I've reached out to Espatier again.

I'll move us forward in the next few days if Giddy doesn't post.

I've been waiting for Espatier to post. He's told me he would. 

I'll reach out to him again and if he doesn't take the opportunity soon, I'll move the game forward.

Time must flow differently on the East Coast.

Now we're just gettin' cray-cray.

Maybe it should be boo hoo.

Boo! 

Still waiting...

@ the radio comment!

Excellent! I thought maybe the Man had caught up with you.

Still looking for a post from Espatier and Keeper as well as any additional input on Bloodbank's plan from other characters.

Looking for a post from Giddy and then I'll move us along.

So... still not seeing an update. *Cracks the whip.*

NO!  

Giddy has family visiting him for the week. I don't know how much time he'll have to reply. Just an FYI.

WRENCH!

"I thank you for your extremely loud knocking, woodsman," Alyrëa says to Lanur in mock gratitude when she sees him. "If not for you, I may never have gotten ready in time to accompany you all to the jailhouse."

Lanur stares coldly at the woman, easily picking up on the bite of her words. His stare is but for a brief moment as he quickly puts her discomfort out of his mind and sets on about his wake-up call.

The Innkeep arrives just as Alyrëa shuts her door and a third door opens allowing Boz to step out, his scarred chest bare and him clutching a club. 

"You!" The Innkeep hisses. "That is it! You've overstayed your welcome, man. You will leave this building immediately! Harassing poor Mistress Velalin, disturbing my patrons! I will have no more of your... your... disruptive behavior! Boz!"

With a grunt, Boz stepped towards Lanur clutching his club tightly and cautiously eyeing the woodsman. "Now let's 'ave no trouble. Nice and easy." He directed in his gravely, low voice.

The woodsman raises his brows and hauls off a cocky half-grin. "Yer pettycoats be showing," he drawls at the innkeep, ignoring the hulking muscle. "Nothing to worry 'bout, though. I'm on my way as it is. One night in a stable is 'nuff for me."

Flanked by a half-naked Boz and the heavy breathing, grumbling Master Masteon, Lanur is directed down the stairs into the still deserted common room. It is a strange trio that Dane observes march down the stairs, weave between the tables, and out the front door. Lanur glances towards the man but for all intents and purposes, does not appear to recognize him.

"And don't think of sticking your dirty head back in here again, or Boz will show you what for!" Master Masteon declares as the door slams shut behind Lanur and Boz.

Stepping further from the Gleeman's Abode, Lanur stretches and breathes the cold air in deeply. Smiling broadly, he turns to Boz and points in the direction that the soldiers had gone the day before. "Jail?" 

Receiving a sullen shrug from the bouncer, the woodsman turns in that direction and strides off, whistling a light tune, eyes scanning the horizon. Spotting a woman splashing the morning's waste into the street, Lanur Dinar wrinkles his nose at the odor and repeats his question. "Jailhouse?" Receiving directions, he continues on his way.

As he walks, the grizzled man notices that as far as cities go, Maeldon is a decent enough place. Not nearly as glamorous as the Ogre built cities of Caemlyn's Upper City or Tar Valon, but still respectable, the gray stone has likely been hauled in from the Mountains of Mist and made stout foundations upon which strong wooden beams sit, holding up steep sloping roofs of brown slated shingles two, three, and even occasionally four stories high. The brown wood of the structural beams stands out starkly against the whitewashed walls and the brightly painted signs denoting cobblers, tailors, and blacksmiths among the many other trades. Dinur has little use for cities. He'll occasionally bring in furs for trade and purchase some of the better-made gear and clothing for his next long journey in the wilderness, but aside from that he finds people irritating, political, and less worth his time than leeches feasting on his leg after a jaunt in the swamp.

Approximately a quarter of an hour walking from the Gleeman's Abode and the wild man finds what can only be the jailhouse. A long flat building, easily identifiable when compared to the sharp sloping roofs of the buildings surrounding it with a barracks connected to the right side. There, he spies a small group of off-duty guardsmen, some wearing the armor and blue armband with the White Rose sewn that he recognizes from his encounter with the city guard yesterday. Continuing to stroll past, Lanur places the guard standing rigidly beside the door outside of the Jailhouse, hand resting on the pommel of his sword which is in turn, belted to his waist, angling the blade to slant behind him. Pretending not to notice, the fur draped scruffy man procedes past, still whistling. Once he's achieved a position on the street that affords him the opportunity to round a corner and place him out of site of the guards, Lanur does so, taking in the layout of the new street, searching for an alley or place from which he can set up surveillance. Watching does not always reveal valuable information, but the woodsman has found such actions to be beneficial in most cases.

After a time, Lanur Dinar notices the approach of the strange little wolfpack. He's now placed the jailhouse and those people are moving inside. The next step is to determine the position, and potentially the disposition, of the White Cloaks. Light take them! Sinking away from any proximity to the jailhouse, Lanur turns and seeks out a means by which he can gain directions to the White Cloak encampment.

We are planetside as soon as Jenna lands the WaveRider. Once the WaveRider lands, standard security protocol will come into effect. Stark and his man will exit the shuttle first, but only after a clear sensor sweep indicates that there's no danger about (will it?). Once the security team has established a parameter, the rest of the team will exit the shuttle. 

Science and Engineering will immediately begin setting up sensor extender pylons in an effort to break the atmospheric interference for the Carver. Once this is done, Science will begin taking readings, samples of the earth crust, flora, etc. 

Engineering will move on to making a full diagnostics of the WaveRider along with Falcone to see what kind of damage, if any, their flight has resulted in. What will they find... hmmm?

Meanwhile, Cole will lead the rest of the Away Team about the area that the shuttle landed on doing a little exploration. 

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42269.8 )
WaveRider Shuttle - Rho Puppis I Uppermost Atmosphere - 1149 Alpha Shift

"If Mister Siric's readings are correct, and I have no reason to think that they are not, then we will breach the inner atmosphere in less than five minutes." She paused. "That is, if I understood correctly?" She returned her gaze to the control panels, taking comfort in something that she actually knew.

"You have not, Mister Falcone," Cole replies calmly, eyeing the panels in front of her from over her shoulder. "Takes us to the surface. We've at least figured out a way to temporarily reduce the effects of the power drain. I'll let the science teams on the Carver work their magic to figure out the rest. Good work, people."

Strangely, the closer to the surface that the shuttle progresses, the less dense the existence of the microbial creatures. By the time the WaveRider enters the Troposphere, there appears to be none at all. 

Peering through the viewport, Cmdr. Cole takes in the alien landscape with a set jaw and a slight frown on his face. The surface of Rho Puppis I is a jagged mess of cutting cliffs and sharp protrusions of crystal. Plantlife has flourished in a number of areas but everywhere there are pinnacles of knife-like minerals slicing through the sky and complicated canyons creating mazes of deep unknowns across the landscape.

"Water, flora, fauna..." Sari Uhnari reports, "It's all here. The air is breathable as well, though thin at this altitude. Gravity is a little lighter than we're used to. Unless we're spending months on the surface, we shouldn't expect any ill effects."

"Find a place to set down, Mister Falcone," Max orders. "I'd like as much room to move about as possible, please."

Have we stalled out again?

Excellent. Looking for posts from Espatier and Keeper. Also, Nomad, to clarify, the woman you all are looking for isn't there. There's an old woman at that address named Marta. 

Giddy has proposed a plan of action through Bloodbank and outlined it again here. Looking forward to your posts.

Still looking for posts... Where did everyone go?

Consciousness pervades the surreal and a realization of the darkness encompassing him strikes like a hammer to the anvil; sharp and startling. Sitting bolt upright, sword half unsheathed before fully aware, Lanur Dinas finds himself alone in his rented bedchamber, nearly naked, his hair caught up in his beard and a feral look prevalent in his unsettling eyes. Recognition dawns, cascading through his mind first as a gentle snowfall and then an avalanche reminding him of his condition and surroundings. 

"The Wheel take me," he grumbles, sheathing his blade fully and casting the scratchy blanket aside. "Once in a great while I sleep indoors and cannot fathom how people desire to do so on a regular basis."

Glancing towards the window, he registers the approximate time of morning by the fact that there's a small sliver of gray on the horizon but the rest of the sky is still dark. Living in the wilderness has taught the large man the value of stepping lightly and moving with as little noise as possible. This lesson has taken root so deeply in his being that even in the "safety" of a civilized society, he moves like a mountain cat as he dresses. Retrieving his belt knife, he sits on the edge of the bed and gently scrapes the dried stew from his furs and clothing. He is patient and calculating in his efforts so not to damage anything and when he finishes with his laundry, the rough man cleans his blade before returning it to the leather sheath from whence it was produced. 

Quietly moving the furniture back to its original place, he then shoulders his gear and steps out into the dark hall. Leave this Light-blasted place and return to the solace of the wilds, you fool. Turning his gaze to and fro in the hall, he considers the willingness of the strangers he had met the night before to throw in together in the effort to assist the fiery old woman. Strange pack of wolves... their pelts will likely rest before a fireplace before their quest is over. Let them be. The Whitecloaks aren't to be trifled with and Aes Sedai are just as bad. Images of the poor girl being manhandled and Mistress Velalin being struck down along her garden path flow back into his thoughts as assuredly as the spring rains bring flooding. Closing his eyes and allowing his head to loll backwards for a moment, Lanur curses the good nature the Wheel has bestowed upon him and breaks free of the traps his mind is setting for his conscious. 

"Fine then," he grumbles, searching along the hallway to count out the doors. He hadn't registered any others who might be setting themselves up in the Gleeman's Abode but those who had already determined to assist the old woman in her plight, so he cared not about the consequences of his actions. He can already hear the rustling about of the Inn's staff as they prepared for the day and as an early riser himself, time is of the essence. Striding to the furthest away door, he pounds upon it with his closed fist. 

"The day escapes us," he bellows, moving on to the next door and repeating the pounding. "If you wish to spare the youngling the headsman's ax, we best be about it." The next door receives the same treatment, and the next, and the next, until all have been thunderously beaten.

Gliding down the stairs, the woodsman places himself in front of the kitchen door and declares, "I'm hungry and ready to eat. The others that came here yester eve will likely also be ready to eat." 

That being said, he picks out a table from which he can eyeball the whole of the dining area and at which angle his back is completely protected. Depositing his gear to his side, he awaits the others. Strange pack of wolves we'll make.

I have a post in mind for the morning. *EVIL GRIN*

And I have posted it.

But, depending on the style it can be called many different things.