Your brother a yeoman or a Storekeeper/Logistic Spcialist now I guess, or maybe even a ship serviceman? Just asking since he was in Mississipi for training. . . the bunghole of the southern region, NAS Meridian!

The Trial came and he did he part. Recounting the tail of how the Bailiff was brutally assaulted and telling his small lie to the court. He'd never actually heard Night mock the Bailiff but in court it was a damning enough entreaty. The eventually found her guilty of criminal deriliction of duties and aiding and abetting, lashes, reduction in rank, and a fine of cash.  Atleast she had hurt for it, but she wouldn't forget his role in it, nor would her family. It was time to insulate himself, he'd have to work very hard for those burgher papers, and take other methods to protect himself. Already he suspected agents of the Shadowhand's about him. Kelban had shown up in the Goblin and let on that he had a big pay out commin when he finished a job. . his gaze had wandered to Maccen. Also Maccen didn't like how the man had flaunted his money. . .  like any shadowhand lakey they all always had money, rivers of it! Now the man presumed to buy him a drink, A "Shadowhand Stout" no less, a message perhaps? The man admited to being with the Silver Dawn Order. . . same as Luke. Maccen was certain the man was plotting to get revenge on himself or an associate.  Hopefully he would see the boss and could warn him of his suspicios. Suspicions? Paranoia! Damnit it couldn't go throw such supposition at the bosses feet cause he was scared.


Damnit where was Becca, or Ed, or even that Gabriel Drachen!? Whre was anybody!?

Meh 5/10 good gaming music, but nothing else.

Heres one for you guys From A3's newest album released this year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b5POsefaGM

For one, Jassi thats NOT a standard burger order. Though the customer is always wrong and therfore they will make this healthcode violating monster.

Two, Kas, you have too many familiars, please pick one before the church burns you down.
And Sergio is right, you should search for an off brand there. And we love the term "Europe" we can use it and mean all of anything on the other side of the pond that is not the middle east or part of the federation.

Oh and some of my own animals (I am going to kill them all)


Lance my Cat, he thinks hes an outdoorsey sort but hes really a city slicker,



Bailey, I forget what breed he is. . . hes actually the most well behaved of the bunch.



Olivia, miss neurotic herself. She won't learn to go outside to use the restroom and god forbid that I should use the newspaper on her nose.

Also I own two other cats, but one is kept by herself cause the others are mean to her. . . and I did not feel like hunting her, the other is an anti-social manx. The yellow tabby is really the only one thats "Mine" Damned mongolian.

Hadrian's Wall!? THE HADRIAN'S WALL?!!?!? Damn you to hell, all of you in Europe, you get all the amazing shit. We americans have nothing. *pouts*

Sanderson Hoagie and Feather? Or did I mistake one of the females for Ol' Mela?

Boss, seems according to some Rebecca is missing, or atleast is holed up someplace. I've no means to contact her and it seems she informed nobody that Ed and I work at the Swagger's. Tigurius and Anira Ciulwen both assume she is missing. . . After I have talked to more folk I will let ye know.

The man before him had brown hair and stank of plants and herbs. Normally, this would be a welcome smell but Maccen knew these herbs. Wytch magics. He sneered inwardly with disdain at this "help" that had been sent. The man wreaked of self-important cockery, well ye can nay always choose who you work with and seeing as he'd somehow become the one in charge. Yes he'd use him, wytch had uses of course no need to be so closed minded. At least that is what Maccen told himself over and over after the man left him.

He glanced about Swaggers, no sign of Becca, no sign of patrons, no sign of trouble. The feck had happened around here? Maybe he was in luck and militia remnants had killed themselves by ritual animal mauling or something equally amusing. . . .  death by injesting poison ivy?
These thoughts concerned him for a few hours before with a heavy sigh he trudged back upstairs. Mail on his bed? Who. . .  Ed? He looked about with slight paranoia and picked up the letter, heavy, jingley, shilling filled. He grinned as he pocket the coin and read the letter. Ahh the Boss was a good one. He set the letter to a candle and watched it burn into ashes on the bedside.

[*A copy of the previous is recent along with a second letter*]

*A copy of the previous is recent along with a second letter*

Honourable Mr. Varen,

I write to ye again in concern to the bourding home. I have already taken loan from the bank to the tune of Four-Hundred-Thousand gold crown and craftsmen have come and gone. These monies only paid for the foundations and the walls but four walls do not make a home and therefore from my own poket I have attempted to furnish the establishment. I know that perhaps I should have waited on yer return letter but knowing a number of the unfortunate lasses here in Cove desperatly without accomodation I pressed to have the place built. I would still wish to discuss the Baronship repaying my loan to the bank, and about any additional funding for furniture. Much of it is mismatched due to the fact some citezens have donated a table here, a chair there. I realize that sandstone and marble are a far cry of what the Covian populace can afford but I would like to offer comfortable accomodations that seem fresh rather than second hand or run down. Atleast not until time has had its chance to bring this about naturally of course.

It also would seem the Bailiff where more than happy to alocate tax monies and even possibly tax rightoffs to help in annual maintenance costs. Give that I still feel we should talk, and that ye should see the facilities. Already some ladies have taken refuge within the bourding homes walls, their first months rents being wrote off to their humble donations of fabric and basic supply.

I look forward to our meeting, and my reciept of Citezenship papers this Sunday. I hope you stay well.

*Signed*

Maccen Jepta Korten, Commoner of Cove

So, he found himself in Vesper, sitting on a cheap bed upstairs at the Swagger's. Gods he never expected to spend so much time in Vesper ever again. There was a reason he did not live here. He swore under his breath. Boss needed him to do this though, he had to make up for past mistakes. He remembered his shame he felt. .  Gods why did he feel shame? No he felt as though he looked stupid, he slammed a fist into the dresser, and that pissed him off. So much so he had almost tracked Bingo down and beat her to within an inch of her life. Somehow he had calmed down, some reason he realized it was his own fault.

That was then, this was now.

He had a man to watch for, a man who was being sent here to do the job he was told to prevent by the same man who had sent him to stop the act he had ordered. . .   Fecking confusing as the Abyss. Perhaps the old man was crazy, perhaps just a genius. There was the Mill. . .  he always spoke of it with enjoyment and seemed to like the whole thing. What Maccen had never figured out was weather the Boss meant he loved what came from it. . . or the act itself. The Mill sickened Maccen but he was not naive, such things can be necessary in this line of work to make things happen as needed, perhaps Fain had gone further than Kiran wanted him to? Maybe, maybe, maybe. There was nothing for it really, he could turn it over and over. What mattered if Kiran had ordered women and children slaughtered? He was getting paid right? Boss knew his limits. . . and women and children was one of them.

The plan with Becca was in place, now they just had to wait for the woodsy fellow to appear. . . and hopefully nail him to the wall.

The wake of all that had happened, was devastation. Men came out of the shadow one by one, like Nu'jhelom jackals. The Boss was back, healthy and whole as he had ever been remembered. Blades made themselves known, but it seemed Maccen was the last thug. . . the last nonprofessional as he had been made so painfully aware on many occasions. The Boss never said such, but it was in the eyes of every agent and cutthroat. For lack of a better term, he found himself the "Professional Thug" so to speak as new blood poured in. "Watch her well Maccen me boy." "Make certain ye train her well" the Boss had said.

He grinned as he watched the woman known as Rachael Bingo dance, she gyrated in ways he'd only seen on exotic islands. She where small framed like he, muscles toned by years of practice, could bend in ways he had only dreamt women could and had a bosom he'd gladly be buried alive in. Training her would be a treat so he thought. But beside all that, the woman was something between vulgar and lady like, with a humour. She fit right in as someone he'd like and deep in his mind he was aware this may very well mean he should be close but not too close. No telling when yer friends might turn on ye, nor should ye sleep with the help. Then again, what was life if you did not enjoy it, what did tomorrow matter if today had been wild and free? Meaningless of course.

______________________________________________________________________________

Pond eh, Amelia Pond. She where out of the organization now. He'd put a few things together, thoughts really. Unrelated events seemingly and possibly far fetched and overly paranoid if he where wrong. . .   Boss had taken that recommendation, not that he needed much help after the woman had -followed- them took way too eagerly to things and hung on each word yet could not learn to hang her tongue out to dry someplace and keep shut up. He wondered how long before she would truly cross paths with them again. Time would tell.

Maccen walked into the office, unlocked. . .  He pulled a twelve inch, slightly curved blade wit ha handle made of deer antler from his belt. He'd been gone awhile. . .  people had vanished, others had died. Today he would not be his day he said to himself as he took a deep breath and pushed in the door, creeping into the room first then leaping in off hand out defensively, knife in close. The shadows danced momentarily as the sun filtered through the foliage of trees. Dust fell from the ceiling as a crisp wind howled through the door, the sound of mice gnawing books. He looked at the floor, covered in dust. . . no signs of people. . .  neither print, nor blood.  He sighed a heavy sigh, both relief and dispair.

He was alone. The Boss was gone. . .  the trusty blades and footpads had melted into the darkness if they where smart, those others now slept in unmarked graves. He grinned despite himself, best to think of it as a culling, a pulling of weeds. The strong survived, the weak fell by the wayside. If the Boss where alive this would be a new beginning, pray the boss where alive, that some fool had not taken over. Fools always felt the need to ostracize the old guard so to speak.

He covered his tracks as best as he could. Turned over a few things, and looted a few coin, let em think it was looters. He made a note to watch the door for the next few weeks, perhaps others would make their presence known. . . even if it meant exposing himself, he had few options.

[{/OOC: Just a place for me to post both my characters personal thoughts, and updates on his doings. It is simply intended as a way for me to keep track of what I'm doing IC. . what the character knows compared to my own RL knowledge and also as entertainment for the lot of you. Cheers mates./end}]

{/OOC: Just a place for me to post both my characters personal thoughts, and updates on his doings. It is simply intended as a way for me to keep track of what I'm doing IC. . what the character knows compared to my own RL knowledge and also as entertainment for the lot of you. Cheers mates./end}

Ahh. . .  I would never have known. Kiran spends too much time being seedy and sinister to speak plainly of things

. . . are you not a number of months too soon?