Monday, June 18, 2012

Roses

When the city walls were breached and the Jarl's garrison scattered, no one was ready. Roses had been under siege for only a month when Imperial forces succeeded in puncturing the city's defenses with horrifying siege engines that no subject of the Crown had ever seen before.

-------------

Sir Herod Brevon had been on the walls when that initial volley came from the Empire's gargantuan siege cannons. He was a witness to an encroaching sea of gunmetal-grey soldiers and felt musketballs whiz by his head and watched many of his comrades die trying to repel the overwhelming assault. In the course of the battle, ordinance would explode directly in front of him; Herod was thrown off the walls into a free fall to what he was sure was death.
But he did not die.
He awoke at the base of the fortifications, the sound of gunfire and metal-on-metal had ceased. He risked opening his eyes to take in his surroundings and was horrified by the sights they saw.
The walls had been collapsed around several sections and the dead were everywhere, indeed the only reason he had managed survival (by his reasoning) was his fortuitous landing upon another man who had fallen from the wall before he did.
He immediately scurried off the dead man in a panic, the corpse's vacant eyes staring at nothing but its face twisted with fear and terror. He wasn't sure what was happening or just who's hands the city currently lay in, but he wasn't going to lay in the rubble forever and he figured if any Imperial soldiers had spotted his return to consciousness then he would have already received a bullet for his stubborn refusal to die when a man ought.
Gunpowder, smoke, and death filled his nostrils, nearly gagging him as he retreated towards the center of Roses, being sure to stay in the shadows of alleys and avoid any major roads.
He heard music, triumphal tunes he didn't recognize as he neared the city square and as the full horror of the situation started to dawn,
What if we lost?
Indeed as Herod emerged, despair choked him anew. A flag flew in the square; the image of a screaming, twin-headed eagle flapped in the wind confirming his fears.
Only the gods knew if the Jarl had managed to escape to safety, though Herod would be surprised if that were the case.

This was it, he was on his own now; the war was over, at least for him.

About a month passed since Roses had been wrested from Damocles and Sir Herod still lived. It hadn't been hard to blend in with the peasantry, finding refuge with a farmer and his family. It also wasn't hard to find work with one of the Masonic Guilds that were still permitted to operate by the Empire, being as there was no shortage of rubble to clear or stone to set and without support from the church. The reconstruction process would slow to an agonizing crawl if the Guilds couldn't operate.
Many of the commanding officers seemed a reasonable sort, typically leaving the common man alone and severely punishing the abuses of their own men when they were brought to light; Herod would still slit their throats given the chance. He watched with anger burning behind his eyes as survivors from the garrison would be found out and hung for all to see from the Jarl's palace as a warning to those that would think to still resist.

He shook his head, burying the memories and hefting the mason's hammer, readjusting its position on his shoulder; the weight of it was a minor inconvenience, though its utility more than made up for that little flaw. The sun was beginning to set and he was the only one in the street, his duties as a guildmason partially exempting him from the military curfew enforced by the Empire.
That's why Herod was so surprised when he heard the scream of a woman a little up the road. His curiosity and concern outweighing his caution, he jogged toward the source of the commotion and knew that there was some sort of struggle.
His investigation brought him to a decently-sized, respectable home with its door off its hinges.
"Damn it woman!" He heard a man's voice with a thick accent just inside. Imperial accents.
"Get a hold of her Sig!" Another voice.
Herod glanced cautiously through the remains of the entrance; two men in Imperial uniform held down a woman, one had a hand clamped hard over her mouth.

For a moment, Herod considered fleeing; his survival dependent on laying low while he waited for the King's armies to retake the city. His original plan being one where if he dies, it's a death that might do some good in the long run.
But seeing this scene unfold, he knew he couldn't just walk away and leave this woman to her fate. Something in him broke, a floodgate of repressed anger opened and he allowed himself to be carried away on its current.
He charged into the room raising his hammer high and dropping it hard on the helmeted skull of the man currently not astride the woman. His skull simply evaporated under the weight and power of the blow, his compatriot turned in time to see the Sigil of the Guildmasons hurtling toward his face before seeing nothing else ever again.
With both her attackers neutralized, the woman scrambled to her feet; a wild fear in her eyes as she prepared to scream once again.
Realizing she was preparing to scream once more, Herod clamped his hand over her mouth; she kicked and clawed at him as a result.
"Shhh! You're safe now, m'lady!" he spoke low and tried his best to sound non-threatening, "But if you want to live through the night you would do well to calm yourself. We need to leave this place now."
Her struggles became less vicious when it seemed to dawn that this man wasn't going to try to use her in an unsavory fashion like the ones immediately prior. After a few moments of relative calm and tense eye-contact, Herod tentatively released his hand from her mouth.
"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
She eyed him with suspicion before answering, "Yes."
"Did they...?"
"No. They almost did...they meant to..." She glanced nervously at the corpses on the floor.
He raised a hand meant to comfort, but she avoided it; the shock of her experience seeming to sour her about physical contact. Herod retracted his hand.
"Do you have a name m'lady?" He asked
"Eryn." She offered with a sad smile, "And do you, mason?"
"Saul. My name is Saul."
Herod had been living under a false name since beginning his days in hiding, fearing that he may be identified as a member of the garrison at Roses. A new name was one of a few precautions he had taken to remain undetected.
"Well...I guess I should thank you Saul. If you hadn't come around..." she shuddered at the thought of what her life might have been like.
He smiled, "Think nothing of it. I was here and I acted."
"Regardless, thank you."
He glanced at the corpses, "I doubt you're going to be thanking me at the end of this. You're coming with me, we're burning down your house."
At first Eryn seemed confused, then realizing what he meant she cringed. To her credit (and his surprise) she didn't protest this decision though it clearly wasn't something she wanted to do.
"Did anyone else live here with you?" he inquired
"No."
"Do you have any other clothes?"
"A few."
"Bring them."
Her face grew stern, "And if I don't come with you?"
He sighed, "I won't make you do anything, but I ask that you come with me. For better or for worse, two soldiers are dead on your floor and you better believe there will be consequences for that if they're found."
And with that, whatever meager defiance she had mustered had left. She felt deflated as her life was suddenly hijacked and taken out of her control.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Training Wheels (and Near Party Wipes)

So I've finally wrangled another group together in my new location. It was a long and disappointing wait to start playing again, but in the end it worked out.

This new group is almost entirely composed of brand new players who had barely heard about any sort of tabletop rpg at all. We decided to go with Pathfinder and they're playing in the Dual Throne campaign setting though the story will be taking place on the far away Northern Continent (with its far more intense focus on eastern cultural traits).

The party is currently composed of:

Olaf Blunderbuss: Half-Orc Barbarian and all-around beatstick.
Perses Ares: Elven Rogue, he stabs people in the back with barely contained glee.
Zane Corvenus: Human Ranger, or the single unluckiest character I've ever seen.
Vale Saezon: Aasimar Cleric and band-aid applier extraordinaire.

Now, being that Vale Saezon is the only veteran player in the entire group (though his first time playing a caster), I began this campaign with everyone at level 1 and the primary enemy of the day being Kobolds. My reasoning: Kobolds are pretty much incapable of effectiveness and only the truly unlucky wouldn't drop 80% of them on the first strike.

It really is frustrating being consistently incorrect about these things. One day I'll be decent enough to be able to account for luck (or the lack thereof) in my session planning. For now I make do with either cakewalk encounters or sadistic challenges of endurance.

But I digress; the session started out promising enough. The party was hired by the small village of Tianjin to investigate the disappearances of people who had been traveling the roads between it and the larger city of Wu Jin.
They were directed to the wreckage of a wagon that was also the most recent of the strange occurrences. After a careful investigation the Ranger managed to track down the creatures that committed the deed to a small cave about 10-15 miles out of town.
Two guards, who weren't paying as much attention as they should have been, stood at the entrance to the cave. The Rogue acted quickly.
And gleefully

 Before the kobolds even knew what the hell, they were gunned (bow'd?) down; the entrance was clear and gurgling before death sets in hardly counts as an alarm.

They enter and find themselves in an encampment, complete with little lean-to's and frantic, angry lizards.

My memory is a bit fuzzy on the exact number of kobolds that rushed out to fight the intruders, but I do know it was between 12 and 15. I threat to be sure, but hardly one that would threaten the party as a whole, I mean, adventurers murder these things by the dozens by themselves let alone with friends. There was just no way this couldn't be a triumphal slaughter!

What raised a warning flag in my head about this entire dungeon crawl was when they got to the first room and I didn't really roll below a 17 (which was enough to hit everyone but the Cleric). What started making sirens go off was that no one could manage to hit any of the little buggers for at least 3-4 turns.

Illustrated here is the cleric's complete inability to do anything other than hide behind his shield
Yep, it was going to be one of those nights. The ones where neither side seems capable of overcoming the other and combat is just one long string of misses and ineffectual amounts of damage.

Indeed they slogged painfully through the cave, getting bogged down by stragglers who didn't make it to the melee at the entrance. I did remain hopeful throughout though; thinking that maybe the boss fight at the end would inject some much needed energy into the game.

The Adherer waited at the end, locked in a room, eternally pissed off at everything, and nearly killed them. All of them.
In my defense, I built the encounter before really knowing the party make-up. I had talked about character concepts with each player before and thought I had a strong idea of what they'd likely go with. When it came time to actually build the characters, they had went with different ideas. Less hard-hitting ideas. Additionally, the cleric hadn't fully grasped what he was capable of at the time and so hadn't prepared his more useful spells.

Long (boring) story short, they won when the last two conscious party members, in an act of desperation, set the Adherer on fire.


Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Cybernetic: Summer, 2606 CE

Subject 13 sat on the ground staring at his blood-covered hands, unbelieving of the carnage that he knew they wrought. The Genocider warhost had been crushed on Earth last year, he saw the reports detailing the constructs self-termination and scouring of their fleet from Sol; despite extinction no longer being a significant threat to the Human race the doctors and researchers still insisted that all Subjects continue to perform field tests, and lately they've been dispatched against dissidents.
This mission was the first time since the eradication of the alien host that Subject 13 had allowed his implants to activate and it was very different than the last time he did it. The orders and whispering of the Overmind had been replaced by the echoes of its deathscream. The last moments of the A.I. looped incessantly when he removed the mental block, 13 only felt a screaming incoherent hatred that was beyond his ability to control when he tapped into that power now.
"You were amazing." Subject 9 said, her voice filled with awe.
13 looked up at her, "Was I?" he asked sardonically.
"I've never seen anyone do that before!" Her eyes sparkled with reverence, "Not even the high and mighty Subject 3 could do anything like that! I mean, I just watched you flambe some poor bastard and tear another guy's throat out in like, two seconds!" Subject 9 continued to gush, "You took your collar off and you were just...gone! By the time I caught up you'd already cleared out the building! In an hour you...you just...a whole military base!" Breathless, she sat down next to 13 and gazed dreamily out at the setting sun, "I wish I could kill like you."
A fist collided with her mouth, laying her out on the ground; a strong, gloved hand gripped her throat and hefted her up.
Subject 13 stood there, his teeth clenched with fury, "Don't you ever say that to me again."
Subject 9 sputtered and gasped for breath, her windpipe completely closed in 13's grip. Her vision started to blur and darken at the edges before his grip loosened and she dropped to the ground.
13 watched the young girl alternately cough and gasp before vomiting into the dirt, the look of barely restrained anger still on his face.
"Fuck you Dwin. It was a compliment." She finally managed picking herself off the ground and resuming her place at 13's side, "I think I'm missing teeth." She whined.
He ignored her, "We were supposed to protect humanity." he said bitterly, "So what the hell is this?" He motioned out toward the scattering of dead and the remains of the separatist outpost.
Subject 9 shrugged, "We get a mission, we kill everything we're told to."
13 scoffed, unsurprised at her response. He knew that her casual approach to violence was a side-effect of those damned implants; though she was certainly more of a human than he was if push came to shove.
"While I don't share your sudden squeamishness, I do agree that the old men are losing their way." She added thoughtfully, "If missions like this are any kind of indicator...I don't think they plan for us to survive the war."
Subject 13 nodded his agreement, "I don't think it'll be long now until we have to fight our way out."
They sat there in silence for a long time before 9 interrupted his thoughts.
"So are we about ready to go?" Subject 9 said with a hint of impatience. She surveyed the area one more time and brushed the ashes off her clothes.
13 walked over to her, placing a hand under her chin and gently turning her head. He could see bruising starting to develop around her neck and her lip was bloody from where he'd punched her.
"You still have all your teeth?" he asked
"Yes sir." she replied, "You're going to have to hit me like a man next time if you want it to do anything." She added with a wry smile.
Despite himself he chuckled at her bravado, "Alright then, why don't you prep the shuttle for launch? I'll be along shortly."
She nodded and turned to leave.
"Oh and Talis?"
"Hmm?"
"You know that Autarch Revolver you've been pestering me about?"
Her eyes went wide as she guessed what he meant, "What!?" she squealed with delight before suddenly catching herself, "I mean...thank you Godwin, it should be quite an...adequate sidearm." She was trying her hardest to sound nonchalant and professional, forcing the smile down deep before resuming her walk toward the shuttle, though at a noticeably faster pace.
"It's under your seat!" He called out to the swiftly retreating figure.
13 sighed, most sixteen year old girls don't get giddy at the mention of a new gun, but then, most sixteen year old girls hadn't grown up as a government experiment.
He, at least, had the luxury of volunteering to be a guinea pig.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Cybernetic: Echoes of Madness

March, 2620 CE

Talis Venona lounged in the commander's seat on the bridge of the Warmonger, taking in the scenery and breathing heavy from excitement; the scent of fear was all around her, filling her heart with ecstasy and satisfying something primal deep within her. The bodies of those men who stood against her lay still, blood pooling around them in shapes that pleased her eyes and calmed her nerves.
She prepared an encoded message to Corvis, her employer, informing him that the crew was neutralized and that the ship was only waiting for him to claim it. She added that the appropriate disarming signal for the explosives in the munitions stores would be sent when he wired the funds to the previously specified accounts; in her experience, it usually paid off to ensure the client's cooperation and timely payment.
Satisfied, she sent the message and stood up; it was about time to return to her ship.

The way Talis Venona walked was at odds with the rest of her appearance; reminiscent of the fashionistas or runway models, but dressing in full body armor and carrying a charge rifle mag-locked to her back and a fat revolver holstered around her waist. Not a hair was out of place, no one who didn't know her would guess she had just finished single-handedly slaughtering the crew of this small attack frigate.

She boarded her ship, the Last Resort, and detached from the now derelict Warmonger, figuring it was time for a break. This last job had paid well despite the ease with which she completed it; she recalled a few travel advertisements for Canaan, apparently it had bloomed into quite a gem in the last five years or so.
It was decided then, Talis input the coordinates into the auto-pilot and leaned back in her chair. She had some time to sleep before arriving planetside for the first time in...what was it now? Six months? A year?

---

Talis was awoken by the sudden rocking of her ship, confused she checked the hull camera feed for a source. She was delighted by what she found; apparently Corvis had followed in her wake, his ship was sloppily docked with hers. She didn't think the bastard was crafty enough to follow the Last Resort, as it was equipped with best stealth systems that money could buy, in fact it should be impossible. He proved far more expert than he had let on, she idly wondered what he would look like gurgling from a gunshot wound to the throat.

They also disabled the security feed at the docking port, denying her a visual confirmation of her attackers or their current actions, but she could guess what they were up to.
Working quickly, she restocked her ammunition and waited about twenty feet away from the airlock blast door, confident that whatever charges they were going to use wouldn't have any real effect on her. They were likely expecting her to be caught unprepared; her impromptu nap had saved her the inconvenience of fighting without her body armor or her beloved Autarch Revolver, though they hardly would have been necessary to eliminate this bunch.

She placed a finger to her throat and the chorus began.

There was a muffled explosion and a rush of air as the other ship's atmosphere mixed with the Resort's; the airlock door crashed to the ground. Smoke obscured the doorway, though it didn't do much good for the boarders. Talis's augmented eyes pierced the haze and she could clearly see the attackers move in. It was an instant later that her Autarch roared and the first of the thug's fell to the ground sans the top of his head, torn away by a 12.7mm bullet.
The loud discharge of her revolver was like a lover's whisper to Talis; she derived an almost physical pleasure from unloading its payload into people that insisted on becoming her enemy.
The urge to kill played like a symphony inside her head, she could feel claws gently running across the inside of her skull, ethereal fingers pointed out kill shots, demanding that blood flow.
But the music. Oh God the music. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

She danced to the chorus of screams and frantic gunfire; no harm could come to her and she placed every shot with a surgeon's precision. One panicky brute unloaded on full-auto, fear overtaking his better judgment and precision; Talis capitalized on his loss of composure and charged full-speed. The terrified soldier could scarcely keep her in his sights let alone hit her and before he knew it the barrel of a gun was between his eyes.
She loved watching people die up close.
A second later, he crashed to the floor with an empty skull. The others were still firing short bursts, trying to keep up, but they were hardly a threat. Two quick shots and two more lie dead; the last two tried to run, but instead they ended up unceremoniously dropped from gunshots to the back of the head.
She reloaded.

Talis waltzed boldly into the ship, gunning down anything that moved until finally arriving at the bridge. She guessed that less than three quarters of the ship's crew was left; which meant that it was effectively stranded.
Fearlessly she walked out onto the bridge and into the waiting gun of her erstwhile employer. He wasn't taking any chances, firing as soon as she was visible. He couldn't keep his hand from shaking and it showed; Talis barely had to twitch to avoid the bullets.
"Come now Corvis, I expected more from you." She twirled her gun and cracked the butt of her pistol across Corvis's head, "I mean, you found my ship. You're more capable than this pathetic attempt at piracy."
Blood ran freely between Corvis's fingers as he glared at her, "Damn it, what did you expect?" he picked himself off the floor with some effort, "I've seen your work monster, you're too good at what you do. If I didn't take a shot at you now, I'm sure I'd be on the receiving end of one of your contracts."
Talis giggled manically, "That's it? You're just a paranoid freak?" She clapped her free hand to her head, "you seriously tracked a stealth cruiser to the border of Imperial Space for the sole purpose of killing me for fear that someone at some point in the future would maybe hire me to kill you?"
Corvis remained silent as the girl laughed loudly at him.
"Corvis Corvis Corvis! You never perform a hit on a former employer, no matter how good the money is!" She managed to stifle some of her laughter, "it's bad for business if you kill former employers who did right by you! Otherwise, you'd find yourself up to your eyeballs in folks who like to interrupt girls while they sleep."
After a slight pause, "did you track me down yourself?" she asked placing a finger to her chin.
"Yeah, if you know how to read the charts; no ship is untraceable."
"Is astro-navigation your only talent?"
Corvis scoffed at the insult, "Hardly, I got to where I am by finding my enemies wherever they hid."
Talis nodded as she considered this.
The longer he waited while she thought, the more nervous he became. Corvis was so terrified that he couldn't stand it, but he figured he was managing to keep it off his face considering she didn't immediately dismiss him as a man who would say anything to survive.
Finally he interrupted her thoughts, summoning up the last reserves of his boldness; figuring if he read her correctly, sniveling like a weasel now would only end badly for him, "Well now what? Am I a dead man?" She returned to the present, her mind made up. Smiling she began to undress.

This was perhaps the single least likely thing he expected to happen, short of spontaneous combustion, and he absolutely didn't trust it.
"What's your game monster?" He never thought the sight of a woman undressing could inspire so much dread, he was more terrified now than when she held a gun to his head.
"No game Corvis. I'm yours now, exclusive contract. Your enemies are now my enemies, your friends are my friends; anything you wish I'll do." She said, placing special emphasis on that last part.
The last of her armor fell to the floor and she turned to face him, "You've got talents that I need, there are people I want tracked down." She cocked her head, "I'm assuming this wasn't a one time fluke of competence?"
Corvis noted the sincerity in her voice, though he was disturbed at this obvious attempt at manipulation; she used her body simultaneously as a bargaining chip and a way to throw off her would-be pawns. There was something else too; something about her that seemed to force him to pay attention and appealed to his baser instincts, like an aura or some other kind of nonsense, though the fear for his life kept it from affecting him the way she clearly wanted it to.

He eventually concluded that if he didn't accept her deal then he would be killed right here. He seemed to deflate, like the fight had just gone out of him. He nodded his agreement with the Devil as she came closer.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Cybernetic: And the Forgotten

Godwin Tulla awoke in total darkness and already on his feet; he couldn't see but could tell his clothes were soaked through and that, wherever he was, it was cramped. He fumbled about, looking for a light or a way out, running his fingers along the wall, relieved to find it wasn't anything as sturdy as a prison box. He firmly knocked and pressed his ear to the wall; waiting for some kind of movement or response and, when he was confident that no one was in earshot, struck at the walls. He managed to tear open his prison and found himself in a devastated apartment.
It was clearly a tenement, but even that hardly excused the mess that he was seeing. He realized that he had been sealed within the wall of this room. He looked down at his hands in horror, only just noticing that they were red with blood. Tulla sprinted toward a mirror and gasped at his reflection; blood covered him entirely, he strained his mind as he tried to remember what happened and the sudden rush of recollection nearly made his legs buckle.

He killed them. All of them.
Tulla remembered the irate gangsters: how he butchered and torched them. He recalled in sickening detail when he finished with the three, turning on the homeless in the alley that hadn't run away. If his memory was correct, and it was damn near perfect, he killed thirteen more people before closing any wounds he sustained, climbed into a nearby tenement, and carefully insinuated himself into the walls of an abandoned room.
It would seem he hadn't forgotten his bag in the chaos, since it was laying by the rotting bed-frame; he quickly changed into an alternate set of fatigues and stuffed his bloodied clothes away into his pack.
If this was anything like the other times, he was sure he left no survivors and any surveillance equipment is more than likely destroyed; he hurried back onto the street

It was another beautiful day, though it did little to cheer him up; the screams of the people he killed still echoed in his thoughts so loudly he couldn't think of anything else. It was early in the morning, listening for sirens, he watched hawkishly for police officers on the move; when nothing could be heard, he reasoned that local authorities hadn't been notified yet.
Tulla took a deep breath and exhaled, renewing his resolve. He was careless last night and wouldn't make a mistake like that again; he was going to do his research on the area, intent on avoiding trouble and getting on with his life. He was sick of hurting people.
Though if he was being honest, Tulla was just glad that the beast had contented itself with addicts and criminals in the alley and not, say, hunting suburban families.

The big man walked aimlessly, just letting his thoughts settle before he would deal with room rentals and property acquisition; he whispered litanies as he relaxed his mind, entering a sort of meditative state and exercising some control over the excess of emotion that plagued him. When he was finished he walked with renewed purpose and buried apprehensions, confident that he could keep a cool head in front of the sellers.

If he was lucky, he could disappear and finally be forgotten.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Cybernetic: The Lost

Godwin Tulla stepped off from the shuttle into the cold winter air of Pas Dammim, the capitol of Canaan, hefting a single bag over his shoulder and marching out into the busy street.
He looked like a vagrant, with worn out fatigues and a military issue high-collared greatcoat; coupled with his unkempt hair simply adding to his homeless appearance.

Canaan was said to be a place to start again and make something of yourself; the idea appealed to Tulla, he hoped that there were some devils of his that he could finally lay to rest.
He had money despite his ragged appearance, his...former employers had paid him well, of course they hardly expected him to survive employment. He stopped in a small cafe somewhere out of the way of the bustling main street; coffee would help warm his bones and his voyage had been a long one.

"Afternoon sah!" a boisterous little round man loudly called from behind the counter, "What can I get for you tahday?"
"Coffee. Black." Tulla grunted in reply
"Sure sure, right away sah!"
Tulla took a seat at a small table and waited, absentmindedly staring out the large storefront window.
When the barista returned with his coffee he sat down with Tulla, intent on chatting.
"So my good man, are you a soldjah perhaps?" He inquired rather ham-handedly
Tulla stared at his coffee then back at the barista and sighed, "I...guess. I served in the military and ...participated in the wars."
"Ah ha! I knew it! You have this air about you, like you've seen things." He clapped Tulla on the shoulder, "You sah, have my thanks for your service at least! Don't worry about payment, its on the house!"
Tulla forced a smile and thanked him, continuing to sip on his beverage.
"My good sah, if you don't mind the inquiry, which wars did you see action?" The pudgy barista asked hopefully.
Tulla considered his words, "During the War for Survival and...the Corporate Rebellions..." He stared sadly back down at his coffee, remembering a time long since ended.
Even the oblivious barista was aware of the effect recollection was having on the man and quickly changed the subject, "Soldjah's blood runs deep in my family. The first recruits of the 1st Fleet! Yes sah! A proud martial history!" He smiled wider (something Tulla didn't think was possible), "Some may not think so, but we owe a lot to you boys. You should know that." He stood up and offered Tulla his hand, "Eduardo Bessene sah, at your service."
Tulla took it, "Godwin Tulla." He offered a polite smile.
Eduardo nodded and went back to work.

Tulla left the shop feeling warmer and, despite the pushy socially ignorant barista, he felt a bit better about himself. Even if he didn't feel like anyone deserving of praise, he certainly couldn't deny it was a welcome change to the disdain most Rebellion veterans are treated with.
It was getting late, Tulla decided it would probably be best to sleep in one of the alleyways for the night and seek out some temporary housing in the morning. He wandered down an isolated alley setting his pack on the ground, intending to use it as a pillow.
He looked around, seeing the occasional homeless laying around or unsavory individuals walking with purpose onto the main street.
"Hey!" Tulla turned around to the voice calling out from behind him, he was barely able to react as the butt of the pistol connected with his temple and he crashed to the ground.
"Just who the hell do you think you are? Crashing in my alley without paying rent?" The man was well dressed and strong looking with a wicked looking pistol and two large goons standing at his sides.
"Rent? From the homeless?" Tulla was disoriented and trying to concentrate on his head wound, blood was running freely from his temple.
"Yes. These nice folks here are customers." He talked slowly and deliberately, mocking Tulla as if he were a simpleton. "You, my friend, are not a customer. You are a squatter and you got to pay the price."
The well-dressed man lowered his pistol and shot Tulla in the knee, dropping him back onto the floor, "He's all yours boys, make sure you beat him good. I've had a bad day and I want to feel better."
"No! Please don't!" Tulla pleaded as he clutched at his ruined leg.
The men only laughed, "Begging for mercy is a waste of words with boss Linus." One of the giant bodyguards grunted with humor in his voice.
"Hey boss, how bad can we beat him?" The other asked
Linus scratched his chin and shrugged, "You can kill this one if you want Percy, he looks like a veteran." Boss Linus poked the barrel of his pistol toward the greatcoat that Tulla was wearing, "Only 3rd Fleet wears something like this." He looked Tulla in the face unable to keep the smile off his own, "So you're from that mad dog outfit? Its about time someone came around and put you down."
"Please, please don't do this, just...please." Tulla begged, fear nearly choked his voice, "I'm trying my hardest not to kill you." He sobbed.
The boss burst into raucous laughter, holding his sides, "That was the best bluff you could come up with? Really?"
Percy followed up by kicking Tulla in the stomach, his partner did the same to Tulla's face.
The boss walked over to the weeping Tulla and grabbed him by the hair, placing his pistol under Tulla's chin, "Alright you piece of shit, I've had the worst day of my life; I got boss Cassar himself telling me that I better get my shit together or its my ass. Now I'm sure absolutely none of this means shit to you, but I just wanted you to know that your shit life ended with purpose." He smiled darkly, "I feel a lot better now."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tulla whispered, placing his finger on his neck.
Linus laughed and brutally hammered the butt of his pistol into Tulla's nose, enjoying the loud crack of it breaking.
"Hey Percy, Redden! It sounds like he's real sorry! I guess he gets to get the shit kicked out of him a bit longer before I splatter his brain across the alley!"
Percy guffawed like the trained ape he was, lifting the now silent Tulla by the collar off the floor and cocked his fist for some devastating head trauma.
Tulla was no longer crying but looked far away, as if slightly confused. Percy was irritated that he no longer looked afraid, grabbing Tulla and forcing him to look Percy directly in the eyes; he wanted to force the coward back into the moment to make this fun again.
What he wasn't expecting was the look of confusion turning to blind, psychotic rage. Percy's perceptions became confused, he could barely see anymore and he realized he couldn't breathe.
The pain was indescribable, the air in his lungs had been ignited and he burned from the inside out.
The humor had drained completely from Linus's face as he watched one of his henchmen suddenly drop to the ground with smoke dribbling out of his mouth and nostrils.
Tulla stood now, despite the grievous gunshot wound to his leg; his face was twisted into mask of hate.
Redden, to his credit, reacted faster than anyone could have expected considering his size; he pulled a pistol but before he'd even gotten it out of his coat Tulla was on him. The maddened veteran drove his thumbs into Redden's eyes, plucking them out quickly and efficiently before dropping low and punching the big man in the stomach; his organs and spine exploded out from behind him.
A blood spattered Tulla stood up and locked eyes with boss Linus and for the first time in Linus's life, he was unable to run away. He couldn't even speak, no matter how hard he tried.
Tulla smiled as Linus was burned alive carefully and deliberately, unable to scream his torment. The smile quickly turned back to homicidal psychosis after Linus expired.

The vagrants who remained were all frozen with terror as Tulla turned to them with predatory eyes.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Cybernetic: Tenebrae Lucem pt. 3

Navarro's men shifted with unease, one gripped his rifle white-knuckle tight.
"You're taking us prisoner?" He blustered nervously, "You're taking emissaries of a foreign nation prisoner at first contact? Do you want the Empire to send its fleets to your worlds?"
Technical Loire considered this, his expression remaining neutral the entire time, "Honestly? I would like to see your empire's fleets. I'm curious about how far Earth has come since contact had been broken." Loire picked at his fingernails and sighed in exasperation, "From what we've gleaned about your government, it's war weary and starved for manpower. Your incarceration at this time would most likely result in some feathers being ruffled, but I hardly think the Empress is willing to commit so fully to such a violent course of action with the Technocracy."

Captain Navarro's mind was reeling as he desperately tried to think of a way out of his uncomfortable position of powerlessness before finally slumping in his chair and putting his head in his hands. He knew that he and his crew would probably be tried as spies and more than likely executed before the week was out...after they'd been interrogated by their captors and their brains picked for useful information of course.
This was supposed to be an easy job, but then, he should have known that such a thing hardly exists. He leaned back in the chair to stare at the ceiling, determined to not give the smug bastard the satisfaction of seeing his hopelessness.
He figured he'd try to bluff one more time, "You're prob-"

At that moment the white-knuckled soldier broke ranks and leaped over the table, landing nimbly on the Technical. He threw a slew of grenades at the scrambling soldiers in front of him and unholstered his sidearm in one fluid motion.
There was a flash of light and a sound like cracking ice. Captain Navarro was sure that he was dead, but the light subsided and he saw that the entirety of the soldiers opposite him were immobilized in a blue crystalline substance, his security officer had a pistol planted firmly under the chin of Technical Loire.
"I'm sorry it turned out this way but you forced my hand," his voice oozed insincerity, "the Empress sends her regards." There was a bang and Loire's brain was smeared across the wall behind him. The security officer stood up and removed his combat mask to reveal a sick smile. Navarro's blood ran cold as he realized just who was standing there in front of him.
"The Cid." He just sat there gawking in confusion and terror. Derek Fayd himself was with them and, from his expression, looked to be having a wonderful time.
The Cid wasted no time and began rifling through pockets of the now dead Technical Loire, producing several cards and what appeared to be an E-Slate from the dead man.
"Take care of the rest." He said, motioning over to the Technical's men who were held immobilized, "Make sure you shoot them point-blank, they've got projectile deflectors and the superadhesive is almost as tough as concrete."
Navarro swallowed nervously and nodded to his men; they put two bullets in each man's head, despite the muffled protest of the Technocratic soldiers.
"What do we do now sir?" Navarro asked dumbly.
The Cid stood up, holding plasma charges and grinning madly, "Well first we get rid of the evidence and blow a hole in this wall. They brought us to a room that they could easily vent should the Technical ask them to; the vacuum of space should certainly be capable of hiding a few bodies." He set three evenly across the far side of the room, "If we're lucky they'll assume we died in the explosion."
Navarro raised an eyebrow, "but won't they realize we're just fine when we leave in the Crescendo?"
The Cid shook his head, "We're not leaving in your boat, we're taking our dead friend's." He held up the cards he took off Loire, "I've got the keys."