Penny

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Eleanor de Abervillé Countess of Coucernne - Emmaline's current alias

Oderik Rothbard - Knight of the White Wolf and Emmaline's current mark

Ulf Von Hammershaldt - Councilman and minder of Kasimir

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Middenheim. It was wet, it was cold, it was uncultured and there were all together too many trees surrounding it. Plus there were a lot of beards. Scratchy and uncoth things beards. The kind of thing these Northern Barbarians wore just to spite their betters. The woman calling herself Eleanor de Abervillé presumptive heiress to the county of Coucernne lamented. The chambermaid that Oderik Rothbard, her current patron and suitor had provided her, entered with two other female servants, carrying the dress she was to wear to this evenings ball.

Eleanor stood and moved to the center of the large central room which was the hub of her street. She stripped off her clothing till she stood naked before the servants. According to her patent of nobility, a very official looking document with many seals and much gold leaf, the de Abervillé had some Imperial marriage connections a few generations back. This, perhaps, went some way to explaining why the putative Countessa de Coucernne was buxom and broad hipped far beyond the slender frames more typical of Brettonian ladies. Perhaps too, this was the source of her luxuriant golden hair, rather than the darker hues more common in the heraldic kingdom far to the south of this mountain fastness. It could not be argued that Eleanor was beautiful, with a heart shaped face, fine cheekbones and large penetrating blue eyes that seemed to shine with the innocence and purity of maidenly virtue.

The servants liked her, she tipped well and was easy to get along with if a little eccentric, that almost made up for her being a forginer in their eyes. The lead servant, a seamstress with the unlikely name of Hildberta, gave the naked woman an envious look and then set about her work. First a corset of white leather and whalebone was laced so tightly around Eleanor's waist that her eyes nearly popped when Hildberta and her assistants heaved on the laces. Then a silken shift was slid into place and carefully pinned down so as not to obstruct the slice of bosom which was to be displayed. Given Eleanor's natural resources in this area it was probably rather more than the dressmaker had imagined, but Brettonian's were a strange folk and allowed a little more leeway than a proper Imperial lady might enjoy. Next she put on her dress, a dark green velvet affair with green silk paneling of a slightly lighter shade stitched around the waist. Finally a cummerbund of fine gold chains was wrapped around her waist and pinned to the underside of her bodice with considerable difficulty. Finally her hair was teased and brushed into an elaborate crown braid which was then carefully adorned with white roses in the Brettonian fashion. The entire procedure took over three hours, the only silver lining be that Eleanor possessed a fine completion which needed nothing in terms of make up or powders that another woman might have needed.

"You look quite stunning mademoiselle," Oderick said from the the doorway. Eleanor turned to smile at him. He was a handsome if slightly older man and a Knight Bachelor of the White Wolves, something declared by both his irritating beard and the impressive cloak of wolf fur he wore even over the doublet and hose more appropriate to the evenings festivities. In Reikland he would have been judged a boor for such crass references to his social station, but here everyone wanted to scrape acquaintance with Ulric somehow.

"Thank you mousier," Eleanor replied in accented Reikspiel standing up as her servants scattered around her to curtsey to their lord. She crossed to Oderick and lay a hand fondly on his arm.

"No jewelry? I assure you all you have to do is ask..." Oderik trailed off as Eleanor squeezed his arm.

"No cherrie, I have vowed I shall not wear such finery until my dear papa is released from his awful prison," she told him. When Eleanor de Abervillé had appeared in Middenheim in the spring, she had told the tale of how her father, and elderly knight and current Count of Coucerne, had been captured by a rival and held for either ransom, or Eleanor's hand in marriage. She had fled Brettonnia to escape her fathers knights, who might think marrying her off was cheaper for them then paying the ransom and had been trying to raise money abroad ever since. Several noble families in Middenheim had quietly contributed gold to her cause, usually in exchange for a quite assurance that trade rights or a marriage alliance might be forth coming when her father was freed and able to confirm her his sole heiress. The revenues from a distant and prosperous Brettonian Fief were very attractive to the younger sons of a had scrabble land such as this, and Eleanor had been happy to quietly entertain offers from both great and small. Oderik was definitely among the great in that respect, and had showered her with hospitality and money in an attempt to help her win her fathers freedom.

"No word from his captors yet?" Oderik asked sympathetically.

"Non," Eleanor replied, "and vith ze vinter coming... I fear it will be spring before letters are able to get through." Oderik nodded trying to appear glum but clearly not too broken up about the prospect of several more months of the company of a beautiful woman, perhaps with a chance to claim a county in Brettonia when it was all done.

"Well my dear, we shall keep you comfortable and safe until then, never fear," he declared, taking her arm and turning towards the door. When there was no chance anyone could see it, Emmaline von Morganstern, child of a potter from the Altdorf Cheapside, grinned.

City of Thieves

With the aid of the magical unguent the grate came away. They dropped into he shaft below where Galt paused for a moment to wipe away the fluid. Instantly the heavy grate was frozen in place once more. No one who lived he life of a thief was a strange to sewers and their stinks but even so Kashvi pulled her scarf up over her face. Fortunately Joe Shipwreck seemed to have a destination in mind, and they moved up hill until the flow of waste water slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Joe paused and placed his hand on a nondescript stone and a section of the wall slid back with a grind of stone on stone. The passed through and Joe repeated the motion, sealing the false wall as though it had never been.

“I love what you have done with the place,” Galt quipped facetiously. They were in an ancient burial vault. Row after row of coffins stretched along a wall of ancient masonry. Despite its grim purpose the space was oddly homey. Niche which had once held grinning skulls had been filled with wine bottles filled with glow sand. Wooden planks had been laid across the top of sarcophagi t create make shift beds and work benches. A half dozen thieves, mostly looking tired and worse for wear, watched the door with weapons in hand.

“Your alive then, and you brought some strays,” a handsome man with a knife scar across his lower jaw observed. Captain Sharp as he was called was the writman of the guild. The thief responsible for writing the name of a victim on a pottery shard before the order to kill him was enforceable. Either the other guilds had broken a lot of pots, or the sanctity of his office had deceased considerably.

“There might be more at the other bolt holes Sharp,” Joe said wearily. “but its messy enough out there and that’s the gods truth.”

“Every guild in the city is out for blood it seems,” Sharp agreed.

“But now we got some people maybe we should start figuring some stuff out,” Joe said, taking a seat and accepting a mug of what smelled like ale.

“Im sure my fine young friends here can be of assistance,” Joe declared. Kashvi folded her arms.

“Maybe not,” she replied causing Joe and sharps eyebrows to raise in curiously identical expressions.

“Seems to me the Seven Ravens might be finished,” she replied, hooking her thumbs around he knives in her belt. Joe Shipwreck rumbled a good natured laugh.

“And you think, seein’ you owe us a bunch of coin, this might be a good time to explore your options? Kind of get out on the ground floor? That about the size of it?” the Nightmaster asked.

“That’s exactly the size of it,” Kashvi replied. Sharp had moved slightly to the side of Joe, ready to draw down should he situation require.

“Well you can rest assured that however planned this took the Bakery first, so whoever ends up on top here will come looking for the money eventually, and if it is us… well wed have to take it personally. Besides where are you going to go?”

“Back to Kush, you’d never find me there,” Kashvi declared defiantly.

“Show me a Kushite who cant be bough for the price of a tup’ny shit and I’ll faint dead away, and besides you’d be strangled with a golden cord within a week through the passes. What’s say you do the right thing and Old Joe will see to it that when this is over we do something about your debt eh?”

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

“These old things?” Jocasta asked tapping one ear ring with a fingernail. It twisted slightly on the brass swivel and Beren swore he saw the insect blink at him. Jocasta’s lips turned up in a mischievous grin made all the more exaggerated by the fact that one of the glow worms chose that moment to peak from beneath her tunic and illuminate her from below.

“Oh just some muscle bound fool,” she replied with deliberate offhandedness. She tapped her lip as though considering.

“Handsome too now that I think of it,” she admitted with a further twitch of her lip.

“A bit on the stubborn side though,” she teased, “kind of like a dwarf in that respect.”

“Reminds me a bit of a golem I once made,” Jocasta snickered, remembering the false Beren she had conjured to lead the mercenary wizards away.

“Sounds like quite the guy,” Beren replied lifting both eyebrows with a grin.

“So long as he doesn’t get himself killed getting into damn fool battles on behalf of his companions,” Jocasta stuck in, unable to quite let it go.

“That was…”

“That was a matter of honor,” Jocasta said in a credible imitation of Beren’s voice, though necessarily higher in pitch and timbre. She thrust a finger into his still sore chest.

“If your sense of honor gets you killed, I swear I will kill you myself,” she promised, only half joking.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

It takes years of training to really master Sororitas power armor. They start them off in the scholam, making them wear it everyday while they eat, while they sleep, while they pray. After a few hours I managed not to crash into anyone as we rushed after Vorn. I was greatly aided in this by the natural reaction of the pilgrims, which was to fling themselves as far out of the way of a charging Battle Sister as they could manage. I mostly managed to account for my momentum as we rounded the corner and half ran, half flew down a broad flight of stairs into a massive cloister. Enormous stone effigies of the sons who stood faced down equally massive stone representations of the traitor Primarchs with an enormous stylized galaxy between them in tessellated tiles the size of my finger nail.

Vorn stood by a statue of Vulkan calling something into a communicator. He lifted a bolt pistol and cracked off three rounds as we dived for cover. Pieces of the ornamental foliage that wrapped the edge of the cloister exploded in all directions as the bolts detonated. I swung my own bolter, more or less in the direction of Vorn, and let off a long ripping burst that did considerable damage to the elaborate glaive held by Magnus the red but missed the renegade inquisitor entirely. I scrambled behind a plinth a moment ahead of a rain of cracking detonations. Overhead I could hear the scream of shuttle engines beginning to build. My mind balked at the idea, but I realized the cloister might be big enough for small shuttle to land.

“He has a ship coming!” I yelled to Hadrian and popped out. Something hammered my breastplate and knocked me on my ass. I cursed and scrambled back into cover, fumbling with a replacement magazine for the unfamiliar weapon.

At The Edge of The World

I gave a gracious nod and accepted a mug of white might have been spiced cider. I took a seat at one of the table to allow Beren some privacy to catch up with his friend with whom he seemed to be conducting some kind of clandestine exchange. I was too tired from the long march to feel a lot of interest, trusting that whatever Beren was up to would have no ill effects for me. Some of the clientele were glancing at me sideways, a normal reaction to strangers than any untoward interest I thought, but it didn’t do my nascent paranoia any good.

I was about to open my mouth to ask if there was a bath house when it suddenly struck me that not only did I not need a bath, but I was as clean as I had ever been since arriving on the continent. I peered down at my apparently perfectly manicured fingernails in suspicion, pretty sure I had broken at least one of them in the frantic flight through the muddy jungle, but it was whole and perfect. In fact, there wasn’t a spec of dirt on me. I touched my hair experimentally and found it clean and smooth to the touch. A sparrow landed on my table and cocked its head at me. I cocked my head at it. The little bird hopped forward and began to peck at a few stray sesame seeds that a previous patron had spilled onto the table top. I watched it suspiciously. The bird looked up at me and winked. I opened my mouth to say I knew not what, but before I could do so the tiny avian spread its wings and flapped away, apparently satisfied with the confusion it had wrought.

Could this be something to do with the diamond I had found in the jungle? I resolved to keep my sudden and unexpected cleanliness to myself until I figured it out.

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

@Metal HeadThank you, alot of work but I like how it came out!

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug responded with a decidedly noncommittal grunt that trailed off into an awkward silence. Taya coughed and then pulled up a holographic list of dock charges and tankage fees.

“Speaking of nothing we were talking about, how are we planning on paying for all of this. Doesn’t seem like the kind of placed that has a lot of merc for hire type work,” Taya observed.

“You’d be surprised,” Sayeeda replied with a touch of grimness that evaporated as she keyed in inputs to her own holographic screen. “But as it happens I actually have a bank account here.”

“You have a bank account here? Why?” Neil asked. Sayeeda turned in her seat and raised an eyebrow.

“My dad opened it for me when I was six. I got a little dinosaur toy and everything,” Sayeeda chuckled.

“And are your dino dollars going to run to repairing a starship?” Neil asked clearly bemused by the idea of a six year old Sayeeda. Junebug touched a control and her screen turned multidirectional displaying a balance of close to a million credits.

“Generous allowance?” Neil half chocked.

“My pension is deposited here,” Junebug explained, authorizing the account to deal with he dockyard via a digitized thumb pint.

“Still a generous pension,” Taya pressed elicitng another shrug from the mercenary.

“Col.. Pesident-for-life Andor was always good about taking care of his people,” Junebug explained.

“Plus he liked to make sure none of his officers were inclined to …uhhh follow him into politics with a full magazine if you take my meaning,” she explained. Taya laughed.

“You mean you are being paid off not to launch a coup against your old boss?” she snickered. Junebug shrugged.

“Me and a bunch of other people,” Junebug said. Most of the Armored’s officers had gotten on well, but she knew of a handful that wouldn’t let sentimental loyalty for old times get n the way of a big payday. Soldier of Fortune had fortune right in the name overall. This way Andor kept everyone more or less out of his way for an amount that was less ruinous than fighting half a dozen small wars.

“Docking protocol as engagun,” Lonney brogued as the ship began to turn on her access to approach the hangar, a job for automated beacons rather than human intervention.
“Home sweet home.”

Customs was a relatively brief affair, borne by seasoned travelers with amusement rather than irritation. Fortunately the process was greatly simplified by Sayeeda being a Celandine Citizen which allowed her the option simply to vouch for Taya and Neil and assume legal responsibility for any crimes r damages they caused. The no firearms policy was somewhat harder to deal with and neither the excuse that she was a military officer for whom a side arm was a necessary article of uniform, nor the somewhat shop worn diplomatic credential Sayeeda had received from Prince Aiden years before allowed her to keep her weapons.

So it was that Sayeeda found herself completely unarmed as she exited the downport and walked right into an ambush.

“Sayeeda!” a voice called from the security barricade ahead. The speaker was handsome looking woman in her late middle years who shared enough facial features with her Sayeeda to make her idenity obvious to within a reasonable degree of certainty. Her next words eliminated even that fine ambiguity.

“You weren’t even going to call?!”

“Hello Mother,” Junebug said with the grim bravado of a woman facing a firing squad.