NationStates Jolt Archive

Fawley’s Outback Guides
Present
The Ultimate Hunt

Fawley’s Outback Guides are honoured to present a once in a lifetime opportunity to the great game hunters of the world to track down one of the most formidable predators in the world, the majestic king of the Freethinker wilderness, the FREESTIAN SAND DRAGON. One of the greatest of nature’s predator kings, this magnificent bull is one of less than a dozen to be authorized in a cull by the Freethinker government, providing a single opportunity for hunters worldwide to prove themselves against this most powerful and magnificent of beasts.

BE WARNED! This is not a hunt where the prey will be outmatched or helpless, this incredible creature has won a reputation for defending itself against all comers and will not struggle to root out weak opponents with lethal effect. This is the ultimate challenge to seasoned hunters and only those who are willing to take the risk, travelling into the creature’s own territory, should consider applying for this hunt.

How to apply: Space on this trip is extremely limited, and only five parties (of up to four people) will be allowed on this hunt. Applicants are expected to be experienced in basic desert and mountain survival and hunting techniques, and must also be willing to take all risks of such a trip into account when considering an application. Enquiries and applications can be made to the following address and telephone number (OOC: Reply in this thread). The first five successful applicants will be taken.

Cost: A fee of M2,000,000 (roughly $4,000,000) will apply to any successful candidate. A pack animal and supplies will be provided, but applicants must be willing to supply their own weaponry, ammunition and to also ensure such weapons are documented with the Freethinker Government upon arrival. Transportation and accommodation before the hunt are also the individual responsibility of each applicant.

© 2005 Fawley’s Outback Guides
A registered Freethinker company

We have a number of questions before letting hunters consider applying.
Are there any weapons limits, either in numbers or type of weaponry?
What are the strength and weaknesses of the Sand Dragon?
How will trophies be decided?

ooc: What tech level?

OOC: Indeed. I wouldn't know if I should pack a simple 710 Remington in .300 WinMag or something more powerful, like an M85A1 in the mighty .50 BMG. This is also assuming we are allowed to hunt with rifles at all.

We have a number of questions before letting hunters consider applying.
Are there any weapons limits, either in numbers or type of weaponry?
What are the strength and weaknesses of the Sand Dragon?
How will trophies be decided?

ooc: What tech level?

1) There are no limits as such on the power of any weapon you bring, but you must remember that there will only be three pack animals per group of three and as such you should consider weight and ammunition as principle concerns. You will need a lot of ammunition, not just for the dragon but also the local wildlife.

2) Put it this way. They have no natural weakness. Entire army companies have been massacered trying to dislodge one from a residential district. This is the ultimate hunt, and that is why.

3) Trophies will depend upon the success of the hunt and what we agree to. We will assume that whoever actually kills the beast will get to claim whicher parts of it he or she wishes. However, it is likely to not be the only prize of the trip, so be ready for quite a few.

OOC: Indeed. I wouldn't know if I should pack a simple 710 Remington in .300 WinMag or something more powerful, like an M85A1 in the mighty .50 BMG. This is also assuming we are allowed to hunt with rifles at all.

The question is answered by 1) above. Rifles, machine guns etc are all allowed. Be sure to register them properly with the government, however, upon arrival.

Jacob Fawley. Esq. FFS

ooc: What tech level?
Laser based, rail-guns, conventional(Modern) rifles ect.

OOC: Theao: Any modern tech or PMT weapon is acceptable. Bring something reasonably heavy if you wish but be warned that there is a limit to what can be carried.

The missive arrived in the usual manner, that is, to say, highly mysteriously and seemingly without any way that it could have arrived. It simply...showed up. Of course, it "simply showed up" in a mailbox, so it was hopefully unlikely that it would be destroyed out of hand before somebody took a look at it.

If they did, one would probably the first note the ornate letterhead:

FROM THE DESK OF HIS GRACE, DAMIEN FIONN COLLISSON, DUKE OF ALME
[message begins]
It would be my distinct honor to participate in this hunt. For myself, I have been, for quite some time, Lord Warden of Nightside, a location within my nation that we keep purposefully...feral...for the purposes of training certain elements of our military.

Find attached to this message a note from the Central Bank of Nexus for the requested cover price, with the understanding that said note shall be rendered void should my application be denied.

Presuming that my application is accepted, my party shall consist of two people, myself and Raege Makkon, a Warden in his own right and my shieldbearer.

Further, I would be accompanied by my hunting cat, Sceol.

We fully understand the terms of the Hunt, and are currently staying at the RSN's Sol Station, and as such would arrive within the lands of The Freethinkers quite soon after transmission of approval.

Sworn Still,
Damien Fionn Collison

FROM THE DESK OF HIS GRACE, DAMIEN FIONN COLLISSON, DUKE OF ALME
[message begins]

<snip>

Sworn Still,
Damien Fionn Collison

Dear sir,

I am pleased to announce the success of your application and the receipt of your payment. I have cleared your animal with Freethinker Aerospace Control, though you will be obligated to fill in some forms (I117 and I118.b, attached) with the relevent proof of ownership and health.

We recommend landing at the John Barham Intl Airport in Navarre. We have arranged a meeting at 6pm Dec XXth at the Belmore Hotel in Navarre as an introduction to the hunt. I have also forward on several free guides to the best hotels in The Freethinkers.

Happy Hunting, your Grace.

Jacob Fawley. Esq. FFS

Shattered Ruins

Indulging in memories of the past. Here the place where it micro-nuked a bridge, there the indoor-woods it burned and the cellar it gassed.

An empty casing, lacking any kind of meaningful interior. Ex-opponents the environment was still struggling to get to rust.

Relatively little radiation around. Only a few milligray - It wasn't exactly a fierce battle, and the industrial districts are a fair distance away.

And then again, boredom. Memories indeed, memories to be indulged in the ruins left, the ruins nobody saw fit to include in the rebuilding programs, as they were effectively considered worthless.

A few millimissiles are released´, speeding in the direction of a variety of imagined targets, turning and twisting, evading equally imagined defences.

A notice is received and ignored for a fraction of a second. The missiles hit their targets, dummy-warheads doing little more than microscopic dents while in VR, buildings collapse.

Then the notice is read.

Some moments pass as decisions are made - Technically, it isn't the real thing. On the other hand, if Fawley’s Outback Guides isn't exaggerating too hard... Might be worth it.

Information speeds through somewhat erratic pathways within equally erratic networks, and a fair fraction of a planetary diameter away, a phone rings.

Monetary resources are available. Basic hunting techniques - Admittedly for humans and machines, not for dragons - are available, too. Basic desert and mountain survival experience isn't, but it's fairly certain that it can manage without it.

Swivelling around, and rising fractionally in the air, it 'talks', its virtual voice modulated to be cold, disaffectionate.

For now, all this seems to be is an exceedingly expensive training exercise for somewhat eccentric people like it.

To: Fawley’s Outback Guides
From: Joerin Kell

I wish to sign up for the opportunity to participate in this hunt. I have a good deal of experiance hunting in hostile terrain, and have Never hunted prey that has not hunted back. Pending acceptance of my application, my party shall consist of myself, and Pelora Cren, an experiance hunter and ranger in her own right.

In-closed is payment, cashable upon acceptance, otherwise null and void.

Fawley Compound, Great Southern Desert

The old-style faded plastic phone in the office rang, cutting through the quiet dry air like a missile; sending an old dozing secretary (named Ginny according to the ‘Hello, My Name Is’ badge stuck to the front of her blouse) twisting in her seat, knocking over old soda cans and papers as her three inch nails struggled to get round and pick up the blocky receiver in front of her.

Words were quickly exchanged, the voice oddly metallic, but the money very real as the secretary’s eyes looked hawkish at the computer screen in front of her, the dull display showing the rising zero’s in the company account. This customer was odd, thought Ginny, but courteous and to the point. More importantly they paid. The booking was quickly confirmed and a note shot off to the boss’s office up the hallway.

Jacob Fawley was an older man than many would expect in such a profession. His hairline receded beyond any means of salvation, his skin was tanned and cracked from a lifetime in the Outback and his once muscular frame now seemed finally to be going to seed. Faded tattoos of old army units and former loves littered the visible parts of his arms, stretching awkwardly across his body in an awkward written history. Dull aches and pains were now constant nuisances, and only his bright blue eyes would reveal the hunger and spark of cunning that remained there still.

He sat back into his favourite chair, a comfy old-style swivel job with an imitation dragon scale finish to match the various hunting trophies displayed haphazardly around the office. Lit in dull orange from the morning sun outside, a large assortment of horns, hides and claws from the various denizens of the desert around the small compound stood in silent witness to Fawley’s skill. Photographs and newspaper cuttings, none more recent than a decade, filled in the gaps on the wall, Fawley’s younger, healthier looking picture seen smiling atop the carcasses of Cave Giants and feral Wyverns propped up for the pose. One creature from the great menagerie of the Freethinker desert was missing, however.

The king of the desert himself, the sand dragon, the last of the great predators Fawley needed to hunt.

Of course, the fact this hunt would also set up Fawley’s not inconsequential retirement wouldn’t go amiss either for the old man.

The accounts sent forward to him were welcoming. Three confirmed bookings, six million Mintels in the bank so far. He quickly sketched up an answer to the last two enquiries and began running through a government checklist for the hunt. Insurance was never going to be found for this sort of adventure, but thank god for liability agreements and Freethinker law. The desert had this nasty habit of keeping those not up to task, and Fawley found himself hoping that the listed credentials were not exaggerations. Any feelings of unease, however, disappeared with a quick glance at the bank statements.

********

To: Joerin Kell
From: Fawley’s Outback Guides
RE: Application

Dear Sir,
We are pleased to accept your application and welcome you to our adventure. We will ready ourselves for your party and will politely provide information for registering your weapons with the government as well as a guide to accommodation. A get together at 6pm Dec XXth at the Belmore Hotel in Navarre has been arranged for you to meet with your fellow guests and to be introduced to the hunt. Feel free to enjoy the city before then.

Happy Hunting

Jacob Fawley. Esq. FFS

********

A similar message was fired off to Bob. Fawley wondered aloud what precisely Bob was and whether or not it would affect the bottom line.

To: Freethinkers Weapons Registry
From: Joerin Kell
Registering weapons as per requirements of Fawley’s Outback Guides.
I wish to register:
1 X CUAC Rifle .50 caliber
2 X PX FireStorm pistols .40 caliber
1 X SAER Rifle .50 caliber
1 X MetStorm Grenade Launcher 40mm
2 X Combat Knives
1 X Heavy Axe

To: Mr. Fawley
From: Former Drill Sergeant Keyton Kerrich
Subject: A Challenge

Dear Mr. Fawley,

My name is Keyton Kerrich, I am a former Drill Sergeant with the Argonian Army. Having served in numerous peacekeeping actions within my nation's own borders, I have hunted a large number of things, most of them two-legged. I'm contacting you to request a safari to take one of your nation's 'sand-dragons', which should be challenging if your reports are all true. Enclosed is a bank account including my life savings, amounting to the exact sum required to book this excursion as well as a list of the gear I plan to bring to be registered.

The Money: Swiss Account number 11027666

The Tools:

Barrett M85A1 .50 BMG & 100 rounds Armor Piercing Inciendiary ammunition
Springfield Operator M1911A1 .45 ACP (2) 46 FMJ rounds of ammuniton
Smatchet (Large, leaf-bladed knife 5 inches in length)
Cold Steel Combat Tomahawk
Remington 870 12 gage 40 rounds Explosive Slug ammunition
M67 Fragmentation Grenade (3)

To: Mr. Fawley
From: Former Drill Sergeant Keyton Kerrich
Subject: A Challenge

Dear Mr. Fawley,

My name is Keyton Kerrich, I am a former Drill Sergeant with the Argonian Army. Having served in numerous peacekeeping actions within my nation's own borders, I have hunted a large number of things, most of them two-legged. I'm contacting you to request a safari to take one of your nation's 'sand-dragons', which should be challenging if your reports are all true. Enclosed is a bank account including my life savings, amounting to the exact sum required to book this excursion as well as a list of the gear I plan to bring to be registered.

The Money: Swiss Account number 11027666

The Tools:

Barrett M85A1 .50 BMG & 100 rounds Armor Piercing Inciendiary ammunition
Springfield Operator M1911A1 .45 ACP (2) 46 FMJ rounds of ammuniton
Smatchet (Large, leaf-bladed knife 5 inches in length)
Cold Steel Combat Tomahawk
Remington 870 12 gage 40 rounds Explosive Slug ammunition
M67 Fragmentation Grenade (3)

To: Sergeant Keyton Kerrich
From: Fawley’s Outback Guides
RE: Application

Dear Sir,
We are pleased to accept your application and welcome you to our adventure. We will ready ourselves for your party and will politely provide information for registering your weapons with the government as well as a guide to accommodation.

A get together at 6pm Dec XXth at the Belmore Hotel in Navarre has been arranged for you to meet with your fellow guests and to be introduced to the hunt. I have registered your weapons with the Freethinker Interior Ministry, a license will be avaliable for pick at Customs. Happy Hunting.

Jacob Fawley. Esq. FFS

OOC: Theao, your weapons have also been cleared.

Surreal Realms

Crimson skies, burning grounds, corpses betwe-

But no. That's far too stereotypical and would make the average visitor cringe with laughter, rather than inspire awe.

As it is, it looks - Would look - like an overdimensional abstract painting with a few too many colours and forms thrown in, where the geometries are pointless ornaments and the colours are consciences and thoughts.

A wild chaos of thoughts, and the majority is somewhat pointless, lacking any kind of relevance past the moment and - Sometimes - some artistic value.

Still, within the chaos, heated discussions take place. A mind trying to convince another to participate in what it considers an interesting diversion.

Resistance, and both are lost in the swirling mass of information around them, finding together again, getting lost again...

But eventually, the second mind is convinced, even though she's all so slightly tired.

Reality

The phone rings again. Arrangements are updated, costs recalculated, money transfers organised. A second guest - Female - will be present.

Elsewhere, information regarding Freethinker laws is gathered, and baggage arrangements are based on them - Not every country is as liberal with regards to a number of substances as DA is.

Meanwhile, the drone - 'Bob' to its friends, and flGCD 205/501 to everyone else - eventually starts its threehundred-odd kilometre trip over the open sea, before finally catching up with its temporary host, the submersible Moist Menace.

ETA The Freethinkers: A day or two, depending on how lazy Chan Yuan - The submersible's operator - is.

Knowing her, flGCD 205/501 'Bob' supposes that two days may be closer to the truth.

Well, at least it leaves some time for the documentation-thing... flGCD 205/501 supposes that this will mostly be done upon arrival, leaving officials a bit of time to look through their baggage, but providing a preliminary list of various things as suggested by Fawley’s Outback Guides is, of course, somewhat helpful.

A number of relatively harmless substances, a few combat drugs (Less harmless), Chan Yuan's little black dress (Sadly unused, though this would change, hopefully), flGCD 205/501's postage stamp collection (It'd never do anything without it), a variety of alcoholic beverages (Usually spiced up), a little bit of pocket money (Already changed to Mintels), reserve fuel for the fission/ fusion reactor, radioactive waste disposal unit (External), warm underwear for Chan Yuan (After all, the night in the desert tends to be cold), accelerated decay 'nades, neutron 'nades, unsuppressed internal effectors (For both), projectile rifle, particle rifle, UV laser rifle (Only for flGCD 205/501, as Chan Yuan was coming as a visitor, and not really to hunt by herself), various gadgets, a few thousand millimissiles and drones (There was a reason for them to be called 'milli'), radiological explosives, some food, some carbonated water, lots of spare parts and dual-use options, and a several decades old plushy cat called 'Fluffy' Chan Yuan had gotten from her dad back at her third birthday.

Well, all of this, and Mephistopheles - The on-board Psionic Magpie Chan Yuan kept - decided that he really liked to stay on top of flGCD 205/501's casing, much to its annoyance.

In the meantime, Chan Yuan quickly looked through her more interesting clothing options. She really wanted to know more about Freestian vampires... And their capabilities.

Not that she'd admit that, of course...

An on-board flight is, of course, available. Another few hours - Certainly no more than twenty - and they'll be on their way. Again, arrangements are made, notices are given - Arrival at John Barham Intl Airport in 1 1/2 days, and that's it.

Next stop: The Freethinkers.

The Arrival of Lord Warden His Grace Fionn Fairhair (Damien F. Collison), Duke of Alme, and his Companions, Warden Raege Makkon, and the great cat Sceol.

All the details had been handled by the diplomatic staff on Calirnevris. Thus it was that when Fionn Collison, Damien only to his mother, stepped off of the RSN cutter, he did so with the full knowledge that he himself had no reason to concern himself with the Freethinkerian bureaucracy.

Not that his weapons were on all that impressive of a level compared to what he expected from the other hunters.

Fionn would be first down the cutter's ramp, a magnificent specimen of the Halfling Ascended race. He stood about six foot four inches with snow-white hair streaked with a metallic gray that he currently wore tied back in a simple ponytail.

He was slim, lacking the sheer muscle mass of many of his contemporaries...but beneath the well-worn, comfortable clothing was a finely-tuned body, possessed of a kind of wiry strength that seemed to be far greater than it should be, even taking into account his origins.

His clothing, as mentioned previously, wasn't exactly the height of fashion. He wore a pair of faded jeans that, while appearing to be classic earthly jeans, were rather the Ascended original. On his chest, he wore a tight-ish olive drab t-shirt beneath a faded brown jacket.

His companion, who followed him down the ramp, was quite a bit shorter than Fionn at maybe three and a half feet at the shoulder...but then, his companion was a cat, and three and a half feet at the shoulder was a rather respectable height for a cat.

That great cat was something of a legend, on the same order that Dysaryn Stark's great gray wolf was something of a legend. In fact, Sceol was quite similar to Dysaryn's Arys in that both beasts were Familiars, that is, to say, specifically designed as companion-creatures by the scientists of the former Ascended Supremacy, and that Fionn had such a beast was a statement on many levels.

Following that great, handsome cat was Raege Makkon, Fionn's shieldbearer. He was a bit on the short side of average at five foot eight, but not drastically so. However, he more than made up for his perceived lack of inches (compared to the taller than average Fionn) in broadness of the shoulder. He was one of those incredibly broad men that seemed to be much shorter than they actually were, and it looked like he could very well snap the taller Lord Warden in half were he to take a mind of it.

Raege wore similar clothing to Fionn, in that it was obviously well-worn and not at all un-civilian. However, the great two-handed sword sheathed over the shorter Warden's shoulder was quite at odds with his "civilian" dress.

That great sword was paired with a considerable amount of baggage, a quite considerable amount of baggage, much of it in the form of oddly shaped cases that undoubtedly carried various weapons of much destruction, all pre-registered with the proper authorities by staffers of Rel Markinson's Sol Diplomatic Office.

The tall, graceful Lord Warden, seeming to share more common ancestry with the magnificent hunting cat that followed in his wake than with the living tank that was Raege Makkon, also carried a significant amount of baggage, a significant amount of which was also in the form of various cases. By way of visible weaponry, however, Fionn also bore a sword.

The distinctive bladed-guard and index-ring of an Ascended Warblade was visible at his right hip, though the three-feet of blade was concealed within a brown leather scabbard capped with dulled iron.

The pair had done their homework, and they bore the bulk of their gear upon packframes acquired from the workshops of House Kel on Morgathi, where that planet's mountainous terrain and unhospitable valleys had given rise to a society that existed entirely in mountain-top fortresses and moved about entirely through the air.

The packframes were fitted with low-level gravitics that served to lighten the load of not only the gear, but even more importantly, of the two Revenians themselves. They were both large men in their ways, and beyond that, were Revenian, and though they didn't look much different than the average human, they generally didn't go about sitting down often outside of their home nation...because they were considerably -denser- than similar sized Earthlings, and were thus considerably -heavier- than their appearances would seem to indicate.

Thus it was that Fionn Collison, who was Damien only to his mother...and his mother had been dead for a very, very long time, his hand lazing down to scratch between the ears of his great feline companion, made his entrance into the lands of The Freethinkers, carrying the necessary weaponry and supplies that he hoped would allow him to engage in some interesting diversions...

And those supplies were necessary, for all three, Fionn, Raege, and Sceol required things in their diets that were doubtful to be included in any sort of rations acquired by Mr. Fawley. However, AFESSR ration bars were very compact and light, and one could -technically- live off of said bars, one bar per day, for as long as one had bars, with the addition of water. Which they also brought in copious quantities, as well as the means to purify more -- from just about anything.

Fionn, Raege, and Sceol preferred water laced with the trace elements and more regular nutrients that their bodies needed to continue operation, and that was what they brought with them, as well as the compact mil-spec machinery to purify and enrich further water...from, as mentioned previously, pretty much anything. Including the blood of prey, if it came down to that.

Fionn smiled contently and took a deep breath, then nodded as if confirming his course of action.

"Ahlright, then. Ah believe that th' hotel we're staying at is somewhere over in that direction."

He pointed in such a casual manner that it would have surprised someone who didn't know him that if one extended a line straight out from his finger, one would not only have found that he had been pointing directly at the proper hotel, but at the window of the room that was booked in his and Raege's names...

They would rest a bit, then unpack and prepare their gear for the hunt. But that was a bit in the future.

To: Mr. Fawley
From: Ystra Exskel
Subject: Regarding your upcoming expedition

Mr. Fawley,

I write regarding your upcoming hunting expedition. I am an experienced member of the Augmented Mercenary Fleet, a veteran of thirty-seven battles, and am looking for an opportunity to test my skills and see a few new sights. As such, I am requesting to join your hunting expedition.

You have been authorized to draw, at any time, the required sum of money (in USD) from {gpal.google.com/accountsecure.php?account=348970974&auth=098dshl3h}. If you do, I shall assume that you have accepted my request.

I shall come equipped with my usual armor, as well as:

1x 20mm Ajax Armaments T09 coilgun
20x kinetic 20mm coilgun round (10 rds/clp)
20x high explosive 20mm coilgun round (10 rds/clp)
1x 4mm Kinsong Aerospace mk.7 railgun
160x kinetic 4mm railgun round (40 rds/clp)
3x 30mm Ajax Armaments T16 rocket (personell warheads)
2x power sabre
1x panic rockets (120sec)
18x concentrated nutrient bars (Other food is preferable, but perhaps not available to my taste.)

Rezo

Navarre, The Freethinker Commonwealth

Various databases were scanned, legal notices read and various questions electronically answered as the Angstian enquiries worked their way through the muddle of bureaucratic systems and servers that comprised the virtual assets of the Freethinker Governments. To be fair to the morass of various public offices it did its job well enough to not be in a permanent state of collapse, and the laws enforced themselves were fairly lax.

Certainly nothing on the Angstian list would raise any major electronic objections, indeed, the items recorded seemed rather tame (and probably redundant given what could be picked for half the price in one of the legally questionable dockside market, but anyway), and once the pile of online forms were filled in a few dull plastic cards with various information imparted were printed and shipped off to the Custom’s office at JBI (as the aerospace port was usually referred to) ready for pick up.

Of course, once the visitors arrived themselves several human eyebrows were raised slightly, but official looking documentation and a 110 degree dry summer heat ensured that the matters of concern lay hid beneath a veneer of spectacular apathy. Customs was used to stranger sights (given this was the main civilian port of its kind), and a pair of armoured Pathfinder Paladins on security duty, being able to seamlessly scratch the twelve foot ceiling with their arching horns, provided a rather high watershed for strangeness in the arrivals lounge, leaving the metallic drone and its companion looking rather normal by most comparison.

Weapons, drugs, and alcohol were poked and sniffed, a few basic checks run and little square boxes on inordinate amounts of official looking papers were ticked and crossed. The pair themselves welcomed politely but disinterestedly, a body and face scan taken, visas and passports stamped where appropriate and an information pack with various offers and travel information were shoved haphazardly into the hands of the travellers. A true Freethinker welcome.

Revenia

John Barham Intl Airport, Navarre

The arrival of Lord Warden was somewhat anti-climatic, the proud warrior and his entourage (save for the occasional glance at the animal companion) greeted politely but curtly, sentences short and to the point. Only the Paladins within the building, creatures with a society with such concepts of nobility, showed any special concern for their rather unusual guest, bowing their majestic crested helmets and kneeling awkwardly as Warden walked by them in the Customs block, though their bulky forms still rose clear above everyone else’s head.

As with the Angstians, little real attention was drawn by the entourage’s weaponry and supplies. As Warden discovered, the vast bureaucracy had one singular advantage to travellers such as him, as long as the paper work checked out no one was unduly concerned by anything being brought through. Indeed, with just the bladed weapons at his and his shieldhand’s side, more concern was raised about the idea of entering the Freestian deserts with such paltry protection. The beautiful familiar attracted the most attention; a few signatures were required to assure the health of the beast, and several officials (including one of the huge Paladins) took the opportunity to stroke and pet the magnificent beast as it rested on the scanning unit.

Customs was quickly cleared altogether, all was well and the necessary licenses and travel packs were duly handed out. Making their way into the massive arrival lounge (a magnificent example of Freethinker architecture, hundred-foot steel arches suspending solid Perspex sheets tinted against the harsh afternoon sun with a spectacular first view of Navarre and it vast sea-like basin) a driver from the Three Wise Men chain of hotels greeted them rather more enthusiastically than the party would have been lead to expect. A rep from the hotel, with ‘Dark’ printed in black marker on his name badge, was charged with transporting the Lord’s hunting group to the hotel. After quick, curt and overtly courteous introductions, the party was lead out onto one of the various taxi ramps to be shown to their transport, an overlong, silver SUV kitted out for transporting animals and bulky luggage.

The journey was as quick as could be. Navarre was crisscrossed with vast underground roadways (visible on the surface by the occasional huge exhaust tower) which left travel somewhat quicker than in most comparable metropolises. Dark made sure to surface occasionally to let Warden and Raege see and enquire about the various architectural giants that made up the city’s vast skyline, with Dark occasionally volunteering information without provocation when the conversation ran dry. It was almost twilight by the time they arrived at their destination.

To: Mr. Fawley
From: Ystra Exskel
Subject: Regarding your upcoming expedition

Mr. Fawley,

I write regarding your upcoming hunting expedition. I am an experienced member of the Augmented Mercenary Fleet, a veteran of thirty-seven battles, and am looking for an opportunity to test my skills and see a few new sights. As such, I am requesting to join your hunting expedition.

You have been authorized to draw, at any time, the required sum of money (in USD) from {gpal.google.com/accountsecure.php?account=348970974&auth=098dshl3h}. If you do, I shall assume that you have accepted my request.

I shall come equipped with my usual armor, as well as:

<snip>



To: Ystra Exskel
From: Fawley’s Outback Guides
RE: Application

Dear Sir,
We are pleased to accept your application and welcome you to our adventure. We will ready ourselves for your party and will politely provide information for registering your weapons with the government as well as a guide to accommodation.

A get together at 6pm Dec XXth at the Belmore Hotel in Navarre has been arranged for you to meet with your fellow guests and to be introduced to the hunt. I have taken the liberty to register your weapons with the Freethinker Interior Ministry, a license will be avaliable for pick at Customs. Happy Hunting.

Jacob Fawley. Esq. FFS

OOC: Sorry for the generic response. Bit busy.

Navarre

The flight? Uneventful, apart from a minor engine fault - It'd have to repair itself, flGCD 205/501's scornful glare in Chan Juan's direction nonwithstanding.

She shrugged. What do you want? So I'm a little lazy.

The arrival? Surprisingly pleasant - If somewhat tedious, but Chan Juan was used to worse - if one disregarded the excessive temperatures. When you're coming from a nation where the temperature is more or less permanently between 0- 20 °C, 43°C tend to be a little shocking.

Of course, the little black dress and a rather high - Read: Excessive - level of augments take care of this particular problem, but still, a certain degree of uneasiness remains. Technology only goes so far, and the unfamiliar, fascinating as it is, remains disconcerting.

Not so for flGCD 205/501, though, who floats about, kind of like doing a sightseeing tour of the airport - Where allowed to do so, anyway - while Chan Juan flirts with the personnel poking and sniffing through her baggage.

The rather short (And tight, come to think of it) dress was probably helping a lot, there.

The body- and facescans were of course a somewhat odd process, given the drones' geometries - flGCD 205/501, at slightly less than 100cm long, 50cm wide and 25cm high, filled a volume about similar to that of the average human. The casing itself was a more-or-less perfect ellipsoid, though a variety of ports, supposedly there to attach various limbs or generators or sensors or funny-looking flags to them, kind of ruined that feel about it - Fortunately, the majority of said ports was (For now) closed, thus avoiding the sort of 'Junk' look drones tended to be somewhat sensitive about.

Its face was essentially a particularly dense concentration of active- and passive sensors on one end of its body - Occasionally called its snut, despite there not being any such snut - and contained a speaker, for the purposes of non-invasive communications, as well as a somewhat odd black-and-white stickfigure-drawing. Chan Juan hadn't been able to resist drawing a little on the formerly-white casing, even though her skills were somewhat lacking, as the stick-figures proved.

Chan Juan Wells (This being her full name) was a rather small woman - 162cm counting as small - of predominantly asian descent, with a few hints of europeanesque DNA thrown in. She flirts a little more, leaving the personnel dealing with her a bottle of not too expensive wine (Spiced up with slightly hallucinogenic substances) for post-work consumption and gives the nearest available person a chaste kiss on his (Or her) cheek while taking the information pack.

This should raise their interest a little.

"Have a nice day." A sly smile/ grin and some soft chuckling follow, then she leaves.

Having left the airport (General direction: Their hotel) flGCD 205/501 swivels around, on a level with Chan Juan's face, and starts scolding.

It'd never been a very social drone, and Chan Juan's behaviour is disturbing to it... Not that Chan Juan cares overly much. She just looks at the sun, not being particularly used to there being a free view towards it. Needless to say, this was also the reason why she preferred to walk to the hotel by foot (With floaty crates containing their baggage), rather than using a quicker and more comfortable means of transportation.

Besides, it allowed her to enjoy both, the skyline - Admittedly nothing special or impressive when you came from DA - and the general desertesque feeling of the city - Which was something special and impressive when you came from DA - and to socialise a little with the locals - Which was as much enjoyed by Chan Juan as it was despised by flGCD 205/501.

In any case. The first impression was simple enough: Nice country.

Joerin Kell and Pelora Cren disembarked from Kell's private aircraft. As they exited the Lear jet, Joerin smiled as he thought of the hassal that was avoided by being able to fly personally rather than rely on an airline which would necessitate going throught customs.

Pelora was meanwhile looking around the 'port as the two of them grabbed their weapons and headed in to deal with Freethinker customs.

Rezo

Navarre, the Freethinker Commonwealth

Chan’s rather unexpected behaviour caught some of the more masculine officials off-guard, interests peaked and were equalled with faster and more diligent form-filling, the young female visitor’s behaviour earning them a quicker turnaround than one would have expected otherwise. A chaste kiss brought a few good club tips and a promise to meet up later, and everything from then was soon cleared with time to spare.

Walking was one of the best ways to see Navarre, according to the travel guide, and it wouldn’t take too long to find out why.

Navarre’s geography had a high plateau surrounding a massive basin, leading to the bulk of the city lying in graduating, levelled terraces, running for miles in carved links, leading down the mountain sides to the shores of the vast inland sea. The huge metropolis covered an area around the size of Holland, with mile upon mile of terraced houses and markets, towering skyscrapers and green splotches representing vast irrigated water parks and gardens.

Several vast canals populated each rough level, taking the water trickling down from the incoming streams and rivers and siphoning it off to the various small waterways that decorated and hydrated the city around them. Only in the Tranquil valley, a distant sight from Chan and Bob’s route, was any true level terrain to be seen as the mighty Whitestone river and the accompanying Grand Central Canal (a huge waterway struck through the Freethinker wild to unite the northern and southern seas) cut through the surrounding plateau to feed the basin and the vast harbour that provided the city’s wealth.

Given that Navarre was the capital, and given its position at the crossing points of the mid-Atlantic trade routes (and helped by its powerful maritime engineering industry and incredibly lax import laws), the city had a huge variety of ethnicities and species. No one architectural or cultural style dominated the buildings, few common features save that almost everything took advantage of the flowing waterways to incorporate a number of beautiful water features into their crafted lines. Whereas crafted sandstone (covering load-bearing brick and steel) seemed to be the material of choice, a huge variety of styles and shapes were on view, representing the various ethnic origins of the first residents mixed with the practicalities of living in such a land. The streets themselves, lined against the canals, were cobbled affairs, designed for feet as much as vehicles and lacking too much traffic (given the underground road system), save for the occasional vehicle of a resident, a tourist group or a large pack-Wyvern snorting and shaking its huge wings in efforts to keep cool.

Long winded walkway gantries crossed the various levels, free of motorised traffic, providing excellent interrupted views across the city whilst shielding from the harsh sun with billowing silken canopies. Refreshment was provided by one of the innumerable café’s and roadside restaurants, table’s and chairs spilling out onto the pavement, four or five at a time, each offering various cuisines that sent an inviting aroma out onto the street.

The city’s denizens (those that weren’t working at the time) sat huddled around newspapers, coffee, various smoked luxuries and hour d’oeuvres sat half consumed on their tables. Almost like the stereotypical Paris, except the people spoke English, smelt reasonable despite the heat and actually seemed very friendly. Freethinker attitudes towards guests were better than most, given the tough origins of the nation and the somewhat necessary tolerant mindset of a country in constant demographic change. Furtive glances and gestures in the direction of Chan and curious stares for Bob greeted them in most places, but the attention was never held for long unless acted upon. Only an amorous young combatform Vampire made any major scene, inadvertently releasing a spray of pheromone from his hindquarters as Chan passed, accidentally drenching two quilted tracksuit wearing tourists speaking loudly on mobile phones. Their anger and annoyance withered somewhat as they saw the business end of the vampire turn around to face them, and humble apologies were sufficient to let the incident pass.

The parks that littered the route were interesting affairs too, mixtures of sand, tended flowerbeds, stone sculptures and towering trees, providing strategic shade to large numbers of marble benches and water fountains liberally sprinkled around the facilities. Dozens of people were to be sunbathing in most of the open space, most in various (and some in complete) states of undress, soaking up the sun on rare days off, aiming for the lightly tanned look most Freethinker residents carried.

The hotel chosen was an average sized but interesting building, built into one of the terraced sides, providing around six floors worth of rooms with balcony views over the basin and a terracotta-lined swimming pool on the bottom level. Called the Valley Blue, it was a decent, well equipped affair, well suited for a bit of sight-seeing and only half a mile down the street from the Belmore Hotel.

Theao

Navarre

Going through privately saved a little time for Kell’s party, most of the paperwork having already been done by a set of staff working more diligently than the standard crop in the main terminals. Requiring only a few signatures and checks, the party was soon led through the official requirements and allowed through to the main lounge. A car from the hotel had arrived, and an enthusiastic young lad came forward to meet the party, bowing and trying to be as polite as possible.

“Welcome to the Commonwealth, I’ve been sent to pick you up sir.”

OOC: Theao, you can choose your own hotel (I’ve listed two), or I can give you a new one.

"Thank you, the airport service was quite efficiant and this is a welcome surprise." Joerin commented as they entered the car that had been sent to pick them up.
"Do you remember the name of that hotel?" He asked Pelora.
"I believe it was called the Valley Blue."
"Ah yes, that was the one, do you know it?" He asked the young lad.
As they travelled to the hotel, Kell and Cren enjoyed the scenery and people of the city.

4:32:07pm DEC (XX-1)th

Ystra bounded in long, ballistic leaps across the tarmac towards the arrivals building, keeping a wary eye on airport security. Wouldn't do well to annoy them.

Going through customs was a chore. Seven-foot-long quadrupedal lizards were generally unnerving to humans at the best of times, and being in a suit of power armor didn't decrease Ystra's national-security-threat level one bit.

The customs agents weren't happy about the fact that Ystra's weapons were mounted directly on the power armor, either. The ammo was in a separate box hung from the Wyrm's side, but that didn't help matters much.

There could be no doubt, and even Bob/ flGCD 205/501, who really wasn't particularly sensitive when it came to things like the surrounding view, had to admit that Navarre was quite impressive, in its own sense.

A vast city, certainly, but unlike DA - Where everyone had been pressed to fit in as many people as possible within its limited territory - Freethinker architects had actually taken the time to make it a sight to behold, rather than an ugly blob of concrete, steel and glass (Not to mention considerable smog and water-that-burns).

Bob did have the best view, of course, floating a little higher to watch the inland sea down below - Way down and way below - and occasionally crossing the canals and smallish rivers cutting through the city - Where they were, of course, which wasn't all that much, given them being on foot/ smallish floaty unit.

Given the clear sky above them, together with the green splotches throughout the city, it was hardly surprising that the two - Or at the very least, Chan Juan, with muttered not-only-disagreement by flGCD 205/501 - spent their time walking and occasionally using the gondolas in the canals, generally enjoying the view.

The variety all around was certainly attractive - Coming from a society as individualistic as the Angstian one, this was hardly surprising - and with the added variety in architecture, it was outright beautiful.

So were the people themselves. Chan Juan didn't flirt all that much, and generally only on occasion, but still - though she couldn't help giggling a lot during the Vampire-Pheromone burst.

Pheromones that weren't really her thing, though, as she realised. But that was a minor thing, really.

With evening coming up, they eventually, finally reached their hotel, 'Bob' slightly bored - It really wanted to shoot things - and Chan Yuan rather intend on testing the club tips she'd been given by the air port officials.

Settle in, calm down a little, taste a few - All - of the specific Freethinker beverages available, get ready, dressed (Not all that dressed, though) and out for the night.

It'd be a long one, that much was for certain. For Chan Yuan because she was considerably unlikely to not get laid, and for flGCD 205/501 because it wasn't interested and stayed at the hotel, going though its gunporn collection and tweaking some details.

Is the beast yet to ve found???

If not, borisvill will send its greatest hunters to track this down.
Borisvill's hunters have a reputation for haveing the stealthiest hunters in the world.

Are we allowed to use convicted murderers as to help, or maybe even use a bate???

Is the beast yet to ve found???

If not, borisvill will send its greatest hunters to track this down.
Borisvill's hunters have a reputation for haveing the stealthiest hunters in the world.

Are we allowed to use convicted murderers as to help, or maybe even use a bate???

OOC: Sorry, all five places have been taken. Have a nice day.

Theao

Kell’s praise was noted, a smile spreading across the rep’s face as the car made its way through Navarrian traffic, heading towards the hotel. Skimming between levels with ease, the car meandered through traffic and pedestrians jostling for space in the narrow cobbled streets, a rather interesting and rapid introduction to the city for Kell and his entourage.

Khrrck

The large quadruped was added to the list of strange sights for the day by the customs officials, running through the usual bureaucracy with their usual plodding efficiency.

Forms, scans and stamps were issued in reasonably quick succession, letting the party through to the arrivals lounge and then onto whatever hotel they had set their eyes upon. Navarre awaited.

Rezo

The area around the Valley Blue was considered one of the three large bohemian parts of the city, the nightlife consisting of mostly smoky, kerbside bars full of aspiring artists, despairing office workers drowning the drudgery of the day and rather young looking people who in any other country would be too young to be out drinking. Meant to be quiet local bars, the real nightlife was not to be found here. Chan’s tip pointed to a district about fifteen miles away known as Gothabia.

Gothabia was an interesting area, dominating the waterfront closest to the Valley Blue, containing some of the older parts of the city. Gothic spires and carvings dominated the granite stone that seemed to be the local favourite material, even the smallest building a hearty mixture of crafted gargoyles and buttresses lining weathered, cobbled streets. There were huge crowds of pedestrians even know, the first drunks of the night stumbling down the road as vampire and ghoul doorman watched with mild amusement and disdain.

The clubs along the main thorough fares were an interesting mixture, most simply large commercial super clubs, with the usual mix of chart tunes blaring from over hyped DJs as hundreds of people danced themselves silly on vomit-encrusted dance floors. Large dens of hedonism fuelled by cheap, strong alcohol and a vast array of legal narcotics, this was the heart of Navarre’s escapist entertainment.

Between the guarded doors of these huge clubs sat smaller establishments, a mixture of clubs with more specialised tastes in music and fashion, a few surprisingly classy sex clubs, a number of ‘chill out’ bars, quiet, heavily furnished establishments where one went to get over a bad trip or hangover, a few risqué shops, coffeehouses and a wide variety of other entertainment as well, housed within highly decorated, tomb-like edifices crisscrossed with the out flowing canals.

The specific tip received, however, was for an interesting little bar called the St Stephen’s Friary, a converted clergyman’s house situated off one of the main roads. Quieter than the major clubs, this establishment sat unexcitedly between two larger pubs on both sides, one a local sports pub and the other a badly themed Irish affair. The single doorman boor fangs and red eyes, signatures of his vampire creed, watching the street for signs of trouble and occasionally listening to incoming warnings on his exposed earpiece.

Inside was, however, much more welcoming. The floor was a grey slate affair and there was, for a nice change perhaps, decent lighting aided by the orange glare from the huge fireplace. Decent dance music spewed from a DJ on the opposite side of the dance floor, and the large bar sported a large variety of drinks and drug dispensers (the main selling point), manned by a single burly bartender who at the moment was busy cleaning up glasses for when things got busy later on.

The clientele currently consisted of a number of small male and female groups stopping off before the main drinking event, inhaling and drinking a wide variety of interesting intoxicants and making crude gestures towards the DJ, who seemed not to notice. A group of off-duty Pathfinders stood chatting round the fireplace, large flagons in hand and fangs flashing as conversations were made. Several single regulars provided the usual bar furniture and a few brave souls who jerked arrhythmic on the dance floor. An interesting place, altogether.

Theao

Kell’s praise was noted, a smile spreading across the rep’s face as the car made its way through Navarrian traffic, heading towards the hotel. Skimming between levels with ease, the car meandered through traffic and pedestrians jostling for space in the narrow cobbled streets, a rather interesting and rapid introduction to the city for Kell and his entourage.

As they arrived at the hotel Jorien thanked the rep while Pelora got their bags out, and offered the man a rather generous tip. Once they'd gotten throught check-in and up to their room, they proceeded to order room service and as they waited, they set to work on stripping and re-fitting the various weapons.

OOC: I've been ill of late, I apologize for my tardiness in posting.

IC:

Keyton's flight was uneventful, much to his dismay. His personal looks drew some concerned stares during his layover from his homeland exodus, if either it was from his missing left eye or the fact that he was a six-foot-tall lizard, there was no easy way to be sure. He'd traded in his old SOCOM II for something with a bit more power, the high caliber Barrett he'd had mailed ahead of him with his usual assortment of gear. He'd kept his usual extra security measure in his cargo pocket, a Cold Steel Nightshade Karambit. The little knife was made from high-impact plastic with a Kraton handle. As such, metal detection methods didn't work against it.

Since 9/11, his carry options had been restricted, so he'd become somewhat more creative. The slight bump beneath his seat informed him that they'd arrived. The former Drill Sergeant collected his one carryon item, his faded green beret. The headgear was tucked securely under his left arm as he made his departure from the aircraft to the customs area. Approaching the desk, Keyton adjusted his eyepatch to be sure the empty socket hadn't shifted into exposure during his brief in-flight nap...

"Excuse me, I need to pick up some sensetive items... The name's Kerrich. Keyton Kerrich..."

There was sure to be some to-do over the amount of dangerous material he'd had transported, but then again, he had plenty of time to spare before he was due to report for the hunt...

Ystra sighed as she left customs. A brief thought sent the chamelic paint of her armor from sober black to shocking pink.

Another chore over with. I hate those fucking 'crats.

Now to buisness. Hotels were a waste of money. Any sane and frugal person would sleep in the streets.

'Course, every common bum sleeps in the streets. And gets picked up by the police to boot.

Ystra turned right into the Gothic district.

My kind of place... Dark. Alleys. Gargoyles on the roofs. Perfect for the night.

From a back alley, a brief hiss of pneumatics sent her arcing up to the roof of one of the many low granite pubs.

She landed with barely a clatter. Chamelic paint faded to match the granite surrounds.

A few moments later, another gargoyle graced the roofs of Gothabia.

There we go... Time to catch some sleep.

Fionn and Raege arrived at their room and closed the door, then immediately shed their excess gear onto the floor. Then Fionn drew back the left sleeve of his jacket to reveal fully the gauntlet he wore on that hand, slid back the appropriate panel, and went to work sweeping the room for bugs.

It wasn't just paranoia, it was quite reasonable considering Fionn's somewhat exalted status, not only as Lord Warden of Nightside, but perhaps more importantly due to the high status of his alter-ego, the Duke of Alme, within Harm Coldfist's Shield party...

That completed, he slid the panel shut and shook the sleeve of his jacket back into place. Then, with that done, he walked absently over to the baggage piled up on the floor and began unpacking and sorting...

He had rented the room for an indefinite period of time...and it was unlikely that his funds would run out -- he was one of the richer individuals within the Star Supremacy, due not only to his familial holdings but also to shrewd investment, largely in cooperation with other elder citizens of Revenia, such as the Lords Stark...

He could buy the hotel outright, if it came to that...

Anyways, he absently began arranging his kit, aware peripherally that Raege was doing the same, but not taking any particular interest in it. Makkon and himself were good friends, and Raege was Fionn's shieldbearer. Nothing more.

Anyways...

The two largest cases revealed Fionn's two largest weapons: his great Eldensteel War Spear, complete with slice-wire groove and slice-field module, and his prized rifle.

The Northfell Armory Model V Bolt-Action Ultra-Long Range Precision Rifle (Custom) was a very expensive weapon, though you could hardly tell it compared to lesser rifles, noting the plain, simple lines of the big 15mm rifle.

There were no standard Model Vs, each one was unique, as they were crafted specifically to fit the shooter, at great expense, by the Northfell Armory...

They shared a few common characteristics, but that was irrelevant, since the only example in Sol would be the one being lovingly un-packed by one Fionn Collison.

Fionn's Mark V was a bolt-action design, drawing from a five round magazine, and loaded either via stripper clip, or via loose ammunition. It had a folding bipod underbarrel, and currently mounted a RevTek PreciseShot XVI 6-60x variable zoom scope on the rail, though Fionn would carry a second scope capable of thermal and night vision view-types.

The big rifle, once unpacked from its travel case, went into the smaller rifle case that Fionn would carry it in, along with four boxes of twenty rounds each of 15mm ammunition of various types and five five-round stripper clips of ready ammunition.

Then he would unpack his clothing, lay it out, placing the various throwing knives and normal knives and the short compound recurve in its case paired with the case of 20 arrows with shaped-charge explosive heads, the case of five javelins, the speargun in its case with ten reloads...

Then the explosives, and he had brought along quite an amount in the area of explosives -- something he could do, since he was not only certified in just about everything one could be certified in by the Armed Forces, Exalted Star Supremacy of Revenia...but he also had that very discreet little Swordsworn pin on the lapel of his jacket...

It appeared to be nothing more than a subtle fashion-statement, but was instantly recognizable to those in the know as indicating that Fionn Collison was one of the more...capable...specimens of Revenia's citizenry...

He unbuckled his swordbelt and lay said item ontop of his laid out clothing, then slid out of his jacket, revealing the shoulder-rig he wore over his tight t-shirt, the APCP he wore therein was quite prohibited for civilian use, but then...one was no longer considered a civilian if one has had military service, yes? Civilians were an endangered species within the Star Supremacy, the only significant stronghold left being Horatria, wherein instead of joining the Revenian military, one instead attended the Horatrian Academy of Military Science, wherepon one tended to then either go on to serve in the Horatrian Militia, or, if one were at all capable, either join out of belief, or be black-mailed into, one of the various terrorist armies that called Horatria home.

Then one tended to die. But...that was another story altogether.

Fionn collapsed onto his bed and yawned, then closed his eyes...drifting calmly off to sleep. Which wasn't to say he wasn't alert...the lifeform stealthy enough to get the drop on the Star Supremacy's second-most vitakinetic had yet to be born...

Such was life.

Guns'

While Chan Yuan is out, slowly intoxicating herself, flGCD 205/501 fixes guns and - Sadly neglected until now - acquires information about the native wildlife, especially the Sand Dragons. Habitat - Well, that one's easily guessed - reproductive cycle, lifespan, survivability, speed, weight, reproductive cycle (Biology can be interesting. Better doublecheck to miss none of the dirty details), hunting and defensive characteristics, prey, specific oddities, susceptibility to various kinds of ordinance, anecdotes, tales, history, DNA code, presence in the media, whatever.

And of course, it's going through the tools it brought with it. Not too impressive an array, all things considered - Fields stroke over the UV rifle for a moment, adoring it for its recoillessness, then over the (Somewhat pointless, but shiny) CPB rifle, and end up with the 'normal' projectile rifle... Unloaded for now, but another field is already touching the clip with the AD munitions, almost naughtily... flGCD 205/501 is fairly fond of the armour crackers and already running some pleasure-enhancing algorithms, despite their performance-decreasing properties.

But then, stoned drones are hardly something special, nowadays, and the munition's worth it.

A few tools remain. Neutron/ nuke 'nades, but they're nothing special. A last rifle - Notably longer than the drone itself (Which is why it's presently in parts), and difficult to hold even with standard limb-attachments and fields. A slight reminiscence to the trigun sniper rifle, possibly.

And of course, thousands of exceedingly small non-sentient drones and missiles, together with a few dozen larger ones, many of the smaller ones crafted by flGCD 205/501 itself, giving them the touch of individualism the society it comes from adores so much, productivity be damned.

All in all, flGCD 205/501 has very good reasons to get high on pleasure-algorithms: Gunporn is plentyful, and very satisfying indeed.

n'Roses

Interesting Architecture... Chan Yuan definitely took her time, walking comparatively slowly through the crowded streets, occasionally sidestepping a pleasantly intoxicated drunk or petting a wyvern (Which, despite being about two-and-a-half feet taller than Sandra and rather more massive, looked rather cute when it started to growl softly, flapping its wings - Luckily not strong enough to ruin Chan Yuan's hair), at other times engaging in short-but-pleasant conversation to ask for the right direction or alternatively, simply sightseeing, though the latter happened with a certain degree of amusement - The carvings and ornaments were certainly impressive, but they striked the somewhat technophile, and not particularly retrospective Chan Juan as a little too... corny.

Especially given their sheer numbers, as they were quite literally everywhere.

The clubs and etablissements lining the streets however were something that - despite her being quite unfond of mass-entertainment, per se - was vaguely familiar to her (Though where she came from, things were perhaps even a little more excessive, on occasion, anyway). She could relate, and while it certainly cut down on the sheer exoticness of The Freethinkers, she could at least navigate with relative ease.

She carefully resisted the - Interesting - option of a more sexually oriented club (For now, anyway), occasionally winked at one of the menacing-looking vampire-doormen (Without being too inviting, though. Didn't want to get busy before arriving at her tip) and kept on walking through the streets. Slowly, carefully, breathing in the atmosphere of a foreign country.

Or, given her shipmind-ness, indeed breathing in the atmosphere of a country, rather than the ocean.

How appropriate. She giggled a little once she arrived at St Stephen’s Friary, somewhat amused by the way the place was used now, compared to its past.

Especially with the vampire in front, to whom she gave a another sly wink before entering, which just added to the irony.

They tend to look a 'lil scary, though...

Not her thing to mix with the crowd, immediately, of course. First stop: Bar. A few singles nearby, A Flaming Monkey - Odd name for a beverage - is ordered reasonably quickly, and eventually, some chitchat with the bartender ensues.

That Chan Yuan isn't exactly native, well, that is rather easily noticed. A quick check on the time - Still a little while until her acquaintance(s) from the airport should arrive.

Time to spend.

[OOC: Shouldn't this be progressing? Held great promise, at least at the time...]

[OOC: It still does, technically. I must apologise that RL has been tough for the last couple of months, a house move, exams and several bits of coursework have conspired against me.

For reference: http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Freethinker_Wildlife ]

The Priory, Gothabia

Pretty girls didn’t take long to get noticed, both from the DJ decks and from the bulky humanform Paladins standing on the other side of the room. Chan had the air of exoticness that always seemed to pique men’s interest, the short black dress with the figure to match completed in their eyes a nice evening package. The Paladins looked from one to the other, occasionally winking at the woman at the bar even as she seemed to be waiting. Body language worked on several species, mutual attraction did not require pheromone sprays in these sorts of places.

A few nudges and hand gestures, as well as as a gentle shove, and one of the Pathfinders made a move towards the bar. However, even as he began to move over a tall figure appeared at the door that caught both of their attentions. A man with a few days’ stubble and messy long blond hair, donned in a white t-shirt with a blue Olympia blazoned across the chest. Chan’s acquaintance from the airport, looking a lot more relaxed now out of uniform. Bronzed skin contrasted with the silvered tooth that hung from a plain chain around his neck, and, now more visible, discrete fangs and quiet red eyes that were the hallmarks of a ghoul. He smiled, at first at the vampire approaching Chan and then, as he noticed her, breaking into a full grin and moving swiftly over to their side. Surprisingly, his first act after reaching them was to plant an arm around the vampire’s waist and kiss the taller soldier on the cheek, both laughed at Chan looked on.

The airport acquaintance smiled again at Chan. “I didn’t think you were serious, I’m surprised you even found it.” He seemed genuinely pleased to have seen her there. “It’s pretty back out here. Good place to start off the night though.” His enthusiasm was overwhelming. “Oh, by the way, erm, Chan, was it? Meet Ceres, fully fledged vamp, more medals than a tinpot dictator, eight hundred pounds of pure reptilian killing machine.” He beamed at his companion. Ceres just glared back in mild bemusement, then turned to Chan and addressed himself. His voice when it emerged far deeper than expected, a low growl of a tongue that seemed to shake the air around them.

“Miss Chan, Ceres Ardan, of the Scarlet Shield, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintence.”

OOC: Gah, short and sweet. I’m gonna let Chan do what she wants, then we can get the story moving again. Tally Ho!

Chan Juan chuckled, looking up at the (Towering, she was, after all, a fairly petite woman, even by Angstian standards) vampire/ ghoul pair, and suspected just a little bit of competition, or jealousy, or something comparable, between the two.

Well, at least as far as Ceres Ardan was concerned.

"The pleasure's all mine." A little grin followed. "You two know each other well, it seems? Regardless - please, sit. Oh, and to mention more details - Chan Juan Wells, shipmind."

She thought the better of mentioning the name of her ship.

Besides, there were plenty of topics available, and as the evening progressed under the influence of ever-increasing densities of alhohol (Chan Juan eventually decided to allow her body chemistry to deal with about as much of it as the vamp and the ghoul, which was simultaneously keeping her capable of following the conversation and allowing the pleasant effects of slow ethanol intoxication to take place), starting with basic introductions, eventually touching the subject of Ceres medals and where he got them from, followed by Chan Juan detailing a few of her adventures when she'd run from Hogsweat's self-nuking (Which was as close as she'd ever been to military action), then switching to the Freethinker's unique environment and the opportunity presented by dragon hunts (Here, the two not-quite-humans on the table were silent for a moment, rather worried by Chan Juan's apparent lack of the same, but alcohol and Chan Juan's rather revealing dress eventually made up for these brief moments of seriousness, and ended them quite quickly), and - about two hours into the night - the topic eventually started to revolve around certain details of vampire- and ghoul physiology, with Chan Juan showing an almost indecent interest in the same - fortunately, they weren't the only ones in the club that were already highly intoxicated. 'As the Lord commands us to be' to quote one of the residents, who seemed quite fond of the club's rather exotic location, and convinced that getting mindbogglingly drunk was the will and the pleasure of god.

Nobody disagreed.

By the time the interest had become a mutual one (Ceres and the ghoul being fairly interested in Chan Juan's rather massively tuned-and-screwed-with physiology), they were ready to leave.

Some curiosity did, after all, have to be satisfied, and apart from the curiosity, all three did consider each other fairly interesting conversation partners to begin with (Though Ceres tended to be rather more formal than necesary, even when drunk. A bit exotic, for Chan Juan, but then, why not? 'Yes Sir!' seemed to be an interesting variation), so...

Well, eventually, the night did involve rather more action than either of the three had expected, resulting in Chan Juan almost getting her head ripped off during a vampire-internal dispute, a rather long (Though by no means boring) chase scene over the roofs of the city, with Chan Juan in Ceres' arms (She could do a lot of things, but jumping over apartment blocks or flying weren't among them) and a few angry vampires that weren't on particularly friendly terms with Ceres.

And following this and them once more finding Chan Juan's airport-acquaintance, the night was still young...

A few hours later, Chan Juan was dozing on the chest of the (Again) human-form vampire Ceres Ardan, with the (Rather exausted - Chan Juan was rather more than just a baseliner, even with regards to this, and required a considerable degree of attention. Two were just about enough, and the ghoul was now presumably thinking that Chan Juan's shipname - Moist Menace - was perfectly appropriate) and yawned audibly when she noticed the message kind of bugging her inside her head, somehow.

Oh, right... Should get up and meet with 205/501... Almost missed it.

Get dressed, get Ceres to give her a little boost on the way home, and avoid 205/501's scolding. Doable.

Next stop, (Presumably) the desert.

Third Level, Gothabia

Ceres watched the lithe form of Chan rise up from the bed from sleepy eyelids. He gave her the briefest of smiles as she rose and shimmied to the edge of the bed. She turned to wink playfully at Cer as she jumped off the mattress.

There was a loud yelp, followed by Chan retracting her foot. From the floor rose the suddenly awoken form of Chris, the airport acquaintance (it had taken a few hours before anyone realised what his name actually was) who leapt up, clad only in torn bed sheets, looking startled beyond measure. He peered at the dozing Cer and the slightly bemused gaze of Chan before staring at the clock and letting out a long streak of expletives. He stumbled around for his clothes under the glare of raised eyebrows.

“Shit, late late late late, Levy’s going to have my fucking balls for this. Nice meeting you babe,” he muttered to Chan as he quickly pulled his t-shirt on. “Sorry, have to dash though, was s a lot of fun. Catch you around!” He disappeared off through the large circular doorway, still cursing loudly, before reappearing thirty seconds later, somewhat out of breathe.

“Look Cer mate, couldn’t lend us a few quid, need to get a taxi or something. I'll pay you back ASAP man.”

“Yeah, no worries, there’s a change jar on the way out, don’t take too much though. I'll expect it back tomorrow night if I see ya then.”

“Cheers pal, you’re a goddamn legend. Be seeing ya both!” He nodded to them both before leaving properly, the door slamming as he made his way off to work. Cer and Chan watched the door for a second before turning to each other and laughing. The large humanform flicked the covers away and pulled lithe back round so she sat straddling his muscular abdomen. Cer rested his hands on her hips and looked up at her smiling face.

“Wow”, he said with a grin “you were, are quite something.” He moved his hands up to her shoulders, and he felt hers come a rest on his slowly rising chest. “Thanks, it was a great night.”

“I know” she smiled back, leaning down to lie against his chest again before softly kissing him along his neck and cheek.

“Do you have anywhere to be?” She pulled back slightly.

“Yeah, left a friend at the hotel. I was kind of hoping you’d give me a lift, if you could.” She pouted in a mock-plea before Cer sat upright beneath; bring them both up to a sitting position.

“Alright. Firstly I need a shower though; you’re welcome to join me if you want.” Chan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “It’ll save time, honest.” She burst out laughing. Cer smiled in response, before quickly jumping up and with a single arm plonking the surprised (and suddenly struggling) Chan over his shoulder as he made his way over to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Chan had replaced her little black dress (albeit with a few scratch marks, from either the fight or from their bedroom activities, they weren’t quite sure), whilst Ceres sat in a towel on the edge of his bed. Standing up and removing the covering, he did a sort of convulsed leap forward as he transformed back into his combatform. His body bulged out as the flesh and skin expanded and his face and limbs contorted into their reptilian forms. A tail reappeared (which had given Chan an excellent surprise the previous night) along with massive outstretched wings. In the daylight he looked even more impressive, especially as he yawned and stretched, bring his huge twenty five foot wingspan and massive teeth into full view.

Ceres turned and flashed a grin at Chan, an act which looked like a growling dog more than anything else. He proffered a hand to the waiting Chan before scooping her up in his arms and walking out onto his balcony. Set into the side of the third level his view was quite frankly astounding, looking from the height of a skyscraper right out across the basin. Standing on the stone edge of the balcony, the view to the bottom of the level was quite scary but also exciting. With a massive leap and tremdous flap of his wings Ceres took off into the morning sky.

Fionn and Raege were both awake exactly nine hours after they fell asleep. Longer than one would expect, perhaps, but it was a tradition born from long experience amongst the Ascended that when one was safe, one slept late.

That way when things took a nose-dive, you were very well rested and well-prepared to kick the living piss out of whatever was annoying you.

They were both rapidly dressed, belting their various equipment about them, then assembling their rucks for the hunt itself. Something they had not done the night before, to let the equipment breath. And because they were tired.

All the gear packed into a pair of frame rucks, with the weapons variously strewn about its sides and whatnot. Fionn's rifle rested in a padded rifle scabbard, butt up, for rapid access.

Rucks assembled, the two men set them on the neatly made beds, then straightened their...normal...clothing. Both men were armed, and obviously so. Raege's claymore still over his shoulder, Fionn carrying both his sword in its sheath and his spear, in such a manner as one would carry a staff for walking.

Room service provided for breakfast, even managing the "pass it in front of a fireplace, once, then bring it up" steak for Sceol, which the cat neatly devoured, using his...rather large and -very- sharp claws far more expertly than a human would use a knife and fork.

Then Fionn and Raege, plus Sceol, would head out of the hotel to do a bit of walking. Okay, jogging...whatever. The -intention- had been to do, at most, a brisk walk...but...

The summer heat felt very, very good. A bit like Southern Northfell. And one did not move slowly in Southern Northfell...the endless sands demanded speed, and that speed was inbred into the Ascended.

One could hardly step south of the Wall without feeling the urge to run, and keep running. It was a magical thing, to run the dunes...and Fionn hadn't been able to do that for far, far too long.

Nightside, his world, was in the same system as Northfell...but unlike Northfell's harshness in terms of barren desert and equally barren frozen waste, Nightside was a jungle world.

Just as unforgiving, hot, humid...and the entire planet conspired to end the lives of everything that moved, constantly. There was a reason it was the site of Revenia's famed Advanced Tactical Training Course...

So, in spite of themselves, the trio found that they were walking quite a bit faster than they had intended, never -quite- breaking into a run. What was a run for them, at any rate.

Walking was a controlled fall, running was a rapid series of short leaps...and Revenians, beings originating on two-gee worlds...could run very fast indeed, because their leg muscles -had- to be stronger than humans.

After about two hours of this, they arrived back at the hotel, where they had a nice snack, again courtesy of room service, supplemented by a nutrient pill. Then they would nap again...

Then Fionn and Raege would change out of their casual clothing into something a bit more appropriate. Firstly, there was the undershorts. Modesty's sake, one understood.

Then, Fionn slid into his thinsuit, while Raege pulled on a much simpler and not-Ascended Tech skinsuit, specifically one of the RevTek "Nomad" series of concealable environment suits.

Anyways, they then kitted out in black "fatigues," which weren't really anything of the sort -- but were more or less standard dress for Revenians these days.

Loose black slacks, black boots with faintly visible safety toes, tight black t-shirt, black jacket. Fionn added a cape, featuring the Alme footprint-in-rock sigil on the clasps, and also sported the required single earpiece, a bit of amethyst in a platinum net. Raege was far more utilitarian in his accessories, simply a pair of black mirrored sunglasses and an ear clasp which was most assuredly -not- an earbud.

Sceol made sure that his teeth were gleaming white, in the usual manner -- via the much-punctured chew toy.

The above completed, the trio would set in to read, in Fionn's case, play a game, in Raege's case, or nap, in Sceol's case....until the proper time, wherein they would head out to the silly meeting.

The gargoyle yawned and stretched. The faux-stone colors of its armor reversed their fade, slipping back to a bright, fire-engine red.

Ystra opened her eyes. Her HUD flicked into view, fed directly into the optic nerves by connections which - while nothing near as fine as Angstian hardware - were beautiful in their simplicity. A few cubic millimeters of stimulant slipped into her bloodstream, bringing her fully awake.

Diagnostics flickered by. Fifteen minutes to go, she thought. Plenty of time. Everything's going fine.

Ystra jumped from the roof of the pub, landing in a graceful crouch. Her armor whined as it coped with the sudden load.

A route diagram flicked into sight, and Ystra took off. She accelerated quickly through the narrow alleys to a steady sprint that was faster than some groundcars, losing herself in the simple feeling of speed. The whine in her armor grew to a roar as fans kicked in to cool the servomotors in her joints.

Precisely nine minutes and seventeen seconds later, Ystra skidded to a halt in front of the Belmore Hotel, at six minutes before six. Her suddenly unstressed armor ticked as it cooled.

flGCD 205/501 had spent most of the night running pleasaure algorithms while wrapping its weaponry in its overly sensitive fields, stroking them while simultaneously getting high - being a combat drone tended to have its quirks, and this quirks occasionally included somewhat screwy personalities.

Right now, however, it was waiting, impatiently, for Chan Juan to arrive, so they could get on with their 'Business'.

Very impatiently - compensating for the heat wasn't a problem, but Mephistopheles had once more decided to spend the time on top of flGCD 205/501's casing, taking advantage of its cooling effects, and cleaning its feathers, only occasionally leaving the drone, largely to hunt native insects (Which it was seemingly enjoying - the local prey was rather more nutrient-rich than its Angstian counterparts - albeit rather capable of defending itself, too, and so the bird eventually chose to simply sit on a branch and having the insects walk down the branch and into its beak).

In the end, Chan Juan and her acquaintance did their somewhat showy arrival, although it didn't particularly impress flGCD 205/501. "I can fly, too, you know. In any case - glad to see you managed it in time. Considering your, ah - pleasant acquaintance, I wouldn't have been surprised if you were late. Though I bet that catching up would've been easy, with him available." The drone turned a little, its sensorband pointing at Ceres. "I hope she tasted well. Haven't had any experience myself, but I heard she gets around."

Chan Juan just grinned in a vaguely amused fashion, and decided that she should've brought a pillow with her to throw at the machine, before nuzzling Mephistopheles, who was now resting on her shoulder. "Yeah, I certainly do - especially on a submarine. Anyway - how was your night? Mine was, well... as you can see..."

"Oh, perfectly pleasant, thank you. You could've taken your bird with you, mind."

"Wonderful. And its name is Mephistopheles, thanks. I hope Susi's well? In any case, now we have to wait for our - your - guide, I suppose..." She'd already told Ceres about flGCD 205/501's eccentricities, involving its CREW called 'Susi' being kept on the softest pillow in any given room.

"Would you please not in public...? Anyway, yes. Everything's packed and ready, as you can see by the box beneath me. And... would you prefer being alone, perhaps? Really wonder what it all is about... Have to get myself a fleshy body, I suppose..."

Chan Juan, who was nuzzling Ceres, just chuckled.

Ystra eyed the other occupants of the park square as she strolled - insomuch as one can stroll while wearing power armor - in. Two of the figures were quite normal, with only a few species and possible ID reports floating above their heads in her virtual vision. The ovoid drone, however, was almost totally covered in passive sensor reports- some of which bore the bright flaring red of weapons detection.

Ystra winced at the visual assault and switched off her combat overlay. Must be the DA people, she thought, walking towards them. This should be interesting.

"You guys takin' this little jaunt, too?"

flGCD 205/501 turned around, and measured the rather menacing (To a human, anyway - not so much to flGCD 205/501, although the drone was looking harmless enough, even cute. There had been incidents of children wanting to keep it as a shiny little toy, possibly with some plush over its casing), power-armoured lizard. 'Measured' meaning 'Fullband EM actives and passives', of course.

"Well, I am, anyway. I'm not entirely sure about my companion-" Here, it indicated Chan. "She might stay here... Always preferred the water to the desert, anyway."

Collecting information on species, equipment, trace elements suggesting points of origin and the likes, was, of course, simple enough.

"And you? I half suspect that you're here to blow up Navarre, judging by your, ah - reputation. Or is it 'Back to the roots' time? I figure that your paleolithic ancestors had to deal with comparable prey, back in the day..."

Ystra chuckled gratingly.

"I ain't plotting to level the city. Y'all don't need to be paranoid. Ah'm on leave, and I don't plan on shootin' any o' ye." Her voice carried a generous helping of Southern drawl; it had taken hours for her to reprogram the vocoder chip in the back of her throat, but the effect was worth it. "I'm here for the huntin', not for the fightin'. Y'all should check your facts better. Us Augs ain't all mercs an' pirates, y'know."

With a grating of electromagnetic noise, her armor probed the surface layers of the drone with tracings of magnetism and gravity.

"I ain't too sure about you, tho'. Seems like you're geared up for war, boy. Ah just hope that when the critters come droppin' by, you ain't gonna just up and blow them to bits with those weapons o'yours before we all can get a shot in."

The drone hesitated, wobbling in the air, and considered the lizard's language. "Hrm."

It engaged in a bit of play - manipulating emission- and reflection profiles of its surface and internals, mostly, with a bit of screw-them-all-up short-ranged jamming thrown in for good measure - but eventually failed to manage a convincing impression of a tree stump.

"Well. I wasn't exactly going to shoot first - besides, if the ads are to be trusted, I figure that the Sanddragon might as well be capable of dealing with conventional approaches on killing, including mine. Not to mention that I suspect a lot of ammunition to be expended before we reach the dragon in the first place."

It hesitated for a moment, considering the scent-marked path of a few seriously oversized ants on the ground, carrying off equally oversized locusts to their doubtlessly nearby anthill.

Well, 'Anthill'. Considering the weather conditions, they were more likely to live underground.

"In any case, is there anything wrong with your translation-software, or did someone decide to play a prank on you? Your accent suggests you to be roughly forty kilograms heavier, much sweatier, and carrying a bible and a shotgun... Well, I suppose the shotgun part hold true, in a sense..."

"Well, Ah'm sure I've got a Bible in my onboard memory somewhere... But ya. Mah translation man has a sense o' humour. It was this or a Rastafarian accent. I could just up an' shoot the guy." Ystra sighed. "'S gonna take me a while t' pick up enough credit t'get that fixed."

[OOC: ZOMG BUMPAGE]

(OOC: Are you guys still accepting applicants, or is the RP full?)