Penny

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Emmaline sat up in bed, warming to the idea. In truth, she would have been glad for any excuse to dwell on something other than the low grade fear of the city's possible fall and the sharper fear of what she had seen on the barge the previous night. The fact they hadn't yet received a visit from their new found 'friend' at the Order of the Fiery Heart, suggested that their work had been appreciated and that their right to squat in the tower was at least not officially refuted. A harmless bit of looting seemed just the thing to start of the morning and she suspected that the salted fish she had stored in the lower levels would get pretty monotonous if the siege dragged on. Of course monotony might not be such a bad thing when compared to the excitement that would ensue if a horde of ravening beastmen managed to break the walls. Emmaline tried to imagine what the odds of that happening might be. Nuln was a mighty city and well defended. Beastmen rarely took walled towns, having not the skill to construct siege engines. And yet why try if it were doomed to failure. She brushed the thoughts aside.

"Can I wear my looting clothes?" Emmaline asked excitedly. Neil gave her a look, cocking his head and arching an eyebrow.

"Do you have looting clothes?" he asked. Emmaline sniffed hautily.

"A proper lady has clothes for every eventuality," she declared.

"Right, but what about you?"

Her pillow bounced off his face.

The streets of Nuln were not quite empty. Here and there people tried to go about their regular business, though there was a furtive aspect to them. Occasionally soldiers could be seen tramping through the street towards the walls. More than once Emmaline saw men in splendid armor and fine cloaks with polished weapons being chivied towards the walls by the rough and ready city watch. Someone had obviously decided to strip the nobles of their personal guards and send them to defend the city. Evidently this met with some favor from citizens who had only ever seen the noble's personal bullies swagger and swive in taverns and shove their way through the markets. Their forced patriotism was greeted with cheers and cat calls and the occasional handful of thrown mud.

"Do you have a plan for where we should begin?" Emmaline asked as they walked through the twisted streets. Much as Neil had predicted there were guards set on granaries and mills but as yet little care had been taken for private stores which traded in foodstuffs. For the most part the toughs who policed such places were being swept up to defend the walls. Emmaline saw several stores protected by nothing more than 'closed' signs.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Reading people’s minds is harder than you think. It isn’t because of any innate psychic defenses or anything like that, nor any trick of training or willpower, it is simply because most people don’t go through their lives thinking about anything that is particularly profound. Two of them were thinking carnal thoughts about me. One of them was thinking carnal thoughts about me and Clara together. This was not particularly useful information, as in frontier camps like this women were almost always in a minority among men of an age to still be troubled by testosterone. Hadrian was trying to make my job easier by using keywords like ‘off worlder’ but strangely it was Clara who took the trick. The scope had been salvaged from a Carnadon kill nearly two hundred miles south of us. The mangled body was still in his mind and I could make out what I thought was the face of Hadrian’s agent. I probed gently. Even the unaware can detect too much in the way of overt mind probes and the man shivered and pulled his mind back inside of harder defenses than I could breach without notice. I did manage to snatch enough information to know where to look.

“Your friend’s dont feel like talking,” the would be threesome asked, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained with some plant based material.

“Lady Sark has no words for the likes of you,” Clara replied, setting the scope down on the table to keep her hands free in case of trouble.

“And why is that?” Red teeth leered.

“For ze same reason lion’s do not speak to curs,” I replied in a Travensal accent. The Ordo files included voice recordings of Ammaretta Sark and I had done my best to imitate her mode of speech. My voice dripped with contempt, which was both appropriate to the situation and to Sark more generally. The man reeled back as though slapped, though his companions laughed good naturedly at his chagrin.

“Melton, ve have vat we need. Prepare us to depart, weeks on board ship with nothing to kill leaves me out of sorts,” I snapped and turned to leave. Clara took point in front of me as a life ward might, leaving ‘Melton’ to cover my back.

Outside we found Lucius growing agitated and drawing stares from everyone who passed. I had intended for him to remain in stasis until we needed him, but Hadrian had decided that having him on hand might prevent hostility from breaking out. Assuming Lucius wasn’t the cause of the hostility of course. I reached out and touched his now familiar mind, calming him with the exercises we had practiced back at Agesola House. It didn’t always work, but this time it did.

“Ve vill need transport,” I told Hadrian as he exited.

I fear your agent is dead. I saw a body on a beach south of here.
“Porters as well, perhaps half a dozen,” I continued.

What do you propose? Hadrian’s thought came back to me.

“It shall be as you command Lady,” he said out loud.

We travel to the kill site. I may be able to learn more there.

Was it wildlife? Hadrian asked in my mind.

Not unless they learned to use las rifles.

_____

We left camp two hours later riding in a pair of cargo tens which had their rear four tires linked into tracks for off road work. Lazarus had been able to piece my mental impression of the kill site together with orbital imagery he had pirated from the shuttle on the way in and we had a reasonably good guess as to where we needed to go. We hired six locals for fetch and carry, one of whom claimed to be a tracker, though in truth this was all for show. The sort of thing a rich off world hunter would do. Lazarus cunningly disabled their vox unit so that it appeared to remain functional without actually sending and receiving. It was probably overkill for a low level operator like Nagrip, but he had been underestimated before, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities that he might have paid some locals to take an interest in any off world visitors.

For the first two hours we drove eastwards away from the caldera, following an ancient rutted path through the forest. The trees were colossal, some nearly a hundred meters tall with large bulb-like canopies. Direct sunlight was almost completely absorbed by the time it reached ground level and so the undergrowth was more mycologial than arboreal. Our party rode in the forward cargo ten where we could speak freely. The mood was grim. I had only shared the image of the agent, little maw than a gnawed skeleton whose head was still attached, with Hadrian but no one had any trouble imagining it. We reached a small river just before sundown and turned south. This irritated our local help considerably but we passed it off as having picked up auspex readings matching carnadons. In truth, Lazarus was scanning for big game and other threats, but the true reason was that we could make reasonable time along the river bank. Seasonal floods had swept most of the undergrowth aside and so we could make bumpy progress southwards. Even so we had to pause once the first of the two moons set. We parked our vehicles in echelon against the side of the river and made camp for the night.

“We should be there by midday tomorrow,” Lazarus told us as we sipped amasec and ate our expensive trail rations around a fire constructed for us by our now surly locals. The would be tracker, a one eyed brute named Kelden, insisted that we would have had better luck finding carnadons to the east. I ignored him with aristocratic disdain until Clara had put her hand on her autorifle to let him know that he had crossed the line. He threw his hands up and went back to his fellows, making a wide curve around Lucius who sat gnawing at a haunch of grox.

“Then all we have to do is find a grave site a sex addled psyker pulled from the mind of a local drunk,” he groused.

Penny's Interests

Bump

At The Edge of The World

To say I was unenthusiastic about leaving a warm bed to walk through the jungle was an understatement. If I'd had my way I'd have curled up and gone back to sleep. Beren, however, was too much of a pain in the ass, and by that I mean woodsman, to allow such sensible actions. He pointed out that the monsoon would be on us within a few weeks, and possibly a few days, and that any ground we could make while the sun was out, would be worth its weight in gold. I reluctantly agreed, more for a lack of interest in arguing than because I truly conceded the point, and we set out laden down with what provisions we could carry. Characteristically, there were no horses. The dense jungle isn't a place horses or any hoofed animal tolerates well, the rot tending to cripple them even if there are roads for riding on. The path was no road as civilized people understood it, merely a way worn through the jungle by the passage of countless feet over the ages. In places the verdant growth crowded in and markers were set up, often nothing more sophisticated than a partially hacked tree or arrangement of rocks. Fortunately jungle soil dosen't run to the kind of mud one finds on dirt roads after rain. Rainforest actually has very little in the way of subsoil, most of its nutrients coming from a build up of leaf mould and decaying organic matter. What soil there was was thickly braided with roots which formed little puddles as they gathered in water. Several streams were running, although I assumed they were dry except during monsoon or after heavy rain, and the forest was alive with the calls of birds and other animals as we started the long trek down towards Darkwater Crossing. We met no other travelers, presumably they had the sense the Gods give to everyone except Beren, and they stayed dry. The mosquitos were ferocious, but I had long ago learned a charm to keep them at bay. I rather enjoyed what I imagined their little faces looked like when they ran into my invisible barrier.

We walked till well after sundown. There was a fine moon which provided enough light to see by and we eventually pitched camp in a rocky outcrop a hundred yards or so off the trail. Beren built a small fire, apparently viewing the wildlife as more of a danger than other travelers who might catch a glimpse of the reflected glow or smell smoke on the air and we settled down to a meal of fresh bread and cheese. I drank a little wine, and was asleep before I knew it. I had strange dreams of the city of gold and its serpentine Goddess. She appeared to me as a woman clad in emerald mail, which on closer inspection was scales. She seemed to be trying to tell me something but her hissing speech remained unintelligible. I woke with a start, feeling as though something were slithering over my wrist. I reached down to touch the bracelet I had recovered from the ruin and felt it writhe beneath my touch. WIth a squeal I leaped into the air and shook my wrist furiously, trying to dislodge whatever it was. To my astonishment I saw a small green snake wrapped around my wrist clinging on for dear life and hissing in what I somehow knew to be terror.

"What the..." Beren demanded, swinging around from where he had been keeping watch. He lunged towards the snake whose little eyes bugged out for a moment before he raced up my arm and under my blouse. I cursed and grabbed at the fabric, pulling it open. Beren's eyes were wide as he saw my skin. Where moments ago had been my bare midrif, now stood an intricate tattoo of a small and obviously terrified snake.

"Ummmm..." I temporized, to utterly astonished to be afraid. I brushed my hand over that tattoo and found it smooth. As I pulled my hand away the head of it moved, and then emerged from my skin as though from a pool of water. Beren grabbed for it and it flattened into ink before his fingers could touch it.

"Back off," I suggested. He did so and I coaxed the snake out by rubbing it with my finger. It slowly emerged from my skin and coiled around my arm. A moment later it was the bracelet again, as though the whole experience had been some kind of shared delusion.

"That," I observed, "is very weird."

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

Ill Met in Ostland

Natasha was forced to let Marius handle the fortifications. Cursing up a storm she managed to cut her blanket into strips and apply something like a bandage. Her hands were crusted with dried blood by the time she had finished and it still hurt like the Daemons of the North were gnawing on it. Mechanically she reloaded her carbine and then managed to pull on her mail and gamberson. Lightning struck outside to reveal several men cloaked against weather mulling around. They tried the door, rattling and banging against it, but Marius had wisely pushed a heavy table across the entry way.

"Open up!" of them shouted against the storm, rain slicking off his cloak and making his voice sound reedy and weak.

"Vat do you vant. I ez traying to slayep!" Natasha shouted back.

"We just want to talk!" her interlocutor shouted back, cupping his hands to make a trumpet.

"Ve are talking no da?" Natasha called back. There was a few moments of consultation between the assembled group outside.

"We have word that you are dangerous criminals, there is a bounty for you dead or alive," the leader bellowed.

"You are shet at talcking," Natasha observed. "How much did that Grinvold bisterd offer you?"

"What?!" the leader called back in obvious confusion, his own Riekspiel not sufficient to the task.

"Grinvold, how mach he pays you to keel as?" she rephrased.

"More than enough," the leader growled. "Open the doors and make it easy on yourself!"

"Nyet, I dont zink ve does zat," Natasha replied, she pulled herself to the window, lifted the shutter and fired. One of the men screamed and grabbed the side of his head, part of his ear taken off by the musket ball. Two of them produced pistols and tried to return fire but their powder was too wet. Natasha closed the window and sat down, beginning to reload the weapon. Before she could finish Marius returned.

"All the doors and ground floor windows are locked and barred," he reported, the horse pistol in his hand. "we should be safe now?" The merchant looked a little green around the gills, though for what reason Natasha wasn't certain. She reached over and shuttered the lantern, no point letting the enemy know where they were.

"Nyet, not safe," Natasha contradicted.

"Eveentually they get brains gods gave ass. Knock hole in walls weeth heemers, syet fears in timbers ayend barn us out. Maybee use piwder and blow hole," she explained.

"That ... dosen't sound good," Marius replied in a troubled tone.

"Not gut," she agreed.

"Bestmeen outside, assholes inside," she elaborated. "Vy does Grinvold vant us deed? Could have jist tald us had no piwder. I buy fram ather mirchents."

"No... he already sold the powder to someone else, sold more than he had probably, word gets out he isn't good for it and he will be ruined," Marius replied, clearly happy to be able to move to more familiar ground than being burned out of a besieged building.

"How seal more piwder than he has?" Natasha asked in puzzlement.

"Imagine you told a boyar you would sell him ten horses, he pays you..." Marius began.

"Vy vould he pay me vithout seeing hearses?" Natasha objected.

"He is buying them on credit," Marius explained.

"No beyar vould bee hearses he dydint exeeman," Natasha objected again. Marius ground his teeth trying to find words she would understand.

"Fine, imagine a merchant tells you he will come back next year and buy ten horses, you take some of his money to provide the horses but then a boyar comes and offers you ten times the amount and you sell him the horses, thinking you will have time to get ten more before the merchant comes back." Natasha frowned, struggling mightily to follow the logic.

"And if you cant provide the horses no one else will do business with you and you will be ruined. So rather than default where people can see, when the merchant returns the next year, you have him killed. That way no one can accuse you of breaking your word," Marius rushed. Natasha was almost cross eyed by this point.

"Sounds veery cimplicated," she admitted.

"Welcome to the Empire," Marius sighed. A shot rang out from the darkness and one of the windows shattered into fragments, letting in the storm outside.

Ill Met in Ostland

The surviving man lifted Natasha by the shirtfront, ignoring her clawing fingernails as she raked at his arms and threw her bodily at Marius. The went down in a pile of arms and legs, Natasha yowling in pain from the cut along her chest. The thug used his opportunity to pull out a heavy horse pistol and thumb back the hammer. Natasha rolled, hit the foot of the bed and grabbed the nearest object she could find and threw it with all her might. The boot knocked the pistol from the thugs hand and it fell to the floor, bounced once, then went off with a crash that seemed flat compared to the thunder outside. The report momentarily lit the face of the surprised thug, who turned and ran through the door and out into the night. The sound of the storm roaring as he threw open the door and vanished into the rain, the sudden blast of chill wind drawing curses from those in other rooms who had been unmoved by struggle or gunfire.

"Irsan Bawls," Natasha groaned as Marius got to his feet. He recovered the pistol and used the flint to light one of the oil lamps, filling the room with golden light. The thug on the floor was unconscious or dead though judging from the blood streaming from his ear, the latter was more likely. Natasha's cotton night shirt was soaked with blood from the armpits down.

"Are you hurt," Marius demanded.

"Nyet, jist bleeding for show," Natasha responded sourly. She peeled up her shirt and made a half hearted effort to brush away the blood. For a moment a long cut was visible stretching from her lower fibs down to her hip bone. Welling blood quickly concealed it again.

"Well it's quite a show," Marius responded nervously.

"Kit myself varse shaaving," Natasha responded, reaching over and pulling the bedclothes from the bed. She wadded up the blanket and pushed it against the wound, attempting to staunch the blood loss.

"May need... a fyaw steeches," she conceded breathlessly.