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Author Topic: Steam and Sand Game Thread  (Read 50509 times)
Vancouver Air Privateer
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Privateering off HMAS Landeythan


« on: May 05, 2009, 06:25:37 pm »

Alright, here's the basic idea of the setting. If you're all still interested, I'll start letting character bios be posted in the OOC and then will make a beginning post to start it off. Any feedback can be posted in the OOC, please.  Smiley

For get more information along with this primer, visit the link below.

http://editthis.info/brass_goggles/Steam_and_Sand

-------

The Event has left England a barren wasteland, with sandy deserts, rocky badlands and dead ash heaths. However, it is not the end of human civilization in this part of the world. People scrambled along as they do and eked out life in the inhospitable climate. One effect of the Event was mass carbonization and further carbonization – coal is very abundant in the country side, especially anthracite coal. Steam is thus the main way to get around – electricity is available, but expensive and difficult to acquire. There is no magic energy – whatever studies had been done in that field are long lost.

A more difficult resource to get a hold of is water. The only settlements in the area are known affectionately as Atriums. They consist of a circle of buildings placed right next to each other, with a wall tight around the outside. Over the buildings is placed a special glass dome, with humidity catchers, this becoming the main source of water. The middle of the town is always left as a small open area, where “rain” is allowed to fall and small crops are allowed to be grown. While the important buildings are in this above ground circle, the populations of Atriums can actually be much larger, as many people live in the cool underground areas, which can be quite expansive.  

While life is hard to come by, raw minerals are not. Most Atriums have a Factory Complex attached, where vehicles, walkers and constructs of every size and type imaginable are built to let people travel and explore the wastes. These are either built beside or next to the atrium and are usually walled for security purposes. In this world, nothing is more valued and prized than a good steam rig. Ranging for massive tanks, to speedy autos, to cumbersome walkers, people will find any sort of way to get around.

People dress similar to how they did before the event, but much of the finer clothes and materials have been lost. Thus, through necessity, clothing has moved closer to that of rough areas like the American frontier, rather than urban or rural England, noticeably among the higher classes who simply don’t have the materials for elaborate and fancy dress. English style working clothing is still popular and useful for its durability. When outside the cities, people wear many layers of covering clothes to protect them from the heat of the deserts and the occasional sandstorm. Goggles and face protection is also common, as well as whatever gear one might be carrying with them. Most people end up looking like a combination of a Saharan nomad and a heavily armed engineer.

Relics of the older age can often be found across the wasteland, from the rusting shells of old factories to the beached carcasses of old steam ships to the empty shade of ruins that were once majestic gothic cathedrals. These are valuable and often can be looted for a tidy profit. There are lots of old ruins and such, especially in the south. The most valuable find one can make is an airship frame. The technology to make these has been lost and many scientists would pay a fortune to be able to study one. Scavenging is a popular way to make money, but can be dangerous. Despite the new governments, the lack of control and the empty spaces has made robbery and murder another profitable venture. Parties on foot are often mowed down by bandits in fast vehicles and even travelers in large armed vehicles may find themselves under attack from a coordinated mounted bandit attack.

There are already political powers emerging. In the north are the States of York and Lancashire. These two states vie for increased power. Lancashire has some of the largest Factory Complexes on the Isles. They are a very capitalist society, run by an elected parliament, although it could very well be called a Corproratocracy. While York is less industrialized, it is the larger state and has a few very well supplied Atriums, having mastered the new style of agriculture. It is ruled by a council, who elect members based on merit. Much of the political structure of York is communal, with resources being spread across the population.

In the south, rising from the ruins of London and the surrounding counties, is the self claimed “Kingdom of Anglia”. Despite the title, it only has a firm hold on London and the south east of England. It is a dictatorship lead by a Monarch with a single party parliament and has strict control of its people, attempting to forge a nation that can expand and reclaim England.

Tucked away in the far west is the Republic of Cornwall. A small number of cities united into a Federation, with an elected leader. They do not have much power and are threatened by the Kingdom, despite being perhaps the only stable functioning democracy.

The lands between York and Lancashire and the Kingdom are known as the Free Lands of Mercia, taking up most of the middle lands. There are many cities in this area, but it exists in essentially a state of anarchism, with all the cities running themselves as they like. The only “government” is a group of nomad warriors known as the Knights of Mercia. They don’t hold any real political power. They receive taxes from each of the cities, which they collect whenever they visit. In return, they eliminate any bandits or warlords that may arise and keep the other nations from encroaching on Mercia. The Kingdom especially has had to been reminded that Mercia is a Free Land, not free land. The Knights also keep garrisons in each city. They defend the city and act as the police force and legal force, giving all of Mercia a set law system. The only power the Knights have is military and judicial. For everything else, the cities do as they please.

The lands to the north, Scotland, are ruled by a variety of nomadic clans, who sometimes move south to raid. There are also raiders living in fortresses in the mountains of Wales, who occasionally move to loot or pillage. Ireland is ruled mostly through a feudal system, the dukes not wielding much power on their own. Another occasional threat is raiding parties from Brittany, which is a slowly growing Catholic theocracy.

-----

Current "Chapter" -  http://brassgoggles.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=15680.650
« Last Edit: July 24, 2009, 05:45:26 am by Vancouver Air Privateer » Logged

"Blessed be Science and her handmaiden Steam;
They make Utopia only half a dream."

"So he pulls an alternating-current taser on me and tells me that only the Official Serbian Church of Tesla can save my polyphase intrinsic electric field, known to non-engineers as 'the soul.' "
Vancouver Air Privateer
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Privateering off HMAS Landeythan


« Reply #1 on: May 06, 2009, 04:30:27 am »

"There she comes!"

Pelly nearly choked on his words in excitement. Royce Grosvenor remained calm, though could have seemed so anyways, his face concealed behind his mask and face coverings. But Pelly was right...from the wastes could be seen glinting and a cloud of dust, indicating something big coming.

"Get back." said Royce. They were on a small rocky hillock, with plenty of cover, but there would be tight lookouts on something like this. Pelly slipped into the shadows and dissapeared, something he was good at. Dark glasses and a flat cap, face unshaved and ruddy from desert heat, small overall and good at hiding. He was just the agent - this was Royce's hunt.

Soon he could see it in detail. It was truly massive - a large roller, treads chewing up the desert and stacks belching thick smoke. This one, however, was inlaid with red and gold decoration and many flags, signifying it belonged to someone of some importance. It also looked to have several defense turrets on it. At the front was an imposing command turret. This was definately it.

It came closer and moved into the lower ground that Royce was perched above - yet still it's top was very close. Royce stepped out onto a narrow ledge. He swung the long metal tube from his back, in a surprisingly non-awkward way. Most men trying this would have pitched off the edge swinging such a weight around. Royce pointed it nearly straight down and looked. He was a little late - the shot wasn't good.

"Hold me!" he snapped to Pelly. He then began to pitch forwards. After a few terrifying seconds, he felt Pelly grip his belt. Now he was far over the edge. He had his angle. He pulled the trigger.

"Keep holding!" he shouted to Pelly as the man jerked a little from the flashback coming from the tube. A metal rocket was spat forth, hurtling at the gargantuan machine's treads. There was a large and defeaning explosion and the metal beast skidded and ground to a halt. Already the turrets were spinning around to find the attacker. But Royce was already running forwads, pulling another shell as he did. A turret saw him and bullets chattered - but not for long. He was already at the front. With it not moving, he made a frighteningly accurate shot at the command turret. He knew how these things were build. Fire spurted from the windows. All the other turrets spun wildly without directions, unable to find him. Pelly gave a small cheer.

"Finish it! Finish her!" he chanted. Royce was already sliding down the hillock. He was now behind the thing. He could hear shouting. He stared down the sights - yes, right about there. He waited. Suddenly a hatch opened at the back and a heavily armed man looked out, dressed in a fine military uniform. He looked in shock at the figure standing so brazenly right outside. His thoughts were ended when the rocket impacted into him, carrying him back and going through him, then impacting the main engines as Royce had intended. There was a loud explosion, then another. Then another.

Royce ran to where Pelly had parked his auto. It was a small machine, a bit ridiculous with the way Pelly had polished the sides. Pelly was laughed and grinning.

"Magnificent! You still have it! Good one Royce, excellent."

Royce removed his helmet. Serious blue eyes stared out.

"Hmm." he said. "Goodbye Pelly."

"Eh? Ah, yes. This is the final one, eh? Sorry to miss you."

"Same." said Royce unconvincingly.

"Want a ride?" asked Pelly.

"No. I want a walk. It's not far at all." said Royce. He walked into the desert, his old life left behind.

------

A few hours later, Royce sat under an awning, looking up at the glass roof  of the Bromwicham Atrium. The desert light was softened as it filtered through. There was a whistle and a light rain began to fall, the tanks built into the roof sprinkling out water. The Atrium was very large and Royce could barely see the other side of the circle through the mist that was rising, across the green crops growing there. People walked in crowds around the central fields, moving between the buildings that ringed it and supported the great glass dome. The buildings ran off and curved on either side, eventually turning back to the far obscured side. Royce sighed contentedly, sipping his tea. He felt a little of the cool mist on his face. This was much more like being alive. He felt in his pocket. That was a lot of money he had gotten in that package from Pelly. He decided to go blow all of it.

He walked into a florists. Flowers of most types were very rare, grown by private gardeners with enough money for their own water systems.. The florist eyed him suspiciously. Everyone else in here was far richer looking than Royce.

"How much for a boquet of white roses?" asked Royce flatly. The florist gave him a ridiculous price. Royce paid it, handing over all of his earned money. He didn't need that much anyways.

"Could you please deliver that to room nineteen of the Harriot Hotel?" he asked. "There will be a young lady there. She'll know who it's from."

The florist was glad to comply now that money had been traded. Royce walked out. He had only a modest amount of money left. That was alright. He wanted to work. He wanted to travel a bit.

With this in mind he walked into a favoured bar, the Rat and Hunter. It was dim inside, the sepia light from above being further filtered. Royce didn't ask for a drink first. He pointed to the bulletin sheet in a special part of the bar. Almost always these places functioned also as meeting places. The barkeep nodded and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, passing them to him. Royce began to write.

"Looking for persons interested in undergoing scavenging missions for good profit. Previous experience, or other skills encouraged. Good survival skills a must at the very least. Must be able to handle any unforseen situations, including possible conflict or disaster."

He paused, thinking. He sighed, realizing he would have to be honest.

"Some money required - no rig acquired as of yet, so crew will have to pool resources to purchase appropriate transportation. Many thanks, Table Seven"

He then passed the money over the counter for a beer with the sheet of paper. The barkeep took it and moved over to the illuminated bulletin board, sticking it up with the few other sheets there. He then poured a drink and handed it to Royce, who took it and sat down at the mentioned Table Seven, marking with a small placard. Now it was just a matter of waiting for interested parties. He was fairly hopeful. There were always people looking to make money out of the wastes.

« Last Edit: June 11, 2009, 08:08:18 am by Vancouver Air Privateer » Logged
Nigel Wetherby
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Knowledge eternal!


« Reply #2 on: May 06, 2009, 04:49:12 am »

Conlan observed the crowd at the squalid bar. The reek of liqour created a foul mist in the air. His black sallet lay upturned on the rough-cut wood table. A steel stein of frothy brew shimmered with condensation.
"Well Oi'll be jiggered!" A gin-drenched voice greeted the downtrodden knight. "Yer one o dem irish knoights eh?" A much taller form placed his meaty, hairy slab of a hand on the wood table.

"What's it loike under all that steel, boy? That stuf'll fetch a high price in a salvage market. So'd that nice little blade of yers. Why not sell 'em ta me? A boy like ye ain't got no use fer them!"
Conlan did not respond, simply taking another mouthful of the frothy, sweet brew which cooled his parched throat.
"Well then, lad. If'n ya won't gimme that steel, then me mates an' I 'll be shellin' ya loike a giant penut!"
The massive figure produced a heavy looking cudgel. Two more men closed in, weilding canes with bladed contents.
Just as the largest man raised his cudgel, he found himself double over, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. The young man stood up, his black armor shining in the sparse light. The jaded barman had seen -and been entertained-  by many barfights before, and the armored young man posed an interesting challenge to the other two contenders.
Conlan raised the small hammer into the air, bringing it down hard on the steel stein, now empty. It was reduced to a shimmering flat disc. The two remaining steel-dealers backed off, fleeing out the door into the desert. Conlan placed the sallet back onto his head, sliding the visor over his eyes to maintain a terrifying exterior for any other attempted "entrepeneurs."
Logged
Aeryenne Tederich
Snr. Officer
****
United Kingdom United Kingdom


The Illusionist


« Reply #3 on: May 06, 2009, 10:42:56 am »

Scarlette Delacroix waltzed with an easy confidence into the familiar dim-lit haunt of the Rat and Hunter. As she strolled amiably along, her light fingers brushed against the coats and pockets of those she passed, relieving them of a few choice trinkets - a coin or two here, a pocketwatch there. Nothing they'd miss. Not until she was long gone, anyway.

Her pockets clinking quietly with lifted goods, she seated herself at the bar and ordered herself a measure of good whiskey - whiskey was hard to come by nowadays and extremely expensive, but she was a slave to her tastes and could never resist splashing out every now and then. She had a bit of actual money put by, and could always trade in the contents of her pockets later on for a little more.

To be honest, she was getting bored with this measly fodder that her practised hands were recieving. She had so many pocketwatches stored away that she could set up flippin' shop if she so desired, it was really quite ridiculous. Her victims weren't to blame, of course - many of them didn't have much left, and they weren't likely to carry around their most prized possessions in their pockets, were they? No, for them she had to pull off house-jobs....but they were so much effort, and even then there was little to be gained that was of any real value.

No, she was getting tired of the simple jobs. She wanted something...something bigger, something that would provide her with the old thrill she used to get from simply pick-pocketing. Something that would put the joie de vivre back into her little existence on this ravaged world. And it was with this thought in mind that her wandering eyes rested upon the bulletin board nearby. There were the usual notes pinned there - all the For Sales, as if anyone would buy anything now....a few Have You Seen This Childs, poor little blighters were going missing all over the place...and there, in the middle. A new one. A plain, square piece of paper, newly-written by the looks of it. Her eye wasn't drawn by it's appearance, but rather by the words - usually she didn't give all these "looking for crew" signs a second thought, but this one....this one intrigued her.

Table Seven...taking a sudden, if risky, leap of faith, Scarlette began to cast her eye around the interior of the bar, until it settled on the aforementioned Table Seven, and the man seated behind it.
Logged

"A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity."
 - Robert Frost
Vancouver Air Privateer
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Privateering off HMAS Landeythan


« Reply #4 on: May 07, 2009, 01:53:13 am »

Royce had been surprised when the Knight walked in. A man in armour was almost invariably a Knight of Mercia. Not neccessarily a bad thing - but the Knights' only work was military protection, enforcing the law and relegating that law. Thus, his first thought was that the Rat and Hunter was about to be raided for God knew what criminal offense he was sure was taking part here.

Then he heard and observed the fight and realized the man was a fuedal Irish Knight. That was something uncommon to see around here. Well, at least it meant that he could stay here drinking in peace. He watched the man. Interesting attire and definate strength. However, he was used to never paying attention to just one thing. When you battled against something that could squash you like a bug, you learned to always be looking for ways out, for opportunities, for little details that would insure victory.

Thus he saw the young lady looking at him. He realized she had just been at the bulletin. Potential crew? He returned her glance, his keen eyes noticing her busy hands. He almost didn't. Amazingly swift. An interesting ability, to say the least.
Logged
Mina
Snr. Officer
****
United States United States


Steampunk seraphim, femme fatale

jaimie_lee93
WWW
« Reply #5 on: May 07, 2009, 02:44:34 am »

Kat wiped her hand across her sweaty brow. She'd been rummaging through the seemingly endless trench of coal for hours. Nothing but what looked like a piece of an old boiler, and a rusted watch chain. Pitiful. Suddenly the rays of the hot sun glimmered against something, and her heart leaped. She'd heard that diamonds came from coal, but she had never actually found any. She lunged forward, grabbing at the piece that had shone. Her hand came back holding a piece of glass; blue, with a lead encompassed dove. It wasn't a diamond, but it was still worth something. She carefully put the piece of stained-glass into her satchel, then grabbed her water-skin for a drink.

It was almost empty. Kat cursed. It was always empty. Wearily, she stood up, hoping that she could make it to the Atrium before dark. She made a small pyramid of coal next to where she found the glass, and on top of it placed a red, worn ribbon. Perhaps there was more nearby.

--

Two hours after walking through the desert, Kat finally saw the welcoming sight of the Bromwicham Atrium. She stumbled through the gate like doors just before curfew.

Looking around, she tried to remember where the flat was that she was renting. She hated to be away from home, but there was no wealth to be found in Wales. No doubt her brother was worried, but he knew she was capable of surviving on her own.

With a sigh, she gave up and stumbled to a pawn shop. Only a few coins for all that work: sadly, it was the most money she had ever had. After setting aside enough to pay the rent, she headed over to the market. Over priced vegetables, some meat that was hardly more than bones. When she was done, she had one coin left.

Still lost, Kat decided to head to a bar that seemed popular. Perhaps someone there could point her in the right direction. She swept back her long, red hair, and tied it back with a ribbon, took a deep breath, and headed in.

After entering, the first thing Kat noticed was the stench. The second was a bulletin board. Instinctively, she moved forward. She'd found her flat on a board like this, perhaps she could find it again, and maybe even a job.

No, just for sales, something about scavenging, but it said she'd need money to join. As if. But something caught her eye. One paper said:

Missing: Katherine Doyle
red hair, green eyes, medium height and build
If found please contact Arthur Doyle
316 Rowley Place, Room 6

Well, so much for her brother leaving her alone. Ironically, Kat recognized the address: it was right across the street from her flat. She sighed, then when to the counter, and put down her last coin. A mug was shoved in her direction, and she took a sip. She grimaced; she hated ale, but it was all that was to be had.

Remembering the advert for a scavenging job, Kat pulled out the rent money she'd set aside. Ten coins. She started thinking. If she joined the crew, she wouldn't need to pay for rent. If she joined the crew, her brother wouldn't - couldn't -  find her.
« Last Edit: May 07, 2009, 03:06:44 am by Mina » Logged

Come take my journey into night
    Come be my shadow, walk at my side
    And when you see all that I have seen
    Can you tell me love from pride?
Nigel Wetherby
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Knowledge eternal!


« Reply #6 on: May 07, 2009, 02:46:37 am »

The clanking of the Irish knight's plate drew closer to the young lass. The dark eyes of its wearer hidden by the sallet, though they scanned the bulleting clinically. He noticed the young woman, clinking with baubles and stolen wares. A steadfast knight of any order would have had her at their blade, but in Conlan's travels he had learned of the nobility of the rouge and the wariness that must come with the idea. He noticed her interest in the bulletin and turned to her, contemplating lifting his visor to get a better look at the rather attractive woman.

However, he quickly forced himself away from her figure to the business at hand, searching for table seven and finding it in the center of the bar amid the drunks and rabble. A path was cleared, as many had learned not only from the recent skirmish but from past experience that blokes in armor were to be given as much space as necesarry. He sat down at the table, removing his helmet and placing it upon the table, revealing the visage of a young man no older than 18.
"I understand you are searching for an extra hand in a few jobs?" His voice was soft, but seemed to bear unseen loads, like a workhorse who had forgotten it was towing a block of limestone the size of a cairrage.
Logged
Vancouver Air Privateer
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Privateering off HMAS Landeythan


« Reply #7 on: May 07, 2009, 04:03:07 am »

"Ah, yes." said Royce amiably. "Thank you for showing interest. Please, sit down. I didn't get a larger table for my imaginary friends."

He looked across at Scarlette "I'm sorry if I'm mistaken miss, but I saw your interest in the board and your contemplation of the table. This is the Table Seven meeting, if you are so interested."

He said this a bit louder - that way, anyone else in the bar who had read the bulletin would hear him too.

"So." he said to Conlan, but also to the approaching Scarlette. "I'm Royce Grosvenor. What would you prefer me to call you?"
Logged
JohnSix
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Ireland, Republic of Ireland, Republic of


Doctor of Magic

Johnsix
« Reply #8 on: May 07, 2009, 04:15:56 am »

Benjamin Babbage had the unusual quirk of walking into the seediest of bars with his head buried in a book.
This week the book was an interesting treatise on the construction of electric motors he had picked up a week ago.
The bar was the Rat and the Hunter, a delightful den of scum and villainy in which Ben was a regular.

He walked to the bar oblivious to the various new arrivals, and ordered his usual, which was the only drink in town that you could keep down and wouldn't make you go blind.

He looked up from his book for a brief moment to check the notice board. Nothing new, except for a missing persons notice (Ben quickly committed the description to memory for future reference) and an advertisement for scavenging work.

This peeked Ben's interest enough to make him put down the book (memorising the page of course). He had been looking for some new employment and if the employer seemed trustworthy enough he'd be finally able to investigate the rather valuable information he had recently acquired.

Just as he was turning to look for table seven, a voice piped up "This is the Table Seven meeting, if you are so interested."

He walked over briskly and introduced himself "Hello gentlemen and ladies, I'm Benjamin Babbage, Last Scholar in Britain."
« Last Edit: May 07, 2009, 04:27:14 am by JohnSix » Logged

Steampunk Radio Play.
Now taking auditions.
http://brassgoggles.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=16578.0
Nigel Wetherby
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Knowledge eternal!


« Reply #9 on: May 07, 2009, 04:29:27 am »

"Conlan, Sir Conlan O'Draigen." He placed his shining black dome of a helm down upon the table. "It is a name I crafted myself." He placed the heavy, short-handled mace upon the table.
"I have come from a very long way away and I beleive this sort of excursion may be just what I need. I offer you my services as a master of ranged and close combat. I have defended my homeland by the side of Sir Brendan the lion-hearted. Upon his demise," He made a sign of the cross. "He knighted me with his last ounce of strength, so I assure you my age is of no importance. I am a knight of the fallen house of the blackthorn. O'Draigen."
He pointed to the coat of arms on his shoulder. The fall of the O'Draigen house had been widespread news across the barrens of Britain.
legend had been that knights were raised from children. Some said they were naught but mindlessly loyal constructs created by palace madboys. A black knight of O'Draigen stood as a testament of defiance against all assumptions of an annihilated kingdom.

"As for funds." He reached into a black satchel, embroidered with the symbol of his clan. He placed upon the gleaming table a pile of thick brass coins. "I have made quite a bit as a soldier of fortune, but not as much as I would like. If it is for a good transport, the money shall be well worth it."
Logged
Aeryenne Tederich
Snr. Officer
****
United Kingdom United Kingdom


The Illusionist


« Reply #10 on: May 07, 2009, 07:55:01 am »

Scarlette made her way over to the table, joining the men already gathered there and folding her arms almost defensively. She stood back in silence until they were quite finished, but her eyes were drawn by the pile of bright coins placed down by Sir Conlan O'Draigen. Sir. Very fancy indeed. And look at the spoils he carried on him. Hm. Already her interests were piqued. She waited until his little speech was over before speaking herself, hungry eyes still watching the coins.

"Fascinating, gentlemen. Whilst we're still at introductions, I am Scarlette Delacroix - neither scholar nor knight, I'm afraid, but I hope that won't bear ill on me in the present situation." She finally dragged her eyes away from the coins, scanning the faces of the men before her, and her defensive posture grew a little more pronounced, but she smirked nonetheless and looked to Royce. "Your little notice caught my eye, sir - perhaps you'll find me of some use."
Logged
Vancouver Air Privateer
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Privateering off HMAS Landeythan


« Reply #11 on: May 07, 2009, 08:11:01 am »

Royce seemed unaffected by the smirk. He kept his same cool, but affable attitude. There did seem to be something far tougher below that...but he didn't hope he'd have to dig too deep in that.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Scarlette and you Mr. Babbage. Or, is it Professor Babbage? You are both quite welcome to join this little enterprise. It's rare to have such a willing crew for something like this - often its rather shady types trying to work out a scam deal."

"And I must note my interest in your title as the "Last Scholar" Proffessor Babbage...I had hoped to do some regular work in the general area...but now you've reminded me of something else... Sorry, I'm rambling a bit. But I want to wait for the crowd to thin a bit before I start. Less noise and jostling that way. Also I'll leave some time to let any other interested parties find the table."

"And please, Ms. Delacroix - I think your...talents...might be quite useful."

He gave a small smile.

"Don't worry, I don't talk to Knights...except for the Irish type it seems."
Logged
Titus Wells
Zeppelin Captain
*****
United Kingdom United Kingdom


Forward The Steamtomaton Apocalypse!


WWW
« Reply #12 on: May 07, 2009, 10:17:58 am »

'Red' Prentine was sat in his usual shady corner of the Rat and Hunter, his heavy, much-repaired and metal-plated boots slung onto the table before him as he tinkered with a small screwdriver at the intricate power coupling he held in his gaunletted hand. The coupling glinted faintly in the darkness. Red's attention was distracted briefly by the arrival of the landlord, who placed a large tankard of ale on Prentine's table, shot a disdainful look at the scruffy boots on the woodwork and shuffled off back to the bar. Red barely raised his eyes. The landlord here tolerated him and furnished him with a steady supply of ale in return for the work he did on the inn's pumps... and the steady supply of ale he 'acquired' from passing supply convoys. Besides, Red was a slow drinker. His work was his first concern and he had no other place to perform his delicate engineering.

Now his attention was diverted, however, by a small, but ever-growing group of people clustered around one of the tables. The bustle of the inn was a comfort to him, too much of his life was spent in the desolate, lonely silence of the deserts, but this had a different feel about it. There was organisation here. In Red's experience organisation generally led to profit. He'd been on many a scavenging mission with disreputable and unrealistic souls and knew instinctively when such a project was likely to fail. This had none of that desperate, mad energy to it. This had the look of a careful and relaxed plan, and they usually ended up meeting their objectives. Well, if they were hitting the wastes they'd need a competant salvager-fixer and Red couldn't think of anyone better than himself to fill that post.

Removing a tatty rag from one of his many pockets he wiped the grime from his gauntlets off the coupling, wrapped it carefully in a strip of cotton  and tucked it into a belt pouch. He swung his legs from the table, rose slowly and headed for table seven.
Logged

"Who would have guessed that behind the formidable brow of his, which appeared to be made of some kind of rook, there lay so strange a mixture of memories and thoughts?"

Mina
Snr. Officer
****
United States United States


Steampunk seraphim, femme fatale

jaimie_lee93
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« Reply #13 on: May 07, 2009, 08:49:22 pm »

Kat heard the man call out about the table seven meeting. Nervously, fingering her last copper coins, Kat wished she could make the decision. Glancing over at the table, she saw that there were already some people there. A knight, a woman in a leather trench, a man who, to be frank, scared Kat with his many pockets and scruffy hair.

She could wait, perhaps something else would present itself to her. But she knew that if she waited too long, the opportunity before her would vanish.

As she stood up, Kat felt the anticipation swell inside her, almost making her sit back down. Instead, she drained the bitter ale, took a deep breath, and pocketing her money, walked to the table.

She did not sit down, but stood a few feet away, waiting for the man who was talking to finish. Something about knights, obviously aimed at the man in the armor.

"Name's Kat," she said, taking a step forward.
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Vancouver Air Privateer
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« Reply #14 on: May 07, 2009, 09:05:24 pm »

Royce smiled warmly at Kat. "Please, take a seat. The more the merrier, especially in the wastes, where you want as many as possible to watch your back. This is Conlan and Professor Babbage and Ms. Delacroix. I'm Royce Grosvenor. Who might you two be?" He said, both to Kat and Red.

He looked them over. Red looked very prepared for this sort of mission. That was good - he wasn't the best with machine repairs. Ah, that reminded him. They'd have to sort out a fair dealing with money for the rig. It would be fair for them all the pay the same, but it was obvious persons like himself and Conlan had more. A percentage would be more fair, but it was natural that people would understate the amount of cash they had. Well, they'd sort it out. Red probably knew what a good deal was. He didn't buy rigs, just slew them.
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Mina
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Steampunk seraphim, femme fatale

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« Reply #15 on: May 07, 2009, 09:16:20 pm »

Kat did as offered, and noticed a certain, recognizable look on Royce's face. It was one often on her brothers. With a sigh, she dumped her pitiful change on the table, next to a large pile of thick coins.

Still nervous, she began fingering a spanner she'd found and hadn't been able to part with, hanging now from her belt.

"Kat Doyle, doer of various odd-jobs at your service" she addressed the table, and glanced at the man who had arrived at the table with her, then at the knight. Though his face was mostly covered, she couldn't imagine him being much older than herself. They're trying to get themselves killed, younger and younger she thought. Then, she realized that she was probably doing the same. A small chuckle escaped her, and she ducked her head down, hoping to avoid strange glances. It was probably too late, anyway.
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Titus Wells
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« Reply #16 on: May 07, 2009, 09:19:09 pm »

"The name's Red, Red Prentine. Been eight years a-scavenging these dunes and never found anything I couldn't put to some use. Figure if you're going to be hot-footing it out there in the wastes you'll be needing a bit of technical support."

Red sat himself down on the bench opposite Royce, removed his right gauntlet and proffered a lithe, red-hued hand.

"Pleased to meet y'all."
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Aeryenne Tederich
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« Reply #17 on: May 07, 2009, 09:20:50 pm »

Scarlette stayed quiet and leant a hand on the table, shifting her weight to one foot and casting an interested glance around at the steadily-growing gang she had now found herself a part of. After all, she'd had so many years of working independently...it was odd to suddenly find herself within a group again. She shifted her gaze and watched Kat for a few moments, offering a reassuring smile when their eyes met. Nice to know she wouldn't be the only female on this voyage...

In terms of the money Royce was after, Scarlette felt pretty confident that she'd be able to manifest enough, even if it meant selling off a few of the choice items that she had stashed away. Anyway, she was hoping that at some point during the upcoming journey she'd be able to recover whatever cash she handed over. No doubt there would be the opportunity for a little five-finger-discounting somewhere along the way.
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Mina
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Steampunk seraphim, femme fatale

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« Reply #18 on: May 07, 2009, 09:33:27 pm »

Kat looked up and glanced around as Red introduced himself. The smile Scarlette gave her went a long way in calming her down, and she returned it gladly.

The group at the table had grown quite big, and Kat sincerely hoped it wouldn't get any bigger. These people all seemed experienced and capable, she couldn't imagine needing more for whatever they were doing. Leaning back a bit, Kat suddenly had an urge she could not deny. Reaching back casually, she found her fingers wrapped around a smooth metal object in someones pocket. Wrapping her fingers around it, she put her hands behind her head, heart beating frantically.

She immediately felt guilty. Whatever was in her hands now had been perhaps the last prized possession of some poor guy. She had once been robbed, and it hadn't felt good. Glancing at her companions, she saw a knowing smirk on Scarlette's face. He was probably going to gamble it off for booze or a bad round of cards, anyway she found herself thinking. But she did decide that it wouldn't happen again, not unless it had to.

She could tell the item was a watch, old, scratched, and obviously the owner hadn't cared enough to put in on a chain. She reached into her pocket, and then pulled it out as if it had always been there. Unfortunately, it was broken. Of course.
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Skinner
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Captain Charlotte J. Skinner, Airship Scalleywag


« Reply #19 on: May 07, 2009, 09:38:18 pm »

Skinner departed the barstool she occupied, leaving her drained pint glass behind, licking her chops- the smell of the good ale lingered on her lips and breath. She hated to be part of a flock, but after listening in on the conversation for so long, she was itching to sign up. She approached, from behind Kat and Scarlette, then blanched. Women? Never! Two of them, and fit as they came! Dressed up in men's threads, just like her. It made her fumble, her eyebrows raised, and she uneasily side stepped to avoid them and stood behind one of the seated fellows instead. She knew one thing better than anything, and that was Women were trouble. And it would never dawn on her, in her whole life, how ironic that sounded to everyone else in the world.

"Mr Grosvenor." she announced, having caught the name whilst eavesdropping, cutting brashly into the conversation. "You need a rig, ent it? I have pleanty o' idears on rigs, sir, if I can persuade yeh to listen..." she added, then dropped her coin pouch onto the table. It made a jolly sound. She had just cashed in her most recent hauls, and had yet to spend the majority of her profit. And that was just what she had with her.

She stood back when she added her coinage to the pile and folded her arms over her chest. "Cap'n Skinner, at yer service." She tipped her hat, then shut her face.

Until she spotted her pocket watch in Kat's hands. She yelped and swiped for it, trying to get it back off her.
"Not so fast, Kitty-Kat!" She barked. "Thou sneaky little brat!"
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Nigel Wetherby
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« Reply #20 on: May 07, 2009, 09:45:12 pm »

Conlan examined those who gathered at the table. The moment the woman known as Kat introduced herself, he began to realise that this would indeed be a very interesting voyage. Any other knight would have seed these men  and women condemned to stay in a glass dome in time square, begging for food and water as they roasted to death in the hot sun. Conlan was not any other knight. He held no vendetta against these people, he had bigger fish to fry...in his case it was more of a boar that needed roasting.
However, the young man beneath the sturdy steel shell did not particularly loathe the amount of rather attractive women boarding this quest into the wastes. Plus there was the lingering chance he may come across a suit of steam-armor, a deadly weapon when  a knight is housed within its nigh impenitrable hide.
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Mina
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Steampunk seraphim, femme fatale

jaimie_lee93
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« Reply #21 on: May 07, 2009, 09:49:48 pm »

Kat pulled back her hand, unwilling to give up her prize. Her scar glimmered in the dim light, unused to being exposed.

"What, this thing? Short guy shoved it in my hands, just as I was walkin' in here!" she said, trying her hardest not to sound too defensive.

She inwardly cursed for leaving the watch in plain sight. She hated blaming someone else, but what were the chances that this Captain Skinner would know such a man?
« Last Edit: May 07, 2009, 09:54:25 pm by Mina » Logged
Titus Wells
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« Reply #22 on: May 07, 2009, 09:54:03 pm »

"Hm, a Brownley and Falconer Chronomate. Haven't seen one of these for a while. Heirloom of yours ms. Skinner?"

Red swung the watch by its ring on a jewellers screwdriver he had skewered it from Kat's grasp with.
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Skinner
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Captain Charlotte J. Skinner, Airship Scalleywag


« Reply #23 on: May 07, 2009, 09:59:22 pm »

Skinner snorted loudly at Kat. "I know that watch better than I know my own mother, yeh cheeky sod!"

She snatched it off of Red's screwdriver and turned slightly, clutching her silver timepiece in her hands, crooning over it, checking for any new dents.

"I won it off a man in a poker game, on my first trip to the Americas. I were in Louisiana, checkin' out the steam boats on that big muddy river what they have. Some bloke by the name of Mark Twain, look, you can see it on the engravin', 'ere." She held the watch very tightly, opened the lid, and showed Red the engraving. Sure enough, it had the name on the inside of the lid, and a date. It was a very ornate piece, though much damaged from being heavily used more than it should have been. The front was engraved with the heads of three bridled horses in Western tack, and the face of the watch itself was carefully inlaid with precious metals.
She withdrew it as soon as he could read it, and snapped it shut.

Then shot Kat a strangely amused smile. She put the watch away, into a deeper, closer pocket in one of the pouches on her belt. Then she leant towards Kat, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, murmuring in her ear.

"I likes you, Kitty-Kat. But, if I ever catch your fingers in my pocket again, yeh won't be getting them back." She hissed, and withdrew, folding her arms again across her chest as if nothing happened. She took another pointed side-step away from the girls and grumbled. She knew it. Nothing but Trouble.
« Last Edit: May 07, 2009, 10:04:50 pm by Skinner » Logged
Titus Wells
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« Reply #24 on: May 07, 2009, 10:04:48 pm »

Replacing his screwdriver and tipping Kat a subtle wink, Red turned back to the others.

"So Sir knight, looks like you've got a fine posse going here, how many more are we looking to share with? Seems to me we've a fair number of bases covered already."

Red reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, scuffed velvet sack. He tossed it deftly onto the table alongside the other offerings.
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