POOHEAD189

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt had felt relieved as well. His mind was not solely on Silke, though at the forefront of his mind, he was glad to have her rest up. Fiance or not, he worried about her. It was...well, he guessed it was not 'diplomatic' to use the term 'insane,' but he could not think of a better one, it was insane how she worked so hard and took so little rest. Imagine how effective her sharp mind would be if she actually slept for once. Even vagabonds like him knew how important rest was. He never did a big heist (if he could help it) on little to no sleep. It was the difference between getting paid and getting thrown into the gaol.

He accompanied her to her chambers and gave her a smile he hoped showed her how much he appreciated her acquiescing to their request. As the door closed, he realized it was the final chapter of the day. A very long day where his dreams had come true. He still felt a bit light headed, as if he would wake up and realize it was all a dream within seconds. Galt cleared his throat and turned to walk with Vincent, glad the man had not yelled at him. He could tell this was not his wish, but he hoped Vincent would at least be civil about it. The ex-thief supposed that was a bit too much to hope for, evidently.

Vincent stopped him at the door and demanded Galt break off their engagement.

Galt clearly disagreed, but the incredulity of his face was something to behold. Vincent practically blurted it out in Galt's estimation, but he supposed the brother had been waiting for the best chance to broach the subject. He nearly laughed, but caught himself, and after a moment's contemplation, felt a bit sorry for Vincent. He was not going to agree, of course, but he did understand to an extent.

"Vincent..." Galt opened his mouth, and then closed it, and opened it once more. He tried to find the words to show just how impossible that was, but gave a sigh after long last. "I'm sorry but no. Look, if I did not do this, then she would be shipped out of the country to broker some deal for monetary or geographical value, and I think we both know she's worth more than that. You would see her maybe three times again for the rest of your life. But even if it didn't make sense, I just... I love her. And I would do anything for her, and I did not make her say yes to anything. Can you understand that?"

He was not asking him as if he was speaking to a simpleton. He truly wanted to know if Vincent could wrap his head around Silke marrying someone from love, and that fact being a beneficial proposition.

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

"Flawlessly..." Bad echoed.

The morning was still young, but the heat was already on the caravan like a heavy blanket, the air stifling and the humidity clinging to the skin. The twin suns of the planet beat down like a pair of eyes boring into the jungle floor. Avian lifeforms screeched and cawed, flapping intermittently above them as the strange beasts of burden chittered and clicked, their 'necks' spewing forth bursts of air from some gill-lick protrusions. Bad had never seen their like, but the locals had assured him they were docile and dependable, so they were good enough for him.

Unlike the night before, Bad was fully kitted. His pack was slung over his shoulders, and at his hip was hung his Sagax-saber. The Sagax sword designs were centuries old at this point, high carbon steel swords with a zenon-coating agent and depleted uraniam infused in the edges of the blade to help it cut through armor with greater ease than a normal sword. Privateers and adventurers had discovered long ago that in the close quarters of ships or in environs where ranged weapons could be damaged, a well made sword was as useful as it was back in the 17th century seas.

In his hands was his HKG155 assault rifle, with a short stroke gas operated piston and a cartridge of 50 rounds of plasma-infused shells. It was better than most small arms at piercing armor, but it still was no replacement for good old fashioned heavy munitions. He had four cartridges in his pack and held it casually, its long sling across his shoulder. The sun peered down, igniting his dark hair and black, form hugging shirt with light, merely advertising how black both were.

They had traveled four miles without incident, save for a few of the cargo handlers nearly having a fist fight over some argument Bad really hadn't had the curiosity to find out on. But once they got going, it was so far, so good. Soon, the sound of a rushing river grew audible over the rustlings and wind of the jungle. Bad remembered from the datapad that it was the first big obstacle, and given a two star threat level as a potential ambush sight. He placed the stock on his rifle and held it up, signalling for Inez he was moving forward to check it out, giving a small wave to indicate she could take the left if he went right.

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

Had he been fully awake, he might have dodged the punch. As it were, it seemed like the xenos had come out of the swirling melee like a fish leaping out of water, and he was decked straight in the face. Bad staggered back, his ass hitting the table. Luckily for him, the punch was enough to wake him up and clear his sinuses, and the native stupidly attacked with the same fist. A bottle rolled where the table was tipping, and Bad's training took over. He ducked under the swing, grabbing the bottle and shattering it on the table, and as the xenos went in to cut his throat with its claw, he already had the broken bottle poised, moving into the xenos' space and stabbed into the arm that thrust the claw forward, rendering it useless. The bottle shattered a final time, falling to pieces from piercing the carapace. But it was all Bad needed it for. He saw the other claw fly in, and he leaned back on the table, kicking his feet up, his left pushing against the inner arm to keep the claw at bay whilst the other slammed into the xeno's ugly face.

It half screeched, half grunted as it realized it was its turn to stagger back. Bad landed on his feet and waded in, landing punch after punch against its torso and face, his fists like machine gun bullets hammering into it. Even its carapace seemed a paltry defense, and with a hard kick to the native's left leg, it fell. Bad grabbed what likely passed for hair on the thing and helped its momentum, sending its face right into his knee.

Another local near had him from behind, but Inez's makeshift club knocked a chair aside. Bad gave her a grin in response, and they blocked and punched, back to back, moving as if they were one entity. Inez ducked under a metal pole while Bad caught it, Inez cracking the hand that held it with the butt of her riot gun. The assailant squealed and fell even as Bad, hands still on it, swung it end over end to slam into the head of a charging native on his side. Inez was hit in the gut, but she took it well, Bad lowering himself so she could roll over, across his back, kicking the neck of a human attacker before she hit the ground. On Bad's end, he gave the Xenos that had hit Inez an uppercut that sent it flying back.

It was over even quicker than it began. Bodies and painful moaning lifting into the air, glass crackling and chairs squeaking as people tried to use them to help them rise, before falling back onto the floor. Bad had accumulated a bruise on his cheek and a few small scrapes from flying glass, but otherwise he looked better than before Inez had walked in.

"You're good," He said, wiping the wood chips and glass off his broad shoulder. "I'd buy you a drink, but I think that ship sailed."
@Penny

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

It occurred to Neil there that this was real curiosity. Sure, he hadn't expected her to be playing him all this time, but at the back of his mind he had always been somewhat wary of her intentions. Maybe it was the fact he had been on the run for the better part of two years, or maybe it was the big point of her having tricked and caught him in the first place. Yeah, both were good points. But still, he felt it somewhat unreasonable now. Hell, the biggest thing that annoyed him at first was that she was a little too nice about it. She had even taken care of his fish! His opinion had gradually shifted (well, gradually for Neil), but now he just felt a sense of kinship beyond the magnetism of physical attraction and her penchant for mischief which mirrored his own.

He scarfed down the slice of pizza and washed it down with another swig from the bottle, covering his mouth as he gave a low, almost imperceptible burp.

"Well, I guess you've accumulated enough points to unlock my tragic backstory." He said with a grin. His feet were crossed, left foot on the table with his right atop it. He loosely held the bottle in his right hand, idly swinging it back and forth.

"When the Valk war broke out, I was in highschool. I was a troublemaker, apparently. Can you believe that? Me? Anyway, I was never really political. Most of my family wasn't either, except one of my big sisters. She was very anti-government. Almost a picket-sign kind of activist. Once I graduated, I took a year of college before I joined up with the Ordo Sanctus, fighting the great fight against the oppressive UNF. I'll be honest, I just wanted to work on big mechs and fight in them, and the UNF needed you to go through all this training, so I went with the rebels. And I was good at it." As if to emphasize the point, a highlight reel of the day's fight flashed on the holovid behind him.

"I was so good the UNF even had a small bounty on me before things went south. But eventually, one day the 189 got torn apart. I had to run, and I ended up on this small countryside house. As luck would have it, a girl mechanic lived there. One thing led to another, she helped me fix my mech and we fell in love. I kind of wish we hadn't, maybe she'd still be alive." He was staring blankly now, until the world came back to him and he took another swill of the alcohol.

"Either way, one of her brothers was a high ranking UNF member. Both the UNF and the Ordo found out, but I was way too stubborn to let politics and protocol stop me. The Ordo tried to take away my mech, but I got out of there. They renounced me and said I went rogue. She told me her brother could help us. I thought that sounded alright, but turns out the higher ups in the UNF didn't see it that way. Apparently some official thought this was an Ordo Sanctus ploy. I guess they figured it was too story book to be real, and her brother was compromised. I found out later he had a rival that wanted him dead, but that doesn't matter now I guess. So they set up an ambush for me at MJ's house, my girlfriend I mean, and there was a lot of shooting. She ended up... anyway I was arrested. I was um... I wasn't feeling my best, you could say. So I broke out, hacked into their systems from a terminal, and released their tetryl explosive reserves. It was easy, it was all automated, and then I got on the comms and told everyone to evacuate. Of course I locked the automated doors to the upper floor so all the decision makers had less time to get out, but to this day I still don't know if they did. During that time, I ran and grabbed a military grade shuttle while they were scrambling, and I got off the planet."

He cleared his throat, shaking his head so the fringe would get out of his eyes. "Of course, teytryl is a toxic substance, not only explosive. I found out later they counted that as illegal chemical warfare, so they stacked that ontop of the earlier 'rebellion' thing and resisting arrest. And since I was a criminal, I went to work for a guy named Sven, doing the usual repairs and system maintenance. Smuggling every now and then. That lasted for about a year. But then I got tired of that and ended up on Hyperion 3, working at a repairshop for about 8 months until this hot biker chick showed up and charmed me into her spaceship."

He gave her a wink. "Hey, don't feel bad about it. It's been fun so far. Apparently I can't stay in one place too long. Might as well have a partner while fate kicks me across the galaxy."

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

As the crowd dissipated, a woman wearing the vest of an armsman marched over and sat down at his table. He knew he would be approached eventually. Bad had just been told to walk in and 'make himself at home' which meant a few hours of sitting, doing nothing, trying not to drink while he caroused with the locals. He had not expected a woman. Granted, he wouldn't have cared beyond curiosity. He had never worked with a female trooper before, but he wasn't prejudice. She carried herself well and looked fit.

Usually he gave as good as he got, but he did not feel great accepting the contract, and from the lack of sleep, he really didn't have the fight in him. Plus...

"I agree, just call me Bad. Or Privateer, I guess." He said, arms crossed on the table. "So, what do I call you?"

"Inez de Calabria." She said with an accent he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Do you know why we're here?" He asked her, and when she shook her head, he reached down and grabbed his datapad. He unlocked the security on it, activated the application, placed it on the table, and slid it over to her. Text began to stream across the screen, and a map of the planet appeared before her eyes, before zooming into a small river basin two dozen kilometers from their current position.

Mission for Class D armsman and privateer.

A large shipment of manganese and tantalite is being transported from subsector A-34 to subsector A-76 to our refineries, through the Loxahar valley. Security has been found wanting. Three shipments lost in the last two standard terran months. Local forces inadequate or compromised. Evidence suggests attacks committed by the Cobalt Snake mercenaries, likely hired by local competitors wishing to monopolize the planet and repell tratta interests. Success is paramount. Double pay and access to better work if 90% of shipment makes it intact to destination.

-Councilor's Aide Theodora Nix (EC: 205983754)

The date indicated they begin tomorrow.
@Penny

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"Really?" He asked, his tone suggestive as he leaned in closer. "Maybe you can show me the technique someti-"

Cygi popped between them and flared red, blaring a bugle from the 1800s as huge letters flashed WARNING: DO NOT TOUCH in Neil's face. The light stung his eyes and he involuntarily jumped from the sudden noise. Cygi's barrier disappeared almost as quickly as it came, though she began to march between Neil and Jocasta like she was stationed at a picket line, a musket with a bayonet leaning against her shoulder as she strutted between them. Neil bonked his head with the heel of his hand thrice, and shook his head.

"Ow..." He complained.

"What about you stud?" Jocasta asked, clearly amused.

"What about what?" Neil asked, grabbing another slice of pizza. He bit into it, and he marveled at how good it still was.

"You said you were in the army?" She asked, looking over.

"I did some ground work as a spy, but that wasn't much. I was mostly an engineer and a mech pilot. In the Valk war on Fortus. Or I was until I got tired of it, hence the bounty." He waved a finger once, as if scratching off a check mark.

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

The Sunbraela cantina had the look of a local dive, the walls built with fiber cement and textured to appear like unpolished wood. A quarter of the walls were covered in holoimages that gave the appearance of an open window, perfectly mirroring the tropical rainstorm that had been forecast for that day. Hookah smoke wafted languidly from Inez's left, the open table surrounded by off-worlders discussing business and smiling from an evident agreement. The air was filled with the pungent scent of alcohol, cipria smoke, and sweat. To the right by the billiard tables she heard glass shattering, and a curse followed. The clacking of the balls resounded along the walls. At the center of the building was a circular bar run by a surly xenos, with bug eyes and antennae on its dark blue head, four arms cleaning the counter and shacking a bottle, its tubular mouth opening and closing every heartbeat.

The music bopped with an assortment of drums and a lazy guitar from speakers high above the bar, making a drumming tune to the backdrop of dozens of conversations as barmaids walked back and forth with plates of samplers and alcohol.

Bad hadn't slept in a day, and though he wasn't much of a drinker, even he needed something to calm his nerves after accepting the contract back at Neb's. He drank his cheap stout, blinking and giving a yawn, arching his head to stretch his shoulders. It would look fairly average if he wasn't using his left arm in an arm wrestling match with a Plaxerran, the burly porcine xenos grunting as its neck flared, showcasing it was consuming more oxygen to gain a boost in strength. Bad placed his drink down, amused at the sudden burst of power. He grabbed the edge of the table, his necklace clinking against his chest as he put all his effort in the contest of strength. Slowly but surely, Bad bent his foes arm backwards until it struck the table.

The Plaxerran squealed, yellowed eyes narrowing as it got up, holding its arm and running away, knocking over a chair in its flight.

"Hey! What about our bet!?" Bad roared after him, but realizing he didn't care enough to follow. He would get paid soon anyway, if he lived. He sat back again, the back of his head and chair against the wall. His skin the color of bronze and his eyes and hair dark, he was built well, but his eyes were red from a trip in the void and his leg shook, though he did not appear nervous.

His stomach rumbled suddenly, and it seemed to wake him up, or at least perk him up a bit.
@Penny

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

The lights transitioned from red LED to a more standard colored brightness, signalling the timer had begun. The commando moved without hesitating, FLM Shotgun shouldered and eyes keened. The course was littered with high rise obstacles, walkways, and dead ends, shifting through every iteration so the subject could not memorize a way to complete it. His feet moving in short, brisk steps, he stopped on a dime when a blackmoon mercenary stepped out of the next turn, holding a lasword. Two shells infused with plasma and fired by the FLM's in-built particle accelorator cartridge ripped through the mercenary before he could fire, ruining its holo image and revealing the grey training android even as it crumpled into a scrap heap.

Suddenly two mines sprung up from the floor, red lights flashing. The shooter somersaulted into another curve of the course just before they detonated, spraying lasers that would have failed him if they touched any vital areas on his person. He was on his feet, the cracks of his weapon erupting, punching through two more illusionary mercs as they turned the corner to aim at him. Another stepped off a high rise and leaped at him, staff in hand. He raised his gun to block the strike, taking the merc's feet out from under it before it even landed with a well-placed kick. It hit the ground, but couldn't complete a roll. The commando's foot planted on its chest and another slug was discharged, shattering the android's head.

A turret sprang up, its lasgun swiveled into his direction. He unhooked a small magni-charge from his belt, pressing his thumb on the release and tossed it. The explosive, now activated, spun in mid-air to stick into the turret's side even as he rolled out of its vantage point. A loud, incessant beep rang out before it exploded, shattering the turret and leaving it in two solid chunks of junk. The shooter started to sprint, noticing he was in a dead end. The walls were perfectly smooth and without handholds, but he kicked off the left wall and used it to boost him up high enough to grab the lip of the back wall, hauling himself up onto the platform at the end of the course.

A ring sprang up, indicating the course had been completed.

"Second best time on record." A monotonous female voice declared over the comm. "23.739 seconds. Placing the name Badrek Mal'Draigg in the system."

He reloaded the weapon, ignoring the annoying use of his full name with a small expulsion of air from his nostrils. If they were insistent, he guessed he did not care enough to argue. He racked the weapon with a satisfying clack, and stepped down the decline he was likely supposed to rush up in order to complete the run. He glanced up where Neb was awaiting him, and saw a taller figure with him, standing patiently. He was familiar, taking Bad over a second to remember who it was. He sighed, not in the mood to talk to solicitors.

The blue line that stretched across the floor lit up as Bad stepped over it, and the course reverted to red LED lights as smaller droids were dispensed to clean up the courseway. Bad placed the FLM shotgun on the stand, not even deigning to look the recruiter's way.

"Not bad, Neb. But it needs a bit more stopping power. I think I'll keep my RW, though I do need a few more cartridges." He said.

"You could have been gentler with it." Neb said, his mustache curling with the sarcasm.

"Sorry," Bad said, unzipping his pack and fishing around for his wallet. "Four florins for the run and the mags?"

Neb was an old friend. A soldier in his youth, he had been retired for twenty years, and he looked it. Bad had a difficult time seeing him as a field man, but he knew weaponry, and had a nack for supplying any mercenary that came his way. He had come here for seven years, and Neb hadn't led him wrong yet, though like now, Bad did test runs for new equipment Neb had received from foreign markets, making sure he hadn't lost on any investment. If things went well, Bad might get a discount on the weapon in question, but he wasn't in it for this run.

"I'll let you keep the florins if you listen to our friend here." Neb said, a glint in his eye. Bad raised an eyebrow, then regarded the recruiter, who had an implacable look of neutrality on his face. He had his hair cropped short, and wore a smart suit, with black spectacles that hid his eyes even under the light.

"You're with the league?" Bad asked, stripping the FLM into its various components so Neb could clean its entirety after hours. Unscrewing the cap beneath the barrel, checking the selector at the butt was at its center, unlatching the grip beneath the selector and stripping the butt on the table before he popped his hand against the grip, bisecting the weapon.

"I am. And I am well aware of your answer the last time we attempted to recruit you." He explained.

"And you're still here? Ok, what do you think might change my mind?" Bad asked.

"Well, we have remade the contract, and would like to offer you a temporary, freelance position. And I think you'll find the assignment more to your liking..." He remarked, producing a dataslate.
@Penny

Shields of the Empire

"Lower spears!" Brasidas cried, his voice carrying across the ranks of sweat and dirt-caked men. The same cry echoes from the Domestikos, and the order was further passed from turmcarch to turmarch, ten foot spears lowering century by century like blades of grass in the high wind. Dust kicked along the sparse landscape, stripping the ground to a reddish hue, as if the very earth was wounded. In the distance, drums beat in a rhythmic pattern, signalling the protostates to hold their positions.

The formation was spread thin, only nine men deep, and only four of them with spears at the ready. A whistle was blown, and the five men behind the front ranks shifted into a looser formation and drew their composite bows, nocking arrows in one motion. The whistle rang again even as they settled their aim, and the twang of bows were followed by the shade of two thousand arrows arcing into the men still stuck in the riverbed. Another whistle, signalling to retrieve another arrow. Even as they loosed, the mass of the enemy army had arrived on the opposite bank, holding up wicker shields and singing in a wailing dirge to their gods as they began to step down the slope. Four volleys had been sent by the time the Khareeds had the opportunity to hit the imperial army, and they thundered toward the obvious opening Brasidas had left.

The Protos Kapetanos and his Cataphracti had dismounted, leaving their horses in the rear and forming a rough wall at the center of their formation, flanged maces and heavy shields held aloft. Brasidas screamed a warcry, and the men met it with a roar of their own, stomping their feet in unison as the khareeds lowered their lances, intent on the charge. A cloud passed over the sun, leaving a small lingering glint on one of the steel weapons, the last warning before the cataphracts performed their favorite tactic. The light horse and whooping men atop them were met by the maces, thrown from ten meters away, clashing into armor or causing disarray amongst their horses. Cataphracts were expert mace throwers, and though it caused little casualities, the khareeds hit with less surety and force, and the heavily armored men met them with staunch resistance.

The clang of lances on shields and scalemail rang, terrible screams erupting and brutal warcries mingled with the whimpering of the dying as another flight of arrows arced over them, stinging the approaching mass of infantry. Brasidas was nearly knocked off his feet by fifteen hundred pounds of horseflesh, but he caught himself, driving his spatha through the leg of another horse. The beast screeched and the rider tumbled off, stuck by a small spear before he could rise to take stock. If all went to plan, Phaedra would wheel right and hit the infantry before they could envelope the imperial infantry. Brasidas would hold the center, stepping back and allowing the enemy to drive a wedge to let the jaws of their trap fall.

The center had turned into a melee, not a route, like the khareeds wanted. Brasidas and his men began to decimate them like an alchemist's acid, slowly but inexorably, as if it was a foregone law of nature. He had planned to backstep and let them get a false sense of security in their initial charge, but the bloodlust was up, and the cataphracts had held a bit too well. He hoped this small victory would not cause a greater defeat.

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests