Topic: Paranoia: the Only Good Commie is a Dead Commie
Subject: Who's making toast?
"BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP. I apologize, oh outstanding one, but as I am not personally assigned to the PLC, I have not been programmed with the requirements of which forms will be necessary for the esteemed Team Leader to complete. At your service."
Of course you don’t! Useless bucket of reconditioned crap! Ammpe fumed. They’d been standing in this line for only Friend Computer knew how long and would likely be standing here for twice that time again before they’d even be near the front. It was all he could do to keep himself from deep-frying everything in the place. When the Orange, apparently just as irritated by the wait as he and his team had become, stepped out of line and got recycled for his trouble, though, Ammpe was thankful to the Merciful Microchips that he’d been programmed with, at least a modicum of patience. There was a popping noise in his ear, then, and he was pretty sure he smelled ozone… Didn’t need that brain cell anyway…
Finally, after several more hours and several more electricity scented pops in his ear, Ammpe and his team made the front of the queue and were greeted by an Infrared with the designation “Stock-BOY.”
"Welcome to the PLC, Citizens!" he oozes with a pasted on smile. "I am here to expedite your equipment requests. Please provide your mission number to begin."
Is something melting? Ammpe sniffed, blinked, and rolled his eyes. Again with the mission number? He glowered at Stock-BOY and sighed out the words; “This stupid Jackobot has lost our mission number.”
"If there is no mission number, then no equipment has been reserved for you," the weasel states flatly. "Thank you, and have a nice day."
"Hey," Steam mumbled poking him in the shoulder, "Hey Team leader, wouldn't ever try to tell you how to do your job or anything, but this guy's an Infrared," he says louder, glancing at the pipsqueak, "you have authority over him. You could recycle him for being uncooperative with Friend Computer's orders," louder still he says, "Which clone number do you think this inefficient traitor is on, anyway? I hope it's six."
Ammpe grinned at that. “I’d bet at least five.” His grin widened, just a little menacingly given the sparks that crackled behind his eyes, and he leaned toward Stock-BOY. “I didn’t say there wasn’t a mission number, pip-squeak,” he growled, “I said that this stupid jackobot lost it. Isn’t it your job to have a backup mission number in the event of faulty robot memory? Isn’t that standard event 25010 protocol?”
Posted on 2018-11-12 at 15:11:13.
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Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Game
Subject: And So The Wheel Turns
"Excuse me gentlemen," a lovely woman with dark red hair and a blue dress said, imposing herself in the situation, "you as well, Sir Ebou Dari…"
Thren’s honey-eyed gaze danced over the woman for an instant, lingering only long enough to acknowledge her with a roguish smile and a faint tip of his head, before turning back on the guardsmen.
…The woman straightened; "There seems to have been enough blood spilled today, there need not be more, do you agree?" She continued before a response could be given, "These women, they are harmless against your might, are they not? Surely this manner of extraction is more than necessary." She looked at the girl once more, then back up to the men, "What could this young woman have done to warrant such treatment?"
“Yes,” another exotically beautiful woman interjected in a silvery alto, “What is the meaning of such barbarism? Surely there are better methods than dragging unconscious girls through the town and striking down old women in the streets. Explain yourselves, and we will find a solution.”
"You dare call me a coward!? You dare stand in the way of the law!? You will pay for your impudence!" the more boorish guardsman declared angrily, again dropping the poor unconscious woman and leaving his counterpart to support her by himself. Standing in front of the four individuals he half drew his sword, bearing the steel…
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Thren clucked his tongue, slowly shaking his head, as the guard’s steel slid half-free of its scabbard. “A man could lose a hand or worse,” the Ebou Dari scolded softly, almost in a whisper, his fingers no longer drumming on his rapier’s hilt but, instead, resting lightly and purposefully upon it, “should a man enter a fight on a half measure, yes?”
…The big lout seemed to hesitate, then, regarding the Ebou Dari and the Wildman with an assessing eye. His eye didn’t linger overlong, though, and he seemed to resign his blade to its proper place before he turned his leering gaze to the women. "It would be a shame to harm such fine girls," he muttered. Replacing the grimace on his face with a greasy smile and ignoring the men, he said, "Perhaps we can work out something else. If you delightful girls would care to accompany me, I'm sure we can work out... something to settle your crimes."
Before Thren was able to voice a challenge to the guard’s lecherous manner, the man was rebuked by his own partner. "That is quite enough, Dain!" the more civil soldier spat as he eased the unconscious girl to the ground and then strode forward to stand beside the oaf, "Captain Kerwin will hear of this!"
With a sigh on his lips, the guardsman turned, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded the group that, by twist of fate or turning of the Wheel, had gathered to confront them in their duties. "Outsiders," he murmured, sounding a little exasperated. "You do not know the full situation, and as such, I cannot fault you for this... confrontation. As all of Maeldon must know by now, an Aes Sedai by the name of Nelelle Mathera was murdered. She was discovered last night, her body still warm on her room floor. Millae is believed to be the culprit."
The Ebou Dari smirked, arching a skeptical brow as his eyes flitted from the man with manners to the still form of the girl where she lay in the street. This slip of a girl, so easily subdued by a pair of simple guards, has murdered an Aes Sedai? he mused, seeing to it that he did not voice the words aloud, Were a man to believe such a thing, that man would surely be branded a fool.
“No! Millae would never,” the older woman wailed as a man pondered the absurdity of the accusations against the younger, “She adored Nelelle Sedai!”
The civil-tongued guard turned sympathetic eyes on the distraught woman and pleaded with her to see a healer, even offering to pay for the service, but the woman’s protests continued. "No! I won't leave Millae to the gallows!"
"Get lost, you stupid old bit," the brutish Dain roared only to be cut short and silenced by a blow to his ribs from his better-mannered cohort.
“You are out! Of! Line!” the goodly guard emphasized as he walked the wheezing Dain back another step or two. “Return to the guardhouse and remain there!”
“You’ll pay for that, Jandran,” Dain promised, at last providing a man with a name to match to a face.
“Get out of my sight, Dain,” Jandran returned, obviously nonplussed by the threat.
Dain’s cruel gaze stabbed at Jandran, panned over the others, and drew a sardonic smile from the Ebou Dari, before he, at last, stormed off, nearly bowling over an oblivious farmer as he went. Thren, smiling all the while, watched the angry retreat with no small amount of amusement. When the loutish man had disappeared from sight, Thren’s fingers drifted from the hilt of his rapier and lifted to stroke the ends of his mustaches. “In Ebou Dar,” he chuckled softly to no one in particular, “a man would not live two breaths from his last with such manners.”
“You four! Jandran’s voice called Thren’s attentions back, “Understand that Lord Lanara has ordered that Nelelle Sedai receives justice. If you insist on interfering, then you will also face the law.”
It is not a man’s intention to interfere, Thren smiled as the thought played through his mind, especially if such a thing should involve facing the law, yes? He tugged his cloak back over his shoulder, once more shrouding his blade with a draping of wool, and bowed shortly to the guard. Intercede, mayhap, should the chance arise, but never interfere, he chuckled inwardly.
Jandran turned, then, and scooped Millae gently off the street, sighing ruefully when his gaze met Mistress Velalin’s. "It's a tragic business," he said gently. "And I must say I find it hard to believe. I've known Millae since she was a child. Since we were both children. She was always so gentle." He firmed up slightly, straightening his shoulders. "But I have a duty, and all evidence points to her. If you truly want to help the girl, come to speak with her in the jailhouse when she wakes up. I'll see that you can get to her. Perhaps you might be able to prove her innocence."
“Sir, before you go,” the lovely, red-haired Domani asked, “who would accuse such a gentle young woman?”
((OOC: any response))
"Thank you, sir, we shall see you shortly."
Shaking his head sadly, Jandran turned away carrying an unconscious daughter and turning his back to a defeated mother and six onlookers as he strode down the solemn street.
As the soft-spoken woman moved toward the still hysterical Velalin and offered her skills as a healer, Thren turned back toward the door of The Gleeman’s Abode, set to put the scene behind him, a mug of wine before him and, a bit later, a soft bed under him. He had made it only a step in that direction, though, when a timid voice stalled his next…
"My fellow travelers," the mousey woman started a little uneasily, "Will you join me in investigating this terrible matter and, if discovered that she is indeed innocent, assist me in allowing the woman to be pardoned and set free? Please, my friends, I implore you to help me with this task."
"Of course," the Domani healer answered.
“Blood and ashes,” rumbled the woodsman who still eyed the retreating soldier. For an instant, the Wildman looked as if he may yet set off after the soldier, but, in the end, opted for the inn, instead. "You heard him,” the rangy man continued, waving off the entirety of the situation, “This is a matter that does not concern us. I have traveled a good distance and am due a meal and a roof over my head. If you lot wish to pursue this, it be at your own risk." He turned, then, and, in his eagerness to put the scene behind him, nearly bumped into Thren.
“Your pardon, good sir,” the Ebou Dari man smiled, returning Lanur’s curt nod as he stepped out of the woodsman’s path, gesturing toward the doorway of the Gleeman’s Abode as he did so. Lanur strode past, then, muttering under his breath as he went, and Thren al’Rilin’s gaze turned, again, to the women – first to the Domani healer who was tending Velalin, then to the onyx-haired and violet-eyed beauty who still floated nearby, and, at last, back to the timorous little Ebou Dari girl.
“Sweet girl,” he smiled softly, “Thren al’Rilin has not survived so many turnings of the Wheel by being fool enough to present himself, willingly or otherwise, in any jailhouse. A man stays out of the law’s way and the law stays out of the way of a man, yes? For a man to put himself directly in the face of the law is quite the risk.” The charming smile faded a bit, then, and his honey-hued eyes swept over the women, once again, before finding Jandran’s back some distance away, now. He sighed, then, and, stroking thoughtfully at his whiskers continued; “In this instance, however, a man believes that the law in Maeldon may not be working just so…” The smile returned to his lips as his gaze returned to Alyrëa. “…And where there is risk, so, too, is there often reward, hm?
Of course there is,” he laughed even as he bowed with a flourish, “Thren al’Rilin will happily cede to a girl’s request. But first,” he suggested as he rose from the bow and gestured toward the Gleeman’s Abode, “perhaps a meal and a drink, at least?”
((OOC: Whew! That got long... sorry about that. Thren is heading inside, now, looking to secure that drink and, possibly a room.))
Posted on 2018-11-12 at 14:28:35.
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What game do you own the 
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
Return to Charadun - Recr
