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.
Monday, June 18, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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 |
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.
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.
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.
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.
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."
"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."
Friday, November 25, 2011
Cybernetic: Tenebrae Lucem pt. 2
The white coated man broke the silence first, "Hello Captain Navarro." He considered Navarro, "You are the captain right?"
"That I am. Nice to meet you face to face Technical Loire." He said, recognizing the voice of the station's leader, "Your welcome is a bit too formal for my taste though." He said, nodding toward the twenty men with a bead on him.
"Please forgive me sir, it has just been so long since we made contact with the homeworld that we can't be reasonably sure of your intentions." Technical Loire said with sincerity, "Your men may accompany you and you will be allowed to keep your firearms, but just be warned that we will not hesitate to toss you out an airlock should any trouble be caused by you or your crew. Now please follow me, we'll talk in more comfortable quarters."
Captain Navarro nodded and complied, falling into step behind the Technical. He took the time to become better acquainted with his surroundings, many narrow catwalks crisscrossed throughout the structure. The station itself was cigar-shaped and built to be orientated vertically. Maybe three men could stand shoulder to shoulder at a time on the catwalks he could see.
There wasn't too many people around either, a few more men and women in the same uniforms as the soldiers or security walked dutifully toward unknown destinations, a smaller number of them were dressed in what appeared to be civilian outfits, yet occasionally one would order a guard authoritatively.
The weapons the guards used were also of an unknown design, though they were reminiscent of the lightning guns that engineers would handle in the close confines of a starship, but much smaller.
They finally arrived in a sterile looking silver-white room with a few chairs and a long table. Technical Loire motioned for Captain Navarro to take a seat, his five security guards filed in behind him and stood at attention against the wall. The Technical's men did the same the opposite of them.
"So captain, I'm sure you have questions for me. Ask away." He said with a smile that had no warmth
"What exactly is the Umbran Technocracy? A pirate operation with delusions of grandeur?"
Loire laughed "No no! Three full worlds make up our nation. This station is merely a listening post to monitor the actions of the new Imperial Government."
"Three worlds in this system?" Navarro balked, "How?"
Loire seemed pleased at his guest's incredulity, he was definitely enjoying this big reveal, "With whatever we could. The United Nations sent out this expedition a long time ago, our terraforming equipment malfunctioned and we were lost beneath the thick atmosphere of Umbra. It would be decades before we regained the ability to communicate with anything above the clouds."
Captain Navarro folded his arms and did his best to process this information quickly,
a lost colony, he thought.
"Now captain, if you could please answer a question for me?" Loire began, "Just what exactly is your infant empire hoping to gain from us?"
Navarro wasn't at all sure of what the Empress was hoping to accomplish here...or if this assignment was even from the Empress; for all he knew it was from the Cid.
He chose to remain silent.
"Ah, you really can't say. I understand, national security and all that." Loire got up and pushed his chair back in, "Well regardless of the reasons, we really can't trust you to go back to your employers with the location of the Technocracy." Navarro's blood ran cold, "I'm sorry captain but your men will be needing to relinquish their weaponry now."
"That I am. Nice to meet you face to face Technical Loire." He said, recognizing the voice of the station's leader, "Your welcome is a bit too formal for my taste though." He said, nodding toward the twenty men with a bead on him.
"Please forgive me sir, it has just been so long since we made contact with the homeworld that we can't be reasonably sure of your intentions." Technical Loire said with sincerity, "Your men may accompany you and you will be allowed to keep your firearms, but just be warned that we will not hesitate to toss you out an airlock should any trouble be caused by you or your crew. Now please follow me, we'll talk in more comfortable quarters."
Captain Navarro nodded and complied, falling into step behind the Technical. He took the time to become better acquainted with his surroundings, many narrow catwalks crisscrossed throughout the structure. The station itself was cigar-shaped and built to be orientated vertically. Maybe three men could stand shoulder to shoulder at a time on the catwalks he could see.
There wasn't too many people around either, a few more men and women in the same uniforms as the soldiers or security walked dutifully toward unknown destinations, a smaller number of them were dressed in what appeared to be civilian outfits, yet occasionally one would order a guard authoritatively.
The weapons the guards used were also of an unknown design, though they were reminiscent of the lightning guns that engineers would handle in the close confines of a starship, but much smaller.
They finally arrived in a sterile looking silver-white room with a few chairs and a long table. Technical Loire motioned for Captain Navarro to take a seat, his five security guards filed in behind him and stood at attention against the wall. The Technical's men did the same the opposite of them.
"So captain, I'm sure you have questions for me. Ask away." He said with a smile that had no warmth
"What exactly is the Umbran Technocracy? A pirate operation with delusions of grandeur?"
Loire laughed "No no! Three full worlds make up our nation. This station is merely a listening post to monitor the actions of the new Imperial Government."
"Three worlds in this system?" Navarro balked, "How?"
Loire seemed pleased at his guest's incredulity, he was definitely enjoying this big reveal, "With whatever we could. The United Nations sent out this expedition a long time ago, our terraforming equipment malfunctioned and we were lost beneath the thick atmosphere of Umbra. It would be decades before we regained the ability to communicate with anything above the clouds."
Captain Navarro folded his arms and did his best to process this information quickly,
a lost colony, he thought.
"Now captain, if you could please answer a question for me?" Loire began, "Just what exactly is your infant empire hoping to gain from us?"
Navarro wasn't at all sure of what the Empress was hoping to accomplish here...or if this assignment was even from the Empress; for all he knew it was from the Cid.
He chose to remain silent.
"Ah, you really can't say. I understand, national security and all that." Loire got up and pushed his chair back in, "Well regardless of the reasons, we really can't trust you to go back to your employers with the location of the Technocracy." Navarro's blood ran cold, "I'm sorry captain but your men will be needing to relinquish their weaponry now."
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Cybernetic: Tenebrae Lucem pt. 1
The Crescendo drifted lazily into SC-3386-2, the light of the system's yellow star twinkled prettily in the distance as the vessel pushed toward its goal.
Captain Lyle Nevarro scanned the monitors in front of him detailing the ship's position to 3386-2's sun and fourteen planetary bodies, powerful communications signals were being emitted somewhere in this system and the Empire hired him to investigate.
Captain Nevarro was young for a commander of a starship; he used to be a Magnus Security Inc. Fighter Pilot before he was able to save up enough to purchase a freighter. After a decent run ferrying goods for various companies, he finally was able to acquire a Corporate Frigate and hire out his ship's services to those businesses who needed protection. Wartime was good for guy's wallet so long as he fought hard enough to survive.
When he was approached by the Empire to investigate an anomaly in an outlying star system he first scoffed at the idea of scouting out some new region of space, figuring something like that was better left to automated probes, but in the end the money was very adequate and getting in good with the Empress wasn't a bad idea either.
Captain Nevarro continued to peruse the holoscreen in front of him as information from planetary scans were processed. When his communications officer informed him that they had just been pinged and that they were being hailed, Nevarro raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Who is it?"
"Unknown serial code and designation. Should I patch it through?"
Captain Nevarro scratched his chin, "Yes. Audio only."
The Comm Officer nodded and the distinct static of active communications was Nevarro's cue to speak,
"This is the Corporate Frigate MEV Crescendo in service to the Empire of Terra. I am Captain Lyle Nevarro."
There was a beat of silence before a response, "I am Technical Hamilton Loire, Chief of Waystation Alpha-Zero." It sounded like an older man, one who was used to being in a position of authority, "I serve the Umbran Technocracy" he stated proudly, "System Patrol Vessels have been dispatched and ordered to bring you to dock here. We'll have plenty to discuss."
Captain Nevarro was not impressed, "If I refuse?"
"Then they will be ordered to fire on your ship." Technical Loire stated matter-of-factly.
"...Very well. Send docking coordinates." Nevarro slumped in resignation. He may have a warship, but he was in an unknown system with no support and he doubted that the Empire would be too pleased if he instigated an altercation with a bunch of unknowns in the middle of nowhere.
Ten starships showed up from out of the black. They were sleek and angular, silvery with dark blue and black insignias proudly displayed on their prows. They were frigates, but smaller than his by half. They also had a certain grace that Imperial ships lacked and if they had any weapons they weren't easily visible.
Waystation Alpha-Zero was not an incredibly impressive sight to behold for a space station, but it was intriguing for its location. It hung motionless out in the middle of nowhere, Captain Nevarro thought that stations could only be built safely in orbit of celestial bodies due to the incredible energy required to keep such a large body in one spot without natural gravitational forces to help anchor the structure. The Crescendo docked with Alpha-Zero with little issue and the captain selected a security detail to accompany him to his meeting with his captors.
Lyle Nevarro was not big on taking unnecessary risks, he survived everything from the Genociders, right on through to the Corporate Rebellions. Like hell he planned on getting killed on some errand.
The airlock hissed as the pressure regulated and the air of the ship mixed with the station. The door opened and the captain, with his five-man security squad, stepped out of the belly of his vessel right into twenty soldiers with firearms pointed directly at them and a stone-faced old man dressed in white.
Captain Lyle Nevarro scanned the monitors in front of him detailing the ship's position to 3386-2's sun and fourteen planetary bodies, powerful communications signals were being emitted somewhere in this system and the Empire hired him to investigate.
Captain Nevarro was young for a commander of a starship; he used to be a Magnus Security Inc. Fighter Pilot before he was able to save up enough to purchase a freighter. After a decent run ferrying goods for various companies, he finally was able to acquire a Corporate Frigate and hire out his ship's services to those businesses who needed protection. Wartime was good for guy's wallet so long as he fought hard enough to survive.
When he was approached by the Empire to investigate an anomaly in an outlying star system he first scoffed at the idea of scouting out some new region of space, figuring something like that was better left to automated probes, but in the end the money was very adequate and getting in good with the Empress wasn't a bad idea either.
Captain Nevarro continued to peruse the holoscreen in front of him as information from planetary scans were processed. When his communications officer informed him that they had just been pinged and that they were being hailed, Nevarro raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Who is it?"
"Unknown serial code and designation. Should I patch it through?"
Captain Nevarro scratched his chin, "Yes. Audio only."
The Comm Officer nodded and the distinct static of active communications was Nevarro's cue to speak,
"This is the Corporate Frigate MEV Crescendo in service to the Empire of Terra. I am Captain Lyle Nevarro."
There was a beat of silence before a response, "I am Technical Hamilton Loire, Chief of Waystation Alpha-Zero." It sounded like an older man, one who was used to being in a position of authority, "I serve the Umbran Technocracy" he stated proudly, "System Patrol Vessels have been dispatched and ordered to bring you to dock here. We'll have plenty to discuss."
Captain Nevarro was not impressed, "If I refuse?"
"Then they will be ordered to fire on your ship." Technical Loire stated matter-of-factly.
"...Very well. Send docking coordinates." Nevarro slumped in resignation. He may have a warship, but he was in an unknown system with no support and he doubted that the Empire would be too pleased if he instigated an altercation with a bunch of unknowns in the middle of nowhere.
Ten starships showed up from out of the black. They were sleek and angular, silvery with dark blue and black insignias proudly displayed on their prows. They were frigates, but smaller than his by half. They also had a certain grace that Imperial ships lacked and if they had any weapons they weren't easily visible.
Waystation Alpha-Zero was not an incredibly impressive sight to behold for a space station, but it was intriguing for its location. It hung motionless out in the middle of nowhere, Captain Nevarro thought that stations could only be built safely in orbit of celestial bodies due to the incredible energy required to keep such a large body in one spot without natural gravitational forces to help anchor the structure. The Crescendo docked with Alpha-Zero with little issue and the captain selected a security detail to accompany him to his meeting with his captors.
Lyle Nevarro was not big on taking unnecessary risks, he survived everything from the Genociders, right on through to the Corporate Rebellions. Like hell he planned on getting killed on some errand.
The airlock hissed as the pressure regulated and the air of the ship mixed with the station. The door opened and the captain, with his five-man security squad, stepped out of the belly of his vessel right into twenty soldiers with firearms pointed directly at them and a stone-faced old man dressed in white.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Dual Throne: Bar Talk and Rumors
Nights at Beaumont's Inn were generally busy. The barmaids would run back and forth, trying to serve a seemingly endless stream of patrons and where the occasional troublemaker would be thrown out into the street to drunkenly stumble home.
Located in the heart of commercial Damocles and a decent enough place to find a decent ale and maybe some company for the night. Tonight though, there was an air of tension and fear; rumors had been circulating of an invasion from Eisenheim and terrible demonic attacks that left many a man dead. While people usually only filtered in and out, Old Gertel, Abir, Deadrick, and the owner, Beaumont himself, shared a drink together every night for the past five years. It was something to look forward to at the end of a long work day, a drink with friends before the return to home life with children and wives.
"They're takin' girls right out of their beds! Harvestin' their souls fer some evil ritual!" Old Gertel was loud and shrill as usual, always paranoid about this or that. Once he was started, it was impossible for him to calm down.
Abir dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "Bollocks! Like any demon is going to be running around freely with men like that about." he said gesturing to the inquisitor sitting at the bar; the man's skin appeared to be made of stone and the color was almost obsidian, "What do you think he is?" he wondered.
Deadrick took one quick glance in the inquisitor's direction, turned back to his beer, and shrugged, "Dunno, had no idea the king hired statues." He laughed to himself and took a generous swig from his tankard.
"Quiet! What in the hells is wrong with you? He'll hear!" Gertel hissed, he was terrified of the stone man, but then he was terrified of most things.
"He's...probably right. Last thing I think any of us wants is to have a chat with an inquisitor, least of all that one." Beaumont said.
"Why? What'd he do?" Abir asked, risking another glance at the man.
"How about publicly beheaded two nobles and arrested a Jarl's wife?" Beaumont said, he was nervous that this man was here at all as he was well known for his rather brutal displays in the city square.
Abir's eyes went wide and he let out a slow whistle, "That was him?"
Beaumont took a sip of ale, "Yup, watched him do it with my own eyes. Some fancy beorns from out in the fields, hauled them here without so much as a trial and-" He made a dramatic chopping motion into his hand, "cut their heads clean off."
Gertel gasped dramatically while the rest frowned.
"What a bastard." Deadrick muttered into his cup as he took another gulp.
"You better believe it." Beaumont said as he recollected that day, "looked damned proud of himself too. Like he was playing a game."
Old Gertel was looking increasingly uncomfortable, "Well, can't say it's been fun..." he excused himself, tossed a few coppers onto the counter, and hurriedly made for the exit. Being this close to someone with the authority to behead him should he get the urge was a bit too much for the jumpy old man.
The rest of the men shrugged, Gertel was always the first to leave, seemed like everything spooked him these days.
"Does he seem alright to you?" Beaumont asked, "he's never been quite all there, but doesn't he seem on edge?"
Abir shrugged, "Don't read too much into it Beau, the old man's just getting on in years; my father started to act all sorts of strange as he came up on the end." He took a sip of ale.
He heard the heavy thud of booted feet walking up behind him and he turned to see the stone inquisitor.
Beaumont forced a smile though a practiced eye could still see the nervousness there, "And how was everything today sir?" he asked with faux concern
The inquisitor shrugged, "Acceptable I suppose." He tossed a couple silvers onto the bar counter and simply nodded as a farewell before marching out into the night. Beaumont collected the coins eagerly.
"Well I guess there's a bright side to having the Inquisition's finest in your establishment." Deadrick motioned to glinting silver pieces, then he waved his mug at Beaumont, "Oh, and fill me up when you get the chance?" He asked patronizingly, there was barely anyone else in the inn, Beaumont had even sent the barmaids home already.
Beaumont scoffed but complied, sliding the refilled tankard to the already rather drunk Deadrick, "Your last one mate, I won't have your woman giving me another earful." Deadrick chuckled as he continued to imbibe.
Abir looked around, "Speaking of which...just where the hells is everyone Beau? Ain't this the busy hour?"
Beaumont sighed, "Frankly, I'm surprised you all showed up, I mean, between the werewolf den that got cleaned out down the street and talk of Imperial spies around every corner? It's a wonder that I have customers at all." He frowned.
"I heard about the werewolves, can't believe the Guard let a whole den go undetected for Beryllus knows how long." Abir took another sip, "Makes you wonder what else they're missing, you know?"
By now, Deadrick was passed out on the table. Beaumont helped himself to the coppers he was owed and shook the man violently.
"Deadrick." No response, "Deadrick you lazy ass, get up and go home or I swear I'll have the Guard drag you out."
Deadrick snorted and sat up, "Oh. Sorry Beau, here..." he fished around in his pockets and placed some coppers on the counter.
"Don't worry about it son, it's on the house." Beaumont replied, Abir was trying not to laugh.
"Well thank you." He slurred, he pushed himself away from the table and stumbled out the door.
Abir and Beaumont watched him leave and when the door finally shut, Abir let out the laugh he'd been stifling, "You're a better man than me. I figure if he's going to be so damn stupid, might as well make a few extra bits."
"Ah, he's alright. Just needs to hit the drink a bit less."
"Whatever you say." Abir finished off the last of his beverage and got up, "Well my friend, I think it's time for me to head home too." He payed for his drinks and said his goodbyes, "You be careful, things seem to have gotten dangerous everywhere."
Beaumont nodded, "You too, get home safe." Abir waved once more and walked out into the night.
The bartender leaned up against the wall and finished his ale before returning to work, wishing the slow nights he'd been experiencing would just end and that business would finally turn around.
Located in the heart of commercial Damocles and a decent enough place to find a decent ale and maybe some company for the night. Tonight though, there was an air of tension and fear; rumors had been circulating of an invasion from Eisenheim and terrible demonic attacks that left many a man dead. While people usually only filtered in and out, Old Gertel, Abir, Deadrick, and the owner, Beaumont himself, shared a drink together every night for the past five years. It was something to look forward to at the end of a long work day, a drink with friends before the return to home life with children and wives.
"They're takin' girls right out of their beds! Harvestin' their souls fer some evil ritual!" Old Gertel was loud and shrill as usual, always paranoid about this or that. Once he was started, it was impossible for him to calm down.
Abir dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "Bollocks! Like any demon is going to be running around freely with men like that about." he said gesturing to the inquisitor sitting at the bar; the man's skin appeared to be made of stone and the color was almost obsidian, "What do you think he is?" he wondered.
Deadrick took one quick glance in the inquisitor's direction, turned back to his beer, and shrugged, "Dunno, had no idea the king hired statues." He laughed to himself and took a generous swig from his tankard.
"Quiet! What in the hells is wrong with you? He'll hear!" Gertel hissed, he was terrified of the stone man, but then he was terrified of most things.
"He's...probably right. Last thing I think any of us wants is to have a chat with an inquisitor, least of all that one." Beaumont said.
"Why? What'd he do?" Abir asked, risking another glance at the man.
"How about publicly beheaded two nobles and arrested a Jarl's wife?" Beaumont said, he was nervous that this man was here at all as he was well known for his rather brutal displays in the city square.
Abir's eyes went wide and he let out a slow whistle, "That was him?"
Beaumont took a sip of ale, "Yup, watched him do it with my own eyes. Some fancy beorns from out in the fields, hauled them here without so much as a trial and-" He made a dramatic chopping motion into his hand, "cut their heads clean off."
Gertel gasped dramatically while the rest frowned.
"What a bastard." Deadrick muttered into his cup as he took another gulp.
"You better believe it." Beaumont said as he recollected that day, "looked damned proud of himself too. Like he was playing a game."
Old Gertel was looking increasingly uncomfortable, "Well, can't say it's been fun..." he excused himself, tossed a few coppers onto the counter, and hurriedly made for the exit. Being this close to someone with the authority to behead him should he get the urge was a bit too much for the jumpy old man.
The rest of the men shrugged, Gertel was always the first to leave, seemed like everything spooked him these days.
"Does he seem alright to you?" Beaumont asked, "he's never been quite all there, but doesn't he seem on edge?"
Abir shrugged, "Don't read too much into it Beau, the old man's just getting on in years; my father started to act all sorts of strange as he came up on the end." He took a sip of ale.
He heard the heavy thud of booted feet walking up behind him and he turned to see the stone inquisitor.
Beaumont forced a smile though a practiced eye could still see the nervousness there, "And how was everything today sir?" he asked with faux concern
The inquisitor shrugged, "Acceptable I suppose." He tossed a couple silvers onto the bar counter and simply nodded as a farewell before marching out into the night. Beaumont collected the coins eagerly.
"Well I guess there's a bright side to having the Inquisition's finest in your establishment." Deadrick motioned to glinting silver pieces, then he waved his mug at Beaumont, "Oh, and fill me up when you get the chance?" He asked patronizingly, there was barely anyone else in the inn, Beaumont had even sent the barmaids home already.
Beaumont scoffed but complied, sliding the refilled tankard to the already rather drunk Deadrick, "Your last one mate, I won't have your woman giving me another earful." Deadrick chuckled as he continued to imbibe.
Abir looked around, "Speaking of which...just where the hells is everyone Beau? Ain't this the busy hour?"
Beaumont sighed, "Frankly, I'm surprised you all showed up, I mean, between the werewolf den that got cleaned out down the street and talk of Imperial spies around every corner? It's a wonder that I have customers at all." He frowned.
"I heard about the werewolves, can't believe the Guard let a whole den go undetected for Beryllus knows how long." Abir took another sip, "Makes you wonder what else they're missing, you know?"
By now, Deadrick was passed out on the table. Beaumont helped himself to the coppers he was owed and shook the man violently.
"Deadrick." No response, "Deadrick you lazy ass, get up and go home or I swear I'll have the Guard drag you out."
Deadrick snorted and sat up, "Oh. Sorry Beau, here..." he fished around in his pockets and placed some coppers on the counter.
"Don't worry about it son, it's on the house." Beaumont replied, Abir was trying not to laugh.
"Well thank you." He slurred, he pushed himself away from the table and stumbled out the door.
Abir and Beaumont watched him leave and when the door finally shut, Abir let out the laugh he'd been stifling, "You're a better man than me. I figure if he's going to be so damn stupid, might as well make a few extra bits."
"Ah, he's alright. Just needs to hit the drink a bit less."
"Whatever you say." Abir finished off the last of his beverage and got up, "Well my friend, I think it's time for me to head home too." He payed for his drinks and said his goodbyes, "You be careful, things seem to have gotten dangerous everywhere."
Beaumont nodded, "You too, get home safe." Abir waved once more and walked out into the night.
The bartender leaned up against the wall and finished his ale before returning to work, wishing the slow nights he'd been experiencing would just end and that business would finally turn around.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Dual Throne: The Village Burns
Ragnald Hadrien, Crown Prince of the Throne of Damocles, took in the smell of the burning huts and makeshift homes of the Orcish people. In these five years that he had been campaigning against the orcs, he never tired of that smell.
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.
A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.
He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.
The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.
It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.
Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.
A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.
He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.
The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.
It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.
Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wiki Cleaning
So I took a look around the Cybernetic Wiki and frowned at the amount of work it required especially since my most recent Sci-Fi Campaign had finished with a spectacular win for the party. Now a large chunk of the information about the setting is:
a) no longer relevant
b) woefully out-of-date
c) not there at all
So I've been working to get it more accurate to the current state of the setting; factions have disappeared, been absorbed, or have risen up.
I've added a Timeline that charts what happened in the years after the present day, expanded the articles on colonized planets, added newly completed colonies to the list, and now faction information is actually relevant to the setting's current date. Hopefully this will further help the immersion factor in the next game, as there will assuredly be a next game. There were plenty of plot threads that definitely weren't explored and I've gotten mostly positive feedback from the groups I've run it with.
a) no longer relevant
b) woefully out-of-date
c) not there at all
So I've been working to get it more accurate to the current state of the setting; factions have disappeared, been absorbed, or have risen up.
I've added a Timeline that charts what happened in the years after the present day, expanded the articles on colonized planets, added newly completed colonies to the list, and now faction information is actually relevant to the setting's current date. Hopefully this will further help the immersion factor in the next game, as there will assuredly be a next game. There were plenty of plot threads that definitely weren't explored and I've gotten mostly positive feedback from the groups I've run it with.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Transitions and Free Time.
I've recently moved to the mountains, I decided that my location should match my beard, but that's another story.
Now this means that I left my friends and, by extension, my gaming groups behind as I start a new life about 8 hours north of them.
My inability to game semi-frequently is the hardest thing to acclimate to in this transition, but what can you do? The opportunity here is in my newfound freedom; I spent a large portion of my time trying to balance planning new and exciting storylines and hanging out with my friends who didn't quite like the activity so much. I now have unlimited time to focus on smoothing out settings and getting story arcs planned out for when I make my summer visits.
If you're interested in keeping up with that just check the links on the right side of the page. They should be public to whoever wants them. If you want to use them for a game you're running or something, go for it!
I'll probably spend a considerable amount of time updating the wikis to the settings I have designed; hopefully completely carving out the worlds (I'm including regional folklore, national histories, and the rest of the continents). What I'll post here will mostly be bits of story, perhaps set before the current events of these settings, maybe in different areas altogether.
I've been telling myself that this little hiatus is just what the doctor ordered, let's hope I'm right.
Now this means that I left my friends and, by extension, my gaming groups behind as I start a new life about 8 hours north of them.
My inability to game semi-frequently is the hardest thing to acclimate to in this transition, but what can you do? The opportunity here is in my newfound freedom; I spent a large portion of my time trying to balance planning new and exciting storylines and hanging out with my friends who didn't quite like the activity so much. I now have unlimited time to focus on smoothing out settings and getting story arcs planned out for when I make my summer visits.
If you're interested in keeping up with that just check the links on the right side of the page. They should be public to whoever wants them. If you want to use them for a game you're running or something, go for it!
I'll probably spend a considerable amount of time updating the wikis to the settings I have designed; hopefully completely carving out the worlds (I'm including regional folklore, national histories, and the rest of the continents). What I'll post here will mostly be bits of story, perhaps set before the current events of these settings, maybe in different areas altogether.
I've been telling myself that this little hiatus is just what the doctor ordered, let's hope I'm right.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Dual Throne: Season Finale
Vale Sadar had survived more conflict, pain, and loss than most who had lived. That's what he has always been best at, surviving when others don't. Through tribal conflict, hostile men of the crown, and even nature itself; it seemed like the gods were ranged against Vale. He looked around and wondered if this might be his final fight.
Terrian had brought them to this place, a graveyard and shrine to Beryllus's faithful; it had long since been reclaimed by the wild forests of Damocles. Though its glory had been diminished somewhat by time, it was not abandoned; a company of devils had claimed it in the name of their cursed patrons.
They had come here for Decius Maximillian, ambassador of the Emperor Otto von Faulken and lapdog of Count Pieter von Berchtold. His location had finally been discerned by the Kingdom and now His Majesty's Inquisition had tasked them with ending this treachery. At least, they would attempt to end this treachery or die alone and forgotten, either looked fairly likely right about now.
Vale sucked in air through gritted teeth. The devil's glaive had taken a large chunk of flesh from his side; he was almost certain that the blow had cracked a rib and he winced with each step. His blood flowed and he was horrified to note that it wouldn't stop bleeding and had taken on the appearance of black tar.
He put the pain far from his mind. He was determined. The distance between him and the Erinyes rapidly closed.
When he reached the first he felt a small tinge of regret as the force of his punch dislocated the jaw of what seemed to be a beautiful, raven haired woman; she would have been exquisite if her features weren't deliberately marred with ritual scarring. The blow took her off of her feet; Vale maintained his momentum, stomping on her throat hard and, with a quick twist of his foot, snapped her neck with a loud crack.
He frowned as her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes became distant, ashen wings twitching slightly. He almost didn't see the blade coming as another capitalized on his moment of hesitation. He barely deflected the sword off his heavy gauntlets and he cursed at himself for his stupidity.
One down, three to go
-----------------------------------
Harold Vyxr hated it here. Until recently, he had never had to deal with the creatures that had polluted his bloodline. As a tiefling, he had dealt with adversity his entire life and struggled against his darker nature. The only friends he had ever known had been his instructors at the Institute, as they truly appreciated his talent despite his devil-blood; his peers, however, ostracized him and spoke of him as if he was the same as the creatures he is descended from.
Until recently, he thought of them as bigots; that they were jealous of his talent and his rapidly growing power. He understood their hate now, he understood why they avoided him.
Most terrifying of all though, was Decius Maximillian. Decius was barely recognizable, he stood in front of the desecrated shrine to Beryllus. His skin looked like it belonged to one of the Bearded Devils that they had been fighting, it sat strangely on his body, as if it was slightly loose. Vyxr locked eyes with the foul sorcerer and shivered at the stark raving madness he saw there; this thing was an abomination and needed to die, there was no doubt about it.
He scanned the frenetic melee that raged around him and saw Terrian battling six cultists on his own, the fire burned in his eyes as he shrugged off blow after blow, never taking his attention fully away from Maximillian lest he disappear once again.
Harold Vyxr spoke a few words of power and a swath of cultists burst into flames, screaming in agony as they died. A path from Terrian to Decius was now clear, Harold began analyzing the battlefield once more, though failing to see one of the Erinyes loosing an arrow at him. The impact nearly took him off his feet, he looked down at his chest and was horrified to see blood oozing around a thick shaft buried deep in his torso. Two more arrows sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. Blood hemorrhaged out of his body and suddenly the room was difficult to focus on. He fought the urge to sleep, but it was a losing battle. His eyes closed.
This is it.
---------------------------------------
Kywin Vast was invisible, well at least to everyone but those bitches with the black wings and Decius. He was in the thick of things, sending a shuriken into the jugular of a cultist here, embedding one in the heart of a Bearded Devil there. It would have been easy if that bastard Decius wasn't zeroing in on him and hurling fireballs and bolts of lightning his way. Kywin cursed endlessly under his breath as the pain of multiple burns took its toll. If only the priest hadn't been killed he would be enjoying a bit of healing magic right now. Yet another reason to hate Decius Maximillian.
Dark devour his soul.
----------------------------------------
Inquisitor Terrian Vahe burned with zeal. He smiled wide as the path to Decius became clear, the smell of the charred flesh of cultists and devils bringing his soul a small amount of comfort.
"Decius Maximillian!" He bellowed, "For crimes against the Kingdom of Damocles and His Majesty King Charles Hadrien, I pronounce you dead already! May the gods have mercy on you for your perversion!"
Decius sneered at the boast, "Filth." he stated simply.
Vahe rushed madly at the demon-sorcerer with his sword held high, stopping for nothing. He swung with all his might, only to barely miss. Decius was prepared for him, his hands crackled with arcane lightning and he gripped Vahe tightly, sending lethal amounts of electricity coursing through the Inquisitor. His mouth cracked into a terrifying grin as he whispered a few powerful words and an explosion ballooned out from behind Vahe; the flames washed over him and the force of the blast, combined with electricity that wracked his body with pain, brought him to his knees. Decius began laughing, a cackle tinged with mania.
Terrian's vision started to darken and blur, then he heard the laughter through the haze of pain. Fury welled up in his chest and a measure of clarity returned. He gripped the Crown Blade tighter and, though his clothes still burned and arcs of electricity made his muscles spasm, he stood up; with a mighty roar he plunged the ancient sword into the heart of his torturer. The pain and laughter ceased.
Decius stood there looking at the sword in his chest incredulously, he tried to speak but words didn't come. Terrian pulled the blade from his opponent's torso and grasped his throat with his free hand, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground and hurling his broken form a full fifteen feet into the one of the many statues of the saints.
Black blood pooled around his body and Decius Maximillian stirred no more.
Justice.
Terrian had brought them to this place, a graveyard and shrine to Beryllus's faithful; it had long since been reclaimed by the wild forests of Damocles. Though its glory had been diminished somewhat by time, it was not abandoned; a company of devils had claimed it in the name of their cursed patrons.
They had come here for Decius Maximillian, ambassador of the Emperor Otto von Faulken and lapdog of Count Pieter von Berchtold. His location had finally been discerned by the Kingdom and now His Majesty's Inquisition had tasked them with ending this treachery. At least, they would attempt to end this treachery or die alone and forgotten, either looked fairly likely right about now.
Vale sucked in air through gritted teeth. The devil's glaive had taken a large chunk of flesh from his side; he was almost certain that the blow had cracked a rib and he winced with each step. His blood flowed and he was horrified to note that it wouldn't stop bleeding and had taken on the appearance of black tar.
He put the pain far from his mind. He was determined. The distance between him and the Erinyes rapidly closed.
When he reached the first he felt a small tinge of regret as the force of his punch dislocated the jaw of what seemed to be a beautiful, raven haired woman; she would have been exquisite if her features weren't deliberately marred with ritual scarring. The blow took her off of her feet; Vale maintained his momentum, stomping on her throat hard and, with a quick twist of his foot, snapped her neck with a loud crack.
He frowned as her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes became distant, ashen wings twitching slightly. He almost didn't see the blade coming as another capitalized on his moment of hesitation. He barely deflected the sword off his heavy gauntlets and he cursed at himself for his stupidity.
One down, three to go
-----------------------------------
Harold Vyxr hated it here. Until recently, he had never had to deal with the creatures that had polluted his bloodline. As a tiefling, he had dealt with adversity his entire life and struggled against his darker nature. The only friends he had ever known had been his instructors at the Institute, as they truly appreciated his talent despite his devil-blood; his peers, however, ostracized him and spoke of him as if he was the same as the creatures he is descended from.
Until recently, he thought of them as bigots; that they were jealous of his talent and his rapidly growing power. He understood their hate now, he understood why they avoided him.
Most terrifying of all though, was Decius Maximillian. Decius was barely recognizable, he stood in front of the desecrated shrine to Beryllus. His skin looked like it belonged to one of the Bearded Devils that they had been fighting, it sat strangely on his body, as if it was slightly loose. Vyxr locked eyes with the foul sorcerer and shivered at the stark raving madness he saw there; this thing was an abomination and needed to die, there was no doubt about it.
He scanned the frenetic melee that raged around him and saw Terrian battling six cultists on his own, the fire burned in his eyes as he shrugged off blow after blow, never taking his attention fully away from Maximillian lest he disappear once again.
Harold Vyxr spoke a few words of power and a swath of cultists burst into flames, screaming in agony as they died. A path from Terrian to Decius was now clear, Harold began analyzing the battlefield once more, though failing to see one of the Erinyes loosing an arrow at him. The impact nearly took him off his feet, he looked down at his chest and was horrified to see blood oozing around a thick shaft buried deep in his torso. Two more arrows sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. Blood hemorrhaged out of his body and suddenly the room was difficult to focus on. He fought the urge to sleep, but it was a losing battle. His eyes closed.
This is it.
---------------------------------------
Kywin Vast was invisible, well at least to everyone but those bitches with the black wings and Decius. He was in the thick of things, sending a shuriken into the jugular of a cultist here, embedding one in the heart of a Bearded Devil there. It would have been easy if that bastard Decius wasn't zeroing in on him and hurling fireballs and bolts of lightning his way. Kywin cursed endlessly under his breath as the pain of multiple burns took its toll. If only the priest hadn't been killed he would be enjoying a bit of healing magic right now. Yet another reason to hate Decius Maximillian.
Dark devour his soul.
----------------------------------------
Inquisitor Terrian Vahe burned with zeal. He smiled wide as the path to Decius became clear, the smell of the charred flesh of cultists and devils bringing his soul a small amount of comfort.
"Decius Maximillian!" He bellowed, "For crimes against the Kingdom of Damocles and His Majesty King Charles Hadrien, I pronounce you dead already! May the gods have mercy on you for your perversion!"
Decius sneered at the boast, "Filth." he stated simply.
Vahe rushed madly at the demon-sorcerer with his sword held high, stopping for nothing. He swung with all his might, only to barely miss. Decius was prepared for him, his hands crackled with arcane lightning and he gripped Vahe tightly, sending lethal amounts of electricity coursing through the Inquisitor. His mouth cracked into a terrifying grin as he whispered a few powerful words and an explosion ballooned out from behind Vahe; the flames washed over him and the force of the blast, combined with electricity that wracked his body with pain, brought him to his knees. Decius began laughing, a cackle tinged with mania.
Terrian's vision started to darken and blur, then he heard the laughter through the haze of pain. Fury welled up in his chest and a measure of clarity returned. He gripped the Crown Blade tighter and, though his clothes still burned and arcs of electricity made his muscles spasm, he stood up; with a mighty roar he plunged the ancient sword into the heart of his torturer. The pain and laughter ceased.
Decius stood there looking at the sword in his chest incredulously, he tried to speak but words didn't come. Terrian pulled the blade from his opponent's torso and grasped his throat with his free hand, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground and hurling his broken form a full fifteen feet into the one of the many statues of the saints.
Black blood pooled around his body and Decius Maximillian stirred no more.
Justice.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Dual Throne: Quests wrapped up
I am feeling pretty sick at the moment and will most likely be vague in several spots of the following text, hopefully you'll get the general idea.
It occurs to me that I never introduced the whole party:
* Terrian Vahe = Inquisitor of the King's Inquisition
* Kywin Vast = Ninja from the Plane of Shadows
* Harold Vyxr = Tiefling Wizard from Damocles
* Vale Sadar = Half-Orc Monk
This group has something of a love for having similar naming conventions in all their characters. In this particular campaign it was all of them having a four-letter "V" surname. The only one who breaks this mold is Vale Sadar, but that's only because his player was dead-set about "Vale" being the first name, he explained why but I've forgotten.
They picked up right where they left off last time, looting the boss they killed in 1 round. They found some incriminating evidence that would implicate the Jarlessa in various traitorous crimes, which they loved because they want nothing more than to publically behead this woman.
They found notes unsigned but further examination would yield positive results, they had other letters of correspondence between the Jarl and his treacherous wife that has blatant lies; the combination of evidence granted them some pretty major bonuses to the Diplomacy checks it would take to get this man to arrest his spouse.
They gleefully skipped back to the Fortress of Thorns, in the border town Roses, to finally corner the she-witch. As they had previously been honored guests, and it being early enough in the morning, the Jarl was home and available immediately. they marched into his study where the two rulers were enjoying their morning together reading in the study.
Things got worse.
Vahe is an Inquisitor, and not one of a particularly diplomatic disposition, he just kinds of storms in and everyone kind of just starts demanding that blood be spilled while waving paper around.
They calm down for five seconds and hand the evidence over to the Jarl and convince him of his wife's treachery. She bolts, but isn't quick enough and is hit by several arrows, shuriken, spells, and finally a bullet to the leg from her husband.
She is brought to the dungeons to await trial and faces execution in the coming weeks. High fives for everyone.
An understandably distraught Jarl thanks the party for their services to their kingdom, but asks that they please leave him be. They oblige him and skip off to the bounty office to collect their money for bringing in the head of Chieftan Magruk gro Kuun, the rest of the town can rest easy now that a homicidal tribe of orcs is safely rotting in the sunlight by now.
They make the trip back to Damocles to personally report with Inquisitor-Lord Sagar Joester who tells them that they are to take their most dangerous mission yet. There is no guarantee that any of them will return, but they are to cross the border into the Empire of Eisenheim and cause as much damage as they can before the inevitable war between kingdom and empire begins.
They safely make the trip across the border and end up in the moderately sized town of Prenzlaurberg to begin their planning of what steps they should take now.
This is the most independent of any quest they have received so far and I, personally, am interested to see what they do with their freedom.
We ended the session at the planning stage as I hadn't gotten as many Imperial NPCs finished as I would have liked and also it was close to midnight by the time we got their. Not very many, nor particularly taxing, encounters this session and so a lot of time was eaten up with the various roleplay elements that come with reporting back to a quest-giver or wrapping up a plot-line that had pretty much been going since the first session.
It occurs to me that I never introduced the whole party:
* Terrian Vahe = Inquisitor of the King's Inquisition
* Kywin Vast = Ninja from the Plane of Shadows
* Harold Vyxr = Tiefling Wizard from Damocles
* Vale Sadar = Half-Orc Monk
This group has something of a love for having similar naming conventions in all their characters. In this particular campaign it was all of them having a four-letter "V" surname. The only one who breaks this mold is Vale Sadar, but that's only because his player was dead-set about "Vale" being the first name, he explained why but I've forgotten.
They picked up right where they left off last time, looting the boss they killed in 1 round. They found some incriminating evidence that would implicate the Jarlessa in various traitorous crimes, which they loved because they want nothing more than to publically behead this woman.
They found notes unsigned but further examination would yield positive results, they had other letters of correspondence between the Jarl and his treacherous wife that has blatant lies; the combination of evidence granted them some pretty major bonuses to the Diplomacy checks it would take to get this man to arrest his spouse.
They gleefully skipped back to the Fortress of Thorns, in the border town Roses, to finally corner the she-witch. As they had previously been honored guests, and it being early enough in the morning, the Jarl was home and available immediately. they marched into his study where the two rulers were enjoying their morning together reading in the study.
Things got worse.
Vahe is an Inquisitor, and not one of a particularly diplomatic disposition, he just kinds of storms in and everyone kind of just starts demanding that blood be spilled while waving paper around.
They calm down for five seconds and hand the evidence over to the Jarl and convince him of his wife's treachery. She bolts, but isn't quick enough and is hit by several arrows, shuriken, spells, and finally a bullet to the leg from her husband.
She is brought to the dungeons to await trial and faces execution in the coming weeks. High fives for everyone.
An understandably distraught Jarl thanks the party for their services to their kingdom, but asks that they please leave him be. They oblige him and skip off to the bounty office to collect their money for bringing in the head of Chieftan Magruk gro Kuun, the rest of the town can rest easy now that a homicidal tribe of orcs is safely rotting in the sunlight by now.
They make the trip back to Damocles to personally report with Inquisitor-Lord Sagar Joester who tells them that they are to take their most dangerous mission yet. There is no guarantee that any of them will return, but they are to cross the border into the Empire of Eisenheim and cause as much damage as they can before the inevitable war between kingdom and empire begins.
They safely make the trip across the border and end up in the moderately sized town of Prenzlaurberg to begin their planning of what steps they should take now.
This is the most independent of any quest they have received so far and I, personally, am interested to see what they do with their freedom.
We ended the session at the planning stage as I hadn't gotten as many Imperial NPCs finished as I would have liked and also it was close to midnight by the time we got their. Not very many, nor particularly taxing, encounters this session and so a lot of time was eaten up with the various roleplay elements that come with reporting back to a quest-giver or wrapping up a plot-line that had pretty much been going since the first session.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The Dual Throne: I won't make a single Monty Python reference
So I was originally supposed to do an update for the Star Wars game. Unfortunately the party died or were incapacitated and then arrested by the Republic. They raided the Sith tomb and...well...I thought they were much better prepared for poison gas. Surprise.
Then these weird Dark Side creatures I found in the books possessed two of the four remaining. The two gunned down their buddies and then killed themselves. Campaign over.
Now they have broken up. Instead of a giant, unwieldy group of seven, I now have a concise party of four and it is wonderful. They decided to break up after the absurdity that was the last session of the Star Wars game so that they could maximize their ability to have fun.
Half decided to go play in another Star Wars game a friend of ours is running and the other half decided to play in my fantasy setting The Dual Throne.
The game starts following the Inquisitor Terrian Vahe as he looks to find the hired muscle the Kings Inquisition had hired to help him root out those that would aide the King's enemies as they amass at his borders. His Majesty's Inquisition is a secular force in the Kingdom of Damocles and they put their loyalty to the King beyond any deity.
They met up at a tavern. I couldn't think of anything that everyone would be welcome at...
They hunted down suspects and publicly behead them for there transgressions against the king. It was really quite the spectacle, I think Terrian enjoyed being able, nay encouraged, to cut loose and act like a bona fide crazy person and personally cut the heads off of nobles who betrayed their king. One such noble got away, in fact, she is the wife of one of the Governor-Generals (called "Jarls") of the Border Fortresses to the Eastern part of the Kingdom. She ended up catching wind about her compatriots disappearing and she skipped town back to her homebase, Roses. Her name is Lorena Bede.
She seduced the guard assigned to keep her in her room, tied him to a bedpost and took his uniform; she walked right out the front door without anyone noticing, stealing the nearest carriage and heading straight for home. The party berated the City Guard for their incompetence for a full five minutes and then left in a huff, racing to try and beat her to the fortress.
Random Encounter:
12 Orcs. All dead in five rounds, no casualties (well, one horse).
Really it's incredible what a well placed fireball can do.
Upon arrival to the castle they request that the Jarl Tull Bede grant them an audience so they can discuss his loyalty and his activities in these recent months. The Jarlessa Lorena Bede is there and joins them about halfway through the dinner, unflinching and playing the dutiful wife brilliantly and without so much as flinching at their presence.
Terrian knows that the Jarl is powerful and dangerous; angering him would not be the most intelligent thing possible, so he decides that simply accusing the Jarlessa of being a lying bitch at the dinner table would probably net them about a hundred musketballs right in the face. When he catches a lie he just smiles and nods, putting it on some mental checklist for later. It was an hour and a half of talking at the dinner table which I did not plan for. I did have notes on the pretty much everything they were asking and it was fairly easy to improv the whole thing, but it was just so civil. This is my "BLOOD AND GUTS AND BLOOD" group and even they were surprised at their focused and measured approached to capital punishment.
They search the castle and talk with the Jarlessa's personal aide who doesn't suspect treachery from his mistress.
What follows is important, but incredibly boring, so I'll just sum it up. They discover that a local orc chieftain may be in cahoots with the Jarlessa and they convince a caravan to just pack up and go and that they'll protect them.
This part was supposed to be a boss fight, but Inquisitor Vahe scored a crit on the first round and struck the chieftain down. They find a note with directions for a messenger on the back and no signature. They set up camp and are trying to figure out what to do.
Then these weird Dark Side creatures I found in the books possessed two of the four remaining. The two gunned down their buddies and then killed themselves. Campaign over.
Now they have broken up. Instead of a giant, unwieldy group of seven, I now have a concise party of four and it is wonderful. They decided to break up after the absurdity that was the last session of the Star Wars game so that they could maximize their ability to have fun.
Half decided to go play in another Star Wars game a friend of ours is running and the other half decided to play in my fantasy setting The Dual Throne.
The game starts following the Inquisitor Terrian Vahe as he looks to find the hired muscle the Kings Inquisition had hired to help him root out those that would aide the King's enemies as they amass at his borders. His Majesty's Inquisition is a secular force in the Kingdom of Damocles and they put their loyalty to the King beyond any deity.
They met up at a tavern. I couldn't think of anything that everyone would be welcome at...
They hunted down suspects and publicly behead them for there transgressions against the king. It was really quite the spectacle, I think Terrian enjoyed being able, nay encouraged, to cut loose and act like a bona fide crazy person and personally cut the heads off of nobles who betrayed their king. One such noble got away, in fact, she is the wife of one of the Governor-Generals (called "Jarls") of the Border Fortresses to the Eastern part of the Kingdom. She ended up catching wind about her compatriots disappearing and she skipped town back to her homebase, Roses. Her name is Lorena Bede.
She seduced the guard assigned to keep her in her room, tied him to a bedpost and took his uniform; she walked right out the front door without anyone noticing, stealing the nearest carriage and heading straight for home. The party berated the City Guard for their incompetence for a full five minutes and then left in a huff, racing to try and beat her to the fortress.
Random Encounter:
12 Orcs. All dead in five rounds, no casualties (well, one horse).
Really it's incredible what a well placed fireball can do.
Upon arrival to the castle they request that the Jarl Tull Bede grant them an audience so they can discuss his loyalty and his activities in these recent months. The Jarlessa Lorena Bede is there and joins them about halfway through the dinner, unflinching and playing the dutiful wife brilliantly and without so much as flinching at their presence.
Terrian knows that the Jarl is powerful and dangerous; angering him would not be the most intelligent thing possible, so he decides that simply accusing the Jarlessa of being a lying bitch at the dinner table would probably net them about a hundred musketballs right in the face. When he catches a lie he just smiles and nods, putting it on some mental checklist for later. It was an hour and a half of talking at the dinner table which I did not plan for. I did have notes on the pretty much everything they were asking and it was fairly easy to improv the whole thing, but it was just so civil. This is my "BLOOD AND GUTS AND BLOOD" group and even they were surprised at their focused and measured approached to capital punishment.
They search the castle and talk with the Jarlessa's personal aide who doesn't suspect treachery from his mistress.
What follows is important, but incredibly boring, so I'll just sum it up. They discover that a local orc chieftain may be in cahoots with the Jarlessa and they convince a caravan to just pack up and go and that they'll protect them.
This part was supposed to be a boss fight, but Inquisitor Vahe scored a crit on the first round and struck the chieftain down. They find a note with directions for a messenger on the back and no signature. They set up camp and are trying to figure out what to do.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Episode II: The Aimless Menace
In a move that startled me (and them a bit, I think) the party got their game on and did things that were both productive and Sith-like (they still don't have an overall goal yet and are sort of just wandering about looking for cool stuff to make them stronger).
I think it had to do with them having a decent combat very early on in the game and it sparked what little teamwork and brainstorming abilities they have as a group.
Sidenote: Honestly if you sat in on a typical game day with these people you would be surprised to learn that they are even friends (or that they know any words besides "faggot" and "Tyler is a faggot") so when they take it easy and do things that could be described "team-y" then you can look forward to them actually playing.
Well they get a job to negotiate with the enemy of Sloma the Hutt. Sloma wants this guy to be a subservient ally and the party is going to mediate this...
While the above image is something of a hyperbole; the party did open fire on the Bothan's rather numerous bodyguards and killed them all pretty quickly. They pretty much shot and killed *everyone* in the room except the gangster (who was now particularly willing to play ball).
See! That was the Sith-est of negotiations!
Next they decided to head to Korriban (the Sith homeworld of old) to search for artifacts that will increase their power. They do make it, but attract the suspicion of the Republic and a few Jedi Ambassadors on the local station that happened to be checking out the quarantine on the ancestral home of the most ancient enemy of the Jedi Order.
They lie through their teeth and convince the Jedi to help them dig through the Sith tombs, they do it without arousing the suspicion of the Republic (that they know of) and the Knights land, sensing the party's evil immediately upon coming within forty feet of them.
Combat ensues.
Everyone does pretty well here, though there are seven people ready to fight only three Jedi Knights, it is a difficult battle as each of the knights are close to double the level of any single party member. They take advantage of their superior numbers and swarm the Knights. Except Tigerman (known as Ranek from here onward).
He's pretty much left with no support whatsoever and, despite being alone against an opponent double his level, bests him in single combat. I didn't even roll poorly, per se, I rolled fairly average the whole time; Ranek rolled a few critical hits and I don't think below a fifteen at any point in the encounter. He deserves an acknowledgement: bravo sir.
The other two Jedi pretty much got annihilated and caused minimal hurt. Most of the damage was done to the resources of the party, I think two destiny points were burned (in case you don't know, destiny points are gamechangers they can negate attacks entirely, even critical hits, activate tremendously powerful effects on force powers, or allow you to autocrit; you can only receive them by pursuing and making a big step toward some preset destiny. That is to say, they're rare) and that is a resource they will have trouble getting back anytime soon.
Finally, they finish up the combat and make their way into the Sith Tomb. Preparing to brave the traps of Lords long dead and take whatever powerful items they might find there for themselves, to use them and conquer the hated Galactic Republic.
And that's what I'll be covering next time.
I think it had to do with them having a decent combat very early on in the game and it sparked what little teamwork and brainstorming abilities they have as a group.
Sidenote: Honestly if you sat in on a typical game day with these people you would be surprised to learn that they are even friends (or that they know any words besides "faggot" and "Tyler is a faggot") so when they take it easy and do things that could be described "team-y" then you can look forward to them actually playing.
Well they get a job to negotiate with the enemy of Sloma the Hutt. Sloma wants this guy to be a subservient ally and the party is going to mediate this...
 |
| Negotiations! |
 | |
| Fierce Negotiations! |
While the above image is something of a hyperbole; the party did open fire on the Bothan's rather numerous bodyguards and killed them all pretty quickly. They pretty much shot and killed *everyone* in the room except the gangster (who was now particularly willing to play ball).
See! That was the Sith-est of negotiations!
- Walk in and offer deal.
- Make sure tone is uninviting and borderline hostile.
- If they still don't shoot at you, threaten them.
- Laugh as you kill everyone in the room.
- Get your way anyway.
Next they decided to head to Korriban (the Sith homeworld of old) to search for artifacts that will increase their power. They do make it, but attract the suspicion of the Republic and a few Jedi Ambassadors on the local station that happened to be checking out the quarantine on the ancestral home of the most ancient enemy of the Jedi Order.
They lie through their teeth and convince the Jedi to help them dig through the Sith tombs, they do it without arousing the suspicion of the Republic (that they know of) and the Knights land, sensing the party's evil immediately upon coming within forty feet of them.
Combat ensues.
Everyone does pretty well here, though there are seven people ready to fight only three Jedi Knights, it is a difficult battle as each of the knights are close to double the level of any single party member. They take advantage of their superior numbers and swarm the Knights. Except Tigerman (known as Ranek from here onward).
He's pretty much left with no support whatsoever and, despite being alone against an opponent double his level, bests him in single combat. I didn't even roll poorly, per se, I rolled fairly average the whole time; Ranek rolled a few critical hits and I don't think below a fifteen at any point in the encounter. He deserves an acknowledgement: bravo sir.
The other two Jedi pretty much got annihilated and caused minimal hurt. Most of the damage was done to the resources of the party, I think two destiny points were burned (in case you don't know, destiny points are gamechangers they can negate attacks entirely, even critical hits, activate tremendously powerful effects on force powers, or allow you to autocrit; you can only receive them by pursuing and making a big step toward some preset destiny. That is to say, they're rare) and that is a resource they will have trouble getting back anytime soon.
Finally, they finish up the combat and make their way into the Sith Tomb. Preparing to brave the traps of Lords long dead and take whatever powerful items they might find there for themselves, to use them and conquer the hated Galactic Republic.
And that's what I'll be covering next time.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The game starts with a whimper
Last night was the first session of a brand new Star Wars game of my own design. The party are fallen Jedi who are training to become Sith Lords and forge a new Sith Empire the likes of which the galaxy has never seen.
I feel like everyone is going to either murder everyone else or they're just going to do absolutely nothing. They spent about twenty minutes deliberating on getting over a pit and then figuring out the best way to get through a wooden gate. When they found some other Sith Lords who were all "Get out, this is our turf." they came *this* close to just sheepishly accepting it and leaving the planet.
Eventually two of them just said "Screw it" and they charged in and the two Sith were dead in a round and a half. They are getting established and used to their new roles as the designated bad guys (even though they are more respectful and controlled as bad guys than they ever were as heroes).
Well they took the Sith's palace and their servants for their own base and flew off to another backwater planet to see if it was a better base of operations.
Mind you we are now three hours into the session and everyone can't stop arguing about what to do next to save their lives.
They finally land at the backwater and started asking around about who was in charge (so they could depose them...or something, they were never very clear).
A typical exchange:
"Who's in charge here?"
"A Hutt named Sloma."
"What do you know of Sloma the Hutt?"
"It's a Hutt..."
Repeat the above about five more times.
Session comes to a close.
One way or another, I have confidence that this group will end up doing something it just might take awhile.
 |
| Above: The entire session |
I feel like everyone is going to either murder everyone else or they're just going to do absolutely nothing. They spent about twenty minutes deliberating on getting over a pit and then figuring out the best way to get through a wooden gate. When they found some other Sith Lords who were all "Get out, this is our turf." they came *this* close to just sheepishly accepting it and leaving the planet.
Eventually two of them just said "Screw it" and they charged in and the two Sith were dead in a round and a half. They are getting established and used to their new roles as the designated bad guys (even though they are more respectful and controlled as bad guys than they ever were as heroes).
Well they took the Sith's palace and their servants for their own base and flew off to another backwater planet to see if it was a better base of operations.
Mind you we are now three hours into the session and everyone can't stop arguing about what to do next to save their lives.
They finally land at the backwater and started asking around about who was in charge (so they could depose them...or something, they were never very clear).
A typical exchange:
"Who's in charge here?"
"A Hutt named Sloma."
"What do you know of Sloma the Hutt?"
"It's a Hutt..."
Repeat the above about five more times.
Session comes to a close.
One way or another, I have confidence that this group will end up doing something it just might take awhile.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Endings and Beginnings
Tuesday night we finished the module we were running about four weeks earlier than we were supposed to because apparently we had skipped just about every important thing that it was possible to skip. It boiled down to a tower defense scenario where we were defending the city from the evil hobgoblin army and we were holding one of the main streets from the invading horde and trying our hardest to save the city from complete burnification. Well we made it to the last wave and were promptly murdered by rampaging undead, two of us killed outright and one sniped off the roof whilst in retreat.
My cleric was unable to climb, fly, run particularly fast, or dispel the wall of thorns blocking his escape down the street. I remembered that we were, in fact, holding a city street and assumed that there had to be doors to the buildings towering over me; I was correct, bashing down a door and staying in the cover of the structures as I made my speedy withdrawal from the conflict. The only other party member to make it out of the city with his life was the bard.
So in a fashion, I won; the city, however, was burned to the ground.
With this campaign wrapped up, I'll finally be running a Star Wars Sagas game on Tuesday nights now. The characters submitted have undergone name changes to things more appropriate and belonging in the setting. I currently await a few more so I can really get cracking on a more detailed plotline.
They've been trying to hammer out the details of how their characters all know eachother but for the most part they decided to go with originally being apprentices to Jedi Masters who were all sent on a mission together in the Unknown Regions (not sure exactly what the mission was but we'll get there) and ended up finding a Sith Holocron; unaware of what they had, they brought it with them on the return trip where it was accidentally activated and began to teach them techniques not of the Jedi Order. Finally, they decided they wanted to pursue the training that the holocron offered; feeling that their masters were entirely dishonest and were holding them back from what Force could give them.
My cleric was unable to climb, fly, run particularly fast, or dispel the wall of thorns blocking his escape down the street. I remembered that we were, in fact, holding a city street and assumed that there had to be doors to the buildings towering over me; I was correct, bashing down a door and staying in the cover of the structures as I made my speedy withdrawal from the conflict. The only other party member to make it out of the city with his life was the bard.
So in a fashion, I won; the city, however, was burned to the ground.
With this campaign wrapped up, I'll finally be running a Star Wars Sagas game on Tuesday nights now. The characters submitted have undergone name changes to things more appropriate and belonging in the setting. I currently await a few more so I can really get cracking on a more detailed plotline.
They've been trying to hammer out the details of how their characters all know eachother but for the most part they decided to go with originally being apprentices to Jedi Masters who were all sent on a mission together in the Unknown Regions (not sure exactly what the mission was but we'll get there) and ended up finding a Sith Holocron; unaware of what they had, they brought it with them on the return trip where it was accidentally activated and began to teach them techniques not of the Jedi Order. Finally, they decided they wanted to pursue the training that the holocron offered; feeling that their masters were entirely dishonest and were holding them back from what Force could give them.
Friday, July 8, 2011
General update of me and my gaming life so far:
So my cleric I've been playing has reignited my love of character creation and the game in general. Merrik Inniel has become quite powerful in just a few short sessions. The little scamp.
He's finally pulling his own weight in ways beyond "band-aids for the party boo-boos" and manages to kill things every now and again.
Unfortunately though, the module we've been playing is closing down and I'll be turning my hand to game creation once again. I will be running a Star Wars Sagas game for my buddies and I'm glad to do it. My games were my creative muse; they kept my thoughts fresh and flowing. I'm terribly excited to get back in the saddle and make a storyline go.
I'm preparing to take a few days and study the crap out of the core books for the system and brush up on my Star Wars history so that I can avoid my players pulling a fast one on me and getting something absurd early on because they were clever bastards and I gave them what they wanted out of sheer confusion.
The wiki related to that particular campaign is under construction and will be up and running ASAP.
So I guess I'll take some time to lay out what I got as far as plotlines go:
The party is Sith Lords and allies of the Sith Empire in the time of the Old Republic, a few decades or so after the Knights of the Old Republic games (if you're familiar with them).
That's all I got for now. I'm letting my players figure out their backstories before I go and design a story too detailed and end up derailing any interesting character histories they had thought up.
Plus it lets me design a plot centered entirely around them from the get go, no matter what their party consists of exactly the story will be ready for them, come what may.
Oh and so far two of them finished their characters: Nicholas Rage and Nicholas Mage.
Oh yes, this is going to be fun. I can tell.
He's finally pulling his own weight in ways beyond "band-aids for the party boo-boos" and manages to kill things every now and again.
Unfortunately though, the module we've been playing is closing down and I'll be turning my hand to game creation once again. I will be running a Star Wars Sagas game for my buddies and I'm glad to do it. My games were my creative muse; they kept my thoughts fresh and flowing. I'm terribly excited to get back in the saddle and make a storyline go.
I'm preparing to take a few days and study the crap out of the core books for the system and brush up on my Star Wars history so that I can avoid my players pulling a fast one on me and getting something absurd early on because they were clever bastards and I gave them what they wanted out of sheer confusion.
The wiki related to that particular campaign is under construction and will be up and running ASAP.
So I guess I'll take some time to lay out what I got as far as plotlines go:
The party is Sith Lords and allies of the Sith Empire in the time of the Old Republic, a few decades or so after the Knights of the Old Republic games (if you're familiar with them).
That's all I got for now. I'm letting my players figure out their backstories before I go and design a story too detailed and end up derailing any interesting character histories they had thought up.
Plus it lets me design a plot centered entirely around them from the get go, no matter what their party consists of exactly the story will be ready for them, come what may.
Oh and so far two of them finished their characters: Nicholas Rage and Nicholas Mage.
Oh yes, this is going to be fun. I can tell.
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