POOHEAD189

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Chapter 1: Cash for Blood

"We've got Baator Brew, Black Spire Stout, Blurrgfyre, Toniray White, Andoan White, Moogan Tea—with or without alco—"

"I'll take... Taranis Tall and a Black Spire Stout." The merc said. Even without his armor, Markus knew they could tell he was a hunter.

The east-wing barman placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, a tattooed woman wearing a black crop top and shining leather pants appearing from the back to help the merc with his order. The sound of billards balls clacking and glasses being placed on rusted plasteel tables was almost comforting to Markus. The room was fraught with the smell of freshly cooked food mixed with alcohol, and a chemical tang to the air, like as not from having just cleaned up something less than savory. The holodisplays placed above the bar and across the room where the billiards and card tables were being held showed the previous day's Mechball matches, with text from local system news sources sliding across the bottom. Men laughed and jeered, swearing and swapping insults and slurs of the strangest sort from across the old empire. Many were freighter captains, old luggers that spent their lives moving from place to place. Others were local scoundrels or heels, and some like as not wanted to experience some night life off-planet.

The cantina, called Dagda's Cauldron, was huge. It was three stories, and about forty thousand square feet of public space. It took up almost the entirety of the central floor of Kario Space Station, and everyone passing through, from gangers to smugglers stopped by for a drink or to swap stories. At the center of the Cauldron was an inner atrium-turned-arena, able to be viewed from all three stories, where mutants or hard men down on their luck could fight to the death and win prizes or take a sample of the winning bets. Even at the edges of the cantina, their cries of victory or defeat cut through almost any noise.

Markus squeezed passed a number of rowdy locals, halting as a waitress sauntered past him and expertly ducking under a thrown bottle. Voices were raised, and he stepped past the walk between the tables just before the bouncers rushed to halt the altercation. At the next table, a cabal of bounty hunters spoke in hushed tones and drank their beers, some still wearing bits of their armor. One of them still had his helmet on. Across the way, a band of mutants played a multitude of instruments on stage, a younger man with eyes completely polished black singing in the mic.

They had been lucky, Markus and Jo. The two had escaped without much injury, and found space to make a jump before pursuit could be initiated. He had given a rare laugh when he realized the Huntman's capabilities. It was the size of a freighter but handled like a starship fighter, and its sensors were immaculate. Jocasta also gushed over the showers working, and Markus had to agree that was a perk. Jo had checked the kitchens and found there was a little food, and after eating she had found a bed and fell asleep for what seemed like half a day, while Markus checked the integrity of the ship's systems and kept an eye on the slipspace stream. Then he showed her how to monitor the ship and what to press to get on the comms, once she had woken up fully, and it was his turn to conk out. Ten hours later, Markus found a place to exit their the stream, and found they had arrived in the Tuthanin System, with three habitable planets, two biologically habitable and another under a biodome.

They had hardly talked since their quick exit, but now it was time to actually clear the air, make plans, and decide their association. But not before Markus made good on his promise.

He slid a Taranis Tall to her, which she caught expertly. She had procured a small, tall table for them across the floor, half a dozen meters to a Holodisplay and equidistant to any other party, save the occasional staff member rushing by. Markus took his seat across from her, his hair newly washed from a couple of hours ago, but still relatively unkempt as he had to pilot almost immediately after, and what brushes there had been had smelled...used. He sported 'freighter fatigues,' more commonly known as smuggler trousers, essentially faded out, drab cargo pants one could wear to anything and hide any number of weapons or equipment in. His belt hung loosely at his waist, and he wore a black shirt that hugged his torso, with a 'Dead Men don't run very fast' stamped at its center, with the logo of an old, famous bounty hunter named Davik Sunder, who coined the quote back in the 24th century. Hanging loosely around his neck were two, faded dog tags. He felt sore, but it was a good sore. Rewarding, in a sense.

"Have to say, I half expected you on stage by the time I got back." Markus said.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil had been ready to leap on Johann and try to wring his blunderbuss out of his hands, but luckily Emmaline had managed to wriggle her way out of the situation. The fact that she was gorgeous and naked likely helped her, though Neil was definitely not alright with these guys oggling her.

"First thing's first, Johnson." Neil said.

"Johann." He corrected, displeased. Neil closed his eyes and waved it off as if it were a minor thing.

"Right, Johann. What did I say? We're two enterprising thieves, looking to make some more coin. You boys look like you could use some help, maybe. If not, then we'll be on our way, or you can shoot us, of course." He opened his arms disarmingly, rolling his eyes as if that was the dumbest move one could ever pull. "But I don't think you want to waste shot or rust a knife on two people who can help you out. So if we tell you our story, are you interested because you're here to recruit us, or you just want some entertainment before you spit on Shallya's mercy?"

The gaggle of bandits looked at Neil with a mixture of confusion, amusement, and incredulity. Clause was just then getting up, having slapped his groin long enough to make him groan with every step. Emmaline made her way over to Neil, but she didn't hide behind him or take his hand, as much as both would have liked that. They needed to look more enterprising than two victims with nothing to bargain. Johann pursed his lips, holding the silence for a long few moments before speaking.

"We don't really need more crew... but if you're telling the truth and you two made it out of Nuln, then we might can use your skills." He raised his blunderbuss once more, however, and shook it in their direction for emphasis. "And we might be thieves like you, but we're Gods-fearing ones. That thing you got seemed awfully ruinous to me."

"Just kill 'em and be done with it!" Clause said, taking out a knife in one, swift motion.

"Shut up, Clause!" Johann roared. "I'm talking to our friends here! Anyway, you give us a good reason why you have something like that, and you tell us what it is, and maybe I'll think about you two joining up. Otherwise, I'll bury you both in the garden out back, and take your chocolates and gold for ourselves."

"We're not taking it anyway?" Another man pipped in, a short man with a square jaw and an ill look to him. "It's right there!"

"Oh, they won't join us without divvying it up, anyway." Johann said with an open mouthed grin, a brass tooth shining in the dying firelight. "Now talk, and maybe we'll listen."

Hello! I'm here!!! UwU

@Kaylajone3 welcome!

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

"A few reasons, I think." He admitted, trying to collect his thoughts after the chaos on the ship, and usage of the one power. Even during a moment of calm, he could recall it as if it were still happening. It was a strange thing, combat. When it happens, you don't think about it. But afterwards, it was all one could think about. But it was certainly not his first time bloodying men, even innocent ones, and he forced it away with a will. He brought his mind back to a week prior, in the chamber with the High Lords. Back to his decision.

"You weren't there, but when I met with them in the Stone..." He cleared his throat. "The High Lords. They were discussing you, before they caught word you were likely an Aes Sedai." Davian said, looking up at her, and then raising his head. "They decided then and there to execute you. That's not what I do, if I can help it. I catch those that deserve it, and it was clear to me they weren't killing you for stealing, they were killing you for what you were. I don't like Aes Sedai, particularly. Or trust them. Maybe one." He gave a tight lipped smile. "But you're no Darkfriends."

He rolled his head to loosen his shoulders, and placed a strong hand on his trapezius, massaging it firmly. "And, since we're both being honest, even then I wasn't going to help. But I heard a story teller in the tavern speak of a prophecy, concerning something about the Eye of the World, and the Lost One. Great Serpent and Sightburner. I'd only heard of the Eye of the World before, but it made me think more of you in that cell, and I realized I had put you there. So I went and helped before I convinced myself not to. Was probably the drink."

A poor excuse, but he wanted to lighten the mood. He chuckled, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Might have made a mistake, seeing as I would likely be dining on a fine roast with some good music, maybe some drink, about now. A heavy purse in my lap. Lady Alteima owing me a favor, besides. But the wheel weaves as it wills, and here we are."

Land was in sight now, but it was still a slim line in the distance. One could squint and lose it in the vast blue of the sea.

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davian threw himself against the door to help the chair, its frame already creaking. Luckily the shipwright had granted boat thick doors, but it wouldn't last forever. Davian was not a weak man, but he was leaner of frame than the burly sailors, and the only thing saving the chair and he was the fact only so many of them could pummel the door at once.

"These light blinded fools are going to try and kill us, I think." Davian remarked, more to himself than to the Aes Sedai. Zoya took another swill of her drink, and placed the skin back in her knapsack. She seemed deep in thought, and the dull sound of waves crashing against the ship was like a mirror to the men thrusting against the door.

"The wheel weaves as the wheel wills," She said imperiously, trying to remain calm. Davian was about to ask if she had gone crazy, but it dawned on him she was doing her best to remain calm as well. He was not ready for her second remark, though she muttered it under her breath. "I just wish the wheel had granted me a more diplomatic companion." Her tone grated on him, feeling underappreciated as the wood of the door bounced against his head from every shove and punch.

"Why are the pretty women always the most stuck-up!?" He remarked, and later he would marvel that he dare say that about an Aes Sedai of all people, and even Zoya seemed shocked. But at the moment he was out of patience and options. "Get your things, we're getting off this ship."

"Getting off?" She echoed incredulously, but when she saw his face, she knew he was about to pull something. She hastily grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder, using one hand to tie her hair behind her to keep it out of her eyes. Davian saw her give a nod, as if she were a queen acquiescing to a request, and he let go of the door, hastily grabbing his things and strapping on his sword belt, before unsheathing his blade. The next two blows from outside snapped the chair, and after another strike, and a call for their blood, Davian suddenly opened the door for them.

Three sailors toppled in, their rage overcome by confusion for a moment. Davian kicked them in the head like he was striking a rabid dog, breaking noses and cheek bones, and like a whirl his sword was out, poking the handful of men that had just then decided to rush in. His sidesword drew blood with every cut and thrust, but he did his best not to kill anyone, or cause serious injury. Davian's swordwork was like watching a dancer and a surgeon all at once, precise and graceful. Before a handful of heartbeats were up, the men fell back, bloody and wounded, and Davian pulled Zoya forward by the hand, stepping over the fallen bodies into the corridor. Men scrambled away, and others lay moaning.

His blood up, the thief-taker hurried them to the stairs, where another sailor was coming down, likely to check on the noise. He was bigger than the rest, but before he could speak, he was blown out of the doorway by an unseen force. Davian only spared a glance at Zoya, before stepping out into the sun. The deck was relatively deserted, save three men maintaining the rigging, and Gil's burnt corpse. Where the captain was, Davian did not know. Likely below decks deciding what to do with them, not yet realizing they had already broken out.

"The longboats!" Davian told her, rushing to the aft and finding two of them, oars inside and held up by a myriad of ropes, causing them to swing lazily as the waves bucked beneath them. Davian cut two lines with three passes of his sword, and one of the longboats toppled into the sea, the ubiquitously placed ropes loudly zipping past and slapping into one another until they fell into the ocean with a small slap.

"Can you do what you did when we leaped out of the keep into the stables?" He asked her, and when she nodded he picked her up in his arms and leaped. It was clear she was entirely surprised at him doing so, but he found them slowing after a dozen feet, landing roughly into the longboat, his rump sore from the fall, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He glanced up, and found no immediate pursuit, but they would come to the side soon and likely throw or shoot whatever they had at them. He grabbed the oars and slunk them into the water, shoving against the aft of the ship so they drifted, before he began paddling.

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

"Where is she?" He asked, patience wearing thin. His hand behind his back, as if clutching an unseen dagger. The other rested on his sword for the benefit of the visual, but it was his eyes that looked sharp enough to kill. The shadows of the cellar helped with the menace, which was ironic, considering it was not Kasimir's idea to meet here. Himmel Loher looked nervous, likely wondering if Kasimir would dare try any harmful act against him. Kasimir himself did not know, either.

When he had first learned Eleanor was missing, around two hours after he had risen and learned she had never returned to her room after supper last night, he was relieved. Happy, even. He hadn't imagined he would be free of her without a concerted effort on his part, but Ulric had answered his prayers overnight. Even as he realized he did need to make some sort of investigation to serve his father, he decided he was not going to be quick about it. Perhaps enjoy the morning, and he did so by sparring in the yard, taking on a few of the off-duty guardsmen. They bet on the matches and joked, trading coins and jeers.

Afterwards he toured the halls, sharing a moment with a pretty maid. When she spoke, he flinched when he heard a Brettonian accent. Apparently she was from Parravon and had fled a poor marriage to seek opportunity in the more egalitarian Empire, and when she left to return to her duties, he sighed, pushing it out of his mind. But despite his best efforts, something brewed in the pit of his stomach. She was a coward, he thought, and had likely fled as soon as possible. But without talking to him about what he would do? They were not fond of one another, but after saving each other's lives more than once, he had thought they had formed a rapport. After spending days together in close proximity, and destroying a bloody chaos cult, it felt wrong.

After lunch, when his father had yet to call him and Eleanor, or Emmaline, to his presence, he decided to begin looking. He checked the ballroom, and the courtyards, and then began to ask around the more wealthy taverns close to the palace. And as looked, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps she had not fled, but some cultist had taken her? He changed tactics, and returned to the palace, seeking an old friend he had known as a child. One of the cooks, called Einhardt, that had been famous for knowing every dirty secret in Middenheim. But after speaking to a few maids, he learned Einhardt had retired, and so he made a bargain. Leave a note where men used to leave them for the chef, in the crook of a murder hole near the south wing, and see if someone came to collect. It seemed Ulric was the god of luck as well as wolves. Before an hour was up, a servant had passed through the hall and the note was gone. Kasimir followed, and before long he had found his way to the new master of secrets, Schafer.

Kasimir did not endear himself to the new 'chef' well. The man was ugly in speech as well as looks. He spoke to him quickly, and when the chef was not content to speak at the current moment, blustering Kasimir leaves before he called the guard, Kasimir had pulled him down to the cellar to remind him that a bastard still had some sway in the palace. A few harsh questions and a threat or two later, and the man was ready to relent.

"The lady...she was..." Schafer stammered, looking around in trepidation. He found his voice again. By the smell of him, Kasimir guessed he was not like old Einhardt. He was just a spy man, not a real cook. There was only sweat there, not burnt chicken or broth in the air. "She met someone, late last night. Lord...Lord Lucien. I don't know what was said but..."

Kasimir let him know that his hand did not clutch mere air. He pulled his dagger out, face neutral.

"She was taken! A bag placed over her head! I know nothing else! I was...I was planning to sell the information later but have it and leave me be!"

"Leave me be 'my lord'" Kasimir reminded him. He still did not really belong to the title, as of yet. But he was feeling unsympathetic at the moment.

"My lord," Schafer conceded.

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

When Kas wakes up to find her gone

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Markus squeeze off two shots, the barrel of the plasma gun igniting like a miniature sun as two 'rounds' of coruscating light flies past the honor guard and splashed against the back wall, singing it and forming a small crater. He cursed as similar bolts were traded back, Jocasta's hair nearly igniting from a close-call. The next moment, Markus nearly had it in a bad way. After a shot, he was grazed in the shoulder pad, disintegrating the fabric and light flexi-mail. Had it been any closer, it would have burned through Markus's shoulder like a knife through butter. He fell back and sighed, deigning to check his fuel level. 45% left in the clip, the reader said.

"Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown. Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown," the monotonous voice reiterated.

"Any ideas?" Jocasta called, firing three shots back, mostly to not sit idle. The honor guard just needed to wait, and the two mercs could practically feel reinforcements riding up their ass. Markus looked back at the clip, and then at Jocasta. She glanced at him, and blanched when she saw him unload the gun. A question about to form on her full lips.

"How's your aim?" Markus asked her, glancing back to meet her eyes.

She raised an eyebrow, confused. "I'd love to humor you, but I don't think this is the time to compare." She quipped. More flashes of light arced past them, a wave of intense heat brushing them from every shot. Markus casually tossed the clip in the air like he was holding a baseball. "These are mostly made of hydrogen." He reasoned.

His words dawned on her after a moment, and a smile bloomed on her face. "You know, I was wrong. You're not as stupid as I thought." She teased.

Her light-hearted nature was infection, even to the cool merc. "Jury's still out on you." He replied with a smirk.

"I like to remain a mystery." She finished, and jerked her head toward their opposition, indicating she was ready. He gave a curt nod, dropped his plasma rifle, and pulled his newly returned sword two inches out of its scabbard in preparation. He mouthed 'one, two, three' and spun, sliding the cartridge down the short corridor toward the guardsmen's position. Jocasta leaned out and fired twice, the second plasma bolt hitting the cartridge dead on just as it hit the lip of the door. There was a flash as flames erupted in a short explosion, men screaming. Just as it ignited, Markus sprinted out of cover, his sword out of his scabbard in one fluid motion. There was a ring of metal and grunts of disbelief, followed by and wet, cutting noises. In three seconds, Jocasta looked back to see Markus resheathing his blade.

She gathered herself and hustled over, wiping sweat from her brow. She stepped carefully over a dismembered arm and a man with a large stab wound in his chest before reaching Markus. "Not bad," she said, but her next words died on her lips when she saw the starship docked before them. On a small curve of the front engine, the word' RAVENWING' was painted. "Whoa... now that's a pretty ship."

"We can admire her when we're in." Markus reminded her, pulling her arm forward and hustling into the opening bay door of the Huntsman class freighter.

Hi there fellow roleplaying people

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KonQuest: a Mortal Kombat-inspired Martial Arts Fantasy RP

Damn, this looks cool