Penny

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

There proved to be very little opposition as we marched to the Basilica of the Blessed Sight. There were a few wary looking fraternus militia, identified as loyalists of Primate Von Mandlebrot by strips of gold fabric tied around their upper arms or worn as cowls. Evidence of spirited theological debate lay scattered everywhere: shell casings, dropped weapons, the occasional severed finger. There were few bodies, though judging by long blood trails on the cobblestones this might have been because the various factions were cleaning up after themselves. Graffiti was everywhere, daubed on elegant temple pediments and porticos. Hildebrand the Heretic. The Emperor Chooses Mandlebrot. Hear the Voice with a large M. Only once did we see a body, a thin musuclar man who had been stripped naked and crucified, though judging by the autogun rounds that had riddled his lower body, this might have been post mortem.

"Nay fate'n'um," one of our spacers groused, spitting as we passed one of the longing zealots to communicate his point. I was walking in the center of the column, though it might have been better for my cover to be carried, Hadrian had not wanted to highlight me for snipers if there were any working around. This concern apparently didn't extend to his own well being, as he was marching at the front of the column.

"Its the colors," I explained to the spacer, "they don't know who we are and they don't want to start something they cant finish." The faction colors were gold and white, so the appearance of a contingent dressed in blue was enough to throw the calculus off.

"Heh, we'rn'ta Empres sid," he boasted. Aren't they all? I thought to myself but didn't voice it. The enemy must have some reasons for wanting this tangle of factional infighting to go on, and that meant it was bad for us and the Imperium.

________

"Primate Ostenheld Von Mandlebrot!" a silver masked monk declared in a ringing soprano voice. The doors to the audience chamber swung open with ponderous grace to reveal a massive audience chamber flanked on both sides by enormous stained glass windows. White robed men stood every few feet holding incense censors from the end of long staves of polished wood. On a guilded throne at the end of the hall sat a surprisingly fit looking man in simple unadorned robes. He swatted irritably at a cyber cherub that floated too close to him, before straightening. He was a surprsingly young man for such a senior position, he looked to be in his early forties, though research said he was nearly eighty. There was a blandness to his face that was at odds with the keen intelligence in his eyes. A cluster of senior looking clergy in much more elaborate robes surrounded him. All were looking at us, some with skepticism, some with hostility.

"Ah Lord Deckard, and the most excellent Liebowitz! This is good fortune!" Von Mandlebrot declared in an orators voice that rang through the hall. He stood up and strode down the long red rug which ran the length of the hall, the cyber cherubs buzzing to catch up.

"I am Primate ... well I was just announced, but you may call me Osten," he declared shaking Hadrian's hand.

"And Lady Deckard," he said turning to me, "I am surprised to find you with your husband in such... uncertain conditions. Pleased of course, most women I get to speak with are Sororitas, but surprised." I offered a slight curtsey.

"Your Grace," I responded formally, "I would be more comfortable aboard our vessel, but alas my vow of pilgrimage does not permit it."

"Ah, a pious woman," he approved, "Come, come." The Primate led us through several galleries into a sitting room in which a skeletal man in brown robes waited. He made a formal bow to the Primate as he entered.

"This is Salavere, he is the Principle of Electors. A man I have spent rather too much time with these last few months," the Primate said. Salavere gave Hadrian a bow, though much slighter than he had given the Primate. The Principle of Electors was a lifetime position granted to an obscure monk, the only duties assigned were tallying votes and presiding over the election of new cardinals. This kept the position as neutral as possible, and meant that the Principle only had to do actual work when an election took place. Given that the hierarchs of the Church had access to rejuv treatment and lowly monks didn't this might mean a Principle never had to work a single day in his life. Salavere was apparently getting a lifetime of excitement in all at once.

"Salavere, this is Lord Deckard whom we discussed, I think he will be an ideal solution to our problem." Salavere looked skeptical but spread his hands.

"Lord Deckard..." his eyes cut to me but he opted not to comment. "It is my sacred duty to tally the votes." He made a sweeping gesture to the table. Thirty four silver scepters, each the size of a tea spoon lay on a red velvet cloth. Thirty three scepters in gold lay beside them.

"These are the votes as the stand, thirty four for Primate von Mandlebrot, and thirty three for Primate Hildebrant," Salavere explained. Hadrian nodded and then glanced at von Mandlebrot.

"Are congratulations in order Your Grace?" he asked. In actual fact, Hadrian already knew that it took Thirty nine votes to reach the threshold for election, but he asked the question to probe for a reaction. Salavere made a condecening snort.

"According to Cannon Lore a man cannot be elected to the Cardinal's chair without thirty nine votes, symbolic of the thirty nine worlds that were converted to His worship by Saint Eustace in the time of Blessed Macharius."

"Ah..." Hadrian responded, looking suitably impressed.

"When can we expect the remaining Cardinals to cast their votes then? My men should not be seen to be partisan to one side or the other."

Von Mandlebrot nodded his understanding and turned his body to draw our attention to a large and somewhat baroque map of the Cathedral City.

"Unfortunately we don't know, there have been two... accidents already, besides the Blessed Ratsini of course, and the remaining Cardinals are reluctant to come forward. With the riots and the clashes between my ...ahhhh adherents and Hiderbrant's thugs, they are afraid to come forward. The Church would like you, a neutral party, to find these missing cardinals and encourage them to cast their votes."

Art by Wanderingwolf

@wanderingwolf

I feel like every tutorial is either: These are buttons, you can push them! or Here is how to procedurally generate your own universe from a 4-d fractal.

Art by Wanderingwolf

@wanderingwolf Gorgeous, I wish I found blender a little more intuitive!

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

The Brettonian, I hesitate to call him a knight, led us into a plush sitting room. While the architecture was Tilean, it had been hung with elaborate tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and battle. A fire burned cheerfully in a vast stone fireplace above which a battered shield emblazoned with the head of an elk hung in pride of place. Servants arrived with wine which they poured into jeweled goblets for us to drink before withdrawing respectfully beyond the threshold.

“The restless dead stalk the land,” Fernald breathed when I concluded my candid recounting of events, “by the Lady, that is ill news.” I wondered if a Tilean would have taken my words at face value, but Brettonian’s even a few generations removed from their homeland, seemed more willing to lend credence to such a tale.

“Gaston!” Fernald snapped and a tough looking man-at-arms in a burgundy coat appeared. He had a line face that looked well beaten by the weather. He had clearly been awake and about, even at this early hour.

“M’lord?” he inquired perfunctorily.

“There is strangeness afoot, I’d like you to double the guard on the estate,” the Knight instructed. Gaston nodded, then waited a beat.

“Shall I also alert the hamlet my lord?” he suggested in a weary tone.

“Ah, yes of course I meant for you to do that as well,” Fernald agreed. Gaston bowed.

“Very good m’lord,” he agreed and hurried out to do his masters bidding.

“A good man Gaston… for a commoner,” Fernald observed. I decided not to point out that both Kian and I were orphans. I suspected that Gaston was an old retainer who had probably done more fighting than Fernald had ever daydreamed about.

“Now you must be my guests, I am sure you are both exhausted from the night adventure wot!”

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The chaos spread like promethium vapor exposed to an open flame. Hundreds had been killed by the initial blast, and hundreds more as the crowds stampeded away in panic. A great cloud of dust billowed away from the blast choking and blinding the panicking pilgrims. The scribes were trying to maintain some semblance of order, using their staves as clubs as they tried to rescue surviving churchmen or simply keep the crowd at bay. Then the marksmen began firing their long las into the crowd, probably in an attempt to save the great prelates from being trampled to death. I watched in transfixed horror as the crowd went berserk with fear, surging over the Scribes, beating them down with fists and votive icons in a blind terror to flee the crowded street.

Things were not much better in the box we were in. Dozens of men were on their feet shouting. At least one noblewoman had fainted, and judging by the grayish pallor and convulsions a grossly overweight man was in the throes of a heart attack. Gunfire erupted below as the bodyguards were compelled to open fire to stop the mob from crashing in through the doorway like the ties.

“We need to get out of here,” Hadrian declared, speaking quickly into his vox bead. I could sense the frustration and anger roiling off him. He wanted to fight, but there were no enemy here, the men and women being trampled and gunned down were the Emperor’s Faithful, not minions of the arch enemy. Leibowitz was wringing one hand in the other in frantic prayer, his eyes wide and staring. I opened my mouth to reply when a second massive blast ripped through the street, the portico of a large chapel blasting outwards to scythe down hundreds of fleeing pilgrims.

I opened my mouth to ask him how he planned to do that, when the fans of an aircar roared down from above, hovering on dynamic thrust a few feet from the edge of the box. The pilot was white knuckled and praying, no doubt hoping that a sniper wasn’t about to blow his brains out and drop a half ton of steel and aluminum into the street below. Clara and Elektra, summoned by Hadrian, came rushing up the stairs. The guilded bodyguards made a perfunctory attempt to stop them, but quailed back from the bloodied evicisorator in Elektra’s hands and the fanatic glow in her eyes.

“Let them pass damn you,” Hadrian yelled out, giving the men the excuse they needed to not get involved.

“Get her aboard,” Hadrian said, hooking a thumb at me.

“I can get myself…” I began, but was seized by the two women and bodily carried across the gap into the passenger compartment of the car. Hadrian followed a moment later with Leibowitz, slamming the door closed and yelling at the driver to get us out of here. That worthy needed no encouragement, sending us howling upwards and into the night.


________


The death count was still unknown when, later that evening, we sat around our luxurious apartment. Columns of smoke rose from the city where fighting and riots were raging. Primates Hingaberg and Von Mandlebrot were both appealing for calm. Appeals which were not stopping their contingents of monks and fraternus militia from taking to the streets.

To make matters worth a cadre of street preachers were already whipping up the pilgrims, declaring the days events punishment for a Church which had lost its way, and that divine retribution was needed to restore the holy faith. Whether this was a result of heretical agitation, or simply the natural path of religious thought, was difficult to determine. Clashes between all three factions were spreading beyond control, accompanied as always by a fair amount of looting and the settling of personal scores.

“Don’t they have a PDF or Arbites or something?” Clara demanded as she stared out the window. Night had fallen and fires burning were reflected on tall cathedral towers to eerie effect.

“We are planet of prayer madmoislle, not a planet of war. The scribes are doing what they can, as are the Primates but … well this is dreadful,” Leibowitz moaned. The days events had hit him hard. Clearly Ratsini had been an idol of his, and the old mans violent death was a blow beyond measure.

I glanced at Hadrian who cocked an eyebrow at me. I knew he had been debating whether to openly play his Inquisitorial hand but was reluctant to do so for fear of driving out unseen assailants into hiding. That the bombing was their work we had no reason to doubt. It seemed likely that it had something to do with the election, though we had no idea which Primate might have been behind it, if either of them had. The problem we faced was that without flashing a rosette we had limited excuse to involve ourselves in the matter, and that was limiting our ability to gather information. I looked up at the night sky and wondered how many of the stars above were actually ships in orbit. An idea formed in my mind and I shot a glance at Hadrian. He nodded his head for me to proceed, a mark of trust given he had no idea what I might be about to say.

“Husband, did you not quell the riots on Secundus Finalus with men from your ship?” I asked, leaning on Hadrian’s supposed naval background before his retirement to his lordship on Gudrun.

“Perhaps you can bring men down from the void ships to do it?” I suggested breathily, apparently overtaken by the idea of my husband the dashing naval hero. Whether or not we ever landed any naval boarding parties, the idea that we could would give Hadrian an excuse to poke his nose in with both Primates by way of coordinating a response.

City of Thieves

Kashvi hung upside down from the line, gripping the knotted rope with her thighs. The street below was filled with crowds in a state of near riot. A naked woman giggled as she tossed handfuls of flowers at a group of drunken youths purusing her with good hearted cheers. The streets were hung with blazing paper lanterns in bright colors that obscured Kashvi's position by ruining the night vision of those below. The Festival of Light was a three day revel that marked the beginning of a new year. By custom no writs of theft were to be issued by the Nightmaster during the festival, which meant if she were to be discovered the Guild would take a dim view of her exploit. A thief who stole without a writ was liable to be whipped or worse, but although the Festival prohibited working, it didn't excuse one from Guild dues.

"Gishra's teeth," Kashvi muttered as she wiggled the thin metal probe between the window panes. She was glad she had bound her hair back into a tight bun, though the weight of it pulled down on her scalp already flushed from pooling blood. The pick contacted something inside and Kashvi worked it around, slowly lifting the latch till she felt it click free. Carefully, she eased open the window and twisted herself in, feeling the rush of blood to her feet as she touched down. She pulled the window closed behind her and then traced one of the tattoos on her forearm. The dark interior of the building was suddenly lit with sourcless light. The magical light was in her mind rather than a physical luminance, a charm of dark vision that would last for twenty turns of the glass. The office of Galdor the Gemseller was a far cry from the oppulent show room down below, but it also lacked the elaborate wards which protected the glittering jewelery. Kashvi took out a black silk bag and began to loot the place, slipping handfuls of uncut gems into the pouch. With any luck these would cover her dues for the next two months. Maybe Galt would do well enough that they would both be off the hook for a few weeks.

A sudden creak made Kashvi freeze. Someone was moving about out in the hallway. Lantern light spilled from beneath the doorway as someone passed outside. The light faded as the night watchman passed by, too lazy to check a room he knew was safe. Breathing a sigh of relief she quickly finished her looting and tied the sack to her belt. Time to go. She slipped back out the window and climbed her line, jumping to the next roof, she pulled a slate from the ceiling and tossed it through the window with a crash before vanishing over the rooftops.

______________________

Kashvi playful pushed away one of the cavorting youths as she made her way through the cowd. Her black working clothes had been turned inside out to reveal the burgandy and gold street clothes she had stiched inside. Her braids had been unbound and allowed to hang down, looking for all the world like a prosperous young merchants daughter, or perhpas a minor palace functionary. She turned onto Feather Alley, heading for tavern which concealed the entry to the Seven Raven's guild house. It was still a few hours shy of dawn, but she wanted to get something to eat and find a warm bed before the sun came up. Suddenly, she became aware of an unusual number of people in the alley. They weren't dressed in the bright colors of the Festival, instead they wore gray over leather and chain. They looked like heavies, the muscle of the thieves guilds, but they weren't Seven Raven's muscle. Something was wrong. Her eyes cut to the daw of the Daybreak tavern. The Doormen were gone, replaced by gray clad thugs. Fear knotted in her gut. Something was very wrong. She turned to find a gray cloak standing behind her with an evil look in his eye and a compact crossbow leveled at her chest.

"Goodbye Raven," he chuckled and began to squeezed the trigger. The brick wall beside the man exploded outwards in a shower of dust and debris. Joe Shipwreck smashed his way through the wall, arcane sigils glowing. Kashvi knocked aside the bow and slapped the trigger mechanism, sending the bolt thudding into the guts of another of the gray clad attackers. Chaos reigned all around.

"Up Ravens!" Joe Shipwreck bellowed in a voice that rattled the window pains. Screams and howls filled the alley as the gray clad attackers surged into the guild house. Kashvi heard the sound of a lantern smashing and the whumph of exploding oil. One of the whores at the end of the alley leaped to her feet.

"Up Ravens!" she shouted a moment before several swords struck her down. Kashvi pulled the bag of gems from her belt and smashed it into the face of one of the heavies, then whipped her short blade from its sheath and gutted another.

"Scarper!" Joe Shipwreck shouted and drove a fist into the wall, arcane tattoos flashing bright as his great fist smashed the stone to powder. He dived through, followed by Kashvi who deflected two swords, one with her blade and the other with her sack of gems. They were in the back of the wineshop on Geth street, the clientelle already scattering as an enraged and bloody Joe Shipwreck bolted full speed through the shop. Kashvi rushed after him, lifting her hands to blast bright light into the eyes of her pursuers. A moment later they were out on the street and fleeing into the crowd.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I slumped against the side of the coach bench, exhausted and lulled by the rattle of the wheels over the road. We had turned off the main road and climbed a series of gravelled switchbacks flanked by manicured woods. We passed through a small hamlet surrounded by propsperous looking fields and orchards. A few dogs barked but the only light came from the inn and a small block house where an elderly nightwatchman peered out.

"How is it a Brettonian holds a manor in Tilea?" Kian asked as we turned up a hill on top of which sat an elegant manor house of creamy white stucko. Elaborate garden's spread out infront of it, with fragrant rose blooms growing in profusion below handsomely trimmed apricot and plum trees.

"Several generations ago the Duc De La Rochefoucauld‎ was a great Condottiero," I explained, dredging the information up from the history I had been taught at the convent. He was the bastard son of the Bretonian Duke, but the name stuck. He fought for all of the major cities at one time or another. He was rumored to be devious, treacherous, and utterly ruthless. There were always rumors that he was a bit too lucky, but that isn't so unusual for great captains."

"You are very learned signoritta," the coachman observed. I shrugged my shoulders as two men with halberds in the armor of brettonian men-at-arms stepped from a stone guardhouse at the end of the main drive, polearms raised to block the progress of the horses.

"Who goes there?" the guards called out as the coach slowed to a stop.

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Jocasta gave Neil a hard look as the elevator began to lift the mech towards the arena above. Well there was no point complaining about it now they had commited. She placed both her fists on her hips and blew a lock of hair out of face. Then she nodded and lifted her arms pointing her fingers skyward and twirling them around.

"Ok, ok," she said and closed her eyes. "Drones!"

The dragonfly like automotons swooped in grabbing her white jacket and lifting it away. She hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it away to be similarly seized. She adjusted her bra slightly and then focused her mind for a moment. Her hair flushed a vibrant shade of green as she activated the subdermal pigment enhancers. She considered stripping off her pants also but decided that this worked better.

"Hold out your... hand things," she instructed Neil aping the position she wanted with her own hands infront of her palms up.

"Uhhh sure," Neil agreed, holding out the mech's hands with much grinding of gears and a smell of hot lubricant that Jocasta wasn't entirely comfortable with. She hopped up into the mech's hands, sitting her butt in one hand and stretching her legs out to the other as though it were a luxurious couch.

"You have a plan," Neil asked. Jocasta adjusted her air to look frame her face. One of her drones floated a few feet away from her, recording imagrey which she spliced into the pict feeders in the arena above, a second drone joined the first casting a light over them to improve the picture.

"I have a tactical goal and a couple of rough approaches," Jocasta hedged, but further conversation was cut off as the roof above them opened. Mech, drones, and bounty hunter rose into an amphitheater. It was perhaps forty meters across at its widest point with a handful of obstacles and cover scattered across it. At each end of the oval was a low platform where the lifts hauled the combatants. Banks of seats ringed the arena. There was an occasional shimmer in the air that suggested there was a shield in place that protected the crowd from stray rounds. Jocasta could see the other mech, a much newer and sleeker model but the attentention of the crowd was on Neil thanks to the holo screens that were streaming the mech carrying the half naked Jocasta. Languidly she stood up in the palm of the mech, stretching her hands over her head like a ballet dancer.

"Ladies and gentleman!" she called, her voice piping out from the public address system.

"You have the honor today of witnessing one of the greats! You have all heard of him, the Titanium Titan, the Kevlar Corsair, The one, the only Neiilll Edwards!"

Luckily Neil seemed to get the idea na lifted the mechs hand slowly upwards till it was above the mechs head, elevating Jocasta high. There were laughs and jeers from a few of the crowd. Jocasta sat down and hugged one of the autocannon barrels laciviously.

"Your right, this mech is a piece of trash," she called, shouting down objections.

"But do you know why Neil is using a clapped out piece of trash?" she demanded. She paused long enough for a theoretical response then moved on.

"Because he couldn't find a worse one! Its the only way a massacre like this can be a challenge for a pilot like him!" She slid down the arm of the mech and crouched on its shoulder, thrusting her ass out theatrically before planting a kiss on the plexiglass flank guard. She fiddled with the link adding several alternate voices to the feed.

"Neil! Neil! Neil!" the sythesized voices began. The real crowd, unable to pick out the falsehood began to join in until a healthy swell of voices took up the call.

"Neil! Neil! Neil!"

"Good luck," Jocasta called as she ducked back behind one of the blast walls.

Penny's Pencils

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Jessica turned to look at the new comer with a nod of approval. Few merchant sailors wanted to risk the short violent life of a pirate, seamen were a precious resource who could find employment with any merchant, or a navy if they preferred steady employment with less pay. There were some men however who preferred adventure to security. This man seemed to be the type willing to try his luck, which was fine with her.

"Welcome aboard lad," she called, clapping the man on the shoulder.

"Krycek here will get you set up with a watch... after we strip everything of value from this old bitch!"

The loot was largely food, booze and tools, but that was always what pirates needed most. There was gold to be found if you were lucky, but it was the day to day items that were most prized. Jessica kept watch on the beached warship through her spy glass. The Ran-tai sailors in a furry of activity. They had jury rigged a new rudder and were trying in vain to pull the ship off the beach with long boats. They seemed very keen to take up the chase.

"Cap'n," Krycek said as he stomped up onto the quarter deck. The last supplies were being hauled aboard now in slings fastened to the main yards.

"It's the sailor that volunteered he..."

"Isn't a sailor," Jessica interrupted, snapping her eye glass shut. The dwarf scowled, irritated to have his thunder stolen.

"How did you know?" the dwarf asked.

"No callouses on his hands," Jessica explained.

"Want me to put him over the side?" Krycek offered. Jessica shook her head and glanced to the gathering storm.

"No. Assign him to the top masts for this storm, lets see how dedicated to playing sailor he really is..."