POOHEAD189

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Will make a post within 24 hours!

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

My eyes snapped to the side when I heard the name Lady Arsenault. Just why the Emperor, in his wisdom, wished for me to fight his strongest battle, I certainly did not know. Sel, though we had grown closer in our relatively brief professional relationship, did not know me well enough to read my look.

I knew as soon as the Major mentioned the Baroness, that I would not only be assigned to her, but I would have to put out all of the stops to not put out in other ways. I also knew I was likely to fail, and thirdly I realize I was both dreading and looking forward to it. Briefly I wondered just how well I could keep her at arm's length, but then my mind fled into Pvt. Elara's supple arms and I was again at a dead end. Of course, none of it showed on my face, and I had no way to object without sounding like an arrogant dog, so I kept my lip buttoned.

"Major, may I ask how far we'll have to travel?" I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. Even then, he gave me a look of disapproval, answering without missing a beat.

"Why, do you have somewhere else you need to be, lieutenant?"

"No sir, I just want to know how much I should pack." I said, hiding my smile. "I'm also concerned on the length of the insurgent's reach. If it's close by, I should keep both eyes open."

Major Sour peeled the bottom layer of the next page, giving it a quick glance before dropping the papers entirely. "You can keep one eye open. It's three hundred kloms outside of the city. You and your platoon should have adequate room, and I am told it is situated on heights that give you a good layout of the surrounding terrain." He said, his usual demeanor evaporating when speaking on tactics. Anyone could see he was a fine officer, just too stubborn to do what it took to rise above his station. A mistake I would not make, if I could help it. "You and the 2nd will be transported via Chimera at 0700 tomorrow morning. You are to stay inside until you arrive at the destination. Since your pretty face is on every holovid, not only will the insurgents recognize you, but any damned nobody could call you out."

"Yes sir," I said.

"Dismissed. Both of you."

Twelve hours later...

In my long years of service, I've learned one important rule. The worst thing about responsibility is being responsible. If every PFC and trooper were to rise at 0500, I was to rise at 0400. Fortunately, I had an aide that could sleep and rise seemingly without much baggage on annoying biological matters like hangovers and lack of stamina. My alarm, though unfortunate, did allow me to appreciate the fresh smell of recaf that Morek had been brewing. Squats had a particular knack for brewing drinks, alcoholic and non. It was also not in his job description to make my recaf, however he made sure to brew me a cup, and I made sure to not notice the amasec (and at time, much stronger drinks) he mixed within his own cup.

Before I knew it, I found myself in the only marginally heated garage, which was merely the lowest level of one of the large, oblong structures the locals utilized to work and live in. Morek was with me, dressed in full kit and carrying my own bags as well. Our lead Chimera, usually emblazoned with the KC of our colloquial name, which to my chagrin I found out meant 'Kayden's Conquerors," had been repainted to keep out platoon's identity a secret. However, Morek and I merely needed to follow the smell of fresh paint, and as Morek stepped into the vehicle to place our bags in, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but I realized it was only Sparks, our enginseer. "I didn't meant to frighten you, sir."

"You did no such thing." I lied, pinching the bridge of my nose to act as if I was merely tired. Well, I suppose I was not acting. "Did you not sleep, Sparks?" The redhead still looked very human. I briefly wondered if she had been granted any mechanical parts as of yet, but thinking of my female troopers anatomies was the last thing I should be musing on. She had her lasgun on her, but her uniform was slightly disheveled, as was her hair now that I looked at her. "Were you sleeping in the chimeras?"

"I was told to inspect them sir, and it got so late, I knew I wouldn't make it back to my bunk in time to get any meaningful rest, so..." Her voice trailed off. She almost fell asleep on the spot, but then her head shot back up again. "They're tip top shape, sir. I can help with whatever else you require, sir."

I looked at her for a long moment, wondering what on Terra I did to earn such loyalty. I shook my head. "What I need from you is to rest, private. Go back in the chimera, sleep for another hour or two. Morek will wake you when it's time."

"But-"

"That's an order," I insisted, but when I placed a hand on her shoulder, she gave me a smile and nodded. As she turned, I recalled back when I first met her and the other women on Kaurava III, in fear of their life and virtues. It came to me then that she might explicitly trust me after I helped them. That was bloody ironic, normally I was the last person to trust with a bunch of women. I shook my head, and went back to prep the chimeras.

At The Edge of The World

I woke up with Emmaline in my arms. I vaguely remembered a thunderstorm the previous night, but it was obscured by the ravenous lovemaking we'd been busy with. She murmured when I stirred, and I stroked her hair as I pulled the sheet up to cover her slim shoulders a bit more completely. Honestly, I was not usually so effected by a woman, let alone carnal pleasures, but as I came to find out, Emmaline and I were influencing each other in more ways than one. Even as I woke up, I felt like going for round three once she was rested, but if we did, I knew we would end up on round six and be in the room all day. Oddly enough, despite my immense stamina, which I was glad to see translated into the bedroom, Emmaline somehow flipped. She would complain after walking for the shortest length of time, but she could outlast me in the bedroom by an insane energy that I guess she was saving for just such an occasion. I could go hours, but she could go days if I let her, and I might if there weren't errands to run. However, she did seem fairly tired still, or at least married to the bed, so I yawned and closed my eyes. As I did, I opened one and peered down at her, certain her ears were slightly more pointed than I remembered, but eventually dismissing the notion and shutting them again. I idly stroked her hair and the back of her lower half for what I believed was another half an hour before she, too, yawned and began to look like she might be ready to get up.

"Stay here babe," I whispered to her, and though she clung to me, and made mewling, annoyed sounds when I slid out of the bed, she curled up in the sheets almost vindictively. I put on some trousers, as well as a linen shirt, and after my boots were finally on, I went downstairs to get us some breakfast, before I brought a tray of hot food. Spiced but sweet pastries wrapped around berry sausage, as well as some blueberry tea. She finally sat up once she smelled the food, and after she ate her fill, she brushed and styled my thick, black mane with her fingers as I had my turn to eat. Oddly enough, despite her refined palette and style, as well as her being from an entirely different continent and an unimaginably different upbringing, Emmaline and I were alike in a lot of ways. This morning was a good example. We were both very animal-like in a lot of ways, for instances. Something we each no doubt saw in the other and found endearing.

After an hour or so, Emmaline and I were ready. Darkwater City was ready, too, something we would have to reckon with multiple times. There were a few clouds in the sky, but the sun was not to be denied, piercing through whatever meager cover the scattered coalitions of gas could give, and that was a rarity this particular day. Even as we stepped onto the street, we could hear meandering music and the scent of spices was in the air. Plump pigeons and storks cried out, breaking through the low murmur of the street talk.

"For the ass end of the world, this place is quite cosmopolitan." Emmaline whispered to herself, before spinning to me. Her hair had been wrapped into a ponytail, the bind made from a piece of my dogi she had clawed off last night. Despite myself, it made me feel almost as special as when I had been given my necklace by my father, or was gifted my Drumngr axe at my Krýning Senaktas when I had turned eighteen with my dwarven mentors. She crossed her arms. "So, what's on the docket today?"

I also crossed my muscled arms and placed a hand on my chin, watching a stray dog walk in a picturesque gait across the the cobblestone street, ducking between two buildings to find shade. "Well, we could try and get your papers for the enclave, we could visit the soldiers in the infirmary, we get new clothes for when we make it inside Old Town, we can-"

"SOLD!"Emmaline exclaimed, hand in the air. "To the handsome man with his third idea!"

I gave two extravagant bows to an imaginary crowd. "Thank you! Thank you!" I said with my smoothest voice. She giggled, and then bounded away. I saw she was halfway down the street by the time I was done with the charade and I raced after her.

Before I knew it, we were down basilisk street where the heaviest market area was located. The stench of sweating men and women intermingled with the scent of fresh fruit and the spray of the nearby wetlands, a cool breeze bringing momentary relief to the hot day. Emmaline scampered into a shop just as the breeze died down, and I had to duck and dodge through the crowd, even jumping over a child, not to lose sight of her. By the time I had leaped into the door and ducked through the curtains that served as a barrier, she was in the dressing room with four outfits picked out. Briefly as I passed under the sign, I saw the store was called the Threads of Fate. If memory served, this was one of the more expensive boutiques. Luckily we had coin to spare, but it was not limitless. And when I saw Emmaline flinging dresses, I knew there was going to be a dent.

The first was a scarlet evening dress, strapless and laced around a plunging backline, with a slit for her legs. The next was a blue halter neck dress with arm slits to hold it up, both silk satin. The next was an abyssal black v-neck sheath dress of velvet, and the last was a dark indigo party dress made of elven silk made specially for large busted women, with an oval opening above the breasts to give a risque view whilst remaining classy. And those were only half of what she was eventually going to get.

As her outfits increased, so did the bags she accumulated. I found myself carrying six of them in my arms, along with a brass coronet chased in silver that she just had to have. I busied myself by trying some of the local cuts of beef a vendor was selling just outside the Threads of Fate, but I walked back in once I had my fill, and by the time she was done, we both stepped into the hot sun with my body loaded down with merchandise. Emmaline bounced with every step.

That is, until she was shoved out of the way by a man-at-arms that had suddenly materialized out of the crowd. I saw a few onlookers gasp and desperately try to move away, but they were shoved as well, likely but other soldiers. The one that had borderline assaulted Emmaline bore a spangenhelm, but the entirety of his armor was hard to determine from the silver and blue surcoat ensconcing his upper body. I could see he did wear mail from the chains draped along his arms. Luckily his hands were not covered in iron, but the man was not gentle when he moved her, one step short of backhanding her out of the way. She yelped and fell, but I caught her before she hit the stone. She pouted in the midst of my arms and the bags she had gathered for her hoard. She was about to tell the man off, but I beat her to it.

"If you touch her again, I'll rip your face off and throw it in the drink" I warned him. He gazed at me with a look that seemed half incredulity and half derision, as if he was seeing for the first time that the ants he stepped on might bite. My eyes never left his, and I added the next part to try and embarrass him. "You just shoved the Lady Von Morganstern."

It gave him pause for a moment, but another look and he sneered. "I've never heard of anyone by that name, and no lady would have an escort except a mixed breed wretch like yourself." He said with a dark humor. Before he could order us to move again, a voice like a ringing bell called from behind the man.

"Sergeant Baird, keep moving forward. This heat is insufferable."

He turned abruptly, his rough face was now all smiles and kindness. "Yes, my lady D'Albon," he responded before he removed the curtain, bowing in reverence. I helped Emmaline to her feet, and a few other guards went to move us physically, which had me bristling like a feral dog before Emmaline placed a hand on my cheek to let me know she was not wishing me to fight on her behalf for the moment, and we stepped back. The crowd parted, and a regal woman stepped into view. I blinked, and almost snorted at the irony.

She was everything Emmaline was not. Where Emmaline was prone to clumsiness, she glided like a swan on water. Where Emmaline was curvaceous, she was slender. She was even a brunette to Emma's head of gold, her eyes green whereas Emma's were blue. She was accompanied by multiple men who sought her protection based on loyalty, and Emmaline had gone into the wilds alone, and found myself out of mutual attraction and even care. Emmaline garbed herself casually (at the moment), this woman looked like she had just stepped out of a ball, her dress shimmering. She was tall, almost as tall as I. For a moment, I thought her imperious air would have her either ignore us or give a platitude, but when her eyes snapped to us, her lips curled in distaste.

"The only thing more pathetic than a commoner is a commoner that acts like an aristocrat," she chuckled snidely, and then stepped into the Threads of Fate, lifting her nose as if Emmaline had a particularly odious stench. I clenched my fist, not even aware she had pegged Emmaline's situation correctly, just taking offense for the insult on her behalf. But again, Emmaline placed a hand on my forearm, and motioned for us to go. I hesitated, and then nodded, making sure all the dresses were in my arms before we moved. "We'll talk about it later," Emmaline told me. I was surprised, but a little impressed, admittedly. Usually I was the cool headed one in most conversations, and Emmaline tended to let her emotions show on her face when she was not in one of her 'roles,' but she held herself well, so I conceded and pushed it from my mind.

We passed the wharves, where sailors with bowling gaits swathed in exotic clothing bartered with local merchants and stockmasters were checking off their lists of stacked crates. A huge crane was slowly lifting a pallet of barrels by a clever pulley system over a rise in the dock to settle down near the street, next to one of the warehouses. Carracks, Cogs, Sloops, and even a royal Andredian Galleon were docked, and the assortment of men and women and even non-humans were too numerous to describe. As we passed the docks, a dre costan sailor popped up from behind a warehouse, smiling at us with ivory teeth.

"¿Quién quiere pulpo? Octo?" He asked, holding up slimy, indigo colored, eight tentacled things from the deeps. Their heads bulbous and their cat eyes like saucers.

"No, gracias," I informed him, ushering Emmaline along.

"Was he expecting us to just buy them?" She asked.

"I hear some old legends say you can dry their legs into charms and it's a ward from daemons and water spirits." I informed her. "Sailor's superstition."

"I keep forgetting you're an amatuer scholar. Anyway, where do we turn for the scribe?" Emmaline asked as we reached another fork in the street. I scrounged up my old memories, and thought about tapping my chin before I realized it was physically impossible without dropping a bag. I nodded to the left, and said "this way, I think."

She snapped her fingers and ushered me to move, playing at being my liege lord. Technically, she kind of was as far as I knew, still believing her to be of northern nobility. Though, I also suspected this was just a part of the task of being her boyfriend, and I decided there were far worse fates in the world. Even after all of the daemons, conspiracies, lies, and all the blood that was yet to be shed, I find myself admitting I wouldn't change a thing in the world about us.

The street, called Westwood, which used to be Hook Street (likely changing the name to be more accommodating to newcomers, as was Darkwater's attempt to change its freebooter reputation) was what I considered to be a more traditional, Andredian style of build. The street was tiled with grey stone, stacked in squares. The buildings were thatched, with earthy colors and made of sturdy oak, eschewing the local cypress and driftwood aesthetic many of the other shops and homes sported. Emmaline, as she told me later, still spotted the differences between the traditional makes and styles, the signs and doors made with a more effervescent style of woodwork, for instances. However, we soon found the scribe's office, a handful of ruffians slinking off from the nearest alley at our approach.

"Let me do the talking," Emmaline whispered to me.

"So I'll play my usual role," I grinned, and she winked at me before opening the door. A bell jingled, and a portly man in spectacles shot up from behind the counter at the back of the room, having apparently had his head down for a nap. The walls were stacked with scrolls and parchments, bottles of ink and quills of various lengths and birds were at the ready. A few areas were cleared of merchandise so letters of marque and charters could be displayed, complete with heraldic symbols and the correct flourishes depending on the nation and subject. At the highest point of the back wall, a blue and gold tapestry depicting the sign of Aulor, God of Scholars and Perspicuity, hung.

"H-Hello," the scribe said, taking his spectacles off and wiping them. His pockmarked face scrunched up as he tried to see the two of us, before planting the spectacles back on. I set the bags down across from the door and stood in front of them protectively. I made it clear I was not going to speak with my buttoned lip and crossed arms, and Emmaline approached the counter. There was a small, woolen table-cover of crimson atop it, along with a laminated standing parchment of a historical manuscript. To the far right was a dias, where an ancient tome was open, displaying a flowing. illuminated script you might find in a monk's scriptorum. "May-May I help you?"

"Yes, I am the Lady Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, and I am inquiring on what sort of scripts I can commission a scribe to create." She said with a patrician inflection, placing her hands on the edge of the smooth counter.

"W-Well as long as you have the proper authority, we can make whatever you wish. Missives, love letters, edicts, letters of marque, histories, charters, patents of nobility, alchemical manuals, and the like."

"Excellent. I am newly arrived in your lovely city of Darkwater, and I am without patents of nobility. My ship had an...unexpected accident. How much would I owe you to form them for me? And how long would it take?"

He swallowed. It was hard to tell if he was normally shy, nervous for a mysterious reason, or the heat was simply getting to him. "Uh, well, we would need another aristocrat or person of rank to vouch for you, as well as three other witnesses, in order to get the verification we would need to make such a script, but once you provided that it could be finished in a matter of days. They unfortunately do not come cheap, my lady. F-Five gold royals, depending on the type of parchment and the family history, is uh, the usual fare."

"Oh, that will simply not do." Emmaline remarked, with just the right mixture of disapproval and civility. "You're an apprentice, are you not? I wish to speak with your master."

"Um," the portly man hesitated. I felt like he had a kind face, which had me empathize with him. Luckily, it seemed it was only his usual hesitation and not a pause out of fear. "Yes, right away. Master Ludwic!... Master?"

A few moments passed, and nothing seemed to stir from the back. The apprentice looked about to apologize before a grumbling erupted. "Yes, yes, what is it?" An elderly gentleman said, stepping out and blinking. He bore a robe of tan colors, and a sleeveless, embroidered green vest with an Aulor sigil on his breast. His apprentice quickly informed him of the perceived problem, and Master Ludwic cleared his throat, dismissing his pupil with a wave one might use to swat a fly. The apprentice made his leave, nearly tripping in the process, but shutting the door behind on as he went to the back. The master placed his hands together and rested them on the table as he regarded Emmaline. "Er, where do you hail from, my lady, and what family is yours?"

It was Emmaline's turn to hesitate, blinking. "I..." But she cleared her throat and tossed her fringe out of her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. "My family hails from Kaedamer, the Von Morgansterns, a vassal of the marchwardens of Arbormark. I also have a great uncle who has distinguished himself as a knight, sir Falhurst of Krue, in Duxerly."

The master scribe bit his tongue, and though Emmaline did not see it, shock momentarily showed on my face. Ludwic looked past her and into my eyes, but my surprise had been erased by then. Both he and I knew that meant Emmaline shared, albeit distantly, blood with the legendary Torm Draufkrieg of Andredian history, reputedly Anderlon Reborn. Master Ludwic thought for a moment, and pursed his lips. "Can you not provide proof of your claim of nobility? I must inform you, 'my lady.' Even if you do, I will need to know your family history for the previous four generations for you to gain the patent that will allow you into the Enclave."

"You know..." Emmaline began, sliding her hands together, her arms squeezing her bosom until they were on display. She fluttered her long lashes, her voice honeyed. "My memory is a little short, but I'm certain we can come to an arrangement." She tossed her hair back again, this time with less pride and more style.

It had absolutely no effect. I bit my lip so I wouldn't laugh.

"If you cannot provide your family history, along with the required proof, the best I can do is a personal family history. Although, I might be persuaded to give you your patents of nobility if you prove your wealth by paying two hundred golden royals. If you are truly a noble-" The man prattled on, clearly not believing Emmaline's story, and she bargained back, but I could tell it was not going to go her way. That was when the Evergod intervened, as he always did in pivotal moments. The door to the scriptorum opened, the bell ringing again. Emmaline was too busy with the discussion to glance back, until the scribe's face went white, and he audibly exhaled in distress. Emmaline finally looked over her shoulder.

I had a great view of the newcomers, actually.

Three unscrupulous looking fellows with short black tabards, along with chaperon hoods had stepped in. On the back of their hands was the mark of the Ignis Anael, a strange bastardization of a holy Omerist symbol, with the appearance of two fish hooks, one longer than the other, bisecting, along with the number 4 written within it. The member that stood out was the last one. The short concealing clothes could not hide his red skin or four arms. I knew he was one of the Stranded, an Onin. As much of an alien to this world as the daemons, though onins were not spirits or pure evil like daemons. However, they were tough to fight, and as ferocious as sharks.

"Weeeeell," the one at the front said with a sinister voice, patting a knife against the shelves he casually passed them, clearly making his way to the front desk. The other human kept back, eyeing me threateningly. He bore a mace he kept in his crossed arms. The onin held no weapon, but growled menacingly. I was not sure if he could fully close his mouth with those small tusks. The leader continued, giving a few glances to Emmaline: "Sorry to interrupt your business here, Ludwic, but we expect our payment today. You can discuss with the pretty lady once we're done here."

"I-I still have another three days!" The scribe protested, stepping back from the counter warily. "You told me I was guaranteed a full fortnight! How can I pay you if you don't give me time?"

The ganger made a show of perusing the various documents he had no real interest in, speaking as if to a friend. I couldn't see his face well, but he had a thin, long nose. "You know how things get, master. When the need arises... Don't worry, we'll extend your next tax by another three days, unless something else comes up, of course."

He had turned to regard Ludwic by that point, smiling wickedly. Emmaline took a wise step back, but suddenly a thought came to her. I could tell by the way her blue eyes lit up, and she turned once again to Ludwic.

"Master Ludwic." She said, her face serene. I was always impressed with her poker faces. Right now she looked every inch in control of the situation, as if she were a queen protected by a dozen knights. I wished I could act like that. "Let us make a deal. How about we buy you the time until your next payment is needed? If so, would you be willing to make the documents I require in short order?"

The scribe looked at Emmaline in shock, and the bandit's face screwed up in bemusement. He gave a confused 'what?' but Ludwic was too taken aback to even look at the threatening man at that exact moment. It was clear to me now, in hindsight, that he believed Emmaline was offering to pay out of pocket to make the men go away. I also now believe that was how she wished to appear. At the time, however, I was completely sure we were on the same wavelength.

"Yes, thank you most graciously for your assistance, my lady." The scribe said with the most deference he had shown her since he had walked out to bargain with her. All three members of the gang looked at each other in confusion, and the leader looked like he was about to say something snide. Emmaline ignored him and smiled delightedly, and then spun to me.

I pointed at myself with my right hand, and at the three gangers with my left, a questioning look on my face.

Emmaline nodded.

There was a group of fishwives walking just outside of the scriptorum, giggling and chatting together like old friends. Even after a long morning and noonday of working, they were likely now heading to grab a bite to eat. Their laughter turned into startled screams when the door burst open and two of the gangers suddenly flew out of the scriptorum like they were launched out of a mangonel. The women scattered like mice as the men hit the pavement. Next, I stepped out, grappling with the onin, having managed to get him from behind as he desperately tried to attack me with his second pair of arms. I shoved my knee into his back, and it gasped in pain, before I lifted him into the air and let go, and snapped my foot forward to strike the humanoid before it hit the ground. It flew half a dozen feet to land with his comrades.

"Don't bother the master again, please." I said to them, adding the please because I felt in their haze, they might find it sincere, and I turned to the women who had bothered to glance back, giving them my apologies before I closed the door.

If Ludwic was white earlier, he was now ivory, as if his soul had fled his body. Emmaline, however, looked composed and as pleased as I had ever seen her. She smiled politely and placed her hands together in the same manner Ludwic had done when he had walked out to deal with her. "Now where were we?"

Salutations

Hello, I am eugalB. Player in his late 20's. I used to dwell on RP forums in my teens, kinda fell out of it towards the end of High School. Got a bit of very casual TTRPG in university. Now I am feeling like getting back into it.

I'm mostly used to fantasy but I'm also looking to try new things, probably sci-fi, maybe a bit horror focused.

Anyway, nice to meet you all. Hoping we'll have fun.

@eugalB

Nice to meet you

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Molly pulled the truck up with a skidding halt, the tires screeching on the pavement. Quintus thought for a moment she would simply run Cho-Tyrek over, but he shook his head at himself when she managed to stop just before the truck would run right over him. Quintus slapped the dashboard twice and shoved the door open, holding his blaster out in a two handed, tactical grip. In the old days, men and women would scramble over themselves to get out of his eyesight, when 'Sweep' was on the move. Now he was in the business of money, not reputation.

He saw Cho was unresponsive, but his pack began to wriggle. Definitely not a human child, he thought, even before the thing turned and looked at him. Quintus eyed it incredulously. However, before he acted violently, Silas' voice picked up over the comm. "Copy, we were belted tight." He informed the older gentleman. Usually he refrained from using proper military terms on an outfit like this, but whatever the hell was in the bastard's pack had him creeped out. It took all his will power not to shoot it and spit on whatever counted for its corpse.

He breathed a sigh, and flipped the safety back on his rifle, at ease. He knocked his knuckles against the truck's hood. "Hey Mall, get your ass here. You don't need to guard the seat." He remarked. "You can drive us back, I don't need a turn." Quintus said sardonically, dismissive of the fact the flames were spreading on the near-broken vehicle.

Maybe he should have told her to back it up before she got out, but little miss smoke and lighting was already hopping out.

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

Most ships were large enough to contain whole armies, as large as urban centers on civilized worlds. The Rogue was far smaller, about three times the size of a standard city block. Large enough for its crew of sixty souls and then some, however it was pitifully small for any sort of battle. Whatever trouble the ship got into to, if it was anything above a fighter class, it would have to flee or be annihilated.

Neil stepped past the hatchway corridor into the main hall. It was a spacious area, like the belly of a terran whale. In fact, that very aspect made it an anomaly. Most imperial starships, even the largest ones, were cramped things with an inordinate amount of imperial symbols, arches, chapels, buttresses, and symbols of the Emperor. The halls were drab, dark things filled with wires, and even the most brightly colored had a sombre look to them of ancient respect. The Rogue, however, had cleared out all of that, if it had ever been outfitted with it at all. Though it must have been relatively light on it before, as it would have been very difficult to break down the baroque interior corridors. Plus, it would have been heretical to have no icons of the Emperor, and the machine spirits would be furious, so every dozen meters there was a small shrine of dias's with open books to the Lectitio Divinatus and the Mechanicum's book of scripts, as well as two central tapestries of black and gold resplendent with the symbols of the Imperial Eagle and Skull. Even as they walked in, a figure in the robes of a tech priest performed sacred rites, praying in hushed tones and lighting incense beside the shrines. Skit was ushered out of the corridor by Neil's retinue, but the Captain took a moment with Tilda to let her get a sense of the place before he gave her a proper tour.

"You!" A gruff yet feminine voice clanged like a hammer in the din of the Rogue's thrumming systems. Before they even stepped out of the corridor, a short woman dressed with a mechanics garb, complete with overalls, approached. Her brown hair shoulder length and bouncing as she walked, if it weren't for the mechanicum skull emblazoned on a pin attached to her greased top, her rank as an enginseer and not a common groundcar mechanicm might have been easily overlooked. "We've been waiting for you! Did you get the goods, Captain?"

"Bonny! No 'how am I'? No 'are you ok, Captain Edwards? Can I shine your shoes?'" He said in faux lament, and she mimicked punching him. He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, we happy. Everything was gained, and nothing of value was lost."

"Really?" She said, with obvious disbelief. "Show it to me, mister 'all promises but no substance.'"

He placed his hand in his jacket pocket, but didn't produce anything. He merely gave the impression something was burgeoning within the fabric. "I will show it to you when we're not out in the open. Besides, did you even get the promethium you were supposed to get?"

"No thanks to clanker over there." She remarked, thrusting a thumb over her shoulder to the tech-priest. Neil snapped his fingers and she handed him a data-slate with the logs they had input into the cargo listing. Neil wouldn't hand this over to Tilda just yet, they needed to acclimate her first. "Where's Gantz?" Bonnie wondered, peering over his shoulder. Her eyes lingered on Tilda with a bit of apprehension.

"Like I said, nothing of value was lost." He responded darkly, fidgeting with the device, thoroughly plummeting the mood before pulling up into the sun again. He pointed at the screen. "What does this P stand for?"[1]

Bonnie leaned over, bemused. "...Promethium."

"Ah, makes sense. Ok then, everything uh, seems logged in correctly." She yanked it out of his hands in the middle of the proclamation. "By the way, meet Tilda. She'll be joining us."

Bonnie looked at the taller woman with a small measure of curious amount of perturbation, but it did not seem to be out of jealousy or any sort of base reason. Perhaps it was to do with Gantz's sudden disappearance and the immediate arrival of a woman, who by anyone's measure, was stunning, was a bit daunting. Neil also knew their entire livelihood had been riding on the acquisition of the Edwardian Vigil. Such an unexpected development would put most crew members on edge. Bonnie, however, pushed whatever thoughts she had away and inclined her head. "Anyone who can manage this guy has my respect." She said, giving Tilda a wink. Bonnie then evidently had a thought pop in her head, as she leaned in to whisper something in Neil's ear quickly. Neil laughed, but continued as if the interaction had not occurred.

"She'll be managing me in more ways than one, and no I don't mean in a kinky way." Neil declared, gesturing for Tilda to follow him. The two stepped into the open area, past a few lounge benches bolted to the floors. To the left was a set of stairs leading to the lower decks, and around fifteen meters away was a huge pillar of plasteel and pylons coruscating blue light that seemed as integral to the ship as any engine. "I mean, unless you want to, but... Anyway, let me show you around the place. There's Lazarus. Hey Laz!"

Neil gave a wave to the busied tech priest, but the robed figure only turned enough to bleat in binary before he went back to his tasks. Neil waved him off and continued the tour, explaining the vast pillar was a part of the gellar field they would erect, in a sort of dual-purpose warp-drive the tech-priest and he had created. There were various doorways leading out of the central hub leading to turret mountings and the medbay, but Neil decided she could see the cockpit and the smaller areas anytime. He ushered her past the larger area into the next stop, the rec lounge, where a few of the crewmen were smoking lho-sticks near the open air hatch. A holoscreen, a small kitchen, various tables, and even some civilized world arcade games were set up. Neil told them to finish their breaks off, as they were about to take off again. There was a single groan, but most seemed happy to see him back alive and evidently with the prize. A few of their eyes lingered on Tilda with expression of curiosity mixed with typical, male interest.

After the lounge, there were three halls of crew quarters. Neil and Tilda's were at the end, her quarters being separate to everyone's, set to the right of Neil's captain's quarters. Neil did not show her the inside, but he guaranteed she would not be bunking with anyone unless she invited them in. Past that was the cargo bay, stocked with nondescript crates of plasteel, plastek, and armaplas with the varied foodstuffs. Very bog standard, and Neil explained the larger cargo bay was below decks. The interior veered left, which led into the life support systems, a room of light coloring with various purifying machines at work, periodically monitored by six crew men. After that, branching left and right were the torpedo systems, the gunwhale's being close to the bridge, and finally Neil led Tilda down a set of utility stairs.

The main cargo bay was the size of a warehouse, and stocked like one as well. Forty spacers, men and women both, were hauling and loading, and though some were checking the stocks, they seemed to be a bit out of their depth. One older gentleman threw a datapad on the ground in frustration, and pointed at two female crew who nearly dropped their canister of promethium. A servitor rolled across the floor, seemingly lost by some trick of code, or perhaps things were so disorganized, it simply could not compute its next destination.

"You'll make sure this place is in top top shape." Neil informed her, and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Gantz has it all under control, and clearly you were smarter than him." Other than a few waves and calls of 'Captain!' there was little else to acknowledge save for the distressingly damaged stack shelves, though Tilda took this time to ask again where they were going next.

"We're going to see a buyer for the Vigil, after that, though? Dealer's choice." He said. "I'll explain more later, but let's meet the navigator." His words were caught off by a small electric sparking sound, announcing the room down the last corridor.

A soft, ethereal blue light pulsated as they entered the navigator's den. The room was large, octagonal in shape and expanded outward in segments, the widest area halfway between the floor and the ceiling, almost like a squished krak grenade. In the center was the lower half of the great pillar, surrounded by a railing, as it plunged beneath the floor into the main engines of the Rogue. The chamber had three floors and a spiral stairway to reach each, but the navigator was on the ground to meet them. He was a beautiful man, with a slim build and a fine chin, sculpted as carefully as the busts of Sanguinius himself. Decked in robes of blue and purple, he carried a blacksteel staff that harbored incandescent electricity, yet it did not touch his naked hand. His third eye was obscured by a thick, woven cloth. All was revealed when he turned from his contemplation to regard the newcomers.

"Hey Mal, just showing the new girl around." Neil casually greeted, glancing up at the makeshift spiral floor directly above them.

"Captain," The navigator remarked imperiously, his voice as calm as the sea before a storm. "I foresaw your return."

"No, you didn't. Bonnie told me about the pool." Neil said with a grin. He whispered to Tilda. "His name is Malcador, like the Sigilite. Don't mention that bit, though.[2]"

Mal was silent for a moment. "I didn't think you wouldn't come back though, I just foresaw it would be under extenuating circumstances. But if you did, that means you got the Vigil. And this woman must be the..." He turned, and seemed as if he saw Tilda for the first time. He took her hand and kissed it, his voice low. "extenuating circumstances..."

"Careful, she's your new boss." Neil responded. Malcador blinked in shock and let her hand go, the would-be casanova struck speechless. Neil's grin grew bigger, shaking his head with a teasing bit of fake incredulity. "You didn't foresee that?"

---

Tilda's Log

[1]I believe I have some authority to speak on the subject after my long and *ahem* storied association with him. It is safe to say even to myself, Neil is something of an anomaly, but it is also clear that, despite the evident insanity, he does have a method to his madness. His persona, though entirely himself, also has the plain purpose of a kind of misdirection to cause everyone around him to underestimate his abilities. The mere experience of hearing a clever remark escape his lips at one moment, and a completely nonsensical declaration next, is by its very nature, off-putting. He shows surprising mental alacrity in times of crises, is a formidable combatant, and shrewd in dealings, however his complete lack of respect, decorum, and sometimes wits, I find is generally meant to put others, even his allies, at odds with his full capabilities. The very fact he named his ship Rogue, a moniker that on the surface has just enough style to be considered, but just enough unintelligent obviousness to be eschewed by any sensible Rogue Trader, is proof enough. This smoke screen of buffoonery has saved his life, and truth be told, my own, on numerous occasions.

[2]To some of the stringiest members of my order, as well as the insane inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus, to mention the Sigilite in such a casual manner would have raised eyebrows. Then again, he was confiding in me.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

None of that matters right now, though, because your method of attack is based on a piece of ancient wisdom, from back before mankind took even its first faltering steps into the stars.

Force equals mass times acceleration.

@ctrlsaltdel

The sacred texts!

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

(Molly veering a burning truck into Cho)
Quintus: May I offer you a bicep in this trying time?

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

_{big money}

big money

NO WHAMMIES

STOP