POOHEAD189

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Date: April 24th, 2519 A.D.
Sector: Tertius Decimus
System: Eurymaces
Location: The Orbital Station The God's Eye near Mazda, orbiting the moon Ahura.

---

Death.

Death was a funny thing, someone once told him. It was the last real frontier of human experience, and yet it's still the closest thing to home someone will ever feel. Without death, life wasn't worth living. The absence of it only brought fatigue and pain, and kept the particles that made up man from returning to the stars.

It was funny what hired killers and soldiers of fortune would say to justify what they did for a living. Markus wasn't cold-blooded by his own estimation, but at least he was honest. He killed for three things: money, survival, and revenge. He could get all three from the life of a mercenary, and the last seven years he had lived that life, traveling from place to place, signing contract after contract. There was no shortage of battles, skirmishes, or odd jobs in the once-vibrant interstellar conglomerate humanity once called a civilization. Luckily, the corpse was still fresh. There was still warmth in there, the various moving parts were only now starting to realize the failure of the heart. If the galaxy did not provide a shock to its system soon, there would be no turning back.

Markus had seen the Eye of Gods through the shuttle window. It gingerly spun in orbit like the rings of old saturn, lights drifting to and from it akin to worker bees and their hive. Some were likely commercial vessels, but Markus was certain the brunt of them were representatives and administrative agents, with no small amount of private security as well. The space station was a relic of the golden age, clearly made of Titanium-B, one of the most durable sets of military grade plating ever conceived. The tethers beneath it were thin at this vantage point, looking like naught but filigree in the light of the system's star. He glanced behind him, the other two men in the passenger seats uninterested in the sights. One was a bald headed man from Maladan, with a stout physique from the high gravity and a cauliflower nose from bad decisions. The other was a horn falgor, a strain of mutant that looked like a man crossed with a wildebeest, communicating solely through grunts and howls. Markus's falgor was a bit rusty, but he did not seem too rude from the mutterings he heard.

The shuttle docked without incident, the hatch depressurizing with a hiss before the light blinked on, allowing them to stand and make their exits. It was hard to question whether these two toughs were here for the same reason as he. There would be no point in two armed thugs without any sign of identification going to The Gods Eye, unless they were going for the same reason Markus was.

He stepped out into the wide atrium, and noticed with small relief he didn't stick out like a sore thumb as much as he thought. Markus was lean and fierce, with strong shoulders and long legs. The soldier-of-fortune sported military fatigue bottoms, with a multi-tool belt. At his hip was a long blade; a Secare Saber, made specifically for Terran military officers. Slung across his shoulder was a strap that looped through a Daiedron-C87, a versatile assault rifle of bullpup design. Across his chest was a composite plate of vibron-fiber, and on his head was a wide brimmed hat that shielded his eyes. He had a mane of dark hair and the beginnings of a stubble on his chin. He had a way about him that made every movement look like the prelude to something dangerous.

But in the crowd was a handful of men that looked even less welcoming than him. Entrepreneurial men and women, and even a few mutants stepped off shuttles or entered from freighter bays into the spacious lobby, filling the packed area more, but the mercs pockmarked in the flows of travelers were easy to spot. There was a central commons office to the left where a sizeable group congregated before an overworked clerk, but the rest of the area was sectioned off into two. The center lead to a bridge, made for walking and waiting, and the right and past the office on the left were numerable vendors and businesses. Food and drink and souvenirs were sold next to chip-loaders, holo-dreams, and even a droid's shop. Markus took only a moment to take stock of his surroundings, and then walked forward without even looking at the hawkers trying to grab his attention for a quick buck.

As the Red God would have it, he did not have to walk far. Once in the station proper, the polytile floors of the vast corridor were easily navigable, though fraught with business. Clerk assistants, administrative agents, and a myriad of other personnel marched past one another with barely a moment to glance up or apologize if they bumped into someone. Yet they all gave Markus and the two hunters that had shuttled with him a wide berth, along with a few other parties of equally surly looking pedestrians that walked in the same direction, like schools of fish parting for stalking sharks, ready to swim away in case any tried to take a bite. Despite the cosmopolitan nature of the station, The Gods Eye had no shortage of seedy people loitering. High-ranked gang leaders and corrupt executive assistants smoking syn-sticks with low-life courtiers and mercs around every alcove, either protecting the lanes of the station or waiting to meet the man himself to legitimize themselves into a position that might make real money.

Within a minute, Markus found himself in a more vacant area of the station. He had just been following the signs flashing on the holo-displays above, indicating all independent contractors looking to apply for job 34-2170 merely needed to make their way to room 'Delta 17' on the main floor of the station. The archway before him flashed with D17 in big red letters, and he stepped through. To his surprise, what had appeared to be an empty room had merely been a camoflauge; a portal that simulated an image whilst hiding the truth just inside. Markus nearly bumped into an Orgos, a heavily built mutant that towered over normal men. It didn't notice Markus, too wide to see him skirt around behind him and making it to the chamber proper.

The room was large, the metallic walls sand colored and made to look fiery by the warm lights. Small marks and old dents betrayed the fact this chamber had been used to greet mercs before, in less agreeable circumstances. Bawdy music played from a small band mostly consisting of scantily clad women on the left, a small stage separated from the crowd by a small, transparent energy shield. On the main floor, there were four tables that sat four each, and small ethanol-electric droids on treads bringing drinks back and forth from a bar, a blue haired bar woman working frantically to fulfill every order given to her by the automated waiters. At the back of the room, there was a platform, flanked by guards armed with gauss-rifles. In fact even past the crowd, Markus saw there were similarly armed men stationed every five meters around the room, perfectly at attention. Fourteen in all, if he had to guess. Despite the size of the chamber, due to how heavily armed everyone was, it made the conglomerate of two dozen mercs, bounty hunters, thugs, and mutants seem packed.

Markus found a space of the wall near the bar, having just settled himself when a diminutive droid of boxy design rolled up to him. A monochromatic screen lit up at its center, displaying a selection of drinks.

"Null's Choice," He said. Voice activated, the drink lit up on the screen before it backed up gingerly and spun around to fulfill its algorithmic task.

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Brief Summary

In the 2050s, archaeologists discover old star maps located within derelict ruins within caves located in the scottish highlands, with a strange, crisp atmosphere. Among the ruins were old coordinates, which were deciphered to indicate three points in the Sol System. Venus, Mars, and Titan.
In the following century, genetic engineering goes rampant, creating various strains of mutated humans. Artificial Intelligence beyond basic functioning droids and algorithsm go berserk, and later it is discovered that an alien frequency hailing from across the milky way is causing a virus in AI models, making them functionally insane. However before that, in the early 22nd century, men discover a base under the surface of mars, hundreds of thousands of years old. Probes find satellites above Venus that manufactured its incredibly dangerous and toxic atmosphere, essentially a biological and atmospheric weapon, and a small abandoned facility of unknown origin is discovered a mile beneath Titan's ice, housing various specimens of ancient earth life. The oceans of the moon itself is also home to organisms of possible alien origin. Before the end of the 22nd century, the wars on earth and the mutant riots put a strain on humanities civilization, and space colonies are formed while vast arks of mutants are sent to colonize worlds in other solar systems. Decades later, base-line human explorers and sent with similar goals albeit with more safety measures and equipment. After reverse engineering technology from the xenos bases, humans are able to make small jumps across space, able to travel within 200 lightyears from earth and back without needing to be gone for more than a month. A new golden age arrives, cue mass effect space opera. The earth is able to grow crops on other planets, terraforming slowly but surely, and the 23rd and 24th centuries are a silver age of growth and exploration. The alien tech is still studied, but no signal sent into the cosmos has been answered. The 25th century rolls around, and men begin meeting again with the ARK crews, finding new human civilizations and mutant hives hostile and suspicious of humanity. On earth, the wars for resources that were silenced by prosperity, suddenly become conflicts of trade and ideology. Distant colonies, both loyal to earth or long abandoned, become homes of inurgents and system-wide wars spread out. At the crux of this, another eldritch signal is discovered, this one destroying the capabilities of the jump drives. What once took a week has now become a year's journey, and even without the signal, humanity was beginning to once again dry up on resources. The Space Opera, once majestic and glorious, is now decaying. The wars between the UNSG (United Nation Space Government) and the insurgents have become bitter struggles, now over things like grudges and money rather than independence or ideology. Many insurgent factions are now simply independent dukes, and the UNSG is a capitalist republic with a monopoly on the core systems, the council and the officials now scheming against one another if it means more power or prestige.

We find ourselves in the year 2519, in a fictional solar system at the edge of the core worlds, hired by (insert powerful benefactor here) wanting a two man team to capture and return his long lost son and to kill his captors, however unbeknownst to us, his 'son' is the heir to a rival dynasty, and he throws us under the bus and are sent to jail, needing to rely on one another for escape.

Technology: Las weapons, modern day firearms, specialized melee weapons (aka power swords or vibro weapons). Ships that can travel between planets easily and solar systems with the right drive. Basic star Wars style droids.

Religion: 'God' so we can use stuff like 'goddamn' but there is a penchant for neo-paganism, as if the abrahamic god is a central figure but people can invoke other deities like the dark lady. Perhaps planets of different environs have different shrines.

Style: Cowboy Bebop meets Mass Effect and rock and roll. Obviously we can have some star wars or 40k influence, beyond what I already talked about.

Aliens/Non-humans: Ancient alien tech is prized, mutants are seen as 2nd class citizens and pirates, or warbands. Limited cybernetics is possible.

Dramatis Personae:

Markus (of) Sartorius

Patron: Baron Adan Galanis
Target: Idan Galanis

The Artemis
The Layout

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Whilst I was perturbed at Emmaline's quick usage of her will to dominate a subject, I reminded myself he was either a worshiper of the great enemy, or someone aiding in its cause. As long as she did not shatter the fool's mind until I found out, I would bite my lip for now. Rather, I holstered my pistol and kept my powersword under the fabric of my cloak, concealing it along with my armor. Voidships were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of meters in length, but I was intimately familiar with the design of the majority of Imperial warships. It was required in order to continue the alias of Blasius Deckard, who grew up amongst the Saturn naval shipyards in Sol. We had arrived in the engine deck of the ship, and if I was correct, we needed only to travel a relatively short distance to reach the captain's deck.

I ordered Clara to lower her rifle and conceal it, and the three of us followed the mesmerized spacer.

Perhaps it was lucky Emmaline had reacted as she had, for as soon as we turned the corner there was a congregation of enginemen welding a coupling the size of an old terran bus, whilst beyond them, maintenance crews marched across the breadth of the deck, methodically checking for leaks or tweaks that needed to be made to keep the ship at optimal operation. Sparks flew as the engineers shouted to one another, the ship's thrumming louder now that we passed by the main power of the ship.

We arrived at the plaza that was made before the lift that rose to varying levels. A handful of deckhands walked passed, intent on their work and only granting us a cursory glance. The baroque archway was alight with ethereal lights of operation. A sudden woosh of air brought our attention to the lift, and from above, the platform lowered down. Upon it was an officer, a small contingent of what looked to be militarum irregulars, and a tall, lithe, and very alien figure dressed in obsidian armor. Framing the visor were two pointed ears, and above was a tall head of dark hair tied in a ponytail. I remained impassive, not having expected one of the blasted eldar but having already prepared myself for the unexpected. Clara shifted uneasily but did not comment.

The xenos glanced in our direction, but mercifully followed the officer and the handful of men as they marched down the gangway from whence we came.

"This is the way to the captain's deck, mistress..." the man said, bowing low before Emmaline.

"Take us up to the correct floor." She ordered.

"A thousand apologies, but I do not have the access. It is the top floor however..." He said sheepishly, lowering himself from the shame of not fully providing for his new master.

"Who does? Speak!" Emmaline demanded, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

He abased himself, and I grew more nervous at his mannerism in front of potential eyes. "The officers, mistress. The closest would be Lieutenant Officer Naftor Sybdol, the man who just walked out of this area. He could help you ascend, please do not throw me aside!"

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Boris stared at her for many long moments, his blue eyes alight like small flames. He truly did have a penetrating gaze. Perhaps the rumors of him being one of Ulric's chosen was true.

It was hard to decipher what exactly he was thinking, but finally, mercifully, he looked away from the buxom woman's face and turned to Kasimir. "It seems you've pissed some people off."

Kasimir noticed Eleanor had to bite her lip to keep from giggling, either from nervousness or the abrupt manner in which he spoke after hearing her out. The hawkeyed bastard turned to his father, the two now close. It was clear Kasimir presumably favored his mother in many ways. His hair was darker than Boris's, as was his unshaven chin that threatened to form into a rough goatee if he didn't cut it soon. He was also of a leaner build, but both were tall and strong men, and Kasimir had a bit of Todbringer's cheekbones in him.

"I've always had that gift," He said, and his eyes flicked at Eleanor as she was one of the most recent aristocrats he had annoyed. Odd, he always seemed to be inciting incidents with nobility but he got along with the common folk just fine. Strange that, he thought whilst hiding the wry smirk that was beginning to form.

"Well, luckily for you, it did not lead to your death or imprisonment this time. But seeing as you're here and now involved, I will grant you leave to aid in investigating these matters." The graf rumbled, which brought a raised eyebrow from Kasimir. His father grunted. "You've precious little left to do but cause more trouble, and I imagine you would rather busy yourself than sitting in your room all day and attending the occasional banquet. Whether you were framed or not, there is still a killer about."

Boris turned, his resplendent red cloak swaying as he did so. Without looking back, he added: "Oh, and it seems the lady here is a potential victim or associate in these matters. Since her host is dead, you will accompany her to whatever matters she requires, keep her from harm, and make sure she also stays out of trouble."

"What!?" They both exclaimed in unison. Kasimir was a bit too put off to notice the small amount of Imperial creeping into her voice.

Boris laughed like a donkey, the sound echoing across the stone chamber. "Until she returns to her homeland once the snows melt, she is without a host or guide, and you represent me, as much as we both are not keen on that idea. See to it, boy, or you'll be thrown into the dungeons for an entirely different matter than murder."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren skipped a rock into the water. Buri let out a soft whistle, his darkvision letting him see the entirety of the stone's flight.

"Strong as an anvilgard," Buri compliment, referring to the esteemed, heavily armored tunnel fighters of his kin. Beren doubted that, but it was nice to hear. Buri groaned and got off his rump, dusting himself off before he began rummaging in his pack for something to eat. "What I wouldn't give for a pint of Dromegar's Finest with some salted pork."

Beren tossed a stone up and caught it casually, doing so over and over as he responded back to Buri.

"I'm hungry too, but I'm more tired than anything, I think." He admitted, and glanced at Jocasta's slumbering form. The light wind brushed against his skin lightly, and it felt good. He briefly wondered if they were exposed out here, just by the lake. They had opted not to make a fire, but see by the very soft light from small crevasses above. Once you were in the dark long enough, even human eyes could become used to such an environment to a point, but even so he knew he was more used to it than any man he had ever met. Jocasta was out of her element down here, no wonder she was tired.

He turned to Buri, the dwarf pulling out a bit of his beef jerky and scarfing it down. Beren knelt beside him, and the dwarf gave him a guarded look. Beren raised an eyebrow, and after a few long moments the fat merchant sighed and handed him a few scraps of the meat. Beren gave him a thanks in dwarvish and popped them into his mouth, and the two took turns taking swigs from the water flasks.

"'Least we can refill them," Buri whispered in dwarvish.

"Aye, Runar's blessing." Beren agreed, and then gave a grunt for a laugh. "This adventure's been about as smooth as a donkey's ass though."

"And half as valuable," Buri complained. "But we're not fermented yet. Though what I wouldn't give to be back in my storeroom counting the stock and coins. Druge, Fahke, Hrom..." Beren recognized those are various terms for gold, specifically numeric representations of gold. Dwarves coveted the mineral so much, they even had a separate, holy counting system for coins of that most precious of metals.

"I would like to see you in your element," Beren laughed. "If survival isn't your strongsuit, you must be a great master of goods."

The dwarf snorted. He was the first to admit he was not a warrior dwarf like the rest, save perhaps Varin the beardling. He stood up once more, attempting to tower over Beren, though even sitting down, they were nearly eye level. "Boy, I could sell the shirt off yer back and the teeth out yer mouth before you even knew we had begun negotiating!" He boasted, fat hands on his hips. "The old priest brought me here so I could appraise what riches we found, but it feels like that won't be happening anytime soon, Woegrim take me."

"You're not done yet. We just need to-" Beren glanced back at Jocasta to keep an eye on her.

She was gone. He blinked, and his fine eyes caught a shape in the shallows of the gently lapping water. He gasped when he saw the white hand of Jocasta slipping beneath the surface, her silhouette drifting deeper into the waves. Beren scrambled to his feet, and like a hound on the chase, he did not think twice. The eru'dai sprinted to the edge of the lake and dove in, hands together and body streamlined as any born swimmer did. It took him all of three seconds to reach her, grabbing her arm. To his distress, her eyes were still closed and bubbles lazily floated out of her mouth. He pulled, but something kept her down. Panicking, he grabbed the axe at his belt, ready to chop off whatever tentacled monstrosity had her in its grasp, but when he looked passed her, he was shocked to see she had been snagged by a small torrent of swirling water.

Suddenly it yanked the both of them deeper, and soon the faint light from above was gone. Beren felt cold water flow past him as the two of them were dragged inexorably down, down into the unknown depths where horrible, nameless things dwelled. Beren suddenly felt an immense pressure on his skull, and the last thing he remembered was letting go of Jocasta's hand, a feeling of despair welling up inside of him.

---

The floor was mostly smooth stone, though the occasional barnacle and crawling, alien crustacean meandered about. Where the light came from, it was hard to gauge. Somehow, her immediate surroundings were visible and alight. Water slowly dripped onto the floor, and Jocasta lifted her head to behold what lay before her.

All around her were the walls of broken sea vessel, having fallen to the depths of the lake long ago. The design was unknown to her, derelict and wrong in appearance. The material was not made of wood, and it curved where it should have pushed out, and looked bloated where it should have swept inward in its build. It was easy to see she was underwater, because by some strange magic, a wall of water a few meters before her was kept at bay, and it was the same behind her. Beside her, Beren lay unconscious beside her, but thankfully when she checked, he was breathing and alive. In fact, it seemed only the inside of the strange ship had breathable air, where the pressure was somehow equalized. As she looked back at the front barrier of water, she gasped. Beyond it was a vast figure, just at the edge of her vision.

"We will speak, woman. You have been marked, and must answer my questions..."

Hi!

Welcome!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

"Stay here," Alcander told Teajay and Eleanor, gently lowering himself into the storage room. The three of them weren't super close, but he felt they knew well enough he was not trying to coddle or patronize them. He wanted to see the crime scene first, as he had the most extensive background in investigations. Unfortunately, as he lowered himself, he realized the water damage had done more to ruin the crime scene than a bull could have. His boots touched the wooden floor with a wet smack. Under him was a soaked copy of a once-beautiful limited edition copy of Crime and Punishment.

They did not remove the roof when it was pouring, he surmised. Otherwise they would have risked destroying whatever they wanted to find. Magic could have come into play, but the more mundane answer was likely the most probable, even considering the 'orgy of evidence' they had found on various arcane practices. The beams of light from above cut a swathe through the piles of mostly useless books and memorabilia, catching the waves of dust freely floating in the air.

Logic dictates that they were attempting to acquire a book, unless some small nick-knack looking object was their primary target. Unfortunately he could not even begin to wade through the majority of these books, even if they were not weather-beaten. He stepped idly through the mounds of wet paper and leather, making his way to the door that led further into the building. He checked to make sure it was still locked, using a cloth to mask his fingerprints, before a dias caught his eyes.

Alcander approached, surprised to find the auction ledger already opened. He glanced up, as if he did not already know the hole in the roof was not present above him. It was opened on page 34, with a list of dates, items, and relative locations. He looked for creases on the paper, something a man in a hurry might leave. Alcander's observant eye caught a crease and a peculiar name, simultaneously.

"Van de Oneindige Mogelijkheden Van Inkt," He murmured, running a finger over the name. It was one of the few volumes not titled in english. His mind reached back into his years in academia, trying to decipher the words. He was no linguist, but he liked to think he had a better grasp on langauage than most people. If his hunch was right, it roughly translated to: "From...the... infinite...." He couldn't decipher the rest, and he ran a hand through his hair. They could check the translation later. Instead he checked the log, eyes scanning the location it was supposed to be stashed in. The detective turned and rummaged through the book pile that had mercifully been spared from the weather, only to realize after a minute that the search was futile.

The Grimoire was missing.

He strode back under the light, gazing up at the two women who still peered down. Alcander shielded his eyes from the dull light. "I think I know what they were looking for..."

My very totally 100% formal hello

@Dragon Arts I'll trust you. And welcome!

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

The talking had been soft at first. Ali had almost drifted back to sleep, thinking the man belligerent but not brazen enough to actually harm Kirsi or to force his way in. The bed was so warm and he was still fatigued. However, that all changed when the door flew open, banging against the wall so hard it was like a blacksmith's hammer ringing against steel. Ali blinked, and the part of his mind that had kept listening flew back into focus.

"She hasn't touched me, save to heal my wounds, sir." Ali remarked in a tired voice. He spoke with a weaker cadence, wanting the man to think him at death's door. "She's been very kind to me. You can ask the villagers. They saw her help bring me in from the road. It was a wolf attack."

The servant only glanced at Ali, his eyes scanning the apothecary instead. He had the look of a man searching for some ill-gotten gains. Ali knew the type. Upjumped thieves given a small amount of power and stretching it to its limits, trying to gain an edge over the common folk they had so much in common with. Luckily, he seemed unsatisfied with what he found, and turned his attention back to Ali, sizing him up like a dull knife he had little use for.

"As you say, sir. But this whore is tricky, and I don't trust you if you're under her spell." He said. "Gods know a woman like her could bewitch any man."

"Sir, if you're here for your lordship... what does a life like mine matter? It's in her interest to have her gift prepared on time, as ordered. She would not waste valuable time on me if it led to her being late for your master." Ali coughed. "Let her resume her work. I'll be dead soon enough anyway."

The man sneered. "True enough..." He said, and glared at Kirsi before shoving a pot of herbs onto the floor. The earthenware shattered, scattering herbs and shards of pottery. "Hopefully that does not make her any more tardy," He said with a laugh, and walked back out of the door, not even bothering to close it.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren wiped the sweat from his brow, but he spotted blood on the back of his hand when he pulled it away. The warrior monk blinked and reached up, gingerly checking for a wound. There was a small cut across his scalp, but nothing major. They would take care of it when they could.

"Here, let me." Jocasta said, stepping forward, a cloth in her hand. Beren had no idea where she had been stashing it, but he chalked it down to magic and leaned down so she could give the cut a good once over.

"Thanks Jo," Beren breathed. Behind them Buri lamented their situation in dwarvish, and Beren was glad Jocasta wasn't privvy to the meaning. The Dwarves were a fatalistic people at the best of times, and Buri was not what one called a brave dwarf. In fact one might say he was mostly complaining about what he had not been able to finish in his life yet.

"It's not entirely selfless. We need you in good condition. Plus I got plans for that handsome face." She said with a wink. Whenever she did her nose wrinkled in a way Beren adored. He smiled, and with a quick swipe she wiped away the last of the blood. "There. Now tell me you have a plan."

"Find a way out of here?" Beren suggested.

"Good idea, but my earrings already searched the place." She reminded him, hands on her hips as she tried to think up something else. Beren walked passed her, scanning the tombs and alcoves for something, anything specific. Buri's wailing made it hard to think, but it was a good way to keep Beren's activities silent. He ran his hands along the walls, keen eyes brushing across the surface.

"Maybe they just didn't know where to look..." Beren muttured, and on the last word of his statement, there was a 'click'.

A slab of stone, too smoothly placed with the rest of the wall to see the crease by the naked eye, began to move slowly. Beren backed up, the portal yawning into a small passageway. If Beren was not mistaken, this was the part of the mausoleum against the rock wall, which meant this had to lead out somewhere. But where?