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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: You are correct, sir!

If you click on your character token you'll have a bunch of roll options appear at the top of the screen. You'll just have to click on the Cutlass (or whatever the weapon is) and it will prompt you for a modifier. You don't need to put on in unless I tell you because the algorithms I set up already account for both current modifiers, skills, and exploding 10's. It will prompt you to click on the token you're directing the attack at and once you do, it will present the results of your rolls in the Chat. Keep in mind your MOVE when you place your token in range of the attack.

Posted on 2018-01-03 at 16:15:06.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Excellentay... That's Italian for Huzzah!

So, looks like Eol and I get to use for some combat!

This is how we'll work through the combat, Eol, my friend. We shall use the chat feature in roll20. I've set up the map and added the tokens. You'll have control of your token and we'll go turn by turn. I'll leave instructions in the chat and every roll you make you need to clarify to me what the roll was for, or how Fin is attempting to conclude the action. That way, when I write up the combat, I can include your flare.

FYI - I rolled initiatives already and Fin is first (exploding 10... Excellenaty!)

Posted on 2018-01-03 at 15:18:09.
Edited on 2018-01-03 at 15:43:12 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Thanks for your patience...

I hope everyone had a wonderful Holiday Season and Happy New Year!

I've moved the story along. Altaira, hopefully you return. That fight was quick and sudden, but Maggie now has a bit of a situation on her hands.

Goncalvo seems to have been "marked," Fin has a decision to make concerning his "honor," and the only one who seems to have made some positive progress is Cracker.

Looking forward to the next round of posts.

Posted on 2018-01-01 at 21:30:29.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:40 P.M.; Beach

Goncalvo is enjoying the attention lavished upon him by the woman. There was no doubt that she is well versed in certain "skills". Despite her ministrations, he is able to catch a glimpse of the ones who lurk in the alley running to get ahead of them obviously set on arriving at the inn before the newly acquainted couple. Reaching down he removes a shoe and makes a show of removing a stone, but in fact, he simply wants to give the others a larger head start. Replacing his shoe, he places his hand on the lady's arm and steers her in the direction of the launch.

"Come quickly," he instructs. "I have no desire to meet those men and can provide a safe shelter for you if you wish. Move quickly if you agree or we part ways now."

Pulling away, the petite woman furrows her brow, "What are you saying? You'll protect me? Forever? On board a ship filled with sailors? Or what? Put me up as your mistress in your wife's home?" Spitting at Goncalvo's feet, she sneers. "My fairy tale knight on a white horse?"

Stepping back, she points at him, "We will watch for you, White Knight. We will watch for you."

Spinning, she runs back towards the city, her ragged skirts flying out behind her as she holds them up above her knees.

(OOC: Next move,)

(OOC: Time is roughly 5:42 PM)


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:01 P.M..; The Rub of Del Monte

This is Kidane in all of his brutal glory.

"Hm," Crowe murmurs (or, perhaps, growls) around a mouthful of sop-bread as he assesses the shark-eyed African, Th' more things change, he muses, not for the first time today, as he swallows that last morsel and pushes the plate away, As he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, memories of beatings he had suffered at Kidane's hands when he was a boy flood through Fin; every scar and fracture left by the man veritable burned with recollection, stoking the coals of his festering, deep-seeded hatred for Temesgen Kidane into a roaring furnace,

Bare chested with a bandolier being the only accouterment to break up the sleekness of his sweaty black skin, Kidane wears a pair of dark brown wool pants tucked into knee-high Oriental boots of sand-colored cloth. A large dirk rests on his right hip while a heavy cutlass hangs from his left. There are two flintlock pistols sheathed in the bandolier at his chest and another knife in his right boot. Aside from the huge ivory gauges in his ears, and two oversized gold rings, he wears no other decoration.

Kidane is not alone. Pausing only to expertly assess the situation on the balcony, LeRoux's right hand man immediately strides towards Fin's table while his five fellows hang back a little.

,As he gets to his feet, Crowe's arm falls away from his mouth to reveal what might be described as an almost predatory smile. His other hand pulls a pistol from his sash and, as he reaches his full height, he thumbs back the lock, extends his arm, and aims the weapon purposefully between the black man's eyes. "Tha'll be far enough, ye poxy f**k," he rumbles past a savagely calm sneer.

Kidane's upper lip curls away in a feral snarl and with a jarring step he halts.

"Scuttlebutt has it yer lookin' ta kill me, Kidane," Fin continues, his storm-hued gaze ticks meaningfully to the African's cronies, "Don' think ye c'n do it yerself, then?"

"Yer death be somet'ing we've all been lookin' forward to, Crowe," Kidane growls, "but it is I who will kill you this day, or are you such a coward that you dare not face me as a man?" Slowly, methodically, as if to drive a point home, Temesgen Kidane places his right hand on the hilt of his saber.

(OOC: Fin's choice,)

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:03 PM.)

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:44 P.M.

"Be a good lass," the soldier shoulders his rifle and steps forward with his left hand outstretched. "An' give me over those blades and pistol, huh?"

"Aye," Maggie smiles thinly, "Here be my weapons."

Smooth like silk sheets, Hellfire Maggie Cole draws her pistol, levels it at the soldier, and fires. Shock washes the man's sweaty and dirty features upon realizing that he's been shot. But Maggie isn't waiting to see the results. Lips thinning and using the element of surprise she's managed, Maggie grips her right-sided shortsword with her left hand, takes a step forward and in another fluid motion, unsheathes her sword and slashes across the gentleman's chest.

Ashen faced, the soldier blinks and looks down at his left arm where it dangles uselessly on a few strands of meat while draining blood onto the sand around his boot. He has just a moment, perhaps even half another blink of his eyes, before the realization of his injury registers and the strength in his legs gives out. Collapsing into the bloody mud, the soldier's face splashes in his own fluids.

A high pitched scream emits from the fop's mouth. Wide-eyed, he stumbles away from the dangerous woman and, unable to keep his footing in the sand, falls to his buttocks and momentum carries him right onto his tails and back.

Advancing menacingly, Hellfire Maggie sniffs, "Should'a left me the [email protected]^^ alone." As he scrambles backward, his blood flowing from his chest wound, the pirate lady drops to her left knee.

"P-p-p-p-please, no," the dandy stammers, tears seeping from his eyes.

Placing the tip of her sword against stomach, Maggie looks him in the eyes and presses into his abdomen. "I #$%[email protected]# hate when ^%&#%[email protected] @#*&^%$## like you think tha' jus' because I'm a woman, I can't %$^[email protected]$* kill ya."

Gasping in pain, all the city official can do is watch as her blade slides deeper and deeper into his belly until it protrudes from his back. Coughing up blood, he is barely able to keep his head upright and his eyes drift from his mortal wound to the woman feeding his belly two feet of steel. Maggie is unclear whether he actually realizes his mistake as the light fades from his eyes and his head lolls to the side.

Yanking her sword free, Hellfire Maggie Cole looks up from behind the strands of red hair caught on the sweat of her brow and cheek. The shot is likely what drew the attention of the crowd, the girlish scream of the soon to be dead aristocrat could have filled it out, and now the Dog's first mate finds herself the subject of many different eyes and a realization strikes her. Oh %^#^, she finds herself thinking. Anna isn't gonna like this.

(OOC: Time is approximately 1:45 PM.)

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:35 P.M.

"Barkeep!" Fulvio hiccups. "Another!"

Cracker allows the other to lean back quietly without pressing since he clearly wants to do so. After drinking a little (while seeming to drink a lot) Cracker stumbles out the words, "I needs be goin' for now." He stands from his stool at the bar and in so doing, steps around the man in the middle. He flips a coin on the bar and says, "Have one on me boys. I 'preciate the company." Glancing towards the one who had spoken, who is well into his cups, he asks quietly, "Where?"

"Huh?" The long-faced individual looks around with bleary eyes and states in a too loud voice, "What? Oh. Yes. Ol' Gory Tremane—He don' like t' go too far from the Minnow. He'll mos' like be in a tavern near the ship."

Cracker nods slightly to the man who had spoken. While the boatswain's intent had been for the whole conversation to take place behind the back of the other sailor, the volume of the other's response countered his efforts. Curly glares at his companion and then tosses Cracker an unreadable stare before turning back to his relaxation.

William lifts his mug one more time and offers a quiet, "To the sea!" cheer to them both. Finishing his drink, he heads out of the tavern and back towards the place he is to meet the First Mate, wondering about the usefulness of what he has learned.

(OOC: Time is approximately 1:40 PM.)

Posted on 2018-01-01 at 21:28:04.

Topic: Merry Christmas to the Inn + Innmates
Subject: This...

Hear! Hear!

Posted on 2017-12-28 at 22:35:33.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: The Streets | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 2:30 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Wind whips coats about and sends stinging, ice cold rain into the party's exposed skin. With the air quality warning in effect, combat masks and air filters are affixed the moment the edgerunners exit Hightower's and make their way down the stairs to the street level.

Pushing through the door, Vegas leads, confident and full of his usual attitude. Carried upon the winds and accenting the biting rain are angry voices just off to the right. Vegas glances that way but then tugs his long coat about him and turns to the left, striding towards the nearest bus stop.

Casino is next through the door and his attention is also drawn by the noise. Crowds are not uncommon, especially in the business sectors of the City, but this one is not moving. This crowd is gathered and seem to centralize their attention on whatever or whomever is in the center. Fists shoot into the air and foul language is draped across the mob like Holiday ornaments on a tree, but for the life of him, the rugged solo cannot see what has their attention.

"If we take the Five, we'll go straight past a iQuality Outlet," Fixer almost runs into the solo's back as he follows the pair of gunmen through the door with his eyes glued to his agent. Stepping to Casino's left, he narrowly avoids the collision and looks up a bit irritatedly to find out what all the ruckus is about. Peering through the slivers between his lashes and the dark lenses of his mirrorshades, the techie surveys the crowd and shakes his head in disgust. "Seen this sh*t before," he mutters. "Nothing good comes of it."

"What's going on?" Bloodbank asks innocently while staring at the frothing gathering.

Echo follows Bloodbank out of the door, stops and looks at the angry crowd, and gives an involuntary shudder she hopes no one has seen. She doesn't like crowds much, much less angry ones. She adjusts her coat to protect against the stinging rain and hopes they're headed opposite of the crowd. She exhales a sigh of relief when Casino turns to them.

With a quick glance at Vegas' back, Casino turns to the rest, "Whatever it is, it's none of our concern, so let's just keep walking."

Nodding agreement, Echo follows Casino quickly putting as much distance between her and the crowd as possible. She silently hoped this stakeout would give some information as to the whereabouts of the kid. The city may have been her life once, but it is no longer. All she wants is to find the kid, preferably alive, get paid, and clear her name. Everything else is gravy. The less time she spends in the city, the better.

Though Ghlahn sees the commotion, he can care less about the cause of it. So long as it isn't a member of his Altcult in the center of it, and the angry mob isn't angry with them, he's just as content to move along as the rest of the party seem to be.

"There's a bus stop just around the corner," Vegas glances back over his shoulder. "We'll catch the Five there. We've got about twenty-minutes until it arrives."

For a moment the rain lessens. Overhead, an advertising dirigible blares it's message as the holographic image of celebrity Evan Poole holds up a new bracer mod. I've found myself in many situations where I could have used this. Trust me when I say, you'll not regret adding this sweet mod by Trauma Team, Inc. to your toolkit. Another voice takes over, The Constant Life Stream splice connects directly to your neural net and sends a perpetual feed of your vitals straight to your agent. From there, the Trauma Team app receives the data and as soon as your vitals elevate, your Trauma Team specialists are notified and placed at the ready. The splice is smart enough to learn your exercise rhythms so as not to mistake your everyday routine for danger eliminating 78.5% of all false alarms! Smiling, Evan Poole tilts his head and looks admonishingly at the carbon based life forms below. Trust me. It's worth the money.

Durable and made of clear strengthened plex-glass, the bus stop consists of a covered waiting area that allows the occupants relief from the weather. Open only on the front face, the construct plays a constant stream of advertising across the lower panels while presenting bus delays and schedules in the clear upper panels with a live feed of the city map and small green blips representing the location of each bus.

Currently full, waiting travelers pill out from the protected confines of the three sided den and mill about in the rain. Various designer styles stand out amongst those who are less thrifty, but most people wear Wall-to-Wall Mart or On Target brands. No matter the attire, all wear their protective air filtration masks, and only a few of these aren't designer colors, fitted with LED lighting of various colors, or sculpted in geometric shapes and masks depicting cartoon characters of popular imagery. Air and more traditional umbrellas fight to keep their owners dry in an exhausting battle against the elements, some with more LED lights spilling down over the user and casting them in dramatic hues.

Gathering up near the back of the crowd, the edgerunners stuff hands in pockets and hunch shoulders in a futile attempt to keep the acidic rains from pouring down their collars and seeping through their clothing. Five minutes into the wait and Vegas motions everyone close.

"I've just heard from Starlight," he says in a low tone barely perceptible above the roaring engines of passing traffic, coughing human beings, and rainfall. Those with the enhanced audio cybernetics are grateful for the enhancement as he looks up from his phone and meets their eyes. "Starlight is about to undergo surgery. She's opted for a proxy to join us on this run. A vetted chap by the name of Cred Stick Charlie, it would seem. Her message states that he'll be contacting us to meet up and that he's her eyes and ears on this gig. I don't think she's too happy with this performance, gatos."

(OOC: Responses as you feel the need.)

Just then, Vegas' agent bleeps and draws his attention back to the screen. "That's this Cred Stick Charlie," he confirms. "Wants to know where to meet up."

"Can he meet us at the iQuality Outlet?" Bloodbank asks from behind the cracked skull combat mask he wears.

"I'll find out," Vegas replies through his skinmask. Typing a reply, he waits. Shortly thereafter, he looks up. "If the bus stays on schedule we'd have to wait for about a half-hour at the outlet for him to meet us. Any reason we shouldn't? Seeing we don't have the lay of the land at the mallplex yet, it'll be the easiest place to team up."

(OOC: Thoughts?)

With the plan in hand, the time comes to purchase tickets. The cost is $8 NCDs per person (OOC: Please update your character sheets) and with tickets in hand the group crowds onto the bus once it arrives.

Warm, odorous, crammed in like sardines, this is certainly not the most glamorous way to travel. People are careful not to meet the eyes of the obviously armed Edgers. There's no hiding the long Nomad .44s and when pressed up against, handguns and submachine guns have a recognizable feel. Long past are the times when people report every weapon carrying Edgerunner to the police. It usually takes a firefight breaking out to do so these days. All the same, the layman remains uncomfortable around armed individuals and their level of anxiety adds to the tension of the trip.

iQuality resides in a two level storefront location with two separate street level entrances; one at each end of the wide windows displaying digital, projected ads of store specials. Security consists of a Samurai construct at each door, just inside but readily visible. These spectacular silver warriors mean that iQuality has employed at least one wardriver to watch out against thieves and vandals. Additional security is likely present, but hidden from immediate view.

"I've told Cred Stick Charlie to meet us at the communications department," Vegas states dryly as he adjusts his coat against the weather's onslaught as the group departs the bus. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is paying too close attention to them from the city transport, he motions towards the store with a sweeping gesture. "Shall we?"

Bright white LED lights illuminate the interior with ferocious unforgiving detail. Aisle height is only five feet leaving plenty of room for the security cameras (both visible and hidden) to see down each row with a watchful eye. Autofacs line the outermost walls allowing individuals to purchase customized materials and goods, but the pre packed, generic items are all available down the aisles. In the middle of the store, a pair of escalators take people up to and down from the second floor. Payment is made through scanning items with your agent, or utilizing the credchip readers at the head of each aisle.

Arriving at the communications aisle, the team waits for Fixer to gather the components he needs to resolve their communications issues, and the arrival of Cred Stick Charlie.

(OOC: I'm leaving the introduction of Luther open so Espatier can write out his descriptions, etc Cred Stick Charlie will arrive at roughly 4:10 PM. Nomad, I'll send you a PM with options for the communications solution and you can play out how you want to handle it in your post.)

(OOC : Time is 3:40 PM)

Posted on 2017-12-28 at 17:22:58.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: As do I...

Looking forward to the post.

Posted on 2017-12-22 at 12:30:41.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Thank you!

All right, I appreciate the posts. As I already posted for Fixer coming out the door, I won't expect a follow-up post from Nomad (you're welcome to if you want, though), Espatier will also wait for my next post (most likely, as I'll be introducing his character in it), which leaves Keeper being the only one who hasn't posted a continuance.

Seeing how Christmas and New Years is just around the corner, please let me know if you'd rather wait until after the Holidays to continue or if you'd like to just move forward.

Posted on 2017-12-22 at 12:29:49.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I've not heard from her...

I've reached out every way I can, so I'll be moving the game forward without her input.

Posted on 2017-12-22 at 10:38:34.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: We're a friendly group of Meatbags...

You'll have the support you need and I, too, hope this will be a righteous experience for you.

Posted on 2017-12-14 at 11:08:09.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Righteous.

And groovy.

Posted on 2017-12-14 at 11:06:31.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: AWOL

Altaira seems to have gone and dropped herself off the face of the earth for the time being. I've reached out to her for my games through PMs on two sites. Time to send an email, I think.

Posted on 2017-12-13 at 14:18:21.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: If Wyatt were in a playful mood...

He'd reply, "Are you talking to me? Do I know you?"

Posted on 2017-12-12 at 17:38:43.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Awesome!

OK... Nomad, check your PM. I sent you a lengthy message about Fixer. I think the only thing I left out was what he focuses on. Think of him as the dystopian Scotty from Star Trek as far as his function in the group is concerned.

Espatier, I also sent you a PM. We can continue working out the details of your character sheet, but in the meantime, you're free to post. I've also sent you an invitation to roll20.

I once spent a couple of weeks on tour traveling the U.S. promoting a game that the company I worked for developed. Got to visit multiple game shops in each state. I purchased every CyberPunk book I could get my hands on. Had lunch with Mike Pondsmith at a convention and talked with him about the game as well. Though I love what he did with it, I've made plenty of house rules and adjustments, so be aware. If you have questions, just ask.

Tann, that's awesome. Glad you got things fixed. Now, do yourself a favor and use Google Drive.

Now, as for the game's progress... I've got a post from Tann but need one from the rest of you!

Posted on 2017-12-12 at 17:29:48.

Topic: Cyberpunk - Flesh & Blood Recruitment
Subject: All right, then...

For the time being, recruiting is closed. Got the players I need to keep the game going.

Posted on 2017-12-12 at 17:28:43.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I have received it!

And responded! Sorry for the delay there. I've added both you and Nomad D2 to the game. Nomad will be taking over Fixer and Espatier will be joining with one of his characters from a game he never got to play. I'll work that character in when Espatier is ready.

Posted on 2017-12-06 at 18:54:06.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I completely understand...

Just waiting on a post from Altaira and we can continue.

Posted on 2017-12-06 at 18:47:59.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Eol...

Did ya forget Wyatt? Or are you assuming all of this takes place before Wyatt approaches the bar? Either way, I'm good.

Posted on 2017-12-06 at 18:44:38.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I done added my own bit...

Just a little bit.

Posted on 2017-11-29 at 16:34:48.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Day 1, Whitefall - Necessity, "The Slaughterhouse", 8:20 PM PT

Interesting, Wyatt ponders while returning his eyes to the terrible hand he holds. Sam's comin' across as the business end o' the crew... The thought amuses Captain Sung more than he would ever publicly admit. Shifting his steely gaze from the cards to the pot, the half-Asian gives his head a slow shake and places the twos face down on the table.

"Fold." Glancing over his shoulder he adds, "Gonna go see what drink 's available. If'n y'all will excuse me the luxury."

(OOC: Assuming no objections.)

Rising from the table, Wyatt adjusts the resting position of his hat to a more approachable backward slant and strolls over to the bar. Placing himself at Sam's back and thus putting the pilot between himself and Saul Potter, Sung casually pretends not to have overheard any part of their conversation.

"Lager," Wyatt drawls while secretly determining not to succumb to the growing desires for the crisp brew. The need for the drink is an act to put him close enough to the conversation going on between Sam and Saul in case the latter wishes to involve him. No matter how good she looks, Sung assures his inner voices, I won't be drinkin' her.

Posted on 2017-11-29 at 16:34:01.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Hmmm... choices...


Posted on 2017-11-29 at 15:22:03.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Amen!

And you can install the Google Drive app on your computer and work offline if you want. It will automatically sync documents once you go back online.

With Google Drive I can work on my laptop or my phone, or borrow a friend's computer if I left mine and have time to write something. I've found very little reason to use Word anymore. Although, I did have to upgrade my Drive Storage as it also counts your pictures and video storage on Google Photos or Picaso against you. But even that was $1.99 per month for a huge increase.

Oh! And then I opened a new Google account for bromern.sal and gained another Drive from which I manage all of my gaming. In reality, I have a work account, a personal account, and a gaming account now. And, Google allows me to switch between them rather seamlessly.

Love the service! Enough of my plugging their services... game on!

Posted on 2017-11-29 at 14:13:25.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Roger that!

I've answered all PMs I have and am looking forward to the posts.

Posted on 2017-11-29 at 14:08:35.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: All right!

I've posted, so to SAIL!

Posted on 2017-11-28 at 17:22:21.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:36 P.M.; Beach

Turning in his grip, she practically melts into him, a delicate hand against his chest seeking the skin beneath the cloth while her face finally turns up towards his. Eyes half-hooded in the act of proffered pleasure, the whore breathes heavily through slightly parted lips that offer a world of pleasures.

Goncalvo holds the young woman in his arms and his heart races as he thinks of the games they could play. She is likely a skilled player. Lifting her back to her feet he takes a moment to glance down the alley. Speaking loudly enough to ensure he is overheard, but not so loud as to be obviously trying to do so, he replies. "Let us be on our way then, lass. The Rampart Lion is a bit of a trip but certainly one of the finest establishments in the city. There we shall meet my wife and begin our games."

Inn names in settlements such as these range from fancy to crass and the sailmaster knows he's taking a risk in providing a name having just arrived in port and only being a patron of one such establishment thus far. His hope is that there's a possibility the street girl doesn't know all of the inns in the city and accepts his answer as one of those she's unfamiliar with.

Practically purring, she presses her young body tighter against his and uses the tip of her finger to caress the stubble beginning to form under his chin sending shivers down his spine and igniting primal urges. "Do you mean the Resting Lions, milord?"

Slipping her thigh between his legs, she brings her leg up gently until it rests uncomfortably close to regions that have seen naught but soap in weeks. "That is a bit o' a walk, but if'n you'll protect me from those bad people along the way I'll be happy t' meet the miss."

Deftly slipping from his arms, she manages to glide her left hand down his right arm and settle her dainty fingers into his calloused hand. Pulling him gently along, the lass glances over her shoulder and provides him with a subtle pout. "I wish it were closer,"

Their trajectory is towards a street two blocks from the alley where her original attention lay putting the beach between them and the street a distance of approximately forty yards. Heated by the relentless sun, Goncalvo is initially unsure of his eyes upon catching three ruffians do a poor job of paying them no mind and break free from the alleyway to tromp across the hot sands on a path that will most assuredly put them on the street before the Dog's sailmaster and the young prostitute.

(OOC: Time is roughly 5:40 PM)


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:36 A.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

Thunk, splosh, the mug is set before him almost too late as the wench spins about and quickly makes her way back inside. Perhaps luck is smiling on the foul-tempered man, or maybe his God-given instincts for self-preservation are at play, either way, as she leaves his table Fin's narrow eyes are drawn to a table near the other end of the balcony.

Five men occupy the seats and ten eyes appear to be fixed upon him right up to the moment when his two meets theirs. Quite suddenly, the five men find their conversation, drinks, and the settlement's skyline more interesting than the quartermaster. One, a wide-faced individual with ruddy features and a shaggy mane of dishwater blonde hair, braves another glance Fin's way and though it is furtive, the quartermaster is fairly certain that there's recognition behind that gaze.

Again, Fin Crowe searches his memory for the identity of the man and once again, he cannot place him. To the best of his recollection, Splotchy-Face is an unknown.

Though the gazes from the table at the other end of the balcony are surreptitiously diverted when his own eyes meet theirs, Fin's stare isn't as quick to veer away. A tight-lipped smirk plays on his features as he reaches for his beer, disappearing only for an instant when he lifts the mug to his mouth and pours a healthy swallow down his throat. And then, over the rim of the mug, Crowe's defiant glare frames the five men, daring them to look his way once more.

"Th' bloody hell ya lookin' at, ya cannon-corkin' mast mugger?" Crowe spits out at Splotch's disregard for his privacy.

Splotch ducks his eyes faster than bait on a taken hook and overtly pretends to take interest in the stains on his table's surface.

Fin unceremoniously plunks the mug back onto the table, its place at his lips taken, again, by the still smoldering stub of his cigarillo. His storm-colored eyes remain locked on Splotchy-Face and his crew for a moment longer, the fingertips of his right hand playing lightly on the butt of the pistol tucked in his sash as he subtly shifts his weight in the seat. Then, not deeming it wise to keep his gaze in one place overlong, Fin exhales a cloud of smoke into the air and dismisses the table of five as his eyes and ears return to their surveillance.

Clanking of iron cups and clay plates mingle with the murmur of the street orchestra and the occasional cry of a raven, but steely eyes find no sign of Kidane by the time the quartermaster's meal of pork, cheese, and bread is brought. The waif of a girl accepts the hard man's money and vanishes back through the doors without a word. Flies immediately set upon the savory meat requiring Fin's attention to shoo them away. Just as he is about to start cutting at the stringy, pinkish brown meat, Crowe notices the whole of Splotchy-Face's table rise and with deliberate intent not to look his way, the group of them make their way from the balcony. Bursting laughter is only partially subdued as the doors close; laughter Fin Crowe is fairly certain did not originate with that crew. Left at their table are plates with unfinished food attracting more flies and a black feathered bird with a fierce black beak. The raven hops from the balcony rail to the table and shifts closer to the plates while keeping a close eye on the nearest humans. Hunger pains remind Fin that he hasn't eaten in a few hours and food is before him enticing his senses.

(OOC: Assuming Fin eats,)

Bread makes for a decent sop drawing in the last of the pork juices on the plate and carrying them to the sailor's mouth. Chewing slowly, Fin catches the doors to the balcony opening in a blink of an eye announcing the arrival of a very large African marked by scarification, brands, and tattoos. His head is shaved bald and acts as a canvas for a blend of each of these marks. His eyes are black pearls set in deep seas, narrow, and filled with cruelty. The muscles in his neck and shoulders are well pronounced and just by gauging quickly, Fin estimates that the man is nearly twice as broad as he is and a head taller. There's no need to scour his memories for this one. This is Kidane in all of his brutal glory.

Bare chested with a bandolier being the only accouterment to break up the sleekness of his sweaty black skin, Kidane wears a pair of dark brown wool pants tucked into knee-high Oriental boots of sand-colored cloth. A large dirk rests on his right hip while a heavy cutlass hangs from his left. There are two flintlock pistols sheathed in the bandolier at his chest and another knife in his right boot. Aside from the huge ivory gauges in his ears, and two oversized gold rings, he wears no other decoration.

Kidane is not alone. Pausing only to expertly assess the situation on the balcony, LeRoux's right hand man immediately strides towards Fin's table while his five fellows hang back a little.

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:01 PM.)

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:40 P.M.

"Pray tell," the willow-man sneers condescendingly at Maggie once he has her attention, "what do you pretend to be about?"

Maggie turns and takes in the look of the two gentlemen eyeing her where she sits atop the pile of crates. She notes the sneer of contempt from the speaker and chooses to pay it no mind; to anger him by replying in kind might draw too much attention. She rises to her feet and makes her way down the crates, hoping down to stand in front of the speaker while the soldier takes in her short swords and pistol with what appears to be amusement on his dull, sunburnt face.

"Good day, gentlemen," she says with a smile as she stands before them, "I take it this be your goods in these here crates?"

Condescension turns to an outright sneer, but the man makes no further motion to confirm or deny her assessment.

"Sorry to be standing up there, but I was looking for some of my crew who are late in returning to the ship. No good scallywags get ashore, get drunk or go whoring and forget their duties. Those crates just made a good place to get a look about it all. I don't mean to offend."

She smiles pleasantly hoping to disarm any hostility they might have towards her actions; crossing her arms simply (this placing her hands closer to her blades, if needed) and looking at the men with a raised eyebrow.

"My name is Maggie Cole," she states, still smiling politely, "First Mate on the Sun Dog. Who might you gentlemen be?"

She can be charming when she needs to be. She hates being pleasant, but sometimes it is necessary, as Anna had told her upon many an occasion. She knows she is pretty, and men find her attractive and desirable, and at times like this, it isn't beneath her to use her feminine charisma when she thinks it might help.

"First mate?" the gentleman scoffs. "What ship would have a woman on board, let alone as an officer?"

Chuckling, the guard seems to agree. His pug face is goofy-looking especially with the red of his burn. His expression changing from scorn to mock concern, the lean man continues, "You must've been out in the sun for far too long, miss. Don't you know that it is dangerous here along the docks? Surely you are being missed back at the estate, especially having made off with your master's property.

"Tell us which property to which you are indentured and we'll assist you in your return," Narrow face falls into a very dramatic seriousness. "And if you do so without causing us concern, I shall put in a good word for you with your master. The lashings are bound to be far less than otherwise."

"Be a good lass," the soldier shoulders his rifle and steps forward with his left hand outstretched. "An' give me over those blades and pistol, huh?"

(OOC: Time is approximately 1:44 PM.)

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:25 P.M.

Slapping the shoulder of Toothless in good natured fun, Tattoo quickly guzzles the remainder of his drink and slams the dented tin mug to the countertop with an exuberant belch. "Wench! Prepare yerself, for the ocean's ‘bout to get a little rough." Two of the whores rush to meet his challenge and rather than turn one of them away, the young sailor wraps his arms about both waists and laughingly drags them towards the back hall.

"What ship did ya say yer from?" the dark, curly-haired fellow leans forward and eyes Cracker with a dull gaze waiting on his reply.

Cracker hates the directness of the question as there is little wiggle room left in which to maneuver. He takes a bit of time responding by taking a long pull (but small actual drink) of his brew. Wiping his mouth as he puts the mug down, he responds with a bit of a glaze in his eyes.

"Didn't name one. Been on lots. The Blue Kite, the Dog, the Dawn, and recently the Dolphin. But whatever ship I'm on tomorrow—sounds like things are good here? Some ports—nothing." He grins, "I like the sound of "fillin' m' purse! If that's true, then perhaps I could do with a bit more purse emptyin'!" He turns to the barman and calls for another.

Middle-aged and thick through the forearms and shoulders, the bartender wears a Franz Josef of thick black hair. He shows no further interest in what's going on between the sailors than to be available when they need a refill and quietly fulfills Cracker's order, slapping another full mug in front of him that spills a bit of froth on the countertop.

William raises it with a nod to his companions, "What makes it so darn good for purses around here?"

"Hard work, lad," Curly grumbles, but by this time, Toothless is back in the here and now.

"You say that yer up fer a new ship?" The long-faced fellow practically barks, obviously starting to feel the effects of the liquor he's imbibing. Without waiting for Cracker's response, he dives right in, dropping unceremoniously to his right elbow so that he can lean against the counter and better face the boatswain. "What're yer qualifications? Could be tha' the Snap Minnow could use ya!"

"Shut it, Fulvio," growls the curly-haired sailor. "‘Tis no' yer place t' recruit new blood."

"Lighten yer load, Romano," Toothless rolls his head back to emphasize the rolling of his eyes. "Brothers o' the sea!" he bellows and hoists his drink into the air, spilling golden liquid down is arm in the process.

"To the Sea!" others about the room holar back. Satisfied with the reply, Fulvio throws back his mug and guzzles.

"‘Tis no' his place," Roman leans forward to eye Cracker from around his shipmate's shoulder. "You want t' pick up work on the Minnow, you'll need t' talk with Gory Tremane. Best hurry, though." Eyes widening in realization, the curly-haired drinker falls immediately quiet and settles his gaze guiltily into his drink.

"Barkeep!" Fulvio hiccups. "Another!"

(OOC: Time is approximately 1:35 PM.)

Posted on 2017-11-28 at 17:21:44.


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