Kingfisher

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

““As for the end of the universe…I say let it come as it will, in ice, fire, or darkness. What did the universe ever do for me that I should mind its welfare?” ”

I don’t want to go back to the real world.

”You don’t have to think like that, Eliot.”

If its alright with you...could I hug you? I’m cold.

“You don’t have to ask me, asshat!”

Right..sorry.

”Relax, Captain. I’m joking. You go right ahead and hug me.”

Thanks. I...I wish I could just lie here forever.

”We’ve all got to wake up some time, Captain.”

The dull groan of the Brightburn’s engine gently rocked Captain Eliot Robbins awake. His eyes were stinging, and the more he rubbed them the more they stung.

Galaxy full of fancy fucking technology, and they can’t fix sleep pains. He grumbled internally. After a few short moments of tossing and turning, Robbins was out of bed and clasping together the last few buttons on his shirt.

His morning ritual was a brief one, and pretty soon he was making his way down the gleaming metal corridors of the SV Brightburn, his shoe-clad feet clanging against the cold steel floor. He had decent space legs, and after several decades traveling the cosmos he could barely feel the creaking and juddering of his vessel as it lurched through the great void, and towards the planet of Celaenos.

This mission him and his crew had been assigned sounded simple in practice, but if his years as captain had taught him anything, it was that the Leaning Gale was anything but simple.

Sneaking aboard a Luxury Ship should be easy, but the only reason you’d run a Cruise Liner this far out of Union territory was if you had something to hide.

Best be expecting resistance, and a LOT of it.

The Captain cleared his throat, before pressing his thumb against the holographic panel which linked him to the Brightburn’s intercom.

“Rise and shine, kiddos.” Eliot’s gruff voice blared across the ship “We’ve got ourselves a long day ahead. Now get yer asses to the mess hall; it's breakfast and plannin’ time.”

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Lexicon Would you mind if I were to add those to the first OOC post?

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

Alrighty. You should see an IC post over the next couple of days.

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

@Terminal My intention was to wait for a larger crew, but if everyone is in favour of getting underway, then I can start work on the IC.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Hmmm...an interesting development. Cops are swarming the Hotel Imperius to arrest Nyxie. I'm trying to think what Narcissa would do in this situation. If her boss is caught then would she bother going after the book? Probably, because vampires definitely count as corrupted souls. Hell, she could scour the Nyctari from the face of the Earth with that book. But cops in the building...I must ponder this.

@Lexicon

Bear in mind, it'll be hard for them to hold Nyx for more than 24 hours without things getting VERY ugly.

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

Here's part 2:
My MC:

---

Name: Cha’kwaina (Che-Ya-Quee-nah)

Age: 9

Appearance:

All Quinunaki’s have the pale lavender skin of far off stars, solid black eyes of complete darkness, white hair, and mouths full of vicious pointed teeth. Cha’kwaina is no different. (From what you can tell.) Her black finger nails, she was told, prove her family is from ocean-residing tribe in Kogaan, her species home planet. She’s shorter than most of her people, that is to say, she’s of average Terran height. She will grow no taller, as she has reached her final stage in physical maturation for the Quinunaki. All that’s left to is gain enough weight to help support any future pregnancies.

She prefers to go barefoot. All other physical features she keeps hidden. After her mutilation in the Rising, Cha’kwaina took to wearing veils in public that covered her face and head, leaving only her eyes exposed to the world. Because you’ll never see her without a veil, there is no need to go further into detail. Even now, she favors the loose robes she took to wearing when still a slave.

Personality:

Cha’kwaina been drugged a majority of her life. Told who she was, what she should be, and how to act. So you’re gunna have to wait until she figures out who she is herself. But here’s a list of what she’s got so far:

• She worships the stories about her people and their native home on Kogaan.
• She worries she is not really a Quinunaki.
• Multitasking is difficult.
• She talks to herself in her native tongue to help sort out her thoughts because who else would she talk to?
• She’s ashamed of her body.
• She finds music confusing, purposeless, and entirely fulfilling.

Biography:

Cha’kwaina was born in Zaetarian captivity. She was trained, like a beast of burden, in a fabric sweat shop until her captors decided that she looked decent enough to be sold into the selective Zaetarian sex industry at 3. Like other Quinunaki’s in pleasure houses, Cha’kwaina was drugged. It was a menagerie of ever changing chemicals to prevent any of the Quin from developing a tolerance.

At 5, the Rising occurred. It happened in another pleasure ship that was almost two planets away, but her owner, Celsorelica Ghatarid decided an example needed to be made. Cha’kwaina, the youngest on her ship, was granted that honor. In a public ceremony in which tickets sold for the prices of small transportation vessels, cocktails were served, and Zaetarians strutted in their monstrous fashions Cha’kwaina was humiliated in the worst way possible for a Quinunaki: her teeth were pulled, one by one, and sold in a silent auction.

During her healing process under the supervision of a wrinkled Terran she learned two things: 1) her people were dying from a suspicious virus across the Leaning Gale and 2) she understood him, this ancient creature who never heard of Katheen bird let alone how to navigate the complicated . Celsorelica rejoiced when he realized his worthless Quin pleasure slave (“Who wants to have sex with a Quin without teeth? Takes away all the fun, my dear Cha-Cha,” he said.) could be trained as a translator.

By the time Cha’kwaina was 9, she mastered three Terran languages, the dialects of the major Zaetarian houses, and the harsh language of the Ruthekk. To her dismay, it was her lack of teeth that allowed her to speak these twisting languages that had her puckering her lips and rolling her tongue in unfamiliar ways. Celsorelica favored her in the ways that Zaetarians do: fawning, drugs, gifts, beatings, and sex.

“Just in case, let’s get you checked out,” Celsorelica said as news of dying Quin’s depleting Zaetarian pleasure ships came through the transmissions.

The Caesar was docked at the same refueling station as the Brightburn for this very purpose when Cha’kwaina was bought by a Terran and then freed by his subsequent death. Celsorlica thought it was a joke. Until the credits showed up in his account and Cha’kwaina was tucked away on the Brightburn before he could gather enough Zaetarian supporters.

The crew of the Brightburn was prepared to drop Cha’kwaina off at the next dusty frontier town because she stinks of trouble and they don’t need any more of that. She argued, in all the languages she knew, for an opportunity to prove herself: one month. That was her grace period. So far, it’s been a week.

Additional Notes:

the savages of the Leaning Gale

• Kogaan: the home planet of the Quinunaki; as inhospitable to the life forms that scratch out a living there as well as those wishing to infiltrate the planet and its resources. Very specific atmospheric conditions are needed for ships to enter and land on Kogaan.
• Living environment: due to the harsh nature of their home planet, the Quins place high regard on procreation and children.
• Rate of maturation:the shortened lifespan of these creatures doesn’t imply they don’t mature. The mental, physical, and emotional maturation of the Quin occurs in a shortened amount of time compared to other creatures of the Leaning Gale and beyond. Think of it in terms of “dog years.”
• Gene variation:increased rate of procreation leads to new mutations within the race in attempts to battle the continually changing environment of Kogaan; although basic characteristics of their race remains constant, each tribe developed definitive physical traits based on their location.
• Intelligence: simple in terms of technology, this race of people’s ability to adapt confounds researches.
• Warrior worship: those men and women who kill the Kathleen are granted high status in the community.
• Hair: those considered warriors shave the sides of their heads and keeps the rest of their hair braided in one thick length. In general, braids are considered sacred and good luck. It’s common for Quins to twine together objects and carry them with them.
• Teeth: to show their strength, Quins can choose to undergo lip mutilation. Their lips are cut or sewn back to keep their teeth constantly exposed. It’s considered attractive. It’s an extremely painful and dangerous process. 1/3 of those who attempt this procedure die.
• Time line: first contact with the Quinunakis occurred twenty some years before the war. In the last seven, however, contact increased with raiders and Zaetarian pirates due to demand.
• Slave trade: Quins are wanted for three purposes: labor intensive tasks; ring fighting; pleasure boats.
• Sickness:encroachment of their planet by new species from far stretches of the galaxy, a deadly virus is working its way through the Quins. The disease, unnamed, causes muscle dystrophy. 1/10 die. Of the surviving, 2/3 are left crippled or mutilated.

@Raid

Cha’kwaina is accepted! Those details we discussed about the Quin can now be considered cannon. Feel free to put her in the Character Tab.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

There had better be more coming. Nyxvira fumed inwardly, as she licked up the last few crumbs of Baruch’s half-arsed offering. A quick rummage through the mini-fridge yielded a decent sized packet of Babybels, which the Faerie spent the next few minutes munching on, before tossing their empty wrappers into the waste paper basket.

Her suite was a regal one, displaying the very latest in new age interior decorating. Soft chairs, a softer bed, and silk drapes like twin waterfalls of rich silver, sweeping over huge windows with clear glass panels.

It wasn’t long before her hound arrived.

Narcissa entered the room with long, feline strides. Even out of her armour, the Elf looked an elegant killing machine.

Nyxvira had been halfway through undressing, but it would have been impossible to gage that by the unflinching nature of the elf’s tone.

“What would you have me do, my lady?” She asked in her cold voice.

“Help me fuck up the Nyctari.” The Faerie said plainly, her head propped up against the headboard, as she lay spread out across the queen-sized bed. “Big” didn’t even come close to capturing Nyxvira’s girthy immensity. She completely dominated the centre of the bed, with the swollen vastness of her gigantic gut bulging out in front of her.

“And to do that, I need you to retrieve something very specific for me.”

Narcissa stood sentinel on the other side of the room, watching the Faerie with a wordless gaze.

She gives me the fucking creeps. There was more than one reason Nyxie had her watched closely by a tightly-knit security detail.

"The Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan,” She let the words roll off of her tongue “a very precious little book, which is going to help us find where Concetto is hiding.”

A spout of indigestion made Nyxvira wince suddenly.

“Barrow and White have quite a few trinkets from the Great Horde,” She explained “go and tear their tower apart until you find the Atlas, then-”

Suddenly, Nyxie’s phone started ringing.

“For fuck’s sake…”

She answered with the press of a button.

“Bill's Roadside Diner: you kill 'em, we grill 'em.”

“Boss, we got ourselves a problem.”

The voice on the other end was a familiar one. Rebecca Rapava: the Winston Wolfe of the Bloodbloom Syndicate.

“What’s up?”

“Sending you footage now.”

Nyxie looked down at her screen.

The hotel lobby was crawling with heavily-armed SWAT operatives, kitted out like GSG 9 soldiers. They barked orders, threatened folks at gunpoint, and snatched Rapava’s phone off of her once they realized she was recording them.

The call went dead.

Fuck.

“You know what to do, Hound.” She said, with spikes of frantic urgency biting into her words “Now get your arse out of here.”

Narcissa turned and left, as quietly as she’d appeared.

Time to play the waiting game. Nyxvira thought to herself, as she laid her hands out on her thick thighs, and waited for Veronika Tolstoi’s goons to come and seize her.

Beyond Civilisation's Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP [Seeking Desperate Souls for Adventure!]

Just so everyone knows, Outpost 57 - the place where it all started in the OG thread - is nothing more than space dust at this point. Hence, you have two options.

Option the First: You're already aboard the Golden Hind, which is Drake's ship, and which I shall put up specs to at a later time.

Option the Second: You give me a destination - a planet, a ship, whatever - and I come and 'claim' your character.

Option the Third and Final: I find a new place and we just all meet there.

So, yea, thought that might help.

Any questions either to this or more generally?

@Jbcool

Can Ms Blissponis already be aboard Drake's ship?

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

For your pleasure:

the Dead Crew Member

Name: Dakho Choo

Age: 48—deceased

Appearance:

Someone’s gotta look good

Dakho did his best to stay classy after the war. He liked looking good and enjoyed spending what money he earned on clothing. Nothing ridiculous, mind you, he’s no peacocking Zaetarian. However, he joked that he dressed as he did just in case the Brightburn’s clientele demanded to speak to someone who didn’t look like they just emerged from a dust storm on Fu Ho Kaun.

Personality: Dakhon was a peaceable person. He didn’t like arguing and didn’t like people arguing around him. However, he wasn’t about to try to negotiate and solve every squabble the crew of the Brightburn was in. He has more dignity than to stoop to the level of trying to convince Camden that she could use a little more sleep or that Iikka ain’t fooling him. Let alone who’s turn it is to go grocery shopping—he just walks away. However, he took great pleasure in twisting people’s words around. Embarrassment, he believed, was the most attractive expression on a person’s face.

Through and through, Dakhon was an anthropologist. Observe, note, theorize, test. For him, the Leaning Gale was a superb place of study. He loved it here. Complete adrenaline junkie despite his tendency towards self-preservation.

Biography: Dakhon fought for the Union. Okay, wait, don’t freak out. Up to that point in his life, Dakhon was able to talk himself out of everything—getting married, going to pilot school, helping his mother move across the solar system—so when everyone was suddenly jumping to go to war, he was taken aback that he was expected to do the same, too. Since when had he showed any inclination for shooting. He likes talking far too much and if you shoot someone, who was there left to talk to?

Thus, it was Dakhon’s absolute pleasure when his yammering landed him as a transmission technician on the Sovereign’s Grace. He survived the war. Obviously. It took too long, in his opinion. Wasted resources, lives, and soon enough no one wanted to talk to him in the Union because of his so called blasphemy. When some Confederate stumbled on to the empty ship when the rest of the crew was off celebrating the Unions victory, Dakhon naturally assisted in the commandeering of the newly baptized Brightburn. It was his absolute pleasure to finally have someone to talk to again. And listen! What a treat.

Dakhon never got to send a transmission to his Mum about everything he experienced in the Leaning Gale. Five years after the war as he laid dying from pancreatic cancer he refused to get treatment for in a hospital in some fueling station that housed too many Zaetarians to make his passing truly comfortable, that was his one regret.

So he gave decided to do what made sense at the time:free the first slave he found mildly attractive, bequeath his entire music collection to her, and promptly die. Perfectly poetic.

Additional Notes:

• Especially fond of American singer/songwriters from the 1960-1980s.
• Carried no weapons. He had faith in his crew members to keep him safe.

@Raid

I love him! Very tastefully presented.

By Way Of The Leaning Gale [Space Western RP]

@Terminal Looks Great! Iikka is approved