at the base of the long dock. Snow and ice hung heavily from the branches of the pines which swept down to the rocky shore. It was Saint Martins Day and, in Lenya’s mind, the official beginning of the Christmas Season. Lenya had even less reason to be religious than most, but the trappings of Catholicism were pleasantly nostalgic for her.

The path behind her was lit with twinkling lights contained in intricately decorated crystal spheres, hung in the bows of trees with springs of mistletoe and holly. It wound its way up the steep bluff to where her house perched on the height overlooking the sea. It had only recently been finished and she admitted a certain pride to show it off. It was a modern design favouring rich brown woods and glass under a slate tiled roof. It was far too large for her but, like all her kind, she tended to build for a coven.

The gardens, though snow covered, were meticulously tended. She had a gardener who lived down in the village who dotted on the place. Several ice sculptures stood in the open area in the centre of the garden around her large decorated Christmas tree. They depicted various classical goddesses as imagined by art students at the University of Maine. Lenya found the Juno to be particularly beautiful, though she had paid for them all cheerfully.

The distant chug of a diesel motor punctured the contrived peace of the scene. She could see the old fishing boat, so called although it hadn’t fished in a decade or more, rounding the point, its storm lantern blinking cheerfully on the soft swell. She had deliberately chosen to make her home on the island, which meant she needed a boat to get back and forth to the mainland. To that end she had hired Bert, a salty old lobsterman, who was just as happy to ferry her and, today, her guests around.

The figures of her work mates, invited to share the celebration of the Saint’s Feast, were clustered on the deck. Some were wearing coats, others defiantly underdressed despite the cold. What would hardy old Bert make of that? Probably just shake his head at the foolishness of people ‘from away’. Seph had offered to create a portal for her guests but Lenya had demurred. She rarely resorted to magic when mundane means were available, as they were here. Besides there was talk enough about her in the village as it was, a strange foreign woman who built an expensive house on the deserted hill. It was hardly good practice to add guests who mysteriously appeared from nowhere.

The boat pulled expertly into the dock. Bert, as wrinkled and parched as old leather, sprang onto the dock with all the surety of a mountain goat and looped the heavy rope ties around the bollards, snugging the boat in tight.

“Welcome to my home everyone,” she called out with a smile, “A fine Martinmass to you all.”

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

OK I didn't want to step on your toes

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

Are you guys comfortable with me advancing the time line a day or so to host a dinner party?

Black Velvet Sky [Hard SF | Politics/Exploration | Character-Driven]

@Kangaroo

Do we want to establish some sort of previous association?

Black Velvet Sky [Hard SF | Politics/Exploration | Character-Driven]

Margaret 'Woods' Collingwood




Margaret “Woods” Collingwood
[REDACTED]
Age: 27 Hair: Red Eyes: Green
Height 5’ 10 Weight 150 lb

Education
Bachelor of Electronic Engineering – CalTech
Bachelor of Defence and Strategic Studies – West Point

Experience
US Marine Corps – Counter Intelligence
SOCOM – Recon and COIN
NATO SOG


Vignette
The rifles cracked mournfully in the early morning air. Maggie watched the proceedings from a safe distance, reluctant to admit she was present. In the green field of the cemetery a flag draped coffin stood beside a recently excavated grave. The aged and grieving parents of Master Seargent Thomas Glenn received the folded flag with appropriate solemnity. Beside them stood the sister he could never stand and a trio of children who had hardly known him. They too were trying to look solemn, though the youngest girl seemed more scared by the gunfire.

The bugler began the familiar tones of the last post and Mrs Glenn buried her head in her husbands shoulder. With dignified slowness the coffin began to sink into the earth. The plastic box was actually empty. The grieving family had been told that Seargent Glenn had died in a training accident. Maggie knew that Glenn had actually died in a Russian communication facility in Dagestan. He had been cornered by the facilities security before he could extract. Faced with death or capture Glenn had opted to trigger the eraser charge he carried. The potent thermite/phosphorus charge had killed him instantly; eliminating all evidence that Thomas Glenn had ever existed. Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust.

The mission psychologists hadn’t been certain that a soldier would be willing to trigger the eraser charge when the situation called for it. Thomas would have appreciated that his last act in the world was to fuck with the pshycs. Maggie bought the flask to her lips, taking a long draft of whiskey and letting it burn her throat. The car door beside her opened. She ignored it, watching for the last glimpse of the coffin as it sunk into the earth.

“Woods, you could be out there you know,” the calm voice of Major Brookings told her. Brookings was an intelligence wonk but he was alright. He had run the series of black ops which had culminated in Glenn’s death. The brass certainly though the program was worth the cost but soldiers, like Thomas Glenn and Maggie Collingwood and even, yes – Major Brookings, didn’t ask that question. Ours is not to wonder why and all that.

“Could be,” she agreed, “but I don’t want to lie to the poor bastards parents.”

Brookings nodded, a place holder rather than any comment on the situation. Lying was part of the job, just as much as anything else.

“I’m sorry he didn’t make it Woods, he was a good man,” Brookings continued. Maggie turned to face him at last. He was a thin man, his face ascetic and hollow like a monk of old. It was impossible to tell how truthful the sentiment was. Possibly it was heartfelt but the professional veneer of the long term spook didn’t peel easily.

“He was my friend,” she said simply. How good or bad Thomas Glenn had been didn’t really matter. There was a long awkward pause. Maggie filled it with another mouthful of whiskey. Brookings cleared his throat.

“Did Glenn tell you where he was being posted after the Dagestan operation?” Ah the point at last.

“Do you want me to say yes or no? I don’t suppose anyone is going to bust him for loose lips now.” Brookings ignored that with commendable restraint. He appreciated she was under stress.

“You were our second pick for that posting and now your number one. We don’t have another operator with your skill mix, I know it’s a long haul and space service is rough, if you need time…”

“Sign me up,” she said instantly. Meeting the older man’s eyes for the first time, she slipped the flask of whiskey back into her uniform pocket. In the background a second volley rang out as the coffin settle into the earth. Bid the soldiers shoot.

Into The Dark: Mercenaries (Heroes of Fame and Fortune)

I suppose I can adopt a purely reactive pose if you prefer.

Into The Dark: Mercenaries (Heroes of Fame and Fortune)

Cassilda pushed forward beside Kayden. The throbbing pain in her back told her that she had avoided a falls worth of broken bones by trading it for bruises and strains. It didn’t matter if she didn’t survive of course, and she wouldn’t survive unless they did something fast.

“It’s the Invocation of Kazi-Nercht,” she hissed urgently, “You said these were simple bandits!”

She could tell by the blank look that the name meant nothing to Kayden but the elf’s face drained of color. Cassilda made a gesture with her sword. They had to kill them now before… well maybe not think about that.

“Get the door open,” she told him dragging a small bronze amulet from her pouch and wrapping it around the pommel of the weapon.

“There will be seven of them at least. That's just for the ritual, I can't speak to how many guards.” Standing up she tried the door tentatively. It was locked of course. She held up three fingers, bringing one down with each second untill she had a closed fist. Then she leaned back and drove her foot against the door with all her might. The door and the fitting were solid but the masonry that the bolts were anchored in were ancient. Even so it took two kicks to dislodge the thing.

Hoping that others would follow she rushed into the room. A dozen men stood facing a thirteenth man in the center of the room. The chamber itself had been hastily swept clear, ancient junk and debris was still piled in the corners. One soldier leveled a crossbow and pulled the lever. Cassilda twisted sideways as the lethal bolt cut through the air she had just occupied.

Raising her sword she began muttering a counterspell.

Blood, Steel, and Gunpowder (Austronaut & POOHEAD189)

Isolde pulled at Cedric’s arm fitfully. This other woman, Hilde, clearly was in no condition to travel.

“We cannot stay here,” she implored, her eyes scanning the hallway for other soldiers. She needn't have bothered they alarm bells were ringing unnecessarily now and men were rushing to the walls with panicked shouts.

Suddenly the woman shifted and Gilbrecht’s body slid off her like warm bread dough, dropping to the floor with an undignified thump. Hilde sat up with a ragged gasp her hands going to her throat. A moment later it darted down again making sure her trousers were adequately pulled up. Isolde thought the womans concern for that point a little silly but then it appeared that Gilbrecht had attacked her.

Gore coated the front of Hilde’s white shirt and ran down over her trousers in an ugly blotch. Isolde could only presume it belonged to the deceased knight, as Hilde seemed to be moving freely.

“Cedric,” she rasped and tried to rise to her feet. She swayed dangerously but managed to stay upright. Something exploded close about and dust and grit rained down over the scene.

“He tried to rape me,” Hilde declared by way of explanation. Isolde frowned, it seemed out of character for the stern and unbending Sir Gilbrecht.

“What is going on?”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Balgar the Demonhearted watched the bombardment with a cold satisfaction. His was the most rational of views. Not the orgiastic excess that Crovendiff or the fury of a beserker. His mind was greater than those of other men, the changer had seen to that. The flimsy castle walls would not last. They had been built in an era before firearms and cannon. They were too high and too thin. Already the hellcannon’s blast was excavating vast chunks of masonry. It would not be long.

The undisciplined beastmen were already rushing forward. Many were killed by the showers of stones explosively blown from the walls. Other were cut down with shot and arrows from the defenders. The pretender knights were giving good account of themselves. Even with his enhanced vision he couldn’t see the grim soldier who had troubled him so. Perhaps the man had already fallen. By the end of the day his severed head would adorn Balgars belt, by the Changer it would.

Blood, Steel, and Gunpowder (Austronaut & POOHEAD189)

Isolde threw her arms around Cedric's neck and kissed him full on the lips.

"Thank you," she breathed. She thrust the small brass key into the eye of the bracelet and turned it. The arcane shackle. The heavy copper link fell to the floor with an unmusical clank. The Golden Wind roared back into her and she might have wept in relief.

Cedric's rash action had taken her by surprise but Isolde reacted quickly. She snatched up her few possessions.

"I will tell you everything but we have to leave. Right now. I am a sigmar fearing woman but if they catch us they will burn both of us alive."

------------
Balgar regarded the torchlit castle impassively. It was time. He stroked the heavy metal of the hell cannon, feeling the rage of the trapped demob inside. The sigmarites were alert abs wouldn't be taken by surprise.

"Kill them all," he roared. The hellcannon belched fire and smoke in an unimaginable blast,sending a projectile screaming into the sky like a damned soul

@POOHEAD189