POOHEAD189

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"This is bigger than we thought," Ortega said, ducking back behind the hab-wall with me. Even from this distance, the smell of prometheum was evident, threatening to sting the nostrils. Irban Retch hadn't been as helpful as I would have liked, but what he did tell us gave us a rough direction and we made all speed across the slums to reach this place. It was an old factory, refurbished from an even older imperial frigate. The parapets had oxidized, leaving the tips of the normally blackened steel a dull grey. Refuse and old, rotted corpses littered the ground before the gaping maw of what I surmised was the bay, old chains and gridded rafters creaking as men gathered on the floor below, igniting machinery in some form of cleansing, the purpose of which I knew not what.

"We are following a system spanning conspiracy in league with the ruinous powers. Would you prefer they congregate in smaller groups?" I said, my voice dripping with barely suppressed irritation.

I was not unused to working with people not in my retinue, at least in a limited capacity. However, the last few days had been quite taxing and at the current moment, my lover and the woman who was rapidly becoming my closest confidant was captured by a cell of chaos terrorists in the bosom of a hive. I was in no mood for the constant questioning. Ortega merely grunted, checking his weapon. He bore a combat shotgun with a reduced barrel, granting greater concealment.

My eyes followed the dilapitated spires of the ancient warship and the age old furnishings of the inexorable modifications and chopping the locals would attempt on it to utilize it for their own ends. Eventually my eyes spied an entrance to the south, on the left side of the greater bay. An ornate helicum column framed arch that was now resplendent with grotesque graffiti that somehow managed to make a bastardation of even the horrid symbols of the accursed chaos gods.

"Are you with me?" I asked Ortega, eyes moving from the field of debris to the arbites.

Ortega nodded grimly, cocking his shotgun as an assurance. I nodded and began to move, keeping low behind the wall before crawling our way to a ruined groundcar. We paused to assure ourselves we weren't seen, and then made our way to the archway, stepping down the stairs into the darkness while rusted steel and petrochemicals invaded our senses.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

Dirk smiled grimly beneath his helm. He knew the celebrations weren't entirely to his or Jocasta's benefit, but it was a pretty loud indication the bastard was here. He set his visor on multi-search, the digital screen relaying back eighteen different appearances of the target's visage, all from signs or paintings made in thanks. He turned his head to the 'north' as the spire saw fit, gazing down the thoroughfare as the crowd began to part, an undulating wave of civilians and hawkers, raising their arms to keep their food or goods from bumping into the chest of other festival goers.

Dirk saw him before his reticle even honed in and identified the target.

He was a slight man with sharp features, a small scar on his nose and deep, sunken eyes. Just as the hologram had shown that past week. He seemed nervous, but optimistically happy. Dirk watched his procession grow, as more men and women waved to him or wanted to follow in his wake. Dirk checked his path but could find no reason for his movements. There was no great prize waiting for him down the street or someone important waiting to greet him.

Dirk lifted his modified DMX blaster and aimed down the sight, placing the butt of the blaster on the small rampart of the office building. As the face enlarged in his vision, he could see every crease on the man's lined face. He saw the light in his eyes and the happiness of the others around him. Dirk knew this man had stolen from the most dangerous criminal in the system, had given his wealth to the poor, and had like as not been encouraged to show himself by popular demand. Dirk was almost certain Voldargu could be described as a good person, or at the least, a bad person trying to do right. Word had it he used to belong to the gangs of the lower levels before he had escaped and joined some spacers in a job, the details of which were not known. All of the info from his dataslate ran through his mind, and had he been a more gullible man, he might have had second thoughts.

But this was not Dirk's first kill. If Dirk did not kill him, someone else would, and if they did not, Phyraelon Deadstar would invade this hab and kill everyone who had touched his money. There was no winning here. So Dirk did the merciful thing.

He began recording the view on his visor, readjusted his DMX blaster, and pulled the trigger.

The high powered bolt made to penetrate laminate merc armor scorched through Vol's neck, cauterizing the wound even as it blew a hole straight through his flesh. He died with an uneasy smile on his lips and a hand shaking his. Dirk rolled away from the edge of the building, putting Jocasta on the comm.

"Target is down. Make yourself scarce." His voice rang over the comm, and he gave her the coordinates to the body. If they could find the corpse in a relatively unguarded position, they would take the head. If they couldn't, the recording should be sufficient. Dirk vaulted over the building and free fell into the alley, activating his jump back a dozen feet from the ground to cushion his fall.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I took the immaculate sheets, already stained with my blood, ripped off a clean stretch of it and placed it under my armpit as I took a bottle of tilean spirits and doused my hand. The pain seared me and I nearly swooned, but it woke me up and put a crispness to my senses. I wrapped the newly made bandage about my palm as tightly as I could, grimacing. I felt sand sliding through an hourglass in my mind as the banging against the chamberlains door echoed across the hall, but I knew we could do little to halt them in our current state.

"Did you recognize the gentlemen that ran in here?" I asked her as I rolled over the bed to the other side.

"Tey weer frum last night," she said, following my lead and speaking in Riekspiel. I was glad for that, accompanied by her good memory. It further proved my theory she would not be a liability in a tight situation like this. I quickly donned some breeches and shoes and threw my cloak on, grabbing my skull-headed staff and retrieving the pistol I had procured from one of Marco's toughs the night before. "Can yu do that agayn?" Camilla asked inquisitively.

My mind whirred before I realized she meant the smiting light from Sigmar.

"I have a few tricks, but no. I almost did not think I could do it there." I said. Were it not for the blood gushing from my hand and the desperation in my voice, I did not know if my lord would have noticed the plight to answer. The world was large after all, even for a god, and sometimes in his wisdom he deigned not to aid his faithful. And even if he had been watching, I was not exactly the pinnacle of the order.

A crack erupted and shouts rose. My heart leaped in my throat, and I sprinted out of the room, Camilla following behind wearing a smart jerkin and brown trousers. They hugged her curves delightfully, but I hadn't the time to appreciate it as we leaped out of the door and ran down the hall, rushing into the broken door of the chamberlain's rooms to find the four men that had run in to slay him in his bed. I was just as stunned as they were to see the chamberlain was absent.

One man turned when we entered, and the other three simultaneously followed his lead to looked up. I glanced around to make certain the fat codger hadn't snuck behind a curtain, before my gaze met theirs. Two of them held spears, one had a sword at his hip and the other lifted a crossbow my way. I did not recognize the man, and in fact their uniforms were of prince romeo's retinue. I wasn't certain how trustworthy that was, and at the moment all I cared about were their designs on the lives of myself and my master. I quickly threw myself across the lobby to avoid the crossbow bolt, the armor piercing missile embedding itself an inch into the fine wood of the partially ajar door, swinging it open in time for Camilla to come in behind me.

"Camilla, run!" I said, trying to get to my feet. My hand burned with pain as it pushed against the floor, my heavy headed staff bumping into the carpeted floor as I lifted myself. The two spearman charged me at the swordsman's orders. I lifted my pistol at the two tileans bearing down on me, aimed, and fired. The pistol discharged in a roaring puff of smoke. The air was clear in my eyesight, however, and I saw the ball hit the man on the right at the curve of his breastplate. It caused a dent in the armor, but to my surprise the ball ricocheted and punched straight through his fellow spearman's temple, blood and bone fragments flying out to stain the expensive floor.

I supposed the gods did have a sense of humor.

Hastily I blocked the first spear thrust with my staff, but my injury and the crossbowman in the back reloading his weapon did not bode well for me.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

"Muori la feccia del Nord!"

I awoke from my slumber and possibly the best night I had experienced in many years to the sight of a large, black bearded Tilean raising a sidesword up so he could swiftly end my life. I would have thought I was dreaming, but the yell was too loud and Camilla's body was too warm and comfortable. Instantly, I recognized Camilla's naked form was still on me and right in the path of danger, her face snuggled into my chest. Her arms, normally very welcome to be clinging to my form, added her weight to myself in my suddenly panicked state. I did the only thing I could, reaching back and ripping the heavy pillow from behind my head to cushion the savage chop from the would-be assassin. Feathers flew everywhere and a Tilean curse followed.

"Camilla!" I cried, echoing my cries of passion just hours before. The slightly different cadence likely tipped her off to the seriousness of the situation, because she lifted her head and only one blink of her eyes was enough for the woman to know something was very much off. The muscled Tilean ripped the pillow out of my hands and pointed his sword at Camilla, hoping to skewer us both in one. I grabbed the sheet and did what I could when his sword point shot forward, turning the blade aside with my hand obscured by the sheet.

Blood spurted from my opened palm, but aside from the sudden wet I only felt adrenaline coursing through me. Camilla scrambled off me and I shuddered as our lower halves separated, my other hand now grabbing at the hilt of the embedded sword, the point of the blade thankfully misdirected into the mattress by a mere inch. Sigmar must have kept watch over me, because that was twice I had cheated death in as many moments. I kicked out, my bare foot hitting the Tilean in the face, scraping him across the mouth. He grunted and fell back, loosening the grip on his sword.

"Sigmar take this sinful blood," I intoned, rising from the bed and squeezing my ruined hand. Blood seeped from my wound and dropped heavily to the floor. "Imbue me with power and show me your might, engulf this pagan scum in light!"

I shrieked in pain fear as my arm was suddenly not of myself anymore, growing rigid as my fingers uncurled. From my wound a flame roared to life, and a projectile in the shape of the blazing twin tailed comet erupted from my hand and hit the recovering assassin, immolating him as surely as a dwarfen drakkthrower. He screeched in horror, wailing to Myrmida as he was engulfed, the flames clinging to his skin as if they were cloth. He hit the floor, writhing on the carpet as his nerves were singed and his life was taken from him.

I gripped my arm, my hand scorched, but my wound now cauterized. Pain surged from the tip of my fingers to my forearm, and I knew right there I would not be able to use my hand for anything for many days unless I performed a healing rite, and I did not have the time or preparation for that. Outside of the bedroom, screams echoed and the clash of steel on steel was ringing across the halls.

"Is this a traditional morning or have I caused a stir?" I joked weakly, glad to see Camilla was unharmed.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

Dirk pressed two buttons on his wrist multi-tool and brought up the holo-image of their quarry. The blue light coalesced into a dark haired, scraggly man in his mid thirties with two nasty scars of his chin and a bionic implant in his left temple. Dirk transferred the likeness to Jocasta's data pad and removed the holo-projection. From all the commotion surrounding them, being conspicuous would be fairly easy until they were right on top of their prey, more than likely.

"You head down the central drag. Keep your eyes peeled and don't stop for sweets. I'll go up top and search from above the hab. If you see him, contact me before you engage unless you have a guaranteed shot. Remember, we want his body cold." The armored hunter said, and stepped to the left, marching past a crowd of young parents who went from giggling over their children to stumbling out of Dirk's way. The bounty hunter stepped into the sidestreet between the main roads that hosted this strange festival, and found a pulley-ladder positioned at the wall of an apartment building.

He grabbed the ladder and unholstered one of his pistols, pointing up at the carbon fibre strings that gripped the ladder and could release it from the ground at a moment's notice with a counter weight. With a quick second to aim, he fired, the bolt shattering the mechanism that kept the counterweight in place, sending it hurtling down as the ladder was yanked up, Dirk in tow. He kicked up the engines of his jump pack just enough to let him continue his ascent even after the ladder had jolted short, and he easily landed atop the apartment, now able to witness a line of buildings segmented across the fifth level of the spire.

He knelt down to a knee and reached into his belt, producing a secondary barrel he kept sequestered on his person, in case of bounties in need of a more precise touch. He screwed it onto his heavy blaster's barrel, spinning it before it clicked into place. The suppressor reduced the injection of gas and modified the actuating module, but unlike most suppressors it added range rather than reduced it. However, the bolt would pack less of a punch, and should not be utilized when firing on someone with armor. A long ganger on the other hand would be just the prey he wanted. He then placed an opto-electric collimator atop the blaster to help with aiming, and then he began to move, running from building to building like a ghost.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"You will talk," I promised, my pistol out as I shoved the ganger into the alleyway. The putrid smell of refuse and trash wafted through a lone breeze, likely caused by a hive-ventilator close by. Ortega did not seem to notice, likely because he had delved into the underhive on more than one assault. The burly arbites casually strolling to the other side of the alley in case our newfound friend had any funny ideas about escaping.

"Talk!? About what?" The thin man asked desperately, a cold sweat on his pathetic features. He had the look of someone who, even given the best facilities and medicine, would not be sought out for his looks. His nose was large but weak and his chin almost nonexistent. His eyes were beady and his neck was so thin I felt I could snap it with one strong shake. He looked as if he had been beaten recently as well, his left cheek blue and a clear wild fear in his eyes. There was some rash creeping up his neck that was clearly untreated. But I did not begrudge him any of his misfortunes or maladies, in fact it made me feel a slight tinge of pity. Unfortunately for him, my pity was overwhelmed immediately by my worry for Emmaline.

Something stirred near the closest garbage pile, all six of our eyes whirred to the alley as a wild haired ne'er-do-well woke up from a drug-infused nap. He smacked his toothless gums and blinked, trying to focus on us.

"Get out of here!" Ortega barked. The man stiffened at the roar, but did not immediately move. I could use my will, but I needed to curb that temptation, so I did something slightly less conspicuous and put a bullet into the ground by the man's feet. The shot echoed through the alley and he jumped, scrambling over browned parchments and ruined food and what was likely feces and ran out into the main street. I turned my attention back to the ganger and placed the barrel of my gun in his face, slowly adding pressure against his skull.

"Where did they take the blonde woman?" I asked.

"Who are they!?" He screeched, legs shaking.

"Shouldn't we ask who he is working for?" Ortega interrupted. I gave him a glare, but he did not relent. "If we can find the girl, then good. But whatever this is, it's bigger than her or any of us. You did not come to this city to halt cases of kidnapping. She knew the risks."

"Why would they take her if we were not on their trail? If we find Emmaline we find the ring." I insisted.

"Speaking freely, anyone who could would take a woman like her if they saw past her disguise. Trafficking for pleasure girls is a large business. We need to focus. The Undercouncil is the issue here."

"This man..." I said, bearing down on the cowering prisoner. He would likely soil himself any minute, I imagined. "-watched us only when we began looking for Emmaline. He knows where she is. I still do not know if he is a member of this Undercouncil, but I will follow this lead."

"Or he simply knows who you are."

"Who is he?" The ganger asked quietly, but I ignored him. My iron eyes fixed on Ortega.

"Are you disagreeing with me because you wish to remind me of the bigger picture or are you disagreeing with me because you truly believe the issues are separate." I asked him.

Ortega paused for a moment, and then sighed. "The former," He admitted, and gestured to give me the go-ahead for whatever I was going to do. With that settled, I turned to our unwilling contact. I would use my will this time. "What is your name?"

He shuddered as if struck, and Ortega almost fell to his knees. He had a strong will of mind, but he was not used to such psychic assaults, even if they were on the periphery of my attention. Ortega backed away to grant me some room as the ganger began to bleat out answers. "Irban Retch!"

"Who is your master?"

"Lord Nurgle!"

Both of our eyes whipped to his own when we heard the blasphemous name, and I noticed he finally did soil himself. A wet puddle grew larger from a trickle dripping from his pants leg. Luckily the alley already smelled of piss. Small mercies, I suppose. I loomed over him, summoning my will once more.

"Where is the blonde woman?..."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

It all happened so quickly. So quickly in fact, that I did not immediately realize Emmaline was gone for what I estimated was nearly half a standard minute. I had gnabbed a few quick snippets of a conversation that I tangentially supposed was potential information on gang activity. Apparently a group called the Black Suns were large in this area, supposedly moving in on the turf of the Blooded Men, leading to eight dead the last day in a scuffle that served as the spark that would lead to the inevitable explosion of the tinderbox. I was not sure which group, if either, we were following, but as I turned to give my customary glance to Ortega and Emmaline, the latter was now gone.

I stiffened, lifting myself from my chair and immediately walking toward her last known position. My peripheral vision was undulating like the dancers, my focus on the floor just at the edge of the gyrating gangers and slummers. I pushed past a pair of drugged up men grinding against one another and found nothing on the floor, scratching out my suspicion she had collapsed. My eyes whipped around the area, not finding Emmaline but catching Ortega's eyes. He looked at me questioningly and I indicating there was trouble. He took another swig of the drink and set it down, making his way over to my position.

"What it is?" He asked.

"Emmaline is missing."

"Maybe she skipped town," He said, shrugging his broad shoulders. I shot him a dangerous look. I knew he did not entirely like her from the interrogation she had enacted upon him, but I knew Emmaline. She either found a lead, or was taken by a lead. Damn, either way I felt she should have signaled for me before whatever had occurred had happened. I sighed and turned, my eyes passing over another pair of eyes that were planted on mine. They moved away quickly, and anyone else would have suspected it was just a coincidence. But I stalked over to their position at the tables. A scrawny ganger with buggy eyes and an elaborate tattoo of an Imperial Titan on his arm glanced back at me, and then asserting that I was approaching, started to move himself. I cursed, trying to hurry and push past the crowd to reach him, but my injury kept me from moving as I normally would. I took out my gun, yelling him to halt over the blaring music as he made his way passed the bar to the exit.

He found Arbites Ortega suddenly appearing before him, punching him in the stomach and bowling him over. He spat on the floor, eyes wide from the hit. I made it to them with bated breath.

"Let's see what this scrawny rat knows." He said, taking him by the arm and neck and hauling him out into the street.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt shouldn't have been surprised when Silke all but insisted on him finding his friend and siblings, but somehow he was. It had been so long since he had even thought about his siblings, he truly did not know what to expect. Should he tell her he really had no intention of being in their lives? Not that he felt anything ill towards them, but it had been so long, he really could not find it in himself to really think of them as family much, anymore, even if he knew intellectually they were. It was an odd thing, actually. If he had come back home and discovered they had died rather than moved on, he would have missed them more, he thought. Why was that?

And then there was the wedding! He had never thought he was to get married before his wealth and status, and now that it was expected of him, he had thought the past few months that it would be to some rapacious noblewoman or a soft spoken damsel serving the whims of her father. But now that he was newly engaged to Silke, he for once thought how his own wedding would look in a positive light, and he found he did wish to see his entire family there, along with his friends. Even if they had grown apart, it didn't feel complete without inviting them. To look into Silke's eyes before gazing out over the crowd of his loved ones...

He took the hand she was using to gesticulate with, gently guiding it to his lips so he could kiss the back of it.

"I believe it will be a great wedding, and I think it's a good idea for us to find them. It's only right," He admitted, lowering her hand, though he did not entirely let go. The fire was warming his front side quite well, and he watched her with a smile. He truly was smitten. It was only the past few hours that he had finally admitted it to himself, but now that he had it was fascinating to feel such an emotion in him. He could watch her for hours and they would not be hours wasted. He supposed that would make his finance lessons easier, he inwardly joked.

"I expect snobs to be pretty commonplace, especially at a noble wedding. But I don't doubt you'll get it handled." He said, before realizing he also wanted to add: "And tell me if there's anything you would need me to do, as well. It's a day for the both of us, after all. Your feelings are just as valid as mine, ok?"

He wanted to let that sink in to her. Galt wasn't certain many men, particularly noble men had given her such admissions, but he would never falter in that. Partnerships, romantic or business, were important when one lived day to day not knowing where their next would come from. He found it was no less important in his current circumstances. The worries were now more social and emotional, but they were still there.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

The dragonfly's rear opened up, its sleek design belying the roomy cargo hold Dirk and Jocasta stepped out of. His laminated power armor coupled with Jocasta's stylish but utilitarian garb gave the pair an odd look, but they were also seemed have every resource or capability one might need from any five man team in their repertoire, and they were nothing less than mercenaries and hunters of men. The dockmaster caught the cue well enough himself, approaching them more cautiously now that he had a good look at the passengers he would be finagling.

"Welcome friends! Welcome to Tarsus!" He said, his spectacles laden with moisture that obscured his vision. He wore a practical jacket for the low temperatures at such an altitude and was following by a utility android on four wheels, a unit that looked much like a cogitator's tower, able to squeeze into small spaces but robust enough to weather any bumps it might get from its predicted years of service. A small bit of glass ran along the length of it around three quarters of the way up, an optic red light gliding back and forth. The dockmaster kicked it lightly so it reversed direction, backing up a few feet to grant him room to speak. "I was not aware we were receiving such well-armed guests. May I ask what the manner of your visit is?"

Dirk's head slowly swiveled to regard him, and he placed his hand on the heavy blaster directly in eyeshot to the dockmaster. He swallowed. "I'm afraid crime has been quite rampant here the last few years. New protocals are enacted. The Hoamarks' orders, you understand."

"We are here on a business transaction. If we were here to conduct illegal acts, we would not have our ship logged into the registry." Dirk said evenly.

"'Our' ship?" Jocasta asked with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, though Dirk doubted she was truly offended.

"Very good, yes. Erm, well if your business is not with any of the businesses in Echilon 3.64, I am afraid that will cost you extra..." He said, and Dirk casually unholstered his pistol.

"Really? How much would that be?"

The man pursed his lips as he thought of what a reasonable price would be. He took out an electronic pad where he no doubt kept the registry and thumbed through it. "TTTThhhree hundred credits? Two fifty I mean! Apologies, this stupid droid ahaha-" He slid through the screen rapidly. "-behind me has messed up my dock log again..."

"You mentioned crime right? Where is the most crime at? You know, so we can avoid it," Jocasta asked, blinking rapidly with a large smile on her face. Dirk had placed the gun back in its holster, content to pay what would normally be a third of the usual going rate for a civilian in such a place. He unlatched a small token and handed it to the dockmaster, who took it and let it scan on his pad before handing it back to Dirk.

"Erm, the Fallorn Sector, five flights below us. You won't have much to worry about. Luckily we keep the majority of it contained to there." He said, likely lying through his teeth. It fit with the diagonistics gathered by Cygi, however, so it was where to start.

Back to the roots of humanity [tribal-based, 21+, LFM]

Please stop putting 1x1 interest checks in Advanced.