Silver

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

Phineas stepped in front of Eliza, one arm protectively hovering in front of her, the other extending to ward off the leader. Eliza was sobbing now; if she was faking her terror, she was doing a damn good job of it. Phineas addressed the leader, voice shaky.

"Now listen here, you... er, gentleman. This 'woman' is no animal to be beaten and scolded. She is my wife, and it would do well for you to treat her with an ounce of respect. Now, we are British citizens, and we wish to..."

His voice trailed off as it became apparent that the leader wasn't listening to him in the slightest. The burly man's eyes were cast to the ground, focused on the pile of belongings he had dumped from their bags. Slowly, he stooped down and brushed aside a shirt, dislodging a small box from the sand. The leader lifted it into the air, and turned it slowly. One by one, several dozen rounds of pistol ammunition tinkled out of the box and on to the dune. The leader threw the empty box in disgust and turned to Phineas, an expression of cold fury on his countenance.

"You tourists?" he repeated, somehow adding an edge of sarcasm to his rough voice.

Shieldlands (Viking) RP

Galen Dune, Unimpressive Skald, Looking for Work

Name: Galen Dune
Age: 22

Gender: Male

Image/Appearance:

Galen Dune

s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9c/4..
(Sorry for the link, photobucket was offline)

Title/Rank/Occupation: Amateur Skald

Skills/achievements/etc: Plays the woodharp, flute and tambor with varying success. Little else.

Personality: Galen is, at best, an ambitious musician with a talent for irritating his company. At worst, he's a fool and a craven. He is cynical, loudmouthed, and does not know when to hold his tongue. He thinks he was simply born in the wrong place at the wrong time. His greatest aspiration is to travel with a company of legendary warriors and record their epic story for posterity.

Biography: Galen was born in a small fishing village on the coast of Alviora, second son to poor parents. His father tried to teach him to sail from a young age, but Galen was always more interested in music: rhythm, rhyme, melody. Eventually, his father stopped fighting it and embraced it: on his fourteenth birthday Galen found a hand-carved flute waiting for him at the foot of his bed. Four years later, disaster struck: the fishing village was plundered by raiders out of Skagastrond. Galen watched, cowering, from under the stairs as his parents were put to the sword. He and his older brother were siezed by the raiders and carted back to Skagastrond, where they were separated. The raiders sold him to an innkeep in Bellara as a minstrel, but when the innkeep heard his painful racket he put him out on the street, where Galen stayed. Since then, Galen has wandered from village to village, seeking odd jobs and inspiration and hoping, one day, to find his brother.

Equipment: Woodharp, flute, tambor. Fur cloak, under which he keeps a jagged dagger with which, he tells himself, he will stab anyone who tries to attack him... provided he doesn't flee in terror first.

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

LET'S GO TO AFRICA..YOU..YOU SAID!

Shieldlands (Viking) RP

Galen Dune, Unimpressive Skald, Looking for Work

Name: Galen Dune
Age: 22

Gender: Male

Image/Appearance:

Galen Dune

s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9c/4..
(Sorry for the link, photobucket was offline)

Title/Rank/Occupation: Amateur Skald

Skills/achievements/etc: Plays the woodharp, flute and tambor with varying success. Little else.

Personality: Galen is, at best, an ambitious musician with a talent for irritating his company. At worst, he's a fool and a craven. He is cynical, loudmouthed, and does not know when to hold his tongue. He thinks he was simply born in the wrong place at the wrong time. His greatest aspiration is to travel with a company of legendary warriors and record their epic story for posterity.

Biography: Galen was born in a small fishing village on the coast of Alviora, second son to poor parents. His father tried to teach him to sail from a young age, but Galen was always more interested in music: rhythm, rhyme, melody. Eventually, his father stopped fighting it and embraced it: on his fourteenth birthday Galen found a hand-carved flute waiting for him at the foot of his bed. Four years later, disaster struck: the fishing village was plundered by raiders out of Skagastrond. Galen watched, cowering, from under the stairs as his parents were put to the sword. He and his older brother were siezed by the raiders and carted back to Skagastrond, where they were separated. The raiders sold him to an innkeep in Bellara as a minstrel, but when the innkeep heard his painful racket he put him out on the street, where Galen stayed. Since then, Galen has wandered from village to village, seeking odd jobs and inspiration and hoping, one day, to find his brother.

Equipment: Woodharp, flute, tambor. Fur cloak, under which he keeps a jagged dagger with which, he tells himself, he will stab anyone who tries to attack him... provided he doesn't flee in terror first.

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

Phineas picked up his gaze from the coarse sand and looked at the red tent, which had grown from a speck into more of a smudge. As he examined it in the distance, he heard a low rumbling. It took him a few minutes to realize the rumbling was originating from the group of trees, and within a few moments a wheeled vehicle emerged from behind the tent and started due north, directly toward him and Eliza.

"Yes," Phineas said, his eyes narrowing, "I think they see us." He reached behind his back and found the comforting grip of the handgun tucked into his belt. He glanced at Eliza. "Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher," he said, and tossed her the handgun from the backpack, hoping she'd hide it. "Dover. Anthropology. No kids." He pulled his shirt tighter to conceal his gun and kept walking.

Within a few minutes, the jeep came roaring over the nearest hill. It skidded to a stop, its treaded tires spraying sand into the air, and three dark-skinned men in faded green fatigues jumped out. To Phineas's alarm, they were all carrying hefty rifles.

Phineas pointed both hands to the sky as the men started shouting commands in a language he neither recognized or comprehended.
"Don't shoot!" he yelled, "Don't shoot! We're lost! Can you speak English?"
The closest man, who wore a plush blue beret, lowered his gun. "English," he echoed, his accent thick and clumsy. "Why you come Zanzik?"

Phineas raised an eyebrow. "This is Zanzik?" he asked, but the look on the leader's face told him not to beat around the bush. Phineas continued, with a shakiness in his voice that was only half fake. "My name is Henry, this is my wife. We're just touring the area and we got lost. We need food and water. Please." The last word came out more desperately than he had intended.

The leader narrowed his eyes. "Touring," he repeated. He paused a moment, then shouted a command to the soldier standing next to him. The soldier walked toward Eliza, and Phineas moved his hand slightly closer to his gun. Then the leader turned his gaze to Eliza.
"Give bag. Search," he said.

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

Phineas raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Eliza. To his mild disappointment, she wasn't far from the truth.

"I've got a little apartment on the Thames. Yes, lots of books, all of them well-read. Not a very cheerful place, I'm afraid. All the wood's stained dark and the lights are rather dim. I think. To be honest, I don't spend a lot of time there. I can't actually remember the last time I slept in my own bed." He sighed. "Job keeps me busy. I imagine there's a generous helping of dust on all the upholstery. For all I know, someone else might be living there. Gypsies, most like."

At the top of his vision, Phineas noticed a small spot of red on the horizon. He squinted, and was able to make out the shape of a circle of trees around a small pool of shimmering water. An oasis, he thought to himself. A small red canvas hut was flapping in the wind, and Phineas could discern a thin road winding southeast from the camp. He hiked his bag up onto his shoulders and picked up his pace as the sun breached the hills to his left.

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

Phineas nodded, surveying the land behind him as Eliza spoke.

"Married, most like," he said, "And tourists. I imagine we're hardly the first married couple to get robbed whilst touring the Libyan highroads. Hell, we're probably not even the first of the day." The alibi didn't hold much water, but in a desert like this he figured it probably didn't have to. The common layman would not inquire too deeply into the past of a couple whose miseries were so fresh. He kept walking as they summited the dune and started down the other side.

"I don't feel like faking an accent, so henceforth you and I shall be Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher, Henry and Catherine. We live in Dover, no kids. Wanted to travel North Africa to indulge your anthropology hobby, robbed right off the boat. Sound good?"

The sun wasn't even up yet, but already it was growing uncomfortably warm. Phineas cursed his luck. He always seemed to get the shitty jobs.

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

In addition to the rifle he had brought with him, he found four rifles and ammunition, two pistols, various pieces of equipment, rations of food and water, and four uniforms. In the last locker he opened he finally came across a square white medical kit. He took it off the wall and set it on the floor, kneeling beside Eliza.
\

@Silver

(Not disregarding your previous post, I had just been planning on using some of this aforementioned equipment. Just quoted so I wouldn't confuse you.)

As Eliza readied herself for the journey, Phineas picked up the Mediterranean chart and carefully ripped off the section that contained Egypt and Libya, stuffing it into his shirt pocket for later use. He cast his eyes over the remaining equipment. The rifles would certainly be of no use if they wanted to maintain even the slightest semblance of a low profile. Instead, he picked up the pair of pistols. They were relatively new, polished and loaded, but there was only a single small box of extra ammunition. He tucked one pistol into his belt, hiding it under his shirt behind his back, and placed the other in his bag, along with the ammunition, rations and what remained of the medical kit. He closed the bag tightly and slung it over his shoulder.

Every moment, the sky outside was getting brighter. It was not yet dawn, but the unmistakeable tinge of grey sunlight tinted the otherwise blue sky as the stars slowly faded from view. Phineas quickened his pace to catch up to Eliza, who had already begun to trek up the first dune. His shirt flapped in the wind as he padded through the soft sand.

As they climbed the dune, Phineas glanced at Eliza. "I grabbed the pistols," he said, "But it would likely be best if we avoided using them." He took a breath; the steep dune was unforgiving on his lungs. "We may run into border patrols or a checkpoint if we stick to the roads, in which case we'll have some explaining to do. What's our story, then?"

The Ministry Reborn (Silver & KiraVanhelsing)

Phineas fumbled for Eliza's fingers in the darkness, taking the flashlight and a bundle of weathered maps into his hands. He flipped the flashlight's switch, but was met with only a dull click. He wiggled it back and forth, but it was no use.

"Balls," he mumbled, dropping the useless metal tube to the ground, "Torch's broken." He sighed, stretching his arms into the lockers and cursing his poor night vision. Eventually his hands encountered the small box of matches amidst the other survival equipment, which he snatched up and stuffed into his pocket. Eliza had cracked the door open already; he finished the job with a hefty kick that left a deep resonance in the air and a sharp pain in his leg.

The moon was bright, but not half bright enough to make out the writing on the maps. After several attempts, he managed to strike a match. He held it in the air, scrutinizing the Mediterranean Region map until the match died and he had to light another. He frowned. The map was replete with landmarks and cities, but all he could see around himself was dunes, trees and endless ocean. He tossed the map onto the sand and sifted through the other charts. He discarded every sovereign state he was greeted with until he found the one he was looking for: a compact atlas of constellations. As his match went out, he lit another and got to work.

Within a few minutes, he managed to determine their location. They were farther west than he'd expected, he noted with distaste. He picked up the charts, blew out his sixth or seventh match, and turned back to Eliza.

"The good news," he said, "Is that I know precisely where we are. The bad news is that we're in Libya." He swallowed. After their recent run-in with Libyan special forces, he was quite sure that they would not be welcome guests. "We ought to remedy that and get to Egypt as soon as we can. If we walked due east along the beach, we would be in Egypt by tomorrow evening, if the sun didn't get us. I propose a different solution. A few miles south from here there's a little trading hub. Zanzik, it's called. If we make it there, which should only take until dawn, we can take the roads south to a border crossing and maybe figure out just what's going on along the way."

He glanced out across the dark landscape. "I, for one, would like to know exactly who's been trying to kill us, and why."

Star Wars - Anyone up for some fishy smuggler rp?

Interested. Send me a message, I've got an idea.