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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: ROFL
Ya don't have to resign from the games, Brom. Just wear a condom when posting to them.
Of course, that'd just be creepy and probably stir up more trouble than it's worth... *waves a hand* You never saw me... I didn't say a thing...
Posted on 2007-09-24 at 21:32:29.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Change part 2 and other stuff
Back to dinner
Dash probably wasn’t the best of company around the dinner table. After his earler rant, fueled by the discovery of Kora’s leaving and alcohol, Trish had seen fit to abduct his bottle when he wasn’t looking. On top of that, he wasn’t entirely convinced that Ludlow and his crew hadn’t burnt out to the Lullabelle mine in hopes of nabbing Sam Hawkes, either. Hell, if there was a bounty on the miner’s head such as the case was claimed to be, why send some heavy-fisted goon to blow the bejeezus outta the whole place? How are you supposed to collect on something like that when you go blowing mi tian gohn all to hell and trying to get everything and everybody sucked out into the big empty? To Dash’s way of thinking – and he’d done more of that than he truly might’ve liked the past few hours – Ludlow was likely out there after a Sam but not necessarily Hawkes…
Sour-faced, Dash sat through the dinner conversation with scarcely a word and, when the stowaway critter’s neck-baubles were passed around and discussed, he had little to add aside from ‘hump a reward, leave th’ li’l sumbitch here wit’ Kora fer all I care’ and ‘get that gorram thing outta my face, I ain’t touchin’ it’ when the collar was passed his way. Even if he didn’t show it, the pilot was relieved when Willow offered to put some feelers out where the cat was concerned, though. Something deep in his gut told him that the Alliance or somebody was getting just a might too close for comfort and the more they knew, the easier it’d be to turn tail and get when they had to.
With discussion of the kitten out of the way, table talk turned to getting to Regina and, thanks to the clue in that Hawkes had passed along from Bailey, getting around the Purple Belly blockade. “Shouldn’t be too ruttin’ hard,” Dash offered, laying out the route he and Wyatt had planned out ahead of time and suggesting a couple alternates just in case things got ugly, “as long’s we keep Roc cool an’ runnin’ quiet, I figger we c’n jus’ float on by inna dark an’ burn through ‘fore they know we’s a boat. Th’ chwen mother-humpers as th’ Alliance runs out this deep ain’t too gorram quick onna uptake most times. Jus’ need ta keep someone back inna engine room ta keep a hand on th’ mechanicals an’ sech, in case we don’t catch the sumb!tches sleepin, get me?”
Cuttin’ loose
“Any time today, Dash,” Wyatt’s voice drawled over the comm., “We got cargo t’ deliver.”
“Roger that, puhn yoh,” Dash replied holding the mic in one hand while the other danced over the consoles before him and brought Roc’s pre-flight routines online, “lightin’ the fires as we speak. We’ll be leavin’ this one in th’ lurch in less’n two shakes.”
His trained eyes swept over the displays and he verified that nothing obvious was going to keep them from disconntecting from the comet’s umbilicals and burning out for Regina… Combusters’re in good shape, containment’s shiny, pulse iterators timing checks out, he patted the control yoke as a rancher might pat a beloved horse, Tha’s our baby. Now, let’s fire this up an’… what inna samhell? The waiting message light on the communications console blinked insistently, demanding attention.
He cued up the display and was, at first, a little concerned when he discovered twenty-three different messages from all over the gorram place but, then, a spark of realization flared in his mind and he grinned. Tink, he thought, his fingers moving excitedly over the console as he brought up the decryption program, ‘bout time, sweetpea! Hope ya got some happy-happy fer me.
“Hey there, puhn yoh,” Tink said as her image appeared, making him feel just a bit too old to be having the thoughts that were running amok in his brainpan, “You know what to do.”
Dash chuckled and, still at a loss as to how the girl managed to rig her waves to recognize the audio cues, clapped twice and then twice more in order to start the defragmented message.
“Hey, Sammy boy. Hope this finds you well. I looked into your shipment. Whatever it was, someone didn’t want anyone to know about it…”
He leaned back in his seat, listening intently as Tink went on about the shipment that had apparently gotten this whole ball of mi tian gohn rolling. Shell companies, funneling through shell companies, getting cleaned in non-existant government agencies… blah, blah, blah, yackity-schmacktiy and a tall, frosty glass of Blue Sun OJ
“Whoever was shipping it, was well connected,” Tink informed him, “I lost the trail in St. Alban but there was something I noticed, well didn’t notice if you catch my drift. The trail hit every planet in the verse except one – Greenleaf. Kinda suspicious if you ask me.” She shrugged “but I can’t find a buyer beyond the usual suspects - Blue Suns and the Consortium. Ta Ma Duh”
“Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong,” Dash echoed the little lady’s frustration, “Ain’t that just a kick inna nethers! Ever’ where ‘ceptin’ Greenleaf, huh? Wonder what th’ hump’s on Greenleaf tha’d make this nightmare skip it when it done touched ever’ other gorram rock inna Verse?”
As he pondered that question, the image on Tink’s wave changed to another image of a newsreel, dated within the last two days. A small article highlighted itself and expanded to reveal its content and Dash’s stomach flipped. “Aw, ya gotta be greasin’ my pi gu! The ruttin’ Alliance was huntin’ that gorram cat?! Fan-ruttin’-tastic!”
“There’s your search party Dash. Some people have more money than Dohng shee. Hope this helps.”
“Sheh sheh, bao bei,” Sam grimaced… the information Tink had dug up likely would help some, of course, but at the same time it didn’t make Dash feel any better about any of it. To him it sounded as if they were like to be royally humped no matter which way this all flushed out and, if he knew Wyatt like he thought he did, the Cap wasn’t gonna be to shiny with all of it, neither. “Reckon I’ll find out soon enough.”
((OOC: In the interest of getting this posted before the turn of the millennium, I’m going to go on the assumption that, at some point very soon after getting this info from Tink, that Dash will share every last bit of it good, bad, and ugly, with Wyatt (and also Miss Willow as she’s got the rundown working through Dodger) and, from there, the “trickle down” to the rest of the crew’ll commence. Now, on to Regina…. ))
Slip-slidin’ on by
Aside from the occasional bump in the proverbial road and a good dose of discussion over the info that Tink had passed down to him, the trip to Regina had been relatively uneventful and, now, as the Firefly crept closer to the planet, Dash found himself half-napping in the pilot’s seat., his feet propped up on the console and his half-open eyes lazily sweeping the Black beyond the viewports as Roc, guided by the autopilot, moseyed silently onward. His eyes snapped wide open as the pluse beacons of the Purple Belly blockade started pinging against Roc’s sensors.
“Mmhm,” he nodded, shaking the boredom away as he dragged his feet off the console and took hold of the yoke before calling off the AP and making sure to keep Rocinante well on the skirts of the patrol routes for the time being, “looks like we got three stooges, Cap. Th’ Victimous, th’ Redoucheable, an’ th’ Redrown. Don’ reckon we got much t’worry ‘bout wit’ th’ patroller, but th’ cruiser an’ destroyer’ll poke holes in us like we was rusted through.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught the tell-tale bobbing of Wyatt’s hat as the Cap nodded his acknowledgement and began scanning the instruments on the co-pilot’s side of the flight deck. “You see what I see,” Wyatt asked after a moment.
“Like we had the same set o’ peepers, Cap,” Dash affirmed having also spotted the gaps in the patrol patterns, “two, maybe three big ol’ slip me throughs. I c’n slide us right on in there soon’s they give me a second. Reckon we oughta pop a couple of dekes (decoy missles) in the bay fer good measure?”
((OOC: No plans on using the decoy missles, ATM, just a hedging yer bets kind of call… Cap’s discretion as to whether we load ‘em in the bay or not… assuming any answer, though…))
Dash nodded at Wyatt’s reply and flexed his fingers around Roc’s control yoke; “Say the word, puhn yoh, an’ we’re in… I c’n out zig any zag as these knuckleheads might have.”
“All right, Sam,” Wyatt said after a moment, “Take us in.”
“Aye-firmative,” Dash replied, firing a quick and hopefully hidden burst from a pair of maneuvering thrusters to align Roc’s attitude to the most promising of the patrol gaps, “Hush-a-bye an’ say goodnight, afore ya knows it we’re outta sight.”
((OOC: Okay, sneaky, dark and quiet… Sam’s nudging Roc in towards atmo and keeping a keen eye on the Alliance. We’re hoping to stay as low profile as we possibly can until we need to burn in – at which point, I suppose, it’s hard to be unobtrusive when you’re cooking atmosphere on yer hull like big ruttin sparkler! ))
Posted on 2007-09-24 at 20:15:56.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: LOL
Hmmmm... never thought about it that way, but definitely an intriguing idea. 
Seriously, though, I am getting around to being all caught up right now... Working on a post for Roc (and planning on finishing up Mack's portrait this evening), then I've got CWWLLO and ToF to do and I'm all catchededed up and tally-ho, doncha know? 
Ya ever notice that the hurrier ya try to go the behinder ya seem ta get? Reckon that's got somethin' ta do with Wyatt's ruttin' luck o' three?
Posted on 2007-09-24 at 14:14:28.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Rooms for the night
“Rooms are two si…coppers,” Wironath offered, drastically dropping the usual price for rooms, “Two coppers. For the night.”
Nyx nodded in satisfaction. The Mith’ganni was well aware of the discomfort his presence caused the simple, bumpkin innkeep and, as such, saw no reason not to use it to his advantage. Assassins were typically opportunists by nature, anyway, weren’t they? As his pale fingers dipped into a belt pouch and pinched out a Rommel, the rogue offered Tempest a sly smile before handing the coin over to Wironath; “You’ll not find better rooms for cheaper around these parts, cousin.”
Nyx’s yellow-eyed gaze slithered back to the innkeep as the man reached for the offered Rommel. “For the south-facing rooms and a decent bottle, then, WeerOhnath,” the Mith’ganni hissed before dropping the coin into the man’s palm, “none of that vinegar that you serve to the breeders who are too inebriated or incompetent to know the difference, yes? Be quick about it and you can keep two coppers for yourself.”
((assuming that a bottle of wine isn’t out of the question and Wironath slips off to fetch it and “make change”… edits if needed))
“The way that one acts,” Nyx chuckled dryly, turning his gaze back to Tempest after watching the innkeep skitter off, “you’d think he believed I was sent specifically for him each time I come to this place. A small part of me wonders if he’s got good reason to think so, of course, but,” he offered a disinterested shrug and pushed away from the table, “the bigger part, though, doesn’t really care. He’s entertaining, if nothing else, and he serves his purpose…”
Nyx had, again, found his attentions drawn to the strangely garbed man seated by the hearth. The fellow had obviously been scrutinizing both Nyx and Tempest since they had entered – it was difficult to tell for certain as the man’s features were obscured by the hood that was pulled over his head but Nyx could feel eyes on him and, while it wasn’t a threatening feeling, per se, it was a bit unsettling and bore further delving into. Or so the assassin told himself as he slid passed Tempest and approached the hearth. The truth of it was that the stranger’s attentions had very little to do with Nyx’s curiosity; rather, it was the cut and festooning of the man’s shirt. Crafted with durability in mind, obviously, and, judging from the colors dyed into the cloth, best suited for traveling the forests and woodlands that his new companion, Tempest, was likely accustomed to navigating. The black bands that closed the sleeves and kept them bound to the stranger’s forearms were the most curious aspect of the whole affair, though. Nowhere in any of his travels thus far had Nyx seen a shirt crafted and worn in such a fashion and the purpose behind the bands of black was definitely intriguing.
The Mith’ganni took care not to pass to close too the man – no sense in invading his space when there was no price or call from Prien for his life – but Nyx did not make any attempts to conceal his scrutiny of the stranger. In fact, his moonlight-hued eyes remained fixed on the man even as Nyx whispered to a stop in front of the hearth and crouched down, his body facing the low burning fire. He offered the fellow a short nod by way of greeting and, finally letting his gaze break from the odd shirt and deep shadows under the hood, drew the blade with which he had recently used to separate Longsaul’s head and body and stoked the fire to a bit more life. As the flames rose a bit and wisps of woodsmoke thickened and curled upwards into the chimney Nyx slowly and attentively passed his blade over the fire, both to scorch away any remaining traces of Ortega’s blood and tissue and to, once again, darken the blade in spots where the act of taking the bandit’s head had stripped away the bluing.
“You seem somehow out of place, here,” Nyx noted candidly, not bothering to return his gaze to the stranger as he flipped the kukri over the fire and tended to its other side, “Not awkwardly so, mind you, but certainly foreign.” He withdrew the blade from over the coals, inspected his work, and then rose to his feet as he returned the kukri to its sheath. He was facing the man again, an expression that one might have mistaken as puzzlement passing over his pale features; “Is Normaund your destination or just a stopping point, I wonder?”
((OOC: Sorry for the loooong delay… finally catching time to finish posts. Anyway, Nyx is more or less interested in little more than getting a “better look” at the guy with the interesting garb and perhaps get a better feel for the man, as well… If nothing more comes of the evening, Nyx will eventually go to a room, tend to his gear and ‘guard his prize’ while resting as best possible… skywatching, honing his blades, etc… backposts as necessary.))
Posted on 2007-09-20 at 23:38:59.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Delays...
The weekend turned out to be much busier than I had planned for or expected. I have an update in progress and hope to post it today. Sorry for the lag.
Posted on 2007-09-17 at 13:21:01.
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Topic: Almerin discovered computer art
Subject: Groovy!
Good stuff, Almerin. Them be some tough lookin' wee folk! 
Posted on 2007-09-12 at 20:51:30.
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: Yep, still going...
...just delayed as the GM recently became a proud papa once again and, as we all know, new babies are a handful.
Last i heard from Olan was that he was "getting back in the swing of things" and we should be updating soonish. 
Posted on 2007-09-12 at 15:56:57.
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Topic: The Darkened Path
Subject: The Darkened Path
“Centuries ago, the human nations of Branda and Udonel were the epitome of mankind’s mastery of the magical energies that ebb and flow across Bhriuthainn. Like everything they had ever undertaken since the dawn of their kind men grasped the intricacies of bending mana to their wills quicker than any other race ever had (with the exception, perhaps, of the Ancient Dragons who are believed to be the first ever magic users to exist), and just as quickly adapted themselves to the new powers they had discovered and, as is often the case with Men, adapted those same powers to serve their own needs.
In the grand scheme of things (and certainly by the standards of some of the longer-lived races) it was not long after Valis, the first kingdom of Men, had been established that two of her most adept wizards struck out on their own in hopes of establishing schools of magic that would rival (and possibly exceed the capabilities of) even the Ivae academies in Rilshen and her Border Kingdoms. Udo Voth and Callari Branda were childhood friends and had studied arcane and lore together as long as either could remember. In their youth, they often challenged one another to competitions to see which of them could master a given spell quicker, uncover ancient magics first, or twist the mana flows into new forms that even the elves had yet to manage. As the abilities of the two friends grew so, too, did their prestige, their friendly rivalry, and most importantly, their need to venture out beyond the borders of their homeland in search of secrets that could only be discovered outside the Valisian precincts. So it was, with the blessings and authority of their king that the two ventured east from the Kingdom of Men and brought human magic into what was, at the time, still known as the Rilshen Empire. Each of them sought out nexus points – great gathering pools of power created by crossings and mergings of the mana-lines identified millennia ago by the Ancients and rediscovered once more by the Ivae after their exodus from Yarra Maskan – in hopes of tapping those reserves of arcane energy and increasing their own power all for the “good of Men,” of course. Udo discovered one of these nexus points in the lands beyond the Ambin country of Hoan and Callari found his own much farther to the south, just east of the lands now known as Corelan and Reylmoen. Indeed, it was less than twenty years from the time the mages ventured forth from Valis’ borders that the spires of their towers stretched skyward, attracting students, followers, soldiery, and common-folk alike. The mage spires grew and so did the complexes and towns at their feet. The human expansion into the elven lands had begun and the whittling away of the once continent spanning Rilshen Empire was soon to follow. The lands around the towers for hundreds of miles was soon claimed by the mages and the others who followed or were drawn to them and not another decade had passed before the magocratic regions known as Branda and Udonel were established as “principalities of the Valisian expansion.”
Had the King of Valis known what this expansion would bring, though, he would likely have thought better of sending Udo and Callari forth as the tip of his expansionist spear. With humans, you see, magic seems to instill a haughty arrogance and a sense of entitlement and, as both of the mages grew in power so too did they become more secretive, more arrogant, and more protective of the nexuses over which they held sway. Naming them princes of Valis and granting them sovereignty over the lands they had claimed “in the name of the King” had perhaps doomed a human empire as opposed to making it a possibility. It certainly changed the relationship between the two wizards and, as each of their holdings grew, their once friendly rivalry eventually deteriorated into hatred and derision. Each grew jealous of what the other had accomplished and, through the lessons and rhetoric imparted to the students who came form far and wide to study under them, so too did Branda and Udonel’s peoples come to hold each other in disdain. As these tensions mounted, Valis repeatedly sent emissaries to each of the spires in hopes of reigning the mages back in and bringing them back into keeping with the idea of growing a human empire on the face of a world still dominated by the elves. Udo and Callari, though, had grown beyond being dictated to by “mundane politics” and serving the interests of Valis. Their concerns drifted ever farther away from their original mandate and had become more focused on their own rivalry. The last emissaries dispatched to Branda and Udonel were never heard from again, though the captains of their guard were each sent back with declarations of secession. Branda and Udonel would no long kowtow to Valisian authority; they were now magocratic nations by their own right and under their own decree.
For years hostilities between Valis and the two new ‘rogue nations’ intensified. Valisian forces perpetually launched campaigns into Branda and Udonel and, to their credit, the wizard nations never failed to repel the onslaughts. After a time, Valis chose to ‘cut it’s losses’ where the former principalities were concerned and left Branda and Udonel to their own devices (albeit begrudgingly) in order to focus its expansion efforts elsewhere. Udo and Callari, though, had come to enjoy the warring and, once the Valisians gave up the fight, the two nations turned their hostilities towards each other. To this day, no one is certain what sparked the final war between the two wizard nations but the entire world bore witness to the end result. For decades powerful magics were hurtled back and forth between the two nations, arcane knights battled over borders and mana pools, and strange, never before seen creatures were brought to bear in the confrontations. The generations long conflict seemed to end suddenly, though, when, some hundred and a half years ago, the mage spires in both Branda and Udonel literally exploded and spewed forth what can only be likened to tidal waves of mana across both countries. The chaostorms scoured all signs of life from the once powerful human lands and for many years to follow not even insects could be found venturing close to the borders. In their place now existed a great swath of magically scourged desolation, fraught with wild magic storms, buried mysteries, and, for those who dared venture across the borders, certain death. The countries of Branda and Udonel were no more. Now there were only The Barrens.
It has been nearly sixty years since anyone, whether at the direction of their governments or by sheer love of adventure, has ventured into these foreboding realms. Most seem content to skirt the borders of the places that were and some nations that share those borders have gone as far as prohibiting travelers from crossing into the Barrens from their own countries for fear of what might be awakened and brought back on them. Recently, though, there have been rumors that something stirs in the Barrens. Something living. Something other than the chaostorms and gibbering packs of troggies that run the fringes of the desolate place. A flight of dragon-riders, returning from a battle in Jadwa Qassam to their aerie north of Zaral, skirted the borders of the Barrens and reported seeing mage spires rising from the ruined landscapes and cities sprawling at their feet. Seers from human, elven, and dwarven nations, too, began reporting strange visions as a result of the scryings that they had focused on the former Branda and Udonel. Then, as if to ascertain that something did indeed stir in the wasted expanses of the Barrens, an Ancient Gold dragon has, in the past months, been seen patrolling but never venturing out of, the confines of the mana-charged airspace.
The unexpected return of an Ancient Dragon to so conspicuous an area of Rilshen has caused great concern among the Princes of Rilshen as well as the human and dwarven lands that border the Barrens. That, in conjunction with the reports that have been gathered from the Dragon-Riders of the North, the Clans of the Steppes, and others who have been bold enough to venture close to the borders, has recently goaded a council to convene and determine what should be done to address the apparent renewal of life, there. At first, legions of men and elves and dwarves were dispatched. Sent over the borders and into the Barrens to bring back some physical proof that what was transpiring there was more than the workings of strange magic and rippling mana fields. Soldiery en masse, though, was not to be tolerated by whatever it was that had taken up residence in the heart of the Barrens. Most of the troops who have been dispatched there never returned and those that did had been stricken so mad that we would have preferred they died there.
Which is why you all have been sent to me,” Seldan Seralonde regards the group assembled before him, his gaze moving fluidly from face to face, trying to gauge the capabilities of those who had answered the call, “The Council, with advice from our seers, has decided that a smaller group may be a more effective approach to delving into this matter and, with that in mind, each of our members have selected you as their representatives…”
((OOC: In hopes of getting this moving and delaying this thing no longer than I already have, I’ll cut the intro there. You/we have all traveled to Nedeluma at the request of one gov’t, organization, entity or another and have been told that we are to venture into the Barrens to discover why, after so long, the Barrens are not as barren as they were presumed to be… Presently, we’re all gathered before Seldan (Prince) Seralonde, regent of Nurhtir, and have just received a “history lesson” and a “subtle hint” as to what we’re looking for. Pick up and runaway with your posts from this point, folks… ask questions of the Seldan, introduce yourselves (or have the Seldan do so) and let’s get this party started… Oh, and thanks ever so much for all of your patience. ))
Posted on 2007-09-07 at 18:44:44.
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Topic: Temple of the Shoda
Subject: Not all...
...you and I have discussed more than what I've got posted here, dear Kohai. This is by no means all of it... just need to get the rest of my thoughts/notes/etc in a more presentable format before I can post them here.
Posted on 2007-09-05 at 21:22:37.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Shambler's Rest
“Nyx Shyndyn!”
“WeerOHnathhh,” the Mith’ganni grinned wickedly, the inkeeper’s name hissing across his lips as narrowed, yellow eyes flashed from Flethon to the inn’s other guest and back again. I’ve seen your death a thousand times, breeder, he thought as his gaze picked slowly over the man, and I’ve only known you a handful of days. You’re like the rest of your ilk, though, aren’t you? Content to idle away your already too short lives, confined by your own fear and trapped by the misguided notion that hiding behind a tavern counter will protect you from the inevitable. Yes, I’ve seen it a thousand times. Squirreled away behind your doors and walls, your shutters pulled tight against the night, slowly wasting away and waiting for death to take it’s sweet time about claiming you… bit by bit, piece by piece… Sad.
“It’s… good ta see ya ‘gain,” Wironath lied as Nyx’s eyes slid back and meet his.
“Is it?” Nyx grinned in reply as he shrugged his pack from his shoulders. The breeder’s blood was singing in his veins, his heart pounding like a skin drum played too hard, and his eyes were like those of some prey-animal that knew it had nowhere else to run.
“The fact yer ‘ere probably means the road’s clear, ey,” the innkeeper continued, his eyes skittering between Nyx and Tempest as he wrung his hands together.
“Of Ortega, at any rate,” Nyx confirmed with a curt nod, still grinning as he plopped the pack containing the bandit’s head down on a nearby table.
“Well, Mau’s not ‘ere at the time,” Wironath sounded as if saying so might literally choke a squeal from his throat had he not swallowed it back so quickly, “Out huntin’ or somethin’. Said he’ll be back tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I got some rooms if ye need, but supper’s over.”
“Hunting,” Nyx smirked, almost laughing as the innkeeper turned his eyes and offered a hand in greeting to the Dur’amani, “If Mau truly knew anything of what it meant to hunt, he’d not have needed to solicit the likes of me.”
The Twilight Elf perched on the edge of the table, his eyes sliding once more towards the man to whom Wironath had been speaking when they entered, then, as if completely disinterested in the pleasantries being exchanged between the innkeep and Tempest, let his attentions dip to a beetle he had noticed crawling across the front of his coat. “Breeders always seem to believe that bringing down a deer or a wild boar makes them hunters,” his voice was little more than a whisper as he delicately plucked the bug from the embroidered symbol of Prien and, holding it between a slender forefinger and thumb, studied it for a long moment. “When they find themselves in the role of prey, though,” he grinned, suddenly crushing the beetle between his fingers and flicking the smashed carcass to the floor, “Hunting seems to become something not so sporting to them, doesn’t it?
Let’s hope that Mau returns early tomorrow,” Nyx sighed, his gaze returning to Wironath as he reached out a hand to pat the bulge made in his pack by the bandit’s head, “I’d not like Ortega’s stench to saturate the rest of my gear.
I hope these rooms that you speak of provide decent views of the sky, WeerOHnath, and that the wait for Mau is worth the delay,” he said, sliding off the edge of the table and slinging the pack over one shoulder, “Cousin Tempest and I had hoped to be on our way from this…hovel… before sunrise.”
((OOC: Nyx is slightly less than happy about having to wait for Mau’s return. He had hoped to collect his bounty and move on rather than wait for the client and have to “guard his trophy from opportunists” in the meantime. If Tempest isn’t opposed to whiling away a few hours, Nyx will begrudgingly accept a room and wait for Mau’s return. If, on the other hand, Tempest is in a hurry and really wants to get going, Nyx may try to negotiate a deal some how… leave Ortega’s head with Wironath, Wironath pays the 10 rommels owed and gets reimbursed by Mau on the morrow, for example. Backposts and conversations edited as necessary. ))
Posted on 2007-08-28 at 18:46:36.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: A traveling companion, is it?
Even as Nyx turned to leave his distant kinsman standing in the road beside what remained of the wanted highwayman he couldn’t help but wonder if the Dur’amani had understood anything Nyx had said to him. The forest elf had stood blinking at him most of the time and, when Nyx had spoken in Mith’ganni, Tempest hadn’t really made any reply. How appropriate that even our language seems to be dying, Nyx smirked to himself as he padded along the road, unaware that though their languages were similar the difference in their dialects was enough to muddle communications, how long before the breeders languages find themselves on that same decline, I wonder?
“I know very little about the outside world,” the Dur’amani called out before Nyx got very far.
The would-be assassin stopped and turned to look at Tempest. Indeed, cousin, he thought, it would seem not. Not long from under the roof of the wood, are we?
“I can track and hunt as well as any,” the ranger continued, “but it seems there is much I have to learn.”
A wry grin tugged at the corners of Nyx’s thin lips and his eyes shone in the light of the single moon. “As do we all, cousin,” he replied, skulking back towards Tempest, “and as quickly as his kind changes things,” he nodded at Ortega’s body, “there is always more.”
“Perhaps,” Tempest suggested, “we could journey together, at least until Sankirst, if it is in the direction you are going?”
“Perhaps,” Nyx replied, that wry grin spreading again into a wolfish smile as he absorbed what the Dur’amani had said… Track and hunt, he says, but has he hunted men?… His yellow eyes flicked back up the road… Sankirst. Lots of death in the capitol, I would imagine.… then back to Tempest; “Hunt and track, you say, cousin? Better to travel with those skills than any other, I suppose. Lots of coin to be made with them, too, if you track and hunt the right prey, as well, yes?
Very well,” he nodded, gesturing up the Western Road, “I have business in Normaund. Once I have completed that, there is nothing to tie me there and Sankirst does sound promising. Given a good road and no unforeseen obstacles, I’d wager we could make Sankirst in a day’s time.”
He turned again and started off along the road; “You won’t mind a stop at Shambler’s Rest, I hope. The sooner we get there, the better. I’d like to get this breeder’s head out of my pack before the stink seeps in.
What is your name, cousin?”
((OOC: All righty, off to Shambler’s Rest to collect the bounty… assuming Tempest does come along, Nyx will more than gladly converse with him along the way, as long as silence isn’t called for. Backposts as necessary…))
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 15:45:33.
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Topic: Star Wars: The Tides of Fate
Subject: Meeting the Minister
The young Jedi nodded as each of those from the Kul Kura expressed their intentions to stay with him – at least for now – even if some of them seemed as if their decision was made for the lack of anywhere else to go. “Very well,” he said following the last confirmation, “we’ll all stay together then.”
It was then that Dime – who had apparently abandoned his guise as Kol Nuro – let out a yelp and, as surprised glances turned in his direction, said; “Sorry, I simply remembered a purchase I must make.”
Caise nodded again. “I imagine, after what has transpired in the past day, we could all use something or another,” he said, moving for the doorway of the mercantile himself. As lightly as the miraluka traveled, even he seemed to have lost track of the aquata breather that had been attached to his utility belt either during the escape from the Kul Kura or the crash landing. It wasn’t a vital item to have at the moment, he thought, but since there was a bit of time between the present and his scheduled meeting with Rool, scouring the mercantile for a replacement seemed as good a use of the time as any.
After searching through the stock in the shop he was able to find a breather comparable to the one he’d lost; however the price was a bit high in his estimation. “Two hundred seventy five credits seems a bit expensive for a used aquata breather,” he said to the shopkeeper, setting the device on the counter, “A new one would only fetch 350 at even the most overpriced shops in the Core. Perhaps we can make some sort of deal?”
((OOC: Just throwing in a bit of something to “pass the time” before Caise goes off on his meeting… up to the GM how the haggling goes… our Jedi’s not likely to pay more than 175 for the used breather (maybe a skoash more if it appears to be “gently used”). Regardless of the deal or no deal…))
Having concluded his dealings at Brod’s and advising his companions that he shouldn’t be longer than an hour, Caise exited the mercantile and made his way to the polyblock building across the street. A quick recon of the place revealed nothing out of sorts and, having completed a circuit around the building, the padawan finally entered and made his way inside finding himself, before long, at the door that Rool had specified the night before. It wasn’t long after Caise was ushered in to the exceedingly lavish suite that Master Trask’s associate entered.
“Caise,” the man grinned, “good to see you!”
“And you, Minister,” the young Jedi replied, bending slightly at the waist and offering a faint smile of his own in return.
A good bit of time was spent answering the man’s less than important questions regarding Master Trask’s welfare and whereabouts along with other drivel that Caise considered unimportant to the mission. Though it was annoying to some degree, Caise indulged the man and participated in the banter as best he could, remembering that Trask had only been allowed to take him as a padawan with the condition that his social skills be addressed to the Council’s satisfaction. After a time, though, the miraluka began to tire of the inconsequential. “Forgive me, Minister,” he interrupted, “but my time is somewhat limited. With the happenings on the transport, yesterday, I have acquired some traveling companions. I told them I wouldn’t be much longer than an hour and we have yet to…”
Rool lifted a hand, stopping Caise from finishing his apology. “Naturally, Trask sent you to feel the pulse of Taanab, to see where she leans.”
“Correct,” Caise nodded.
The minister sighed, then, his expression heavy. “I wish that I could tell you,” he said, pouring himself a beaker of blueish alcohol, and offering another to the Jedi.
“Thank you,” Caise replied, refusing the drink with what he hoped was a warm smile and a subtle gesture, “but no. Please continue.”
“A year ago - even six months ago - I would have laughed at any suggestion that Taanab's loyalties lay anywhere but the Republic. Certainly, there have been rabble rousers, there always are, but nothing more. Lately, though...” he trails off, in thought.
“The TDF can no longer be trusted,” Rool continued after a moment, advising Caise of a fact that had already become more than obvious to him aboard the Kul Kura, “though I would say that more of their corruption is based upon profit, rather than ideology - though that can be just as dangerous. The government has experienced a radical shift in the past months. Many of my fellow ministers are suddenly retiring... or meeting with accidents, and their replacements are less friendly to the Republic.”
Caise saw the frantic threads of concern and uncertainty twist through Rool’s aura as the man swallowed the contents of his flask in a single gulp.
“And there are other concerns...” Rool fell silent again and, after seeming to ponder for a moment, opened a small case, extracting a datachip from its interior. “This is highly classified information that should not fall into the wrong hands. Take this to Trask - he will know what to do with it.
Tell no one of this, do you understand?”
Caise nodded. “Of course, Minister,” he replied.
The chip was returned to its case and sealed before Rool handed it over. “Very well. My time grows short - I have official business to which I must attend. If there is nothing else?”
Caise accepted the chip and secreted it away in one of the pouches on his belt before considering Rool’s last question and discovering some queries of his own as a result. Getting Rool’s chip to Trask was a priority, of course, but Caise also believed that his Master would expect him to have done some investigating of his own before accepting the facts as presented by a politician regardless of any pre-existing relationships with the man. “You feel that the ministers are being forced from their positions, then,” he asked, “I gather that sudden retirement is not something you had expected from them? Suddenly meeting with accidents, it seems, is part and parcel of politics throughout the galaxy; typically attributed to the victims’ unwillingness to bend from whatever positions from which they are trying to be swayed. Simply retiring, though, and allowing others with, as you described it, radically differing political views to subsume such highly regarded and highly sensitive positions seems more like conspiracy than fear. These ministers who have opted for retirement, can they still be found on Taanab?”
((OOC: Any reply, of course, I’ll work with what ya give me…. … beyond questioning Rool about the retired/deceased ministers, Caise really doesn’t have too many questions that have been left unanswered. He’d be curious to know if Rool had any ideas as to whom (or what organization as the case may be) might be the driving force behind the political shift and, finally, what the minister might suggest regarding transport back to Coruscant… does he have a ship he’d be willing to loan out, maybe?  ))
Posted on 2007-08-24 at 16:57:15.
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: Why that sightless so and so!!!
Sorry bout that Bob... Sometimes I just can't help myself.
Posted on 2007-08-23 at 15:07:11.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Ch-ch-ch-changes...(part 1)
In the Infirmary
“Now Asher, honey, show Willow everywhere it hurts, and I’ll take care of things in that order,” Willow cooed, turning to face the Kid when she’d finished up with Ryan.
Back o’ th’ line agin, Sam-o, Dash smirked inwardly, When ya gonna learn not ta try an’ sneak away from th’ Doc? Wincing at the effort, Sam adjusted his postion on the bench, resting a bruised elbow on a scraped and bleeding knee. “Go on, Kid,” Dash chuckled, noticing Asher’s blush when he got around to pointing out some of the more embarrassing injuries, “whip it out. If I sees anythin’ I ain’t seen before, I’ll shoot it.”
That remark, of course, earned him another of the Doc’s “looks”…“Sam, dear, please look away, give my patient some privacy…”
“Wuh de mah,” Dash protested, playfully flicking a wink at Willow as he turned his head, “You people don’ let me have no ruttin’ fun! Don’ go getting’ drunk, Dash! Don’ raz the Kid, Dash! Why ya gotta leave yer dirty socks in the mule, Dash? Don’ fly so ruttin’ close to th’ sun, Dash!
Hump it,” he chuffed, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender (and again wincing at the barbs of pain induced by the sudden action), “I give up!”
Just then, the hat that Trish had knitted for him sailed through the infirmary door, caught the pilot in the side of the head and flopped to rest on his shoulder. Dash blinked, his whiskey-hued eyes ticking toward the door to catch sight of Trish slinking off back towards the front of the ship. “Thanks, Ma,” he called after the woman, snatching the cap off his shoulder and pulling it onto his head, “I ‘preciate that.”
Shut up, Dash, he appended his earlier rant as he pulled the cap lower and resigned himself to stretching out on the bench and trying to catch a wink or two while he could, We’s jus’ gonna let ya be alone with yer thoughts an’ let ya fret about how there ain’t no way in nine hells that jumbo-sized hwoon dahn was after just plain ol’ Hawkes… Couldn’a been… Not that guy… he’s too much of a… prospector to be on anybody’s short list… What if’n ya’s been found, Sam?
Shut up, Dash!
The Funeral
Dash watched the Fulton kid’s funeral from a distance, leaning against the docking coupler, sipping away at the bottle of rum he had snaked days earlier, and occasionally turning his attentions to the proceedings when his own thoughts started wandering down the trail to twitchy.
“Someone should say something,” he heard one of the Fultons say as he watched the decoy rocket/casket shoot out into the Black. Dash’s gaze slid towards the red-headed clan and, in order to quash the turning in his stomach when Denny just shook his head, took a hard slug from the bottle.
“Right, whatcha gonna say,” the pilot snorted, “Sorry we was too ruttin’ dumb ta keep ya suckin’ air? Better you than us? Idiots…” If the rum hadn’t been so good at easing the aches, Sam decided, he’d have dearly loved to walk over and bust the bottle over one of the elder Fultons’ heads. This whole debacle had turned into one giant goat-rope; all the way from the corpsified clients back on Bellerophon, to the hinky back-and-forths with Dodger and Griff, all the way on up through to where they stood now… The more he thought about it, the more none of it made sense, and the more none of it made sense, the more it pissed him off… at least until he thought about it long enough that anger was subsumed by nervousness and uncertainty… and that made him even more angry…
When the girl stepped forward and started singing, though, Dash could take no more. No matter how much he wanted to be angry at the red-headed clan… no matter how badly he wanted to take out his frustration on somebody, he couldn’t find it in him to level his wrath at a bunch of innocents… his building anger flipped in his stomach and morphed into an almost heartsick, sinking feeling before the second verse of Penny’s song was voiced. “Gorramit,” he scowled around the neck of the bottle as he downed another swallow and, with one final look at the rapidly disappearing rocket, stomped back into the Firefly’s belly, hoping beyond hope that Tink had finally gotten around to answering his wave.
Regarding Kora
“… it is time for me to leave. Rocinante has been my home for awhile now, but well, I think I may have found a new home now.”
As he stomped across the cargo bay wiping the dirt from his hands onto his jeans, Dash had heard Kora giving Wyatt the ‘Dear Cap’ bit. The pilot had been on his way to clean up and maybe have a drink being as he’d just spent an hour our better in the company of the Fultons loading ice into Roc’s hold – and what with the Fultons twisting knots of anger, disgust, and, oddly enough, pity in his gut just by their proximity, that desire to clean up and have a drink was nearing a full-tilt need. Kora’s resignation speech stopped him dead cold, though and he gawked at her in disbelief as, with tears running from her eyes, she tried to explain it all to Wyatt.
“Besides, with these flashbacks of mine, and the freezing up, I’m going to put you and Roc in danger one day,” she offered. “Remember Mack? The guy who helped us on that job, friend of Dash? He’s on Regina and I know he’d jump at the chance to sign on.”
It took him a minute to realize that he was standing there with his mouth open, looking like some high-falutin’ Londinum chef who had just discovered a turd in the gourmet meal he’d spent hours preparing for Parliament. When Kora’s gaze slid almost apologetically from the Cap to meet his, though, Dash slammed his mouth shut, and snorted in derision, and shook his head. “That’s jus’ as ruttin’ shiny as it gets, ain’t it,” he groused, turning on his heel and clomping towards the steps, “what in the hell is goin’ on on this boat?! Gorram buyers gettin’ kilt, ruttin’ yokels tryin’ ta set us ta drift cuz they’s gorram bent on gettin’ themselves punched inta th’ Black, mother-humpin’ cats runnin’ loose an’ takin’ dumps inna mechanicals an’ Buddha only knows where the hell else! Now this bunch o’ lovey-dovey crap…”
The rant continued the whole way up the stairs and got progressively riddled with more and more profanity as Dash included incidents and worries that didn’t involve the present crew. “Fong luh,” he barked, leaning over the railing when he reached the catwalk and jabbing an outthrust finger at everyone who stood in his sight, “fong luh, ever’ last damn one of ya! If Roc loses containment twixt here an’ Regina, Kora Mei Ling, that mi tian gohn’s all on you, mei mei, dohn ma?! Gorram, tze sah yu ji, if ya ask me. But don’ nobody ask Dash, nothin’, does they! Noooooo! Jus’ fly th’ ruttin’ boat, Dash… Climb up there an shoot whatever might come this way an’ don’ look friendly, Dash…” With nothing else immediately available, he gripped the catwalk’s railing angrily with both hands and shook it for all he was worth, “Guuuuun!!!” Then, when he finally was able to force his grip loose, shook his head again and skulked off towards the foredeck – still grumbling and cursing under his breath. It was likely more than obvious to those who had crewed with him for any length of time that the pilot wasn’t as angry as he was hurt by Kora’s leaving, but the Fultons all seemed to have been whithered a mite by his outburst as they sheepishly filed out of the Firefly’s hold.
((Got some more coming, just wanted to post this bit before I lost it... again... will catch up with the rest very soon...))
Posted on 2007-08-22 at 19:45:09.
Edited on 2007-08-22 at 21:48:45 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: I did say that, didn't I?
Good mind trick Ayrn... I'm thinking about it right now!
I'll let Tri get his character sheet worked up first, though, make any descriptive remarks, etc... but, yeah... expect a pic of Lana in the near future.
Posted on 2007-08-20 at 14:40:09.
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: Spiffalicious!
Welcome aboard, Tri!
Posted on 2007-08-20 at 14:04:19.
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Topic: Book - Diamonds of Spring and Fall
Subject: I just now saw this here...
... I remember lurking in this game and finding it quite an enjoyable read, Almerin. I always looked forward to that one updating.
Anyway, I read over what you've got posted so far and, like the game, found it quite an enjoyable read. (Of course, there's always the "I might have said it this way or written it that way" thing, but that's just a matter of personal styles or whatever.) I think maybe you've just hit what I like to refer to as a "speed bump" in the storytelling process. I get stuck there pretty regularly, myself. Usually what I do in those cases is just set it aside for a while... sometime, down the road, you'll hear it calling you again; you'll go back and pick it up again, finding that your inspiration/motivation has returned and the story flows like it did before you hit that speed bump.
Carry on, good sir... I liked everything I read here.
((P.S. Too bad about the Lockwood stuff... I really did like that Lion Av you were sporting. ))
Posted on 2007-08-20 at 13:27:12.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: After the fall
There, Nyx thought, smiling to himself as he dropped Ortega’s near headless body to the road, that was worth ten rommels, wasn’t it?
The Mith’ganni’s yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight as they slithered from the highwayman’s still quivering corpse to where his stolen pack sat by the roadside and then, as if an afterthought, flicked in Tempest’s direction. Nyx spent a long moment studying the Dur’amani – taking in every detail; from the way the forest elf carried himself to the way he was outfitted and equipped – then, offering a curt upnod, prowled off to retrieve his pack.
“No worries, cousin,” he hissed in elven as he snatched his gear up from the roadside, “That breeder chose his own death. He could have chosen otherwise but…” The twilight elf shrugged and strode back, unceremoniously dropping his reacquired pack in the road beside Ortega’s body. Nyx’s gaze fixed on the dur’amani’s face again as he tugged the crumpled wanted flier from his pocket and offered it over to the ranger – perhaps by way of justification – before crouching down over Longsaul’s corpse and proceeding to finish the separation of head from body.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he whispered… maybe to Tempest… maybe not, “For you, this is finished.”
Once Nyx had finished cutting through the remaining bone and tissue, he dragged the head away from the body by a handful of its hair, glancing up at Tempest (almost surprised that the forest elf was still there) as he rolled the brigand’s body over and started tugging the shirt off of the corpse’s torso. “No place else to be, cousin,” he asked, wrapping Ortega’s head in the shirt. Having wrapped the head, Nyx dragged his pack closer, opened it, and before stuffing his prize inside, withdrew the twin of the weapon with which he had recently dispatched the thug and secured it to its rightful place on his thigh. He then wiped the blood and gore from his other blade onto Ortega’s breeches before looking up at the Dur’amani once more.
“That’s yours, I believe,” he tapped the kukri’s point against the bulge in Ortega’s pocket, a wicked smile playing on his thin lips as the coins inside clinked together. Nyx rose gracefully to his feet, then, and hoisted his pack over one shoulder; “If you’re heading for civilization, cousin,” he said, now in heavily accented Common, “I’d recommend not parting with your coin so freely. You’ll find that most breeders respond better to coin than they do anything else…” The wolfish smile broadened and his eyes glinted, “…except perhaps the promise of death, yes?”
The Mith’ganni’s gazed slid away from Tempest, again, surveying either end of the road and the surrounding landscape before snapping sharply back. “Mind the road, cousin,” he suggested, reverting back to the elven tongue, his eyes dipping to the headless cadaver that lay between them, “its perils are many.”
With that, Nyx snatched the wanted flier back and turned to go. “I’ve an appointment at Shambler’s Rest, now,” he offered with a final glance at the Dur’amani. His gaze then traveled skyward and, for an instant, he seemed lost in his contemplation of the stars. “Enjoy the night, cousin,” he whispered at last before finally stalking off in the direction of his waiting bounty.
((OOC: Room for interuptions throughout, Tempest. Nyx, of course, is heading off to collect teh bounty on Ortega's head... unless Tempest stops him for some reason. ))
Posted on 2007-08-18 at 23:16:34.
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: *waves a hand*
You all want to post...
Jedi mind trick.... let's see if it works.
Posted on 2007-08-17 at 20:18:06.
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Topic: Goofy Burf-day stuff
Subject: figgers...
... I'm a mouse. :/
Posted on 2007-08-16 at 23:33:36.
Edited on 2007-08-16 at 23:35:41 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: Star Wars: The Tides of Fate
Subject: Dinner at the Darand's and Driving to Dalroth
Caise was nearly as quiet as Jaal’s father when everyone convened around the dinner table… more in hopes of keeping the peace between Jaal and his father than by way of keeping himself detached from the others. He replied when he was spoken to, of course, and in a more thorough fashion than the withdrawn, elder Darand had, but was quick to turn the conversation away from any topic that might bring the Jedi Order in to play. He didn’t fail to notice, either, that Gerald Darand refused to so much as glance in his direction throughout the course of the meal. There was much more to the man’s disdain for the Jedi than had been hinted at, of that the miraluka was certain, but thus far no one seemed willing to provide anything but the vaguest of explanations and Gerald, himself, was almost frustratingly unreadable. That in itself was unsettling enough and, were it not for being opposed to widening what was already an apparent rift between father and son, Caise might have found himself aggressively pursuing answers from the man
There was also the scope of his own mission to consider, he decided, and given that he had been sent here to determine where Taanab fit into the puzzle of the separatist movement, pursuing such a conversation may lead to more trouble than it prevented. Especially if Gerald had separatist leanings of his own… Given the relationship of the Jedi and the Republic, the miraluka thought at one point, disdain for one could easily become derision for both.
When the evening ended and everyone retired to their rooms, Caise meditated for quite some time on the often tumultuous relationships that seemed to form between fathers and sons – those relationships seemed to be a focal point in the Force of late considering the tension between Jaal and his father and the rift hinted at by Mercury with his own. As the hour got late, the young Jedi abandoned his reflections of these others and, immersing himself into the flow of the Force until morning, allowed the all-encompassing energies to replenish him. Tomorrow, he sensed, would be no less taxing than this day had been.
((entering a Force Trance for the night to replenish any VP, etc that may not be covered by a night’s rest… will awaken if someone approaches the room or at 0500 if undisturbed))
****----****
Caise awoke early and was prepared for the trip to Dalroth in advance of the scheduled departure time. He heard the argument between father and son, of course – though he tried to dismiss it as nothing more than a typical disagreement between the two, the padawan couldn’t help but sense that there was something a little peculiar about this one… He couldn’t quite isolate the thread of energy that dug at his senses but there was something…
"I don't understand why he's being like this," Jaal complained after having won the disagreement with his father. "He rides me for days about being responsible, keeping my appointments, that kind of thing, and suddenly he wants me to just not show this morning? I know that he doesn't like jedi, but it's not like you're going to get me to run off and join your order or something."
“That wasn’t my intent, no,” Caise affirmed, smiling at the sound of Jeena’s laughter, “I think, perhaps, your father is aware of that, as well, but whatever his experiences might have been with the Order, they overshadow his intuition and cloud his perceptions. He seeks only to protect you, Jaal.”
When they reached Dalroth, the Force became much more frenetic in Caise’s sight. Sentients of all sorts bustled back and forth along the tiny cities thoroughfares and energies flitted back and forth between them as they interacted with one another… a far cry from the almost tranquil, undulating flow of energies experienced in the countryside… civilization, once again. While Dalroth wasn’t a large city by Republic standards (especially as compared to what cities were in the Core), but it was of a respectable size as compared to others on other worlds in the farther reaches of the galaxy.
"Brod's Mercantile," Jaal announces, bringing the speeder to a stop in front of a low building "The place to purchase ag equipment at decent rates here in Dalroth - provided that you have the know-how to make any needed 'improvements'."
"Don't you mean, fix the broken junk they try to pawn off on you?" Jeena snickered.
"You get what you pay for!” Jaal returned mirthfully, “Still, it's also the biggest trading post here in Dalroth - if you need any gear, this is probably your best bet in the city."
Caise climbed out of the speeder and, gathering his cloak about him surveyed the mercantile and the cityscape surrounding them. It was very convenient that the rendezvous point that Leyan Rool had specified was directly across the street - no need to ask directions and perhaps draw unwanted attention. “Thank you, Jaal,” he said, finishing his scan of the streets and returning his gaze to the man, “Your kindness and hospitality is appreciated and will be remembered.”
"I suppose this is where we part ways - Jeena and I back to our boring lives, and the rest of you off to adventure and excitement, eh?" Caise heard the smile in Jaal’s voice and thought he also perceived an odd stirring in the man’s aura.
"I'll be here for a couple of hours, at least, so if you need anything, just ask." Jaal continued, focusing on Caise. "It was a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions." He then looked around. "And the rest of you, as well. Safe travels to you all!"
“As it was to meet you, Jaal Darand,” Caise responded, bowing a bit at the waist, “Remember, my friend, adventure is not outside a man; it is found within.”
Jeena’s aura flared as she smiled and bid the party farewell. Then, taking Jaal's hand, the two of them took their leave and entered the mercantile.
Caise watched the young couple for a moment, then turned and regarded the others. “I have an appointment I must keep in a couple of hours,” he said, “My mission, for the time, at least, is here…” His head turned is Mercury’s direction; “I know that you and I discussed what you might do next, Mercury, and my offer still stands; you are still welcome to accompany me if you choose…” his gaze pans over Dime, Ziv, Damanil, and Lana, as well, “…as are you all, should you so choose. I cannot pretend to know what each of your plans are…”
((OOC: room for conversation and such throughout, of course...Okay, for his part, Caise is going to pass the time until his scheduled meeting with Rool by, first, visiting the mercantile – usually a good place to overhear information, you know, and also wouldn’t hurt if he could find and aquata breather for a decent price… I’ll be keeping my senses open for some saber components, as well, I think, just because… shortly before time for the meeting (and assuming the time spent in the shop is uneventful) Caise will do a quick recon of the location where he’s supposed to meet Rool. If nothing is “out of sorts” he’ll attend the meeting as scheduled))
Posted on 2007-08-16 at 15:17:23.
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Topic: Star Wars: The Tides of Fate
Subject: Caise and Mercury's conversation (backpost)
((OOC: Collaborative post between Eol and Z))
Mercury looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.
"Mercury? It's Caise… May I come in?"
The young man opened the door and let the Jedi into the room. It was only then he realized he still had the blaster in his hand. "Sorry. It isn't mine. I mean…it is mine now but I wasn't …let me put this away." He put the blaster back into his holster. "What…What did you want? I mean … you have any idea what we …I mean you are doing now? Cause if you need a good pilot, I'm ummm sort of looking for work now."
Mercury’s aura was a turbulent whirlpool in the Force; his emotions a frantic vortex of sadness, loneliness, confusion, and grief, though, outwardly, the young man tried to mask it.
Caise offered an understanding smile, excusing the unholstered blaster with a nod. “Apologies are unnecessary, Mercury,” he said, still scrutinizing the chaotic tumble of energies even as the pilot went rapid-fire through his series of questions. The padawan waited until he was certain that Mercury was going to say no more, then smiled again.
“I do have an idea of what I will do, now,” he said, recalling how, aboard the Kul Kura, this man’s energies had flashed brightly in his sight, “and it is quite possible that I will require the services of a pilot…” Caise stepped through the door, his veiled eyes skimming the bunkroom before turning back to the young fringer, “…but are you sure that it’s a job you seek and not something else, Mercury Saran? I sense uncertainty in you that seems to go beyond what you might next do for work.”
Mercury took a step back, "You messing with my head? I heard that Jedis can do that?"
Caise shook his head. “No, my friend. I’m not, as you put it, messing with your head. I do sense that more concerns you than just your next job, though, and I wanted to make sure that you were all right.”
"Oh it's just ... I left home a couple of years ago and it wasn't really my idea. I got trapped in the hold of the Kul Kura and by the time they found me we were light years away from Corellia. The Captain was really good to me, made me feel welcome but ..."
The pilot’s aura rippled as Captain Dulo’s memory again stirred sadness and a sense of seclusion to the forefront of his energies. “But, now, Captain Dulo is gone…”
"Yeah! I just feel very alone right now. That's all"
“That’s all,” Caise repeated, a skeptical brow spiking upward behind the sash that covered his eyes, “are you certain, Mercury? I cannot help be get the feeling that loneliness and yourself are far from strangers…” The Jedi padded towards one of the room’s small windows and seemed to contemplate the view for a moment before continuing, “There is more here, than just the loss of the good captain, I think.”
He once again fixed the pilot in his gaze. Mercury’s admission to a sense of loneliness had quelled one of the dark ripples in his aura but there were still others. “My Master once told me,” Caise continued, hoping that the young pilot wouldn’t feel as if he were assuming too much, “that people who lead lonely existences often have something on their minds that they are eager to talk about. Even if they don’t care to admit to it, Mr Saran, it does get expressed in other ways… a need to prove oneself, for instance…”
"What! I don't need to prove myself to anyone! Not You! Not my father!" Mercury retorted. "I'll be fine, I always am so don't be worrying about me. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone." the young man threw himself on the bunk rather dramatically and crossed his arms, "I need some rest, that's all."
The padawan stood firm in the gale of Mercury’s indignant response, failing to flinch at the young man’s outburst. Inwardly, though, Caise chastised himself for, once again, failing to properly express his intent. Instead of coaxing Mercury into opening up and addressing whatever it was that troubled him, it seemed that Caise’s efforts had only succeeded in chasing the fringer back into the shelter of his own brooding, perhaps closing the door on the conversation all together. I am sorry, Master, the padawan sighed inwardly, despite your teachings, my diplomacy skills still seem to be desperately lacking…
Wait… ‘Not my father’, did he say? The Jedi had to keep himself from smiling. Mercury’s response had been angry and, at first, seemed to imply an unwillingness to share anymore. Whether he knew it or not, though, the fringer had shared more than enough. Not wanting to alienate Mercury any farther, though, Caise decided that perhaps he should let the man get his rest… allow him some time to calm down a bit and make his own peace with the turmoil that brewed within him… then, perhaps, approach the subject again at another time.
“Forgive me, Mercury,” Caise said softly, sketching a bow as the fringer flopped himself down on the bunk, “I had hoped to ease your mind, not upset you more.” He moved to the door, content for now to allow Mercury his solitude. Before stepping into the hall again, though, Caise turned and said; “The joys of a parent are secret, Mercury, as are their griefs and fears. You are correct that you don’t have anything to prove to me… you don’t have anything to prove to your father, either. Perhaps if you believed that with the same conviction you spoke it you would have nothing to prove to yourself, either.
We can gather strength from sadness and from pain, my friend, and each time we die we learn to live again. Or we can let that sadness and pain consume us… eat us away like some malignant cancer… it is then – when we forbid the light from shining through the darkness – that death is final.
May the Force be with you, Mercury Saran.”
((OOC2: Another post coming soon... figured I'd go ahead and post this part just to keep the board moving. ))
Posted on 2007-08-16 at 12:37:32.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Money vs vengance? vengance it is!
Preferred alive…
That’s what the bounty flier for Ortega had said and, even though Nyx was sure that the bandit deserved death just like everyone else, the Mith’ganni had been prepared to deliver his quarry alive this time. Twenty rommels was a better purse than ten, after all, and would go a long way towards securing the tools of his chosen vocation and perhaps paying membership into an assassins guild where he might be properly trained.
Had been…
He had found the highwayman’s campsite, of course, and had been scouting the place out, preparing to bait and spring the trap that would deliver Ortega into his grasp and, shortly thereafter, the twenty rommel bounty. Before Nyx could finish his recon of the bandit’s encampment, though, he had been blindsided and knocked unconscious by his own mark Worse that that, Nyx had awoken a short time later with a throbbing pain in his head only to realize that Ortega was gone and had apparently taken all of Nyx’s own gear with him. “Damn the preferences of those that want this one alive,” he snarled as he got to his feet, smiling viciously as he realized that the bandit had somehow missed the kukri nestled at the small of his back, “and damn the loss of ten rommels, as well! Far simpler to transport a head back to the Shambler’s Rest than an entire body, anyway.”
Nyx turned his pale yellow eyes to the night sky for a brief moment, as much to stretch the knotted muscles in his neck as to seek solace and guidance from the moon and stars that hung there. “You left me a blade, breeder,” he hissed as he broke into a run, having determined that, if Longsaul stuck true to form, the man would likely be lying in wait at the side of some road for a new victim, “That mistake will cost you dearly…”
Uttering an oath to Prien, the Twilight elf, tore off across the landscape, moving quickly and quietly through the grasses in search of his quarry once again. The Executioner must have heard Nyx’s plea and been exceedingly happy with his intent for it wasn’t long before his god offered up the object of his wrath. It wasn’t immediately apparent, of course. At first, Prien’s gift was only the sight of two figures on the road… a sight that urged caution and closer investigation. Sinking lower and slowing his pace, Nyx crept ever closer…
The pair seemed to be in the midst of conversation and, though he couldn’t hear all the words, the mention of a ‘tax’ and, as the would-be assassin drew nearer, the sight of one’s grip on the other confirmed that one of these was likely Ortega. In only a few more stealthy steps, the distinctive voice and fetid stink of the bandit removed any lingering doubt. The other figure, Nyx determined as his slender fingers curled around the kukri’s hilt and drew the wickedly curved blade from it’s sheathe, was a Dur’amani… a distant cousin from another clan a peculiar sense of familiarity advised him, as well as a distraction for Nyx’s prey… Carefully, then, the Mith’ganni’s inner voice suggested, but quickly, before either see your approach. Pray that the forest-dweller doesn’t ask for death as well…
Now, with his one remaining blade held at the ready and pressed as close to the earth as was practical to provide a swift and stealthy approach, Nyx edged closer making sure to stay at the highwayman’s back and stay out of the Dur’amani’s sight as much as possible, as well.
((OOC: Don’t want to go too far, here, so… once Nyx gets close enough to do so (and assuming he doesn’t give away his position) the plan is to attack Ortega from behind, leaping suddenly from concealment with hopes of dragging that kukri from one side of the bandit’s neck to the other… edits as necessary))
Posted on 2007-08-15 at 18:57:45.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Up we go... *gulp*
Char and Dapple had already set themselves to move up the stairs when the entire keep seemed to shake down to its foundations. The sound of urgent footsteps and shouting from above and even the ragdoll corpse of the Green as it came flying down the stairwell seemed not to dissuade them but for an instant – Dapple, perhaps, even less than that. The lad, crouched low with daggers drawn, had simply sidestepped the body as it sailed past and made to move up the stairwell despite the foreboding message that the crumpled Green brought.
“Stay lad,” Jal couldn’t help but blink as Maximus interceded, blocking the young thief’s progress with his shield, “there is no need for you to recon the above floor, clear it is they await us to ascend and their numbers matter not. They will be ready no matter what we do, better we thin them out through Jal’s magic.”
The urchin mage blinked again; this time almost expressing disbelief. To a certain extent, he was flattered that the big gladiator had that kind of faith in his abilities but, at the same time, wondered if Maximus might not actually be as insane as many thought Jal to be – not only for thinking that Jal might have the capability to thin out a keep-full of imperials with the few spells he had prepared but, moreso, for attempting to block Dapple’s progress up the stair… the lad was volatile if nothing else and Jal wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the boy’s daggers suddenly found its way into Maximus’ gut… Jal’s lips moved as if to reply but, for now, no sound spilled past.
“Are you daft?” he heard the rogue whisper to the former pit-fighter after gawking at him in disbelief for a scant second, “They’re fighting each other or something else. Do you really think they’d be commanded to hold their ground against us? Their orders would be to charge down here…they’ve forgotten us in a greater crisis….one we can use to our advantage. Let me get up there to circle out of the way before you man mountains go clattering up the stairs!”
The last word of the rebuke hadn’t passed Dapple’s lips before the lad had slipped between Maximus’ shield and the wall and, without a look back, proceeded upward into the keep.
“My thanks for your confidence in my abilities, my friend” Jal grinned as he stepped closer and placed a hand on the big man’s shoulder, “but the boy is likely right. Whatever is happening above has likely made the Imperials forget the mice in the cellar… we can use this to our advantage.”
His pale eyes ticked to the ranger, then, hesitantly, towards Valentine before moving to Kilgrim and Arien… “If my abilities should be needed to… how did you say it, Maximus?... thin them out, perhaps it would be best if I brought up the rear, yes? I fear any spells I might have that would effectively thin out the numbers we hear above would also thin us out as well should any of you linger in the area for long… I will need space.”
((OOC: Okay, if there are no objections, Jal will let the fighting types proceed up the stairs ahead of him and, as Dapple put it, circle out of the way… He’ll have his best offensive spells on the tip of his tongue and components at the ready as he goes up and if necessary (and assuming his friends won’t be in the area of effect) will cast fireball or lightning bolt as appropriate when they reach the next floor up… with luck, though, we may just sneak past that bit. ))
Posted on 2007-08-14 at 16:21:57.
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Topic: The Tides of Fate Q&A
Subject: There's a little bit of me...
...in every one of you!
I'm like a virus or something.
I almost did up one of those rasta-style hats for Dime, Addy, but the "floppy brimmed" job looked much smoother. Glad I got so close, otherwise.
Posted on 2007-08-13 at 17:25:27.
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