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Post by mercenary on Oct 22, 2010 17:39:41 GMT
In 1700 after the colonisation of the east coast of America an explorer and scientist by the name of Henry Fesson left the city of New York with 20 men on a journey that he said would take him through the wilderness and deliver him to the other side of America. It was said that the journey should take no more than six months. He left on that day waved of by his wife and the wives of the men that were leaving with him and a crowd of onlookers. Before they went they were blessed by the local missionary and they left that day, ready to brave the dangers ahead of them. Two years passed. Then on the anniversary of the expeditions departure, and the townsfolk who had known the explorers wearing black or black armbands, a group of three figures arrived on the outskirts of the city. This was strange in itself as no-one had ever settled inside the forest areas, as these strangers walked on murmurs proceeded them as they walked towards the government buildings. Rumours of the strange leather cloaks they wore, or the large sled that the biggest, who was well and above taller than a normal man should be, dragged along, or the fact that two of these strangers had tails! Marching forwards to the steps of the mayor’s office the trio stopped at the door and motioned for the two tailed individuals to stop. As they held their position, the leader of the party strode through the door and marched with sectaries trying to dissuade him into the mayor’s office. Sitting in front of the mayor, the man finally pulled back the hood, showing a scarred bearded face, with eyes that might have stared down the devil. The eyes pinned the mayor to the spot and the man spoke “My name is Henry Fesson. Two years ago on this day I left here to discover the west coast of this wild land. Through my journey I have faced demons of the like man has never seen. Great beasts of tremendous size that snapped up a man like you or I might eat a biscuit. Soaring lizards – do not laugh sir – whose cries were unto the screams of damned souls. Evil insects and vermin, grown to unforeseen proportions, whose venoms left three of mine dead within seconds, in fits of agony. As we travelled we made friends of the tribes, those who survived in the hellish wilds, who are as much animal as man. They are to be treated well, for with out their help i would not have discovered the greatest thing ever known by science.” From underneath his great leather cloak the man brought forth a small lump of stone, which to the mayor’s surprise glowed a soft blue. The man calling himself the lost Fesson (could it be? He seemed more barbarian than the learned man who left) placed the stone on the table. He then removed the rope from the nearby flag and retrieved a bowl and started to combine the three. The mayor mesmerised by this flurry of activity was surprised to see the result. The man had made some sort of crude balloon. Asked for a match the mayor felt compelled to accommodate this strange man. The man motioned for the man to stand back, and as he did the man lit the match and pressed it to the stone. The stone took on a red glow and then glowed a brilliant white and as it did so the crude lifted off with a jerk and hovered close to the ceiling. The man spoke again “One sliver is powerful enough to raise a crude implement like this and hold it there indefinitely as far as i can tell. And with a slab like the one outside” and with that he brought the mayor to the window and motioned for the larger of his companions to remove the covering showing a giant slab of the blue rock “and the seams running under a set of mountains here” The man pointed to the map on the wall and ran his finger in a line up the map “to as far as I looked which was here this could mean such a strengthening of Britain’s might that we could make Great Britain truly mighty!” And with that a new page of history was born. This is the world of Arcane Earth. A world of airships and miracles, a world of unknown dangers and lurking pirates a world that you will be plunged into. Shall you gain fame and fortune, or will your bones be scattered to the winds, your soul quieted by the ministrations of the closest missionary. This world is based on the core rules for serenity and the attachment is my edits to the rules. This is a testing of the waters to see if any would like to join a game and i am still working on my own rulebook which will be attached later. Post here if you're interested or have any questions about the world in general or comments good or bad about the rules. Attachments:
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Oct 28, 2010 12:59:47 GMT
Steampunk and exploration! Airships! Yup. Sounds good!
I'm in! When/where will it be held? I can't really do Friday, Monday or Tuesday, all else is good!
Regards, Kerl (Matt. T)
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Post by mercenary on Nov 7, 2010 22:10:40 GMT
Okay Guys, And for those who cannot post at the moment, heres the skinny. looks like I have five people who are interested in playing, which is great. I usually say six is my limit so there is one more space going i think (Nathen, Matt, Ricky, Nathen's Friend, And The-Dude-I-Met-In-Wargaming-But-Have-Forgotten-His-Name Sorry-Man! should be the players at the mo).
I will enter into talks with adele to see if we can book a room on sunday so there is a more central location for those who need a bus from campus, and the first "session" should be next sunday, if i get confirmations from everyone (or at least four). This first session will be focusing on building the characters, so there will be no missions, its just a time for the players to get to know one another and ask the GM about anything either in the world or about the character generation they are unsure of.
Due to a talk i had witrh one of the co-creators of this world, a litttle bit of flavour text change has been implemented but not to worry this shouldn'e matter. Alright see you guys all soon!
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Nov 25, 2010 9:36:50 GMT
Doh!
I knew their was something wrong! I forgot to include my charachters "Species Step" bonus! From here on out, my charachter has D8 Strength, not D6. Those "Big Toothy Grin" intimidate roles should work a bit better now!
Oh. And having re-read the rules text, the 6' 6" includes the ears. Ths puts the head somewhere around 6' He's meant to be short for his kind, not huge!
Lesson: Read the text properly and remember al the modifiers!
Regards to all!
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Nov 28, 2010 11:39:55 GMT
This section is now replaced by the document attached later on this forum. All the best! Just a few ideas thrown together in down time between games and course-work Kerls Journal
Property of Kerl, of Trading Clan Southpaw
A Coywolf’s Travels
1st Entry Date ? Written in a cabin on the steamship S.S. Greater Britain of the Great Western Shipping Line
Previously in my life, the concept of a journal was unknown to me, despite being taught to read and write in English as part of the Trade Clan. I am still sad that I had to leave them, even if I can understand the reasons why. Being regarded as a mongrel half-breed by the full wolves who dominate the “Rockies”*, as well as forming the bulk of the British Army scout slots, was adversely affecting the clans fortunes, despite them valuing my greater strength and size in warding of threats. The clan handed me some of our medicine herbs and spices, some craft tools and my derringer pistols, Wolfsbane**, before sending me off towards the East Coast. The reasoning behind this is twofold. Firstly, outside of the New World, their should be less wolves who will hassle me for my looks an scent. Secondly, by keeping this journal I should be able to form a picture of the wider world on behalf of the clan, enabling a greater advantage for trade deals in the future.
My journey east was devoid, largely of incident, besides one which will be seared into my memory for the rest of my days. • Destruction/capture of a wolf pack by slavers intruding from the north New York was • First impressions of the city • How he gained passage to Malta and why he chose it.
*For easy reference, I shall use human terms in this record. **So called as, despite their size and muscles, the arrogant cuss’s disagree with having a pistol pointed at them as much as the next person. As a leveller, it works wonders however it does rather stymie future relations.
2nd Entry Date (Several Day’s after first) • First Impressions of Malta
3rd Entry (Several Day’s after second • First meeting with the new boss, potential trading arrangements and the rest of the group.
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kerl
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Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Dec 6, 2010 10:27:20 GMT
Kerl’s Journal
Property of Kerl, roaming member of the Southclaw Trading Clan.Interesting day today. Having left Italy’s Southern Airharbour I have finally departed the European Mainland. I shan’t say I was sorry to leave, it was getting somewhat warm for me over their. How was I supposed to know that the man behind the bootleg brittanium deal was a UEN diplomat without a sense of humour to take trade clan tricks? Anyway, if he sends goons so dumb as to be unable to tell the difference between Brittanium and blue painted coal, he deserves what they get. I still don’t believe they could mistake me for their normal payload master from Malta. Still, that’s one canine I’ll try and avoid! The fact that the entire affair was so shady should have tipped me off to the nature of the island I was heading for. Beggars can’t be choosers though and I was damn lucky to leave the mainland on the first ship out before the militia shaved my tail. It cost most of what I had left to gain passage, but it was worth it. At least, I thought so. Having got off on Malta’s quayside, I’m not so sure. Right from the off, the place was an assault on the mind. Most human cities are noisesome to me; however this… this was... phew. I don’t think even a lesser vulpine would roll in it. The place smells of an open sewer at best and the air is awash with hawkers crying their wares which appear to be everything from opium to chickens to human flesh. Disencouraged from venturing further inland by the assault on the senses I stayed at the Airharbour. However, I had hardly recovered from the sensual assault when a human approached me. For a smaller member of my race, I still usually out-mass most humans. Not this one. It was like one of the Rockies of my birth had gone for a walk. To add to that, he seemed to know of my Italian escapade. It seemed I had little choice but to agree with his request, ignore my senses and come and meet with his boss in the inner city. As I predicted, further inland was worse then the port. By the time the man mountain told me that we were at our destination my eyes were watering and I was beginning to contemplate tying my bandanna over my nose. I was relieved to get inside. Within the stone chamber their were a mixed group of several humans and a twitch looking feline, even for a member of his highly strung race. Out of the humans one was a local lad with the scent of craft equipment hanging about him, one was an RAC commander with mutton chops and a final, older gentleman with a cloud of tobacco smoke hanging about him, almost disguising the scar on his face. Even a friendly, human style smile displaying all of my teeth didn’t deter him from puffing away. Oh well. Still not as bad as outside! Shortly afterwards, the door of the inner chamber opened and the hulk from before ushered us inside. Within the chamber were several men. Prominent were a bowler hated gentleman sitting beside a desk and a member of the church. Knowing their view on my kind, I would have been concerned by this latter gentleman however he was staring into space at something I couldn’t see. Out of curiosity, I clicked my fingers in front of his nose. From the lack of response, whatever he was staring at was not in this plane of existence. The bowler hat introduced himself as Tom Stokes. The name may be of note, as from the ensuing conversation he revealed that he was a key trader in the island economy that we may be able to work with. Should we wish to visit the noisome place! Apparently, a competitor had arisen challenging his position as the leader on the island. To our people, this would have been fare play and the opportunity of playing some tricks. Mr Stokes, however, seemed to be rather put out about it. The people from the waiting room and I were to be sent to deliver a message to the usurper, with the priest acting as our guide and watcher on Mr Stoke’s behalf. This would have put me off, had I not been so desperate for money. On the way out I glanced back at Stokes. I have faced down full-blooded wolves without fear. The expression on Mr Stoke’s face still makes me shudder, even as I record it. Once outside, Mr Stokes pet priest started trundling decisively away. As he had the map, we followed. After almost an hour of lumbering along at his place and turning what felt like a complete circle, I began to have my doubts f his grasp on reality included location. Apparently, my colleagues did to. Bill, as the RAC officer had introduced himself earlier, looked at the map. As a man of the air I assumed his navigation skills would be up to scratch. However, I think the fermented grains he’d be sipping most of the morning as, after much gesticulation with his pipe, he agreed wit the priest. At least, I think he agreed. His accent is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in my travels. The young man, who’d introduced himself as Jim Lad, snatched the map away from both the pilot and the priest. Good, I thought. Now a native has the map. But no. After a few seconds staring, h revealed h was illiterate. Unsure whether to growl or sigh, I liberated the map from him, read where we were and where we were meant to be and set off. We arrived at our destination shortly afterwards. The destination in question turned out to be a small store, selling a variety of goods from tech to fruits. Hardly the place you’d expect to find a rogue trader. The man behind the counters response to our enquiry’s, however, suggested he was used to something more then pleasantries. Our initial attempts to get the location of his boss failed, from the aviator’s aggressive friendliness to my best comradely embrace a human style grin. That did provoke a response, but it was an insult rather then a confession. Before I could respond, the young man drew a pair of swords and pointed them at the man. Apparently, pointed weapons were this mans break point, ad he retreated through the store room door. Leaving the feline to rebuke the lad for hi aggressive streak, tried to negotiate with the gentleman to end this amicably. His response was a shotgun blast though the door which I only just avoided. I’ll be picking wooden shrapnel out of my tail for months, though. The mayhem in the shop finally drew the priest back from wherever his mind had been. Shouting something about being a man of god, and open up before his might, the priest persuaded the men to come out for fear of hurting a man of the cloth. As much as I resent the church for their stance on my species, at least the rotund nutter got the job done. The frontman opened the door and grudgingly told us his boss was engaged in a business deal and wouldn’t wish to be disturbed. However, he did give us the location of the transaction, a warehouse on the edge of the city. This transcript covers the events on the first Sunday Game. If anyone wants their charachters involvement increased, please speak now. Otherwise, enjoy! The second Sunday game will come soon.
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Dec 6, 2010 17:53:42 GMT
Part 1.2 of Kerl's Journal, covering last weeks events:
Rather then a simple walk, several things happened in the intervening period. The Priest re-lit his pipe, muttered something about a mission from god and walked into a side alleyway, chatting to someone called Robert, who appeared to be in the location of his shoulder. Whatever is in that pipe is far stronger then our bargaining pipes! Either that or he’s a little... ‘Different’ in the head.
The Feline also left, however he explained he aimed to fetch equipment and would meet us at our destination. Then the captain vanished into a smoky bar, taking Jackab, the scarred man, with him. Whilst they were occupied, another canine trotted up to us. Thankfully, he wasn’t a wolf, but a Red Fox by the name of Riff. Not fussed by my hybrid status, he was in the middle of introducing himself when the captain re-emerged from the bar, re-starting the conversation. With everyone bar the priest (we gave him up as a lost cause) and the feline (fetching gear) accounted for we talked tactics. With his shady background as a mercenary, Jackab offered to reconnoitre the premises, accompanied by the local lad, who’d introduced himself as Jimlad. I’m not that up to date on human name practices, but this struck me as a little odd. Regardless, the strange pair set off.
Jackab snuck around the building, climbing a fire escape to look in through a low window. Luckily for him, no-one within was a member of the tribes, as his prevailing tobacco scent would surely have alerted them. As it was, he and Jimlad returned in one piece. Jackab with information and Jimlad with a bruise from his distraction, involving arriving at the front doors pretending to be lost and annoying the guards until one of them cuffed him and sent him away. Shortly afterwards the feline re-appeared, armed to the teeth.
Based on Jackab's information on the buildings layout an the positions of those within, we formed our plan. Despite Jimlad’s ache for brutal revenge and the Commander’s moustachioed mumblings, we actually assembled a viable scheme. The captain, Jackab and Riff would extend the hand of peace at the door, offering to deliver Mr Stoke’s message in an amicable fashionwhilst myself, the cat and Jimlad would enter via side doors in case anything went awry. Which it did, slightly.
The ‘gentlemen’ on the door responded to the hand of peace with belligerence then, after a short exchange, reached for their weapons, telling the captain to begone before taking on superior numbers. The commander then responded in the same fashion, provoking the people on the doors. The cat, perched up in the gangway, took this as his queue to put a bullet through the table of the two men previously engaged in negotiation. I then revealed myself, weapon pointed at the nearest leader, and announced that there would be no benefit to anyone in this coming to violence. Finally, Jimlad, swung from the rafters on a rope that my senses hadn’t detected, landing before the startled men at the table and bellowing “my money or your life”. Once everyone had stopped being baffled by this statement (we were only acting as messengers, and had said so!), some quick diplomacy from Riff and Jackab persuaded the other parties to back down.
The men at the table dropped the documents that they had been carryinh and quickly attempted to deny all knowledge f what they’d be engaged in. Our feline friend stepped in, repeating the conversation he’d heard with enough accuracy to cause one man to admit he was the one we sought. Jacob handed him the letter, then we all stood in silence as his face turned ghostly white. Turning to the other man, he stuttered “the deals off” then ran for the door, calling for his ‘boy’s’ to follow him. The other man swore at us in a clipped, UEN accent before also striding out. Left alone in the warehouse, I noticed the scent f the shopkeeper from earlier. Seeing an opportunity for some payback for his earlier rudeness, I “liberated” some of his stock, which I may be able to re-sell to the good captain later.
Having accumulated our ‘bonus pay’, we returned to the lair and reported to Mr Stoke’s. Whilst unamused by the priest vanishing (I had a feeling it was a regular occurrence, from his reply) he was sufficiently pleased to pay us off. Shaking shrapnel out of my tail, I did try to haggle a higher price, but only got the address for a hotel, with the happy addition of “they won’t rob you in your sleep.”
At that point, we all went our separate ways. I’m writing this from “The Flying Bess” hotel, hoping to goodness the bed doesn’t have flees, even if I won’t be robbed. May the trickster get the other person.
Kerl
P.S. This does miss some of the other notes. The weapon Kerl used to hold up the gang bosses was a derringer, which seemed to cause great amusement from th other players. Also, the dropped documents were picked up by the Commander and handed to the RAC. They could potentially start a world war...
I hope everyone else had fun and write's in! Regards, Matt
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Dec 22, 2010 21:00:08 GMT
This is an acount of my charachters view on the events of the game several weeks ago, as I remember it. If I miss anything important out, please feel free to point it out!
Enjoy the break, everyone, and I'll try to write up "operation rescue Bex" in the near future. Regards, Matt
Day 7 in Malta
5 Day’s have gone by since I last wrote. Three days of trying to get of this forsaken rock. And trying to track down, without success, the source of brittanium from the previous entry. Ah well. Can’t win them all. I was beginning to despair. Then the Man Mountain (no, not the priest He’s more like a man globe) made his re-appearance, recalling me to the lair of the creature (I can’t say man. Anything that predatory can’t be human, nor one of our kind) known in the city as Mr Stokes’s. My enquiries had received little reply about him, either.
At least getting in their was quicker. The “staff”, and I use the term lightly, at the place seemed more relaxed this time. Once again, the room was filled with a miss-matched but familiar group of people. The only one missing was the cat. I hope he’s ok. One of my other little diversions whilst looking for work was to send him a small package of something that’s known in the Old World for its power over domestic cats. I was curious to see what it did to him. It smells like mint to men.
Anyway, there was our group. The priest, deep in conversation with something we couldn’t see, something to do with typewriters. The Commander, quaffing from his bottle and spluttering unintelligibly through his moustache to the more reserved Jackab who was standing next to Riff, the other canid in our group. Finally, standing in a dark corner looking twitch and still smelling of craft material was the form of JimLad.
After casting an exasperated look at the priest, who continued to ramble on, Mr Stokes informed us that there was a shipment of “HIS Cargo” that needed to be shipped to Switzerland rapidly but it needed an escort in the event of emergency. He also informed us we’d be well paid. A paid trip? Off the island (even for a while, there was a return journey)? It took all I had not to leap on him and shake his hand, despite his refusal to inform us of the nature of the cargo. We were instructed to meet at the SAS (Steam Air-Ship) Pelican which would depart in the evening. With that, we left for the port.
On arrival, the bored looking gate attendant informed us where the ship was and then went back to his paper (“Scruffy on Break” crossed my mind. I don’t know why to this day). At this point, the group split up. Jackab and Riff said something about snooping for bad people. In the Melee’ of the docks, it might be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m not sure what the captain said, but he moved off in a decisive fashion, so I suppose he knew where he was going. Wherever it was, he came back smelling faintly of perfume and black powder, an odd combination to say the least. Jim lad, meanwhile, seemed to have collapsed into some kind of stupor. Weird boy, that one.
Not having any shady acquaintances to meet, females to pursue (I wonder how Tsinga is. It’s been far too long.) or items to bamboozle my senses with, I made my way over to the ship, to investigate whatever it was we were meant to be guarding. An initial conversation taught me that, whilst an amenable chap, the loading master wasn’t going to tell me anything. I decided to let him work for a while, drop his guard. In the meantime I visited a small cafe on the dockside. Despite attracting some odd looks for lapping tea out of the saucer (a muzzle isn’t designed for a cup!) I enjoyed a refreshing drink, watching the bustle and life of the docks. The tea vapour almost took the smell of the place out of my nose, if only for a little while. Drink finished and lower jaw cleaned, I returned to the ship which by now was almost loaded. From the scent trails most of my companions had also arrived and vanished somewhere within. This included the priest, who had been thought lost before leaving Mr Stokes’s. The load master was still at his post but looking markedly more tired. I took the opportunity to alert him to the presence of a crew member smoking on job outside, at which point he charged off, hollering. This provided an opportunity to investigate the cargo. Whilst not having time for a good look, my nose informed me of the presence of Brittanium, as well as firearms. No wonder Mr Stokes wanted this to get through without disturbance! Should this be found, the British authorities would be wholly unamused. At that point I could hear the load master returning and decided to stop my investigation and go and investigate the rest of the ship.
As it looked like I would be on the island for a while longer at least, I took the opportunity to get a look on it from a height. This was provided me by the lookout post, revealing a vista that reminded me faintly of an upturned ants nest but revealing no landmarks, just rows of warehousing and other buildings, leaning together like drunks seeking support. Sometime during my musings from on high, the ship set off. Since my brief meeting with Ms Ambrose, I’d maintained my curiosity with all things mechanical and, wishing to see the heart of our ride, climbed back around the gasbag to reach the hull and then the engine room. On the way, I passed Jimlad, sporting what looked like a greasy handprint along one side of his face. Knowing his temperament, I kept my amusement to myself until out of sight. Humans! Their habits all year round never cease to amuse me. Anyway, passing the lad also tipped me off so I wasn’t surprised to find a couple of tough looking women managing the engine room, looking very much in charge of their domain. Having exchanged a few pleasantries, I just stood and watched the pistons beat round for awhile, pushing our ship into the sky. Eventually though, the “your making the place untidy” looks from the ladies sunk in, persuading me to retire to the common room. By the appearance of the place, I’d just missed around half the capacity of the room leaving and heading up top. In one other corner, a good number of the crew were watching the Priest. I considered listening, but hearing the word “typewriters” several times made me reconsider my interest. Apparently several of the crew agreed with me and were willing to join me for a game of cards. This was only briefly interrupted by the captain announcing that the ship would be landing briefly due to a storm before the true interruption arrived. I had just finished lulling the crew into a false sense of security when the alarms went off and all of a sudden everyone was recalled to the common room including Riff and Jimlad, who arrived appearing rather scruffy and pointedly not looking at each other. I suppose that might explain the disturbance that led people onto the deck earlier. The reason for our being called together was soon made apparent by the ships Captain (I shan’t call him Commander, to distinguish him from our existing colleague.) who informed us that we should shortly be expecting hostile company and to make ourselves ready. This message was rapidly re-enforced by the sound of machine gun fire striking the upper deck, as our attackers acted to keep us below, presumably whilst their parent ship deployed boarders. The Captain recommended for us to head for the steps down from the deck, as the natural bottle-neck thus formed should prevent the attackers numbers destroying us.
Some point on the journey an altercation, for reasons I’m unable to recall, arose between Jimlad and the Commander. No sooner had we arrived at the entry hall then the two of them were standing at arm’s length, both hands around pistols at the others face. So set were they in their dispute, an attempt by Riff to remind them off more pressing matters resulted in him getting a pistol pointed at his face from each party, forming a short, bristling triangle. Riff rapidly withdrew, joining myself, Jackab and everyone else with more than six brain cells in seeking cover from the attack. I had just gotten myself behind a doorway when the pirates burst in, filling the air with lead. Several of the crew fell, red stains spreading from various parts of their body and the captain appeared to take several shots. However, with a considerable show of true grit he turned about and downed several of the attackers. This heroic act seamed to shake the ship’s crew out of shock caused by the attack and into action and along with our little band we disabled the first wave of attackers. Forewarned by the first wave, the second wave me with much the same treatment and were repulsed, leaving the bodies of several of the crew and around ten attackers spread about on the deck. Having reached an impasse, the pirates ordered us to surrender. This was met with derision from the crew, and some eloquent cursing from the commander. Slightly less elegant was the Captains attempt to seize the initiative. Taking one his innumerable bottles of spirits he doused a rag in it, lit it and chucked it out on the deck before anyone could tell him what a stupid action throwing burning things on a wooden ship was. Thankfully, the rain put paid to his efforts in this area and a round of guffaws from the deck was the only reply to the action. * Probably wishing to forestall any more firebombs, the ships office took this opportunity to inform of a way of outflanking the foe. Sensing a way to put pack out-flanking tactics into play, I managed to persuade our party to take her advice, which they did. At least, once Jim lad had finished looting the pirate’s corpses like a common scavenger. He didn’t take all of those men, why should he get the picking? Bad hunting etiquette, however I had more pressing matters to attend.
It took us a short while to reach the other end of the ship, however the walk was worth it, bringing us, as it did, to a position near the F’o’castle of the ship from which we could fire upon the pirates from cover, pinning them long enough to allow the captain to hit them from the other side. At least, that was the plan. I initially focused on trying to remove the pirate captain; however the range was too long for the pistols to be truly accurate. It’s not like in the moving pictures y’know! Then, with a shout and a rumble like some exploding force of nature, the priest performed one of the most amazing charges I’ve seen. Moving like a cannonball (which, given his shape, is apt) the man charged into the pack of pirates, demolishing the commanders skull with a swipe of his staff, which the storm light picked out with an eerie glow. Before the pirates could recover their wits from the shock attack, the Commander realised that our colleagues spectacular effort had left him stranded and outnumbered. Muttering something about his old days tackling the boy back at college, he thundered after the priest and performed a diving grab on the priest, taking them both off the side of the ship and out of the pirates line of fire. Recovering from the howling religious maniac attack which had removed their leadership, the pirates then commenced firing at our group in the hatch, which now included, Jimlad, Jackab, Riff and Myself. Despite downing several of the attacker between us, my interest in the action kind of blurred after a few seconds. This was largely due to the hole that had appeared in my right shoulder, drawing with it a welter of blood. All I was able to do was gawp, before the pain hit and my vision went out of focus. Through the haze, I heard the commander leading the crew in a counter- attack and the remaining pirate retreating, back to their own ship and into the storm. Oddly, I was more concerned with my own pain at this point until I heard heavy steps on the deck behind me. Looking up, I saw the rotund form of the priest blocking the sunlight. For one horrible second I thought the injury was worse than I’d thought and he’d come to perform last rites. However, his hands and eyes then started glowing, as though lit from within. All at once, the pain and bleeding stopped. Whilst I’d heard of the church performing miracle before, I’d always written it off as propaganda to justify their views on other beliefs. I was wrong, and at that moment never happier to be so.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. We arrived in Switzerland without incident and delivered Mr Stokes’s dubious cargo, before returning to Malta for payment. This suited me as on the return trip my arm had begun to hurt again and I figured I’d better get a full doctor to look at it, despite the power the priest had displayed.
So here I am. Perched at a desk at the Flying Bess, resting an arm that’s now patched up and missing some fur where the doctor stitched the bullet furrow shut. I’ve just about managed to wash the blood out of my pelt; however I think I’ll take the next few days easy just so as not to tempt fate.
Regards to all, Kerl
P.S. I suppose something good did come of this. Through conversation with the doctor, I’ve learnt a few things about medicine which may be useful in the future.
*I realise I missed out the Priests actions at this point. Sorry! I’ll write them in when I have time to tidy this up! I also realise I missed the Gerbils. Ah well!
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Dudeicuf
Frequent Member
HE-BRO!
Posts: 185
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Post by Dudeicuf on Dec 23, 2010 2:44:34 GMT
awesome accounts of the happenings so far, i must say. just two things to note, Guy's character's name is Jackab and Bill's rank is Wing Commander, so commander may be more appropriate for him, otherwise, all good stuff! or should i say 'Jolly good show old chap' (muffled by lots of huffs and scoffs and general unintelligibility...)
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Dec 23, 2010 13:33:58 GMT
Glad you enjoyed! Points taken on board and duly corrected. The rest of the spelling and grammar might take a little longer!
Also, apologies to Guy for getting his name and his charachters mixed up. I got it right the first time, should have checked back. Sorry!
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kerl
Member
Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Jan 3, 2011 11:14:16 GMT
And here's the latest transcript, bringing the journal up-to-date. As ever, any corrections or comments are welcomeThis is a first draft, I'll go through it and tidy up when I hve less exams etc to worry about!
As the saying goes, no rest for the wicked. I wouldn’t really count myself as wicked, but more a person of mischief and opportunity, as befits my heritage. However, that is neither here nor there. I had spent several days in the relative comfort of my hotel room at the Flying Bess, resting my arm and reviewing some of the medical journals the doctor lent me. Have to say, couldn’t make head or tail of most of it, but it was still enough to keep me from bouncing off the walls. I was just getting tired of the last journal when, almost as if summoned, one of Mr Stokes’s men appeared at my door. Having just been shot in the man’s dubious service, I was half tempted to tell the man where to stick it. However, the man does pay well and I was looking for something to do.
On arrival at the warehouse, an atmosphere of tension was notable about the place. I was shown through to the usual room where Mr Stokes’s desk was surrounded by the usual suspects, including our feline friend. I’ll have to ask him what the herb did, when I get the chance. I wouldn’t have the opportunity today though.
Once we were all assembled, Mr Stokes cut to the chase. Apparently, someone had kidnapped his niece, leaving a ransom note behind. Mr Stokes was rather angry about this and enlisted us to return her before she came to harm. As I need the money, and also abhor the concept of holding people against their will, I was willing to take up the job. The rest of the group seemed to agree with me on this. After a quick discussion, we went our separate ways to put our specialist skills into action. The commander and JimLad offered to go to the girl’s lodgings in order to find any clues as to why she may have been taken. They also offered to “collect some underwear for myself and Riff to sniff”. I was rather taken aback by that. Sniffing human underwear would be rude, crude and socially unacceptable. However, with more pressing matters in hand I left off teaching them a lesson. Borrowing the letter from Mr Stokes, I briefly checked it over with my nose before giving it to Riff for the same check. Heading outdoors, we went on our way, tracking the scent of the men who had delivered the letter through the streets of the city, no easy task with a place that smell’s off to start with. The feline accompanied us, whilst the priest said something about going to speak to his flock. I hoped he meant congregation. With him, sheep wouldn’t be overly surprising. The scent trail headed towards the north of the city for a good while, however the path got tangled at a major intersection. Whilst I stopped to circle the area, Riff swore that he could detect the scent from somewhere back to the east of us. As sniffing the ground in one area was beginning to attract odd looks from the people at the junction, I followed the best lead we had. Riff’s nose, however, had obviously been fouled by the human cigarettes he had on him and his trail led us to a glue factory, rather than the lair of whoever held the girl. The smell of place was almost enough to make me retch and even if the girl was there, I would never have been able to find her without throwing up. Acknowledging that, we all returned to the cross roads where I found a fading trail heading north, too weak to follow again before heading towards the address Mr Stokes gave us to meet with our colleagues.
Before recording the events onward of this point: The address of the glue factory was around Il-Ghaser street. I record this as cutting to the suppliers of the glue might offer me leverage in future “negotiations” with JimLad.
Notations aside, we headed for the missing girls address, an apartment block in the east of the city. About the same time, the priest arrived. He began to tell us what he’d discovered from his flock (more than Baaa, apparently) but we thought it would be best for everyone to hear so we headed into the apartment block. As no-one was manning the reception; we followed the scent of our colleagues to the top floor. Easy for the three creatures with digitigrade legs, less so for our almost spherical member of the priesthood who was wheezing badly by the time he reached the top. We pushed onward through the open loft hatch, to uncover a rather strange scene.
On one side, flushed with triumph, was JimLad who appeared to be waving scarf in the air like a victory flag. His defeated opponent? A large dresser, which seemed to be leaking steam from several of its joints, something I didn’t know dressers did. Off to the other side, looking rather ashen, was the commander. A cursory sniff in his direction revealed a scent I’d usually associate with either a chemical works or a dead animal. There was also the pungent scent of human vomit emitting from the bathroom. The final player in this bizarre tableau was a gentleman who I assumed to be the landlord. He was scribbling notes into a pocket book, alternating between looking horrified and amazed. Before his jaw could drop any further, I took the opportunity to apologise profusely before ushering my wayward colleague out of the loft hatch and out of the property, to the consternation of the priest who was still regaining his breath from the exertion of climbing the stairs. He reached the bottom after the rest of us, having paused to light his pipe on the way down. From previous experience, I practically gave up taking information from him at that point. As he started raving about spider, tattoos and boobs (another human fixation. Females of our kind have eight. I sometimes wonder if humans think about that) I concluded my assumption was valid. Relieving JimLad of the scarf, I took at deep sniff. Despite his earlier mistake, I passed it on to Riff. Memorizing the scent, we lead the group back to the crossroads. Luckily for us, the girl had quite a distinctive scent of everything from brittanium to oil and steam* to faint perfume which, combined, set a distinct path for us to follow.
The course took us further north, eventually losing the trail amongst a melee of scents in a busy shopping/warehouse district. As is the nature of shopping areas across the world, liquid refreshment was closely available. Seeing this, the Commander gallantly offered to “inspect the premises”. I thought I should join him, and the rest of the group seemed to follow on. Apparently, inspect has two different meanings. To me, I thought to ask the bartender for information on our missing person. The captains idea of inspect seemed to be involving a view through the bottom of a whisky glass. In fairness, it wasn’t quite as odd as the preist. On entering the building he started immediately searching for something. Again, though, it wasn’t clues. It was spiders, with which he rapidly started a conversation. Restraining myself from smacking my head on the counter, I asked the barman a few questions, as to whether anyone new had been seen in the area lately possibly. Unfortunately, that line got nowhere in particular. Then I had an inspiration. Either that or the fumes emanating from the counter were getting to me. I remembered that the priest had earlier mentioned something about asking his flock for help and wandered if his opium addled meanderings were his way of dispensing the information gained. Asking the bartender if he had seen a woman with a spider tattoo on her person and scars on one leg, I finally got a positive response. Apparently, the person we were seeking was a redoubtable lady by the name of Miss Finch who owned the local bakery. I thanked the bartender, left a tip as I could afford and turned to go. I was beaten to the door by the priest, whose conversation with the spiders had ended when one of the eight legged critters dropped onto his nose.
Back in the bustle of the street, we followed the bartender’s instructions and arrived at Miss Finches. However, a quick inspection revealed that it was closed, despite the note on the door. This struck us as rather odd, so our little group went and visited the neighbouring florists to see if he knew where our quarry might be.
Unsurprisingly, the florist looked rather surprised when our group walked in. I suppose it isn’t every day that such a mixed group arrives. I went over to the gentleman. After making a polite enquiry regarding his stock, specifically the aforementioned mint-like plant, I enquired as to where his neighbour might be. He suggested that she might either be in her basement, on the grounds its warmer, or in “Bill’s Place”, a bar further along the street. Thanking the gentleman with a small tip, we headed outside, Riff pausing briefly to procure some flowers for a prospective female friend. Stuck me as a bit of a human gesture, but to each there own.
Once outside, we agreed split our forces. Myself, the cat and Riff agreed to go and check out Bill’s place whilst JimLad, The Commander and the Priest would go and check around the bakery, using JimLad’s light-fingered talents to gain entry. I’m not entirely sure what happened their, as I wasn’t present. What I do know is that the bar was locked and boarded. It didn’t remain that way for long. Before we could do anything further about getting in, the priest rejoined us with the others in tow. Without breaking stride, he bought his staff down on the front door of the building with a thunderous strike. Well, I suppose it got us in! Once inside, I decided to check around the ground floor to make sure there wasn’t anyone present. The priest was a bit more direct. Spotting another barred door, he headed on, probably out of sheer momentum, and demolished it with another swipe of the staff. I’m not getting in the way of that thing for love or money! The door revealed a flight of steps downward, which he took at a storm, closely followed by the Commander and JimLad. What I heard next was a volley of bullets from within the room, followed by the commander returning fire, then Jimlad. I took this as a sign that we had found our quarry so prepared for war. However, I was also curious as to why a baker was kidnapping the family of gangsters, so I called for them to surrender. The reply was rather rude and followed by more bullets from both sides, followed by silence. The remainder of us then headed downstairs, finding a room thick with gun-smoke, cordite scent and bodies, including that of a youngish lady with a tattoo. Presumably, that had been the Miss Finch we’d been seeking but the bullet through her heart meant that she wouldn’t be explaining her actions any time in this life. Not in evidence was the girl we’d come to rescue. At least, that was what I thought until our feline friend hit the roof. The girl had materialised behind him, triggering a volley of swearing I’d usually associate with sailors about why the heck she hadn’t freed herself earlier if she could. I thought that was good question too, however she was already striding out of the door. Seeing as Mr Stokes might well want his niece back in one piece, I thought it may be an idea to follow her…….
Transcript ends (For Now…!)
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kerl
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Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Jan 27, 2011 10:42:45 GMT
Kerls’s Journal Part 3 B Once outside, the lass paused briefly to draw out her notebook. The pause gave the cat the opportunity to harangue her about her self-escape once more, but her only response was to giggle and write further notes in her book. Something about "ear-removal device". During this interlude, the priest did his wonder away into the distance trick again, muttering something about "it's not a moon" and a "long, long time ago". Meanwhile, on emergence from the former pub, I noticed Riff stop to light a cigarette. In the next puff, Jakub had replaced him. I'm not entirely sure how the two predators swapped places, but Riff was nowhere in site and Jakub was asking what had been happening in his absence. I gave him a quick run-down of events, about the kidnap, the house-call and the our discovery of the girl in the boarded-up pub behind us, along with her captors. I'd just finished filling the bounty hunter in before the girl strode off again, heading back in the direction we'd came i.e. towards her flat. Considering the circumstances of our departure from it, I was slightly concerned about returning. Especially when the Commander and Jimlad ignored my advice to stay outside and meandered straight in. The lass went straight to her room, where the landlord was waiting with his notebook from earlier on. Reading from this, he informed her, and myself, what had happened earlier on. Apparently, before the arrival of the tracking group (myself, the Cat and Riff) JimLad and the Commander had arrived at the premises and passed the landlord on the way in before heading upstairs, looking determined. The landlord, concerned by two strangers on his property, followed them to find the pair on the top floor, Bill being flirted at by the elderly resident of the top flat. He eventually managed to escape, and turned to the landlord, informing him, through his moustache, that they'd been sent by the girls uncle to ensure her wellbeing. After explaining that she often vanished without reason for extended periods, the landlord knocked on a trapdoor on the ceiling, to no reply. The Commander and JimLad then seized the initiative by barging through the hatch into her room, the landlord following to watch events. As it was, he was amazed. The two self-styled rescuers split up, one proceeding the raid the cool-box and drink the unlabeled content whilst the other started tinkering with her chest of draws. The rest, as they say, is history. I thought I could offer at least a partial explanation for their behaviour, mentioning that we'd sent JimLad to retrieve an item of clothing and assuring her that at least we weren't searching for underwear, as someone had suggested earlier. This didn't appear to re-assure her, and she promptly checked one of her draws. As she opened it, she leaned to one side slightly. The reason for this was revealed when the sharp crack of a derringer sounded into the room and a hole appeared in the ceiling. Apparently, this was a regular occurrence as the hole was in good company. Having checked her undergarments were in order, she collected several small items from her room and departed. Once outside, despite being briefly interested in visiting "her favourite uncle" she decided she would rather get on with the job in hand. At which point, she yelled "tag" and tapped me on the arm, before running off. Now, having not had that much of a childhood (being an outcast has its disadvantages), I didn't know at the time what the cuss she meant. Everyone else did though and rapidly set off running. Guessing it was some kind of addle-minded game, I joined the general pursuit. After a little while, my hunting instinct kicked in ,focusing vision onto the quarry I needed to catch up with. This turned out to be a mistake. I should have been watching JimLad and the Commander who in turn should have watched where they were going. During her flight, the lass made an odd little hop-skip. The Cat replicated it and kept going. All of a sudden, JimLad and the Commander went boots over tip into the ground. Catching up behind them, I couldn't stop myself and we ended up in a rather undignified heap whilst the others headed off into the distance. Jakub then caught up, idling along, smoking his cigar. He looked as us, tutted and then kept going at a measured pace. The Commander leapt back up and carried on the pursuit, as did JimLad. I decided Jakub had the right idea and slowed to walk alongside him. I could smell where the rest of them were heading anyway. We eventually caught the rest of them up at the entrance to the docks, where people had split into various groups, chatting. Once we'd arrived we rapidly returned to business, Miss Elizabeth informing us which boat to head for. However, the cat had been distracted by something else and didn't notice which on she'd pointed at initially. Snapping back to attention, he roughly requested that she inform him of which boat to go to. She did. Just not the same boat as she'd shown the rest of us a moment ago. With her tricks, traps and general mysteriousness, part of me wonders if she's a human emissary of the trickster. If such a thing weren't preposterous! Anyway, the Cat jogged off, informing us he'd keep watch on the ship from one of the neighbouring cranes. I thought to intercept him, but then the Commander also began to stride away, drawing out a pair of field glasses as he did. Seeing as we were supposed to be keeping a low profile and walking around in a crowd with binoculars on your nose is a surefire way to gain unwanted attention, I figure the Cat could look after himself and I'd intercept the Commander. He stopped, announcing as he did that the ship was the "Pride of Sicily". This led to an idea, and I suggested that we went to ask at the harbour masters office about who the ship belonged to and anything else of note. JimLad and Jacob split off at this point, using their skills to reconnoitre the area around the vessels moorings. The trip to the harbourmasters office was uneventful and we arrived at the unprepossessing building rapidly. Getting the information we wanted wasn't quite as easy, however. The commander tried first, but his increasingly angry requests were met with "he (the harbour master) is busy" followed by the door being slammed in his face by a harried looking clerk. Seeing that anger wasn't working , I gently ushered the captain, knocked on the door and gave the clerk my best human style grin, revealing all of the sharp teeth in my muzzle as I did so. Humans find this disquieting for some reason, and the gentleman was willing to inform me that The Pride of Sicily was a recent arrival owned by a Captain Brown. He then closed the door again. I was willing to rejoin our group at this point, but I'd underestimated the commanders stubborn pride as he knocked on the door again. Before the clerk could say "He's busy" again, the captain dive tackled the man to the floor. This was surprising enough, but then the lady declared "pile on" and jumped on top of the heap. The clerk on the bottom of the pile began to struggle, and one of his colleagues stuck his head out the window an called "police". Shortly afterward, whistles began to sound in the distance. The lady evidently heard them as she disentangled herself and headed away. The Commander was apparently still determined to get his meeting with the Harbour Master from the unfortunate clerk so I promptly grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and hauled him away, still making sparring gestures at the clerks, only just in time to pull him into the crowd before the coppers arrived. Even so, I spent the rest of the trip (having released the Commander to much grumbling) ducked down with ears flat to my skull. The tall frame granted by my part-wolf heritage can be a burden sometimes! After a spot of weaving amongst the crowd to throw of pursuit, we eventually met back up with our colleagues at the ship, who rapidly confirmed that it was involved in something shady from its lack of activity and the lack of any national flags or signals on any if it's three masts. Despite the potentially dangerous nature of the ships crew, the Lady seemed set on her mission and strode up the gangplank. If she's always this headstrong it's a wonder that her uncle wants her back, let her being the favourite. Still I only found that out later, so back to the present! Seeing as our payment rode on returning her safely, the rest of the party and myself followed her up the gang plank where, unsurprisingly, a large gentleman, presumably the ships boson, intercepted us. The lady rapidly claimed to be from the harbour authority to inspect the ships engine, which were apparently problematic. This failed, rapidly, on the grounds we'd managed to find one of the few remaining pure sail ships in this grand age of steam. I'll admire her effort, she still tried to bluff her way onboard but JimLad eventually blew the gaff. Apparently, he'd taken the opportunity of the Bosons distraction to try to sneak onto the ship, seeking either information of things to filch. With him, I wouldn't be too sure either way. Either way, he'd been caught by another member of the crew. The bosun, seeing this. Informed the commander that he should "take you thieving brat of the boat and follow him" to which the commander denied ever seeing JimLad. The burly crewmember then threw the struggling lad overboard into the bay. I would have gone for him the, but that would have betrayed the captains lie and put us all at risk. Anyway, the splashing an swearing suggested he'd keep a little while longer. Back on deck, the Lady attempted to play for the lowest common denominator and began to flirt with the boson, who shortly informed her that his wife was waiting somewhere on land. The Commander then played a final gambit, coughing softly and pulling his coat open to reveal the twin pistols at his hips. The soft cough, surprisingly, echoed from the aft deck o the ship. Turning towards the sound, we looked into the barrel of a pivot-gun of the type used to dispose of unwanted boarders. At this, we tacitly agreed to give up and get off the ship before the gunner used the match he was nonchalantly twirling. As we headed down the gangplank, I noticed that Jakub had vanished from our company. He returned shortly after myself and the Commander had finished hauling JimLad out of the port (reeking of wet human. They must only complain about canines as they can't smell themselves. Lucky blighters!), brandishing a sheaf of paper he'd liberated from the ships office with the location a warehouse written upon it…. Entry ends for now! Out of journal: Read into the next section (last weekends events, coming soon!) for chases! Warehousing! Stealth! Idiocy! And more inappropriate use of rugby! I realise the tale(tail?) is as yet uncomplete, however at 3 pages I though a pause was due. The sketch attached is a quick, rough doodle of Kerl dragging the commander off by his collar. Apologies to Dudeicuf if i've butchered his charachter. Attachments:
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kerl
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Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Feb 1, 2011 20:26:00 GMT
Carrying on where I left off: Kerls Journal Day 9 continued:
Before we could depart for the warehouse, Riff reappeared from wherever he’d been, attracted by the splashing and the general disturbance. Lady Elizabeth had already set off, so I filled Riff in on events whilst we headed out. The feline also rejoined at this point, thoroughly peeved with the lass. Once again, however, he was treated with amusement rather then concern. Beyond that, to my surprise, the journey to the warehouse was uneventful beyond banter as people caught up with events, each putting their own spin on them.
On arrival at the warehouse, we stopped down the road to form a plan. This rapidly evolved into a variant of that used on our first job together. , Jakub, the Captain and I would speak to the guards and see if they knew anything about the location which may be of use in the good lady’s investigation. Meanwhile, the remainder of our party would sneak in through a side entrance and investigate the contents of the warehouse, in order to find information on Mr Stokes rival’s operation.
Our section of the plan went off without a hitch. The guards were tight lipped about the contents of the warehouse and its owners but weren’t altogether hostile. They even consented to give Jakub a cigarette, which, from his shaky condition, he badly needed. We had retired to a safe distance down the road to discuss what we should do next when my sharp hearing picked out “WELL DO YOU WANT US TO OPEN THE CRATES THEN” in JimLad’s voice from the direction of the warehouse. I pivoted and saw to my horror that the guards had heard too, alerting their colleagues at the guardhouse who headed into the main warehouse before returning to cover the gate. I sighed. “Sorry gentlemen, it would appear JimLad’s done it again” I passed on to the commander and Jakub, who were slightly surprised by the sudden flurry of motion from myself and the building. As our employer’s niece was in there, we thought we should go and support her, as well as the others. What differed between us was the method chosen. The Commander took off at a run, and attempted a diving tackle on the nearest guard. (Since his success saving the priest I think he’s become a touch overconfident in his skills). Plentifully forewarned during the Commander’s approach, the guard braced himself and the Commander’s attempt failed to do much more then shake him. This could have gone badly, had it not been for another flurry of far heavier footfalls announcing the return of our missing priest, who promptly employed his staff upon the head of the guard who still had the Commander wrapped around his waste, rendering the man thoroughly unconscious and dropping him on the Commander in an untidy heap. I was occupied with the other guard at the time. Seeing as I had no issues with the man, I tried to talk him into downing his gun and walking away. Whether he would or not was a moot point as Jakub lacked any qualms about shooting to kill former associates and promptly did.
With the external guards out of the engagement, the commander headed for the guard hut, presumably to prevent reinforcement for those inside. As the place might have been occupied by further guards, I went to support him. I could not have predicted what happened next, however. Just before I got in, I heard two sharp intakes of breath, the Commander’s moustachioed voice demanding what might have been a surrender followed by a gunshot. Believing that my colleague might need support, I moved in behind him, still only holding my derringer which I had planned to threaten the security guards with. The sight that resolved was a lightly injured commander pointing his pistols at two seated men. Noticing the gentleman on the left was holding a gun, I snarled at him to drop it, however, immediately afterward the other man leapt out and dived for the door. Caught off guard by the sudden motion, both myself and the commander failed to block his frantic attempt at escape.
The commander turned and set off after the older man, leaving me in the room with the other one, who had taken advantage of the distraction to replace his pistol with a sawn-off shotgun which was promptly discharged in my direction. I’m beginning to think I should get heavier armour. I like the greater mobility, but, in Malta at least, the extra protection would be welcome. As it is, I think the light leathers still took the worst of the damage and my turning around must have thrown his aim as, despite being peppered on one side with small pellets, nothing went deep. I did have to revisit the doctor, however, to get them picked out later. I also had to take another bath, I hate having blood in my fur, particularly my own.
That’s by the by, however. As it was, I rapidly fired my light derringer into him before closing the range and putting the martial arts I was taught in my homelands to use, shoving his gun barrel aside before sinking my combat knife into his side, dropping him out of though fight, hard. I was recovering my breath and checking that the damage was more messy then fatal when Lady Elizabeth appeared, having apparently side-stepped the gun-fight that I could still hear running in the warehouse, even though that also seemed to be drawing to a close.
The good lady promptly crossed the threshold, heading for the papers the first as fight had left scattered around the desk, completely oblivious to my presence or that of the critically wounded man on the floor. Seeing as Mr Stokes might well want to talk to that man I decided to ask Lady Elizabeth, as a woman of science, to help him; after I’d removed any items of value from his possession of course. I couldn’t see that he’d be able to use them once Mr Stokes was finished with him. Unfortunately, Lady Elizabeth was still rifling through papers when the man gave a last gasp and expired on the floor. I still helped myself to his shotgun though. Having felt its effects, I believed it would be useful in the future.
Having all finished our relative parts of the mission, or group reconvened in the courtyard of the warehouse before moving to a quieter location. Having already drawn police attention earlier, attracting it again in such short order was well off the to-do list! Somewhere on the way to the rendezvous the priest detoured from the group, propping up the battered form of The Cat who appears to have taken a close range rifle round during the fight in the warehouse. Also injured amongst our company, beyond the Commanders graze, was JimLad who had what looked like a similar hole in him, partially healed by the now-familiar effects of The Priests miracles. Having got safely out of range of any pursuit or unwanted attention, our group split up. The commander headed of to acquire some liquor, Jacob went to re-stock his depleted tobacco supply whilst Riff and JimLad (despite the latter’s injury) went to sell off their gains from the warehouse fight. Personally, I wanted to see the mission out, and as it was getting late and I wished her no misadventure, I escorted Lady Elizabeth back to her uncle’s lair.
On arrival, the man showed some of the first emotion I’d seen from him during my time in his employ; joy. Whilst it was only a flicker, it did pass his weather-beaten face as he stood to greet his Niece who then promptly hugged him, to his apparent discomfort and my amusement. I’m just glad humans find it difficult to read my face, otherwise he might have been annoyed. As it was, having disentangled himself from her embrace, he tanked me for a mission achieved and offered payment of 100 UEN Dollars I still tried to haggle for injury pay, but again he refused. Ah well. At least he paid more this time! It had been a long day by then and my pads were beginning to hurt from the amount of walking I’d been doing during the day. I waited outside for a while having taken my leave of him, waiting for the others to come back and catch up on what else had happened. They all returned, in their ons and twos, to collect their payment.
We briefly convened outside where I gathered the details of the desperate, close-range gunfight that had occurred in the shadows of the warehouse before, again going our separate ways. The Commander headed off towards the military base, saying he had some old contacts to talk with. For reasons unknown, lady Elizabeth followed him. Knowing what the Commander was like around ladies and also how simple minded the lass was, Jakub went with them in order to keep both out of trouble. Riff also took his leave, saying he’d found out that their was an enclave of our species on the island, somewhere called “America Town” before walking away, looking marked jaunty. I wish I could feel so happy to return to our own kind. Whilst it would be nice to find somewhere like my old home, or at least where I can act like it was home a little more, the risk of prejudice and injury from those who hate my mongrel status fills me with trepidation.
Riffs departure left me alone with JimLad. Knowing from sore experience that the priests healings weren’t as complete as full hospital treatment, I offered to take him along to doctors I’d visited before. Along the way, he muttered something about missing his craft glue. As I had some left, being too busy/pre-occupied to use it since my arrival on Malta, I offered to sell mine to him. It was telling of how injured he was that he promptly fell for the oldest trick in the book, that of marking up the product above it’s usual price due to being the nearest seller. What puzzled e though was what he did next- promptly inhaling from the nozzle of the bottle. I know that f I did that I’d be seeing stars for days, if I was lucky. In his weary state, JimLad merely began meandering, declaring that I was his best friend before falling against me for support. In this fashion we arrived at the Doctors, who took one look at JimLad’s wounds before instructing me ,as the apparently responsible one of the two of us, to take JimLad to the Doctor at the main hospital who “Owed him a favour”. Wishing goodbye to the helpful Mr Riviera, I assisted/dragged/carried JimLad out of the door. During the walk to the hospital, JimLad offered me some Brittanium. Perhaps he’d caught onto my trick earlier as he offered it at a grossly inflated price, which I almost laughed at. As it was, I declined the offer on the grounds that I had little use for the stuff and the day’s experience suggested it only bought trouble.
So the day, for me, ended like it had begun. Resting from an injury received in Mr Stokes employ. Sigh. I hate hospitals. On arrival, JimLad was taken away to the main surgeon whilst Mr Riviera’s friend took care of the shotgun rounds lodged into my side, creating another patch of shaved fur as he did. Another reason not to head to America Town- I look a mess! Anyway, I shall turn in for now. As I said, it’s been a long day and I could use my sleep.
Day 11 in Malta As I previously mentioned, I hate hospitals. They smell dire, a sickening mix of disinfectant, blood and misery, interspersed with cries and moans of pain which my fine hearing has no trouble picking out. To pass the time I’d resorted to playing card-games with the other “inmates” who still could, winning back most of the payment for treatment with some interest. I also picked up some interesting information. Or, at least, some information. My previous search for information on Mr Stoke’s had met with tight lips. Now the chattering and rumour mills were discussing him in depth. Something must be going on and my talents might be needed again. At least it presents a good excuse to get out of the horrible hospital. Even the fetid streets of Malta will be an improvement compared to confinement behind walls. I think I’ll collect JimLad on the way out. He seems to be an alright sort deep down, even if a bit odd.
Day 12 in Malta (Preview!) I could not have predicted this. Lying in my hospital bed, I’d contemplated the perils of working for Mr Stokes but I’d never have thought off this happening…
What could Kerl not have thought of? Find out in the next installment of the Journal!
*Writers note: As my course-mates can tell you, that combinations a personal favourite for the real me. A warm steam locomotive, wafts of steam and hot oil... bliss! !
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kerl
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Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Feb 7, 2011 20:26:07 GMT
Hiya! Kerls regular journal has been postponed due to player inavailability. JimLads glue sniffing dreams of men in spandex/fishnets, killer boxes of squirrels and MAN BEAR PIG creatures haven't been written up yet I offer you the attached piece of filler. I set is an attachment as it's prior to the existing journal entry by a year or two and would therefore rather confuse matters. So, what is it? Well, I present to you.... Kerl's backstory (or the beggining of it!) Enjoy! Attachments:
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kerl
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Posts: 42
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Post by kerl on Feb 14, 2011 10:12:06 GMT
Well that was... unexpected.
Au Revoir to John the Cat. May the jailer at least provide you with a spoon and a mortar board wall to get out. Sorry old boy, I think you needed better friends at the time.
The journal will be up soon, trying to report as much of that interesting little seen as I can remember.
In other news, Kerl finally gets a downtime without injury! So: D8 in Influence (Negotiation) Useful for any future trade deals, gained whilst buying equipment for the ship D4 in athletics He's the tallest member of the group. He should be able to keep up!. More officially, to get himself back in shape he RAN most of the errands. D6 in Knowledge (up from D2) from talking to various people on the island about Mr Stokes's death and learning about the wider world in preparation for a new career.
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