Penny

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

For Emmaline it was a bit like she had been thrust into a story book. Boris Todbringer, like Karl Franz was almost a figure of legend, not someone that an average Imperial citizen was ever likely to meet. For a heart stocking moment she was tempted to confess everything, overcome by a naive belief that a figure with sufficient authority could make everything alright. Luckily the madness passed before it could reach her lips. She was a fucking professional after all.

"I waz coming back from ze ball and I found Sieur Oderick dead on his beed," she told the count. Recalling the sight and the smell of it made her gorge rise slightly but she swallowed it down, probably earning a few extra points of credibility by the very real reaction.

"Run through with my son's sword?" the count asked. Emmaline hesitated then plunged forward committing herself.

"No monsieur, deed yes but l'sabre it was nit zere nes pa," she continued, leaning into her Brettonian as though her accent were faltering under stress. The count did not interrupt her, which was frustrating as it denied her any chance to gauge his reaction to what she was telling him, his impassive bearded face not being very useful for this purpose.

"I heard someone coming and I thought.. mon dei ze killers av re'turned, so I hide," she continued, glossing over exactly where and how she had hidden.

"Zey talk about missing something, a note of some kind, and when zey go and I come out zoot alore l'sabre zat is to say ze sword is there," Emmaline continued with her all together truthful if somewhat deceptive account of events.

"Ze vay zey talked it sounded like it vas more zan one man, a...what is the word...la conspiration," she shrugged in counterfit Brettonian physicality.

"Yet you walked up to me like nothing had bloody happened?!" Kasimir half yelled, the shock in his eyes turning to anger. The Count did not look angry, but neither did he choose to interject.

"I do not know you, save perhaps zat you are rude and a killier," she shot back, "I dos not know who to trust only that mal'de'homme are loose and perhaps looking for me."

"But you saw them plant my sword!" Kasimir persisted.

"On sword monsieur looks much like aye-no-ther," she replied tartly. "I do not know who to trust, onze zat I must git cleeer and to...sanctuaire." She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders, feeling a certain satisfaction about having delivered her account without telling any actual lies.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

"I can't have too much on my record or they would have arrested me at customs," Junebug snickered, then sat up considering.

"Come to think of it, I though Miranda said I had a warrant out on me for assault," she amended. When she had been home on leave she had beaten a drunken school mate of Miranda's pretty badly when he had grabbed her after a party. Perhaps Miranda had exaggerated, or perhaps the lout had never bothered to make an official complaint. Well it didn't much matter.

"Played alot of sports I see," Neil commented, picking up one of the trophies from the shelf and turning it over. He pushed a button on the side of the award and a younger version of Junebug appeared, holding an odd combination of stick and net, dressed in athletic gear with a numbered bib.

"ZGL," she reported, the sport was played in very low gravity fields and involved a great deal of leaping and bouncing off handholds.

"Were you a captain?" Neil asked. Junebug laughed and picked up an award. She manipulated the simple holographic controls and pulled up a list of statistics. Sayeeda Selene Cyckali - Most penalties blinked at the top of the list.

"Always room on the team for a goon," she snickered and set the award down.

"I never really belonged here," she admitted soberly, looking around the room as though she had never seen it before. Certainly she hadn't belonged here when she came back from five years with the Armored. The other troopers had warned her that it would be like that, but she hadn't really appreciated it until she saw it with her own eyes. She rolled the helmet in her hands, then set it down.

"Booster," she said, triggering the intergral AI inside the unit. "Unit projection, file 224-31-21-Echo." A hologram flashed to life from the helmets projector, the color was a little washed out from the limited ability of the projection heads, meant for squad briefings rather than cinematics. The view was a viewpoint shot, jostling as the viewer rushed down a canted metal hallway. It shook as the viewer threw themselves against a bulkhead, a squat plasma gun coming up and spitting several soundless blasts into a pair of figures in fatigues that were in the process of climbing through a partially opened hatch. The blast threw one man back to his own side, while most of the second body tumbled into the partition with the shooter, uniform tunic blazing.

"Booster, end file," Junebug commanded and the hologram vanished.

"Fine, lets go to the beach and get some ice cream," she declared.

Pax Astra

Sabatine sucked in a breath as she pulled on the flight yoke and lifted them up and away from the burning wreckage. The blue of the sky seemed to drain away in whisps as they moved up out of the atmosphere. The old rush was still there, just like the first time when she had lifted out of Caledon after she was enlisted. At the time she had expected to be a line soldier, relatively few Caledon's had the aptitude for flying that the Evocatii looked for, a mark of the relatively low level of technology on that hardy frontier world as much as anything she had since discovered. Whatever their arcane tests had found she was glad of it flying, particularly super orbital flying, always thrilled her.

"Breaking atmo," she reported, opening her mouth and exhaling. It sounded like a sigh of relief, but in reality it was a pilots precaution against sudden depressurization. Hardy or not, this boat had been at the bottom of the ocean for a decade and there was no telling if the seals would hold the air in once they were put to hard vacuum. At least if there was no air in your lung you could escape injury long enough to don a helmet. Fortunately, the seals held and she waggled the wings of the assault boat in the traditional test that all was well. Most of the lights on her control panel remained, green, though a few were amber and even red. Nothing vital, though some of the more advanced avionics was obviously toast. Salt water was hell on exterior sensors and it had been a minor miracle that the bullets and feed hoppers which had fed Tiber's guns had worked.

"Next stop," she declared, "anywhere but here."

For a moment she thought bitterly about her now destroyed orchard, then she flicked back the metal saftey cage and punched the jump button. Rainbow light exploded across the canopy as the little assault boat went supra-luminal, launching it into the Via Stellaris.

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

@POOHEAD189

Alcander was no medievalist, but he recognized a mid 14th century Milanese sallet when he saw one!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

The afterbirth of yesterday's rain still clung in small puddles where the rancid liquids of whatever trash had been tossed casually away accumulated in a thick soup.

@POOHEAD189

The afterbirth of rain? That is quite the metaphor :P

Alcander was not a medievalist, but it had the look of a thick bladed, single edged rondel dagger.

@POOHEAD189

Narrator: But he was, in fact, a medievalist.

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

@Naril Sounds good friend!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

@Naril Do you want the next post?

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

Prod

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

How are we going friends?

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Emmaline had to admit that she was tempted. She could point the finger at Kasimir and be well out of town before anyone knew the wiser. It would certainly serve the young man right. Her eyes met Kasimir's and flashed with mischief for a moment.

"He haz jist come owt into ze corridor from is rooms," Eleanor declared in ringing tones.

"He could not possibly iv gotten back here in time. He vere's ze sim clothes as earlier and zere is no blood on them," she added. Kasimir was a problem for her, but at the end of the day he was an innocent man. More importantly he was the one man in the castle whom she knew had not had a hand in Oderick's death. That meant if she couldn't get out of the city, he was the one man she might be able to trust.

"There is still the matter of the sword," one of the guardsmen declared, a stubborn set to his jaw.

"I am sure zat monsieur vil clear up an misunderstandings," Eleanor continued, "but ze real killor might still be in ze castle, ve should be searching!"

"Right," the stubborn guard said, nodding his head.

"I'll seal the gates and rouse the garrison," the guard declared, "My Lords and Ladies, by the authority of the count, return to your rooms until we can clear this up!"

The crowd might have resisted the orders of a mere castle guard, but at that moment a squad of armsmen in hastily donned gear came clattering down the hallway, forcing nobles back into their rooms at risk of being trampled. Eleanor tried to flatten herself against the wall to allow them to pass, but the effort was rendered moot.

"The pair of you will come with us," their leader declared, politely but firmly. "I'm sure the Chancellor will have questions for you both."