Basileus

Lucius was convinced there wasn't anything untoward about the whales, and after a minute he reached back and shut off the thermal sight to conserve batteries. When it was his turn to check in, he keyed his radio's transmit button and said, "Night 7, negative contacts, out." The whales were actually a welcome break from the monotony of the slapping waves. The steady splashing sound could dull the senses, make him not hear what he should. He couldn't get the nagging feeling that something other than marine life was out there. A gut feeling of impending trouble had developed ever since his cameraman was so violently killed in Afghanistan. "Man," he said, spitting over the side of the ship. "That old tightness...like back then. Somethin' is goin' down. Cain't see shit out there." Although it had only been a few minutes, he reached back over his shoulder and turned the thermal sights back on. After a few seconds, he unslung his rifle, and looked through the scope out at the black ocean.

Lucius had just reached his position on the port side of the Green Whale, about three quarters of the way up to the bow. The fog lazily billowed by, turning every light source on the ship into a big ball of diffused illumination. "Cain't see anything in this murk," he muttered. Suddenly, amid the rhythmic splashing of the ship's bow wave, he heard a loud "PWASH" somewhere aft. He turned towards the stern, but couldn't see a thing. Then he heard yelling in Arabic. "Izzat Murtada?" He unslung his M4 from his shoulder, and powered up the thermal sight. "Come on," he said, impatiently tapping on the ATN ThOR HD 640 as it came online. He looked through it, and saw Murtada and Henry a few hundred feet aft, just as the radio crackled with an explanation. "Ahab? Hah, whales," he chuckled. He briefly panned his weapon over the side of the ship, but the sights couldn't pick up anything in the sea and fog. He decided to resling the M4 over his shoulder, but left the thermal sight on. "Just in case."

(Lucius rolls a 2 on Listen roll, 4 on Sight roll modified to a 2...he's feeling too good to spot jack) Lucius finished updating his blog, put away his laptop, and put on his jacket and wool pea coat for the expected night chill. He went to the shift meeting, picked up his web belts, weapon, ammo and other gear. As he got to his assigned area on the port side of the Green Whale, he turned up the collar on his pea coat, rubbed his hands together, and grinned. "Ah, fog. Reminds me of when I was growin' up in Chicago. That icy fog would come in off Lake Michigan, chill me to mah bones." He wore his web gear over the wool coat, his M4 slung over one shoulder. Clipped onto the Picatinny rail on the M4 was a thermal sight, but not wearing NVGs, he'd have to look through it to have night vision. But not hearing or seeing anything suspicious, he was at ease. Too much at ease...

(I rolled a 4) Lucius is half listening to Dennis and Adam discuss their musical prowess. He chuckled as he said, "Yeah, sure man...here's a little ditty, of a man named Smitty, who had joined the Navy, got hit by a wave-y, he yelled out "what the hell", as overboard he fell, then he met a mermaid, who gave him some Kool-Aid..." He grinned broadly. "Y'all better do it, my singin' is foul, just foul..." The burly bald man made his way to his assigned cabin. "Alrighty then," he said as he set his sea bag on his rack, took out his antiquated laptop and power supply, set it up and logged onto the ship's wifi. Stowing the sea bag under his rack, he sat down on the mattress, put the computer in a comfortable position (where the exhaust wasn't burning blisters on his thighs) and fired up his journal app. Checking his watch, he began to write. "Day one...trip to the ship was uneventful...have settled into my space and started writing in my 'log'...several hours until we muster for our shift...hope everyone back home are doing okay..." His background as a reporter began to reveal itself as he went into details about his day, his long fingers tap-tapping away.

Lucuis nodded as he listened to Henry. He laughed out loud at his anecdote about the neighbor. "Dayum, some people, man," he said with a toothy grin. "But yeah, I hear ya. I don't profess to know hella lot about Middle Eastern politics, shoot their bad blood goes back over a thousand years, man. Of course, before that ya had the Persians and Romans and Greeks all takin' turns lordin' over this land. I don't blame 'em for mistrustin' outsiders, so maybe that's what got the Saudis all riled up. Anyway, good advice, man, I'll let it drop." He gave Henry a thumbs-up, as the van pulled through the security gate. Seeing the Green Whale, Lucius beamed. "There she is. Lookin' mighty fine. Good vision and firing lines along the flush deck, little in the way of structures cluttering it up." He flashed a grin at Marek and Jake. "I mean, in case of trouble, of course." As the van came to a halt, he was closest to the handle of the side door, so he grabbed it and slid it open. The outside air smacked him in the face like a hot, damp mattress. "Oof. Good thing we got acclimated already. Now to see if I still has my 'sea legs'..." Rounding the open rear door, he grabbed up his duffle bag and gear, and followed the others up to the tanker.

Flipped a coin and got: Heads First 1d100 roll: 1 (ST:TOS) Second 1d100 roll: 97 (Calvin and Hobbes) 1d12 roll: 6 (the forest?) 1d20 roll: 2 (getting snowed in) hoo boy...okay, so Calvin and Hobbes were having an epic snowball fight, when they get lost in the woods. coming out in a meadow, they find a strange crystalline substance in the middle. just as they were about to touch it, there's a high pitched *shweee* sound and a glow all around them. sensing a trap, Calvin and Hobbes assume a back-to-back defensive posture. the light subsides, and standing there are Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and a redshirt. Ensign Redshirt steps forward, phaser raised, and says, "Captain, the Klingons have beat us to the dilithium crystals!" Before Kirk can tell him "Wait. Ensign. He. Might. Be. A. Normal. Kid," Redshirt attempts to fire on Calvin. But the canny Calvin had been holding his last snowball in his hands since they entered the forest, and now it was a good solid golf-ball sized marble of pure ice. He flings the ice ball, striking the onrushing Redshirt on the forehead, sending him sprawling onto the snow-covered meadow. Spock gives a Vulcan salute, and says, "We do not wish to harm you. Please step away from the dilithium crystals, they are highly radioactive." As Kirk finally finishes his first sentence, McCoy has rushed to the side of the unmoving Redshirt, running a medical tricorder scan. He looks up at Kirk, and says, "He's...not dead, Jim." etc. etc. yeah sure we can run with this one too ^^

Flipped a coin and got: Heads First 1d100 roll: 18 (SG: Atlantis) Second 1d100 roll: 89 (LOTR) 1d12 roll: 4 (the beach...how appropos) 1d20 roll: 15 (wondering what they did last night) heh, so the flying city of Atlantis ends up falling into a wormhole, and the crew loses consciousness...when they wake up, they have landed on the western ocean of Middle-Earth, and have beached themselves near Belfalas, in the land of Gondor. General O'Neill looks out upon the unfamiliar landscape, and says, "Where are we?" Just then, King Aragorn rides up with his knights, wondering what this massive thing is that just washed up...yeah, I think we can work with this one ^^

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Dennis, man, you were with the Légion étrangère? Respect. I won't mention it again in your presence." He closed his eyes and nodded to him. His eyes popped open again when Andreia, Adam, Hannu, and Henry began discussing Qatari current events and Maxergy. "See, that's what I don't get about what the Saudis and the others are accusin' the Qataris of doin'. The Muslim Brotherhood is a Sunni Muslim organization founded in Egypt. The Iranians are Shiites. They're like oil and water, day and night. Besides, Shia Muslims barely make up somethin' like ten percent of the population. The Qataris were supportin' the Saudis in attacking the Shia Houthis in Yemen. Combined with the belligerence of Iran, there's no plausible motivation for Qatar to support Iran or terrorists. Ya know what I think? Somebody has skin in that game, and wanted to break up the coalition between the Saudis and the Qataris. What better way than to fabricate some evidence, let it slip to the right ears, and the whole works start comin' apart. "See, when I was a kid, I used to get accused of all kinds of shit by damn liars. Whenever somethin' was missin', some mofo would whisper that I was seen near it. I spent my grade school years turnin' out my pockets, openin' my locker for teachers to search it, all kinds of degradin' humiliation. I know it was racially motivated, but nobody but brothers and sisters would understand. I didn't fight it, because my mama told me not to, and I saw what happened to brothers and sisters that did." He tapped an index finger on his temple. "You gotta use your head, not just to survive, but to make your life better. That's why I'm gonna keep an open mind about the Qataris. Not judge a book by its skin. Maybe Maxergy is the same way. Shit, who am I kiddin'. They're a corporation, it's all about gettin' the oil money locked up first. Dig?" The irony of not being judgmental about Qatar while dismissing the oil company as only concerned with lucrative relations with the country didn't seem to phase Lucius.

Lucius nodded to Jake, and glanced at Henry, Dennis and Marek as he said, "Yeah, man, first cruise with Clear Water was on a container ship off the horn of Africa, and it was smooth like butter. Nothing like A-stan. See, the way I see it, you might be able to sneak up in some quiet ass boat, but now you've got a fifty foot vertical wall of wet metal to climb just to get on board a ship, and while you're movin' at cruisin' speed. Out in open water, the waves be slappin' you silly, and if you fall in, there's a pair of twenty foot diameter Cuisinarts astern trying to suck you in and puree you. I say, Mistuh Pirate, you give it your best shot. You make it up to the railing, and we'll give YOU our best shots, right in center mass." He raised his beefy hands mimicking holding a rifle, and made a *pow* sound as his arms bucked, pretending to take a shot. "Then you fall overboard and get sliced and diced. Chump becomes chum." He flashed his bright toothy smile, which disappeared as he added, "Yeah, not like A-stan."

Lucius Clay the rifleman sat on the far end of the middle bench seat of the van with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His "boonie" hat was over his face, as he tried to catch some shut-eye, with about as much success as Asim. He reached up with one burly hand, and lifted the hat just enough for one of his eyes to glance out as Henry expectorated his water back into his bottle. "Nasty, man," he said with a heavy African American accent before dropping the hat back into place over his face. Recrossing his limbs, he made a dry cough as he resumed trying to sleep. Finally giving up the losing battle, he took off the hat and sat upright, rubbing one hand on his shaved bald pate. His complexion was the color of dark roast coffee, contrasted by the bright whites of his corneas and the grill of his clenched teeth. "Can't wait to get on the ship, man. Wide open seas is where it's at. Nobody can sneak up on you, doin' shit. You keep your eyes peeled, you'll see any mo-fos before they get close to boardin'. No surprises." Obviously, Clay had a bad experience somewhere in his thirty years of life, part of it on an Afghanistan rotation.

An anti-grav field generator so the poor dragon won't fall to the ground, and a shuttle-sized warp engine to let him "blink" to a location he can see, then pounce on his prey and warp out again before the prey's buddies can return fire o_O

I think keeping plant-based spells under Wood (a living thing that can be manipulated after it's dead) and metal-based spells under Metal (a mineral separate from Earth that is never alive but can flow like a liquid if heated, unlike earth which mixes readily with water, whereas metal doesn't fully mix with water, or something something etc.) is best ^^; So, what about flesh-based spells like transformation/size change/healing/blood/bone/organs like eyes and ears, etc.? Blood can be the rare mix of Water and Metal (iron), but a simple Enlarge/growth spell would involve flesh, bone, blood, organs, the whole gamut working in concert to increase a creature's size (may also involve Spirit) Also, how would Light and Darkness be classified? I can imagine Light being a subset of Fire (even cold chemical light like fireflies), and perhaps Darkness too (absence of light, plus ashes/soot being a product of Fire)? I dunno... Finally, electricity (lightning bolt, chain lightning, St. Elmo's Fire, etc.) could be a subset of Fire I suppose, although the way it travels through Metal is unique (fire could use metal as a conductor, as in heating one end of a piece of metal, but it's not as efficient as electricity). Also, electricity can melt metal if hot enough, so definitely related to Fire there. Yet, electricity not only burns flesh, but causes paralysis by shorting the nervous system. An active nervous system is a required in most forms of life, therefore one could extrapolate that life is a subset of Fire, therefore Raise Dead/Resurrection type of thing might be related to "restoring the fire of life"?

Teena'los hurriedly cleaned her plate (something her mama used to tell her, "No crossbow until you've eaten all your mushrooms"), tossed back the last of her mocha, hoisted her bowcaster over a shoulder, and followed Shar and Sulap to the machine which promptly ate her tray, plates and all. "Good to know, thank you sir," she said to the captain. Hearing Sulap's question, she smiled. Awareness and precise marksmanship I can do, thought the sniper. Her fingers instinctively glided over her web belt, with pouches for extra power packs, and one cylindrical one containing the clip-on sights for her bowcaster.

Teena'los was surprised by Captain Shar's answer. No kidding? she thought, as she quickly cut the rest of her steak into manageable cubes and began tossing them one after the other into her maw. So that leaves only one question... "Cafthain, (chew) veeth vaemonth anf ve overth, (gulp) what weapons would be the most effective?" (takes a swig of caffè mocha, briefly enjoys the wash of chocolatey goodness) "I mean, will my Bowcaster be sufficient?"

"Whatever, Shynt, mine has heavenly garlic butter on it, try it!" Teena'los plopped a cube of yummy tenderloin on his plate, and continued to wolf down her own. "Want some mushroom to go with that?" She proffered her plate with a greasy smile. She listened to Shar and Sulap talk about the Outsiders and enchanting weapons. Her quick thinking put two and two together, and thought enchanted weapons might be key to bringing down these creatures the captain discussed. "Sir, since Sulap brought up enchanted weapons...will that be necessary to fight these demons, daemons, and feck-what-not? Or will my Bowcaster be sufficient?"

Teena'los looked up at Shynt, misty-eyed, but beaming from ear to pointed ear. "What? Oh, thanks, but naw, I'm in heaven! Look at this steak! It looks and smells amazing..." Indeed, the combination of the garlic butter and mushrooms made a mouth-watering aroma. She stabbed the plump, carmelized steak with the pointy knife, and the juice was pink. She cut a couple manageable pieces, and popped one in her mouth. A fresh torrent of tears flowed from her closed eyes. "Oh Sharess...here, taste this." She forked the second piece onto the other Drow's plate. A few moments later, as Shar was taking roll call of the new recruits and their currents of magic, it became Teena's turn, so she spoke up. "Teena'los Sarghress, sir. I have Orange for healing, Indigo for arcane attacks, and Black for darkness spells."

Teena'los was stunned at the crystal clear logic of Sulap's point regarding the Klingon and honor. "Fascinating," she whispered back to the Ferengi, raising an eyebrow. With her relatively short hair (for a Drow) and protruding long pointed ears, she looked like a photographic negative of a famous Vulcan science officer that she didn't know. Well, if Spock was wearing a pair of tinted glasses, that is. Following Commander Shar's guidance and her new friend's example, she waited her turn then stepped up to a replicator. A relatively fast learner, she figured out that the device was like a food-summoning Gate that was voice activated. She stated as clearly as she could, "Haledri steak, tenderloin, medium rare." The replicator beeped and replied, "Haledri not recognized." Thinking quickly, Teena'los dropped the word and decided to embellish. "Steak, tenderloin, medium rare. Herb butter on top. Side of mushrooms, sauteed. Ah...a mug of Nuqran coffee, hot." The replicator again beeped and replied, "Nuqran not recognized." "ANY coffee, hot, black. Wait. Put some chocolate in it." "One caffè mocha, coming up," replied the machine. On the tray materialized a plate holding a sizzling 2 inch thick, 8 ounce filet mignon, suitably adorned with herb butter, a generous side of sautéed button mushrooms cascading off of the steak, and next to it a plain white 12 ounce mug of steaming brown liquid. Everything smelled delightful. A full set of flatware including a serrated steak knife was laid across a folded napkin. Teena'los stared at her tray without picking it up. Realizing there was a line behind her, she finally removed it from the replicator. A tear rolled down her face, accompanied by a huge smile.

Teena'los raised an eyebrow as Sulap told her something that not even Drow have bothered to say to her. Smiling pleasantly, she replied, "Right, thanks for the advice, Sulap. Hey, our Captain says we'll get a tour after some eats, I'm looking forward to seeing what makes this fort so useful against these spirit threats. I sure hope they have weapons that are effective against these beings, because my Bowcaster's good against corporeal targets, but I dunno how well it'd work against spirits." As the short, large-eared fellow got into a ribbing match with a burly Klingon about hunting food, Teena'los turned to Shynt and whispered, "Sulap says he's a Ferren'ghi...nice enough guy, even if he looks a bit like a beardless Dvergar. Let's back him up if that Kotorc-looking alien with the deformed forehead and his buddies try anything." She motioned with her eyes towards the Klingon, who looked more flustered than anything. "Then again, in a battle of wits, it looks like Sulap's got things well under control."

Suddenly Teena'los realized she wasn't alone. Thankfully, the first person she saw was a fellow Drow. The second person she saw looked more like a Dvergar with enormous ears and no beard. But before introductions could be made, a fellow who looked like he was out in the cold too long began speaking to the gathering with some authority. "Captain Shar," he called himself. Recognizing that he was their leader, and that this gathering was some sort of formation, Teena'los stood at attention and kept quiet. She recognized the first named creature, "Demon", but the others the blue-skinned captain rattled off didn't sound familiar at all. So, there's some kinda deadly forest over there, she thought, why do I get the feeling we'll be going in there soon enough? She welcomed the leader's suggestion to grab some warm grub, and as the recruits broke formation, she introduced herself to the others. "Sorry about the shouting, I thought I was alone until I suddenly saw you guys, heh." The smell of food wafting from the dining hall was inviting, as she shifted the Bowcaster on her shoulder.

Teena'los felt ridiculous. Ridiculously cold. It wasn't that many cycles ago that she was safely underground, warm in the embrace of her dark cavern home. Then all Hel had broken loose, and her clan was facing regicide and a coup d'etat. As part of the loyalist faction protecting the heir, she was "volunteered" to go to Machike-Shikumo, the clan's outpost on the border between the underworld and the surface. She was told to put on every stitch of clothing she had, both under and over her Highland Raider armor, as it would be "snowing." "'Snow? What's that' I said. 'It's like white sand, just colder' they said. I've been on the surface dozens of times, been on long patrols too. So WHAT DAFUQ IS THIS PAINFUL, JOINT-SEIZING, MUSCLE-ACHING, TEETH-CHATTERING, BLINDING CRAP?!" She tried to kick the offending stuff off of her leg, but it stubbornly held its ground and just caused her to spin around and take a spill with a muted crunch. She stared up at the grey sky, emitting puffs of condensation from her mouth with each pant. Her fingers had stopped hurting, and were now numb. She felt sleepy. A sudden urgency gripped her. "Oh no no no, this is what that old geezer warned me about." She flailed about and got up on her feet, slapping the snow off of her clothes. Pinpricks stabbed her hands all over as she moved. "Hnrrrghhh...well I'm not...getting any AIMED shots in this weather. Good thing my Bowcaster is good for both point targets and area fire...mmm, fire..." She stopped to read her order scroll one more time. "Detached as liaison to Winter Fortress. Winter Fortress. In winter. There's a joke in there somewhere, but damned if I can think of one." She looked up at the frosty edifice that loomed out of the whiteness ahead. She scrunched up the scroll in a balled fist as she shouted, "BECAUSE THERE AIN'T NUTHIN' FUNNY ABOUT THIS MOTHERKILLIN' SNOW!" She picked up the pace as she headed for the lonely tower.

Okay, here's my character: Name: Teena'los Race: Drow Gender: Female Age: 50 Rank: Weapons Specialist Height: 6'0" (183 cm) Weight: around 180 lbs (80 kg) Skin Color: Charcoal Black Hair Color: Pearl White Hair Style: Short, high and tight Eye Color: Amber Vision: Darkvision 120' (monochrome thermal vision out to 120 ft/37 m indoors, 120 yds/110m outdoors) Weapons of Choice: Bowcaster, backup Powerblade, backup regular blade Currents of Magic Attuned to: Orange (Body), Indigo (Arcane), Black (Shadows) Outfit: Earth Brown Highland Raider style armor, Dark Brown arming doublet/undergarments/cape/etc., blue tinted oval lens glasses (laser-protected) Demeanor: Introverted, more comfortable alone than with other people Background info: The only child to an army officer (mother, now deceased) and an artist (father), Teena'los had grown up free from want. Despite having plenty of toys and books, she had always been enamored with her mother's crossbow. It felt good in her hands, the weight, the action, the *clack* of release. Her mother had taken her hunting many times before she was called off to war, and did not return. The family's finances became strained, and her father slowly went insane. She took care of him for several years, until she came of age and joined the army to make ends meet. The income helped, but her father slipped into a routine of painting and yelling at people that didn't exist. Eventually the opportunity to make her fortune as a mercenary came up, and she took it, hoping that the extra gold would help comfort him a little. This drives her to be as useful to her fellows as possible, honing her skills with her beloved Bowcaster and keeping a wary eye out for enemies. Personality notes: Teena'los is observant and studious. She is accustomed to a relatively pampered life ("You're eating a WHAAAT?"). Being introverted, she enjoys solitude, but is loyal to her team and self-disciplined. She doesn't mind walking point, but she is most effective on overwatch with her Bowcaster. She dislikes arguments, but finds civilized discussions enjoyable (albeit tiring). Although reasonably good looking with a curvaceous figure, she would rather be judged on her usefulness in combat.