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  • Old Guild Username: Justric
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    1. Justric 11 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
Current No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK..

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That's awesome, Lillian!

"Awwwwww..."

With any luck I should have posts up for Jack and Hob soon. I'm aiming for tomorrow night, but I can't make any promises.
Brilliant, Lillian! (heh) Just wait til Jack and Penny's first "date"!
“Dun know who else it could be,” Jötz sniffed, “Dun see no shiny schtuff or toys or gold anyvhere, really. Chust books. A lot of… books.” The Jaeger had been temporarily distracted by the sight of Ivy climbing up onto the desk, her rump in the air and then with her looking back over her shoulder at him as she was. He had a hard time believing any man alive who wouldn’t have been distracted at the sight! And maybe a few dead ones at that!

But his Jaeger senses told him that there was still some danger here abouts. “Ist like a tomb or crypt in here.” He looked around trying to see anything out of the ordinary but all he could see were the damned-

He frowned. It couldn’t be that simple could it? Really? Although it made sense in a strange sort of way, he had to admit. What else would a Spark truly value after all? Not saying a word, Jötz purposefully moved his bulk across the room to examine the books closer. He could read. Only he had the grasp of only a few modern languages, and whatever the words were upon the spines of the collected works, they were alien to him. Roman alphabet, yes, but that was all that was familiar. Or was it perhaps a code? Snorting, he realized it might even be both.

Reaching out carefully with one talon, he snagged the top of one book’s spine and tugged ever so slightly on it. There was resistance. Nodding thoughtfully, he turned back to his companion.

“Vell, Hy gots good news und bad news.” He gestured to the wall of the book cases, filled completely with their wide assortments of texts, books, tombs, and manuscripts. “Hy tink da treasure ist right here in front oft us. Only is booby-trapped. See?”

Jötz tugged further on the spine in hand until the book was half toppled from its place. Behind the walls there came a clicking sound, and the door swung shut again. Lacking a lock thanks to Petris, it immediately rebounded off of the frame and swung back open. The trap seemed to have been already disarmed accidentally thanks to Ivy’s latest creation. Shrugging, he released the book. “It looks like he vanted to take it mit him. Like one oft dem der ancient kings, ja? Only mit out all da wrappings und dead slaves to guard his grave.”
Great post, Heroes! I can't wait to see what OLGA makes of her new-found freedom!
Thanks! I love working with you folks!

Jack is also a nice change from playing Hob, I admit. Sort of a strange Yin-yang thing, I think.
Done! And he's made the first opening move. Subtlety is not Jack's forte'. Come to think of it, he probably doesn't even know what the word forte' means.... or the word subtlety, for that matter.
Jack's friendly grin became all the wider at hearing they had some molasses on hand. "Be a little enough of a splash, just enough between coves, b'y, but it's a friend yar being so I'll not say a word again' it! Not a word! 'An it's ready, we'll den have a scoff and scuff of our own, a real screeching' in so we can gets together, eh?! Oh, will we ever!" Laughing openly, the Newfie slapped his knee. "Just need some parts den der, and if you've no slut or kettle at hand dem miners are sure to have a pot to piss we can use. Boil it up a treat, at the once, and first glass? First glass you'll be hollerin' sumptin' fierce an' know why we call it 'screech.' An' no more of dat 'Mr. Pumphrey' stuff! It's Jack, or Pumphrey if you must, dough I don't have a name of yars to replace da one I've given ya!"

The molasses, or possible lack thereof, had been his greatest fear. True, he could stretch it with sugar or honey, but the taste wasn't just the same! Anything else he could cobble together, he was sure of it. But without molasses, he wouldn't even be able to start! The kitchen trio gave him hope now, and a trip down to the mining hangars would give him the rest! Jack was nothing if not an optimist.

He moved his grin from the huge chef back to the foxy head, and his smile became something softer as he regarded her. "So it's a clogger we'll have then, I wager," Jack smirked impishly, "Do ya step at all?"

One hope near fulfilled, Jack started out on another. He was a bit out of practice, most of the girls in his adopted home town being too thin for being so full of themselves for his tastes. The sight of Penny smiling back at him, seeing her bounce enthusiastically... Well, it gave a man ideas, it did! Jack was an honorable man, but also one who was rather straightforward for all his roundabout way of talking. True, he had just met the girl, but it always paid to cast your nets where you saw the fish.

Jack gave a shrug that was a strange roll of his shoulders, somehow bringing to mind the roll of the ocean waves. "If ya've no say otherwise, Penny, den maybe we can go walking' out sometime, den? 'Cause I'm an honest man full o' da truth, an da truth is I tink yar gear. A right stick of gum, like I says before. Nuttin' improper, b'y, I'm a gentleman thru an thru, an' it'd be a right honor ta be seen wid ya if ya've a mind for it, b'y."

A sudden beeping sound caught his ear then, and Jack looked up puzzled. He'd been so engrossed in Penny that he hadn't even noticed the twig of a boy mopping. He did notice now, however, that the young man had a face on him like a hen's arsehole in the northwest winds. Jack dismissed it. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him and, more importantly, there was a young lady whom he's already taken a fancy to; even if it was only a passing fancy, Jack saw no reason not to pursue that fancy to see if it became something more for either of them.

"So what ya say, m'duck?" he urged genially, "After supper tonight, say? Where ya at now, stay where ya be an' I'll come to where ya at?"
Victor only paused for a moment of breath, leaning hard against a wall as Kijani wrung out her hair. Gulping another lungful of air, he launched himself away again to stumble up the wood stairs to the upper lofts of the cider mill. Thankfully he had remembered to disengage the press earlier. Even as the gears continued to rumble loudly and fill the air with the grindings of machinery, the wooden press remained thankfully still. There were other issues to deal with, however.

At the top of the stairs, he limped across the causeway to where the controls for the sluice gate were. Shaking violently, Victor grabbed the crank and shoved the lever with all of his might around. Outside, he could hear the gate slowly closing off the sluice so that the water returned to its natural flow. The great water wheel slowly spun to a stop as the source of its motion ebbed away. Moving himself along hand over hand, he reached the axle break and push his shoulder against the heavy lever to lock the wheel in place. There was no helping the dam outside now. Victor was not about to chance running back outside into the throes of the storm to try and raise the floodgates; the dam would either hold back the water, the water would simply flow over it, or… the dam would break to send a tumultuous wave of water and stone pounding down the creek.

Wearily, he struggled back down the stairs. He could feel the chills entering his bones and stealing the warmth from his chest, his reasoning starting to get cloudy. It was there, clear as day to him, that he was in trouble! Only he had no way of conveying it! His lips seemed to move independently of his mind as he looked towards the young woman and said, “Get your clothes off.”

He said nothing more until he reached the bottom of the stairs. The he glanced up at the shocked look upon her face. “Oh stop that,” he muttered irritably, “Gotta get these clothes off, Miss Kijani. The water… the cold… seeps into your body. Can kill you. Need to get… warm and dry. Especially dry. There’s empty sacks over there. Bit rough, but they’ll do for modesty. I’ll be… I’ll be over there…”

Without another glance at her, Victor limped his way slowly around the massive press to the far side of the mill. It seemed to take a very long time to him. By the time he reached an unobtrusive spot and started to pull off his own jerkin and shirt, he completely forgot why he was doing so. Worse, with his back turned towards the doorway, he had little idea that he was stripping to the waist in view of his guest across the building!

Broad and muscular, it was clear that Victor had spent a hard life doing a great deal of work and manual labor. It was also just as clear that the war had left his mark on him. Here and there flashes of scars could be seen on his torso, but these paled in comparison to the criss-crossing pattern of welts that danced across his back. Some were raised and some were gouged, but all were purple-red and tinged with a silver-white around the edges.

At some point Kijani’s host had been flogged. Badly.

Victor, still unaware, lost complete track of what he was doing. His shirt and vest were in a sudden puddle atop his boots, and he was trembling a great deal. He knew it was cold, but… he couldn’t remember why… or where he was exactly… or anything else other than the fact that he was cold and light headed.
I should have a post for Jack up shortly, I hope.
You know, I almost asked "Considering the situation, do we really NEED space marine power armor?"

And then I realized that it was an incredibly foolish question...
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