#armor crewmen

[muffinlance]

Cheating at Pai Sho Outtake: Crew Interrogation

Opened up Cheating at Pai Sho and this alternate version was just chilling in my notes. I ended up using the “Sokka goes out drinking with the crew” version instead, but behold, the crew messing with Zhao’s men:

* * *

Sokka was entirely unclear on whether the crew didn't notice him under his newly replaced guard helmet, or just didn't care.

"Look sharp, Ensign Other One," a fellow creepily anonymous skull-mask-guard said, giving Sokka an elbow nudge to the chest plate, and firmly putting an end to the did they know or just not care question. "Hostiles incoming."

"What do we do?"

"Mess with them." The guard lifted his faceplate. Hawker Genji winked at him, then let it drop.  

Heavy boots stomped up the loading ramp, mere minutes after Zuko and the resupply party had left.  

"Attention on deck!" one of the newly arrived armored-but-not-wearing-helmets guys bellowed. None of the crew had any particular reaction to this bellowing, probably because it was a few decibels below what they were used to. The man's lips twisted down. "The port commander has ordered a mission debriefing. You will assemble all crew—"

"Yes," Genji said, and the same time a woman next to him was saying "Agni blight it," and handing over a handful of coins.

The port inspector snapped his head towards them. "What was that, crewmen?"

"Nothing, sir,” said Genji. “Just won a bet. Thanks, by the way."

"Nothing, sir,” said the woman. “Just lost a bet. Thanks, by the way."

A third crewmember snickered, and stifled it as soon as the dock officer whipped around to glare. And suddenly Sokka realized why everyone on the Wani had put on their own helmets: near-complete anonymity.

So began the messing with.

%%%

The crew was, basically, locked in the mess hall. Except for the people who the port officer had hauled off to speak with one-by-one; they, presumably, were being released into the Wani wilds elsewhere, to minimize the getting-their-stories-straight thing.

"Do it," Genji urged Sokka on. "I'll give you a silver if you do."

"He's low-balling you, kid," Assistant-to-the-Doctor-and-Occasional-Pikeswoman Satomi advised.

"What even is a silver worth?" Sokka asked, having grown up in a region largely decoupled from the greater world economy. "I need a baseline for how much this is worth to you."

"A silver is worth about five kilos of rice if they don't know you're from the Wani," Satomi said. "Half that if they do. Hold out for a gold from him, at least. That's ten silvers, or an hour with a really good hooker."

"Sssh," Helmsman Kyo shushed, in a manner most shushily. "I can't hear what they're saying." He had his ear pressed to a metal pipe that connected to another pipe that ran to the room the port officer was doing his interrogations in. "Wait no, I got it. Okay, so we're up to The Avatar appeared before Prince Zuko in a column of light which vanished into the sky, leaving behind the last living airbender. The airbender lives on our roof and helped us fight off the Southern Savages that attacked us from the sky on their snow-white beast. It sounds like they're—yeah, they're finished! Next up!"

The uninterrogated remainder of the crew all assumed their sullen stances, and waited for the the port officers to drag the next of them off. Satomi was picked, and went with some literal dragging of heels. "Oh no, not me."

The Wani crew, as it turned out, tried very hard to be consistent in their ridiculously over-the-top rewrites of the truth.

"We don't get battle stories to brag about," they'd explained to Sokka. "But we do get Avatar Hunt ones."

Kyo pressed his ear to the pipe again, and continued his narration. "Okay. Good, good—she laid out the basics again. And she's adding—oh wow, this is great—'Together with our new airbender, we brought the light of Agni to the frozen heathens, and converted them to our cause. Now they worship graven images of Fire Lord Ozai and leave offerings at the rusted ruins of our ships—'  

Sokka. Knew what he had to do.

%%%

"Sit," the port inspector ordered.

Sokka sat.

"Your fleet commander demands an explanation for this wasteful expenditure of resources to the south," the man snarled. "Tell me the truth of it. Start from when your ship departed this port the last time."

"Well, I'm not going to be able to help you with that," Sokka said. "You see, I was out minding my own business on my culturally inferior ice shelf when the light of Agni shown upon my world. Also, Avatar something-something? I forget what they told me to say. Anyway, long story short, I'm a converted Southern Savage. Hail Fire Lord Zuko's Dad!"

It might just be the sleep deprivation, but the guy's expression was hilarious.

%%%

"How did you all get written up for insubordination?" Zuko shouted. "I was gone for less than two hours! You're not even in the navy!"

"Yeah," the Water Tribe peasant said. "That officer guy got really angry when he thought I was giving him a fake name. Then he heard them calling me 'new guy' and just wrote up Pikesman Kazuto. Sorry, Kazuto."

"He… what?" Kazuto, who was carrying the last sack of rice aboard, paused long enough to look befuddled.

The teenager shrugged; his armor clattered and creaked even worse than Jee's. "What can I say? Just because I'm not part of the navy doesn't mean I'm not part of this crew."

There was. There was so much cheering and backslapping. Zuko had left for less than two hours, and now his crew liked a Water Tribe barbarian more than their prince.

[why-its-kai]

Full resolution detail scans of the production materials printed in the "Monthly Satellite Times" newspaper insert included in the Trigun Stage 4 Laserdisc release. (1/2)

Scanned, stitched together, newsprint paper texture removed by me.

Bad Lad

Assault rifle used by the Bad Lads

Neon's 45 Magnam B•D Special gun

Brilliant Dynamites Neon (1)

Brilliant Dynamites Neon (2)

Character height chart for episodes 7 & 8

Neon's armored car (1)

Neon's armored car (2)

Neon's armored car (3)

Sandsteamer captain

Tour conductor

Sandsteamer crewmen

[walkingthroughthisworld]

(via XM1 Abrams Main Battle Tank by DarkWizard83 on DeviantArt)

The original prototype vehicle that led to one of - if not the - most powerful tank in the world, and current backbone of Us armored forces, the M1 Abrams MBT.  Born out of the failed German-American MBT-70 project, the XM1 was developed by the Chrysler Motor Corporation, and in 1978 Chrysler delivered to the Army a sleek, low-silhouette heavy tank that incorporated every major technological feature of the day, including computerized controls and a laser rangefinder.   But the most significant design feature of the new tank was its use of Chobham composite armor on the hull and turret.  While the exact nature and composition of Chobham armor remains a closely guarded secret, the evidence suggests that it utilizes a matrix of ceramic armor tiles, layered between the vehicle's internal steel and external armored plating.  When a high-velocity projectile - such as a round fired from a tank or an anti-tank missile - hits the armor, the explosion produces a high-velocity jet of gas that shears through the armor plating.  In normal armor, this jet of gas - once it had passed through the outer armor - would blast into the hull of the tank, causing irreprible damage and often killing the crewmen inside.  However, with Chobham armor's interweaved layers of ceramic composite, the forces that would normally tear into a tank's hull are forced to spread out and dissipate over a much wider area, leaving the inner hull intact.  This not to say that Chobham armor renders a tank invincible - any hit will still cause exterior damage, and a powerfiul direct hit could still damage or disable the tracks or sensitive electronic equipment.  But it would keep the crew alive, and often protect the tank itself enough to keep fighting. Another key crew safety feature is the vault-like armored compartment that houses the Abrams' primary ammunition.  One of the primary causes of a tank's destruction has not been the direct result of armor-pierecing hits, but the inderict results of those hits ignigting and detonating the tank's munitions.  To protect this, a kevlar and steel armored plate seperates the crew from the ammunition store.  Same with the tank's fuel supply.  Even if the compartments were pierced, and the ammunition or fuel ignited, the protective plates would insulate the crew from explosion and fire.   In combat, the Abrams has proven to be second to none.  During Operation Desert Storm in 1991, M1s were able to take out Iraqi tanks at distances as long as 4km.  Of the nearly 2,000 Abrams to see combat in the conflict, only 18 were ever taken out of service due to combat damage, and none resulted in any crew casulties.  In 2003 and onwards during Operation Iraqi Freedom, the Abrams again demonstrated a mastery of the battlefield, driving to Baghdad virtually unopposed.  However, the Abrams clearly showed its vulnerability to ambush attacks, with a number of M1s severly damaged and disabled from RPGs, and far more frequently by roadside IED bomb traps.  However, even when caught in some of the largest IED explosions, crew casualties have so far been astoundingly low, a testament to the M1s protection and survivability. While no future M1's are planned for production, a number of older models are currently slated for upgrade to current standards over the next few years, and the Abrams will continue to serve with the Us Army and Marine Corps. for mcuh of the century to come. M1 Abrams Vehicle Stats: Type: Main battle tank Manufacturer: General Dynamics Land Systems First deployed: 1980 Crew: 4 Length: 9.76 m Width: 3.65 m Height: 2.88 m Weight: 61.4 tons Armor: Classified Armament, primary: 1 x 105mm M68 rifled tank gun; later models equipped with 120mm M256 smoothbore tank gun Armament, secondary: 2 x 7.62mm FN-Browning M240 machineguns, 1 x .50-cal Browning M2 BMG machinegun Ammo stowage, primary: 55 rounds Ammo stowage, secondary: 11,000 rounds 7.62mm, 1,000 rounds .50-cal Powerplant: Textron Lycoming AGT1500 1,500hp gas-turbine engine Max speed: 72 km/h Max range: 498km Operators: Australia, Egypt, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, USA

[2lim3rz]

In The 41st Millennium.. [40K FANFIC] [MALAKIM X READER]

For @thevoidscreams ! Hadn't actually written Lamenters before this and Malakim's page has very little about him so.. Pre-Chapter Master Malakim, I hope you enjoy!

Writing romantic scenes.. I could get used to this..

The life of an Astartes was one of hardship and war. It was an ever-going odyssey in an era that knew no peace. Astartes knew no rest, they knew no reprieve. Any companionship most, if not all, would know was the comradery only shared by brothers who had shared the casualties of the mind that war provided.

And yet.. such a lucky few would earn their rest. Would earn slight moments of reprieve. Be it the artistically inclined Blood Angels, the ritualistic Space Wolves and Ultramarines, or the hyper-religious Black Templars.

In the scant time they had (travelling from planet to system to sector to even different segmentums), they would have their rare moments of freedom to be at some semblance of relaxation..

Though for many, they drowned themselves in their life's efforts. Believing the constant training and arduous meditations to be their relaxation. So few, so very few of them, knew how precious true rest was to be enjoyed. Knew that not a single second was to be taken for granted..

Which was why he longed for this day. His moment of peace, his reprieve and source of.. joy, he dared to even think. Joy and gentle happiness. Of soft touches and lingering looks, of coy laughter and breathless gasps.

The life of a Lamenter was different to that of an average Astartes, of course. One of untold loss and misfortune. He knew a few of his brothers found it life's cruelest joke. He knew some were constantly in a state of morose workaholism. He knew some were.. constantly angry, teetering the dangerous edge all sons of the great Sanguinius tread upon.

But not he. Not on this day. Not on this wonderful day. The downpour that had flooded the plains of Elgus-Omega had drenched them all through their armor (or he and others swore that anyhow). They had suffered a lesser amount of losses than usual. He could.. he could have sworn that the returning trip to the ships were quicker. That his armor no longer had its usual weight upon his shoulders. That even his brothers in arms were... relaxed. Or as relaxed as a Lamenter could get.

By the Emperor, most of them were cracking jokes. Cheering the atmosphere caused by the overbearing deluge and the blood of xenos and man alike. And it wasn't that he was ignoring them but how could he not on sheer accident? All he felt was excited yearning. A wish he knew was coming true.

Time could not flow slower suddenly. As if the universe felt his excitement and wanted to torment him for it. Everything in him felt jittery as if he was just heading to the fight itself. One of his brothers even turned to him and cracked a small joke. He could do nothing but give a small laugh. Even at the resounding slap to the pauldron as he was teased.

It wasn't like he was hiding it. His eagerness. His yearning. The way his hearts fluttered in his chest. The doggish gaze in his eyes. And then- The snap to attention as they were all mildly jolted with the landing of the ship. No one else was as quick to their feet as he was. He all but pounded his way out of the ship onto the landing deck. Eyes wide and wild. Searching the crowd of both Astartes, serfs, and crewmen.

And he spotted you amongst the crowd, small (at least.. for the time), as it was. You were slightly bent, keen upon completing your own tasks even if he caught the split-second moments you took to raise up and look around for someone.. for him.

It felt as if he lost the air in his lungs. That his hearts stopped. Every single time he looked at you. How his eyes settled on your sweat-slickened hair with its alluring shades in the lighting was art to him. The singing bell that was your voice as you spoke louder, intent to be heard over the clanks and clatterings. Each hand leading to pleasing arms attached to a delicate body was pleasant.

You were stunning. You were captivating. You were beautiful.

He never realized his feet were moving before he saw you grow closer. Moving quickly, closer and closer. Yet just as you turned to look for him once more, he felt bone-shattering joy at the lovely surprise upon your face.

"Malakim-!" his name was cut from your lips with a squeal as he lifted you effortlessly. Barely feeling your lesser weight in his hands as he cradled you against his armored chest. Ensuring his ceramite-covered hands weren't tangling in your hair as he kissed you softly but with all the passion he could muster.

Pulling back just as he knew you had run out of air. Savoring the look upon your face even if you had smudges of grease and drenched in sweat from a hard day's labor. A gentle smile breaking across his features as a grin took over yours.

"Malakim.. Brother Nelphis told me you weren't to return until much later.. And- And you said we weren't going to do this in front of everyone.." "Mm.. well later is now." the Lamenter murmured half-heartedly. Unwilling to ask you to repeat yourself, for in his overwhelming joy he had half ignored you. Simply basking as he certainly ignored the chortling of his battle-brothers and barking teases some gave. Content to see at least one among them had something to keep them going. To keep the Rage and Thirst at bay.

"If later is now.. I'm afraid I need to finish up here, and you have blood in your hair.." you giggled softly, brushing away a strand from his face in favor of kissing him upon his brow.

He wanted to protest. To simply keep holding you but.. his senses took over. Why should he keep wearing his armor? To have some of his physical sensations blocked away when he should be feeling you. The brush of your hair against his touches and body, gracefulness of your work-muscular thighs and rear, the softness of your skin against his lips.

So he kissed you fully once more. Keeping you both until he felt breathless just from excitement and you pulled away with a gasp. Yet neither you nor him pulled away from each other as he mumbled against your lips. "My quarters.. I will meet you there, my heart." "Not if I see you there first." Never had Malakim shed his blessed armor so quickly. Had been so impatient through the ritualistic process to race a baseline human from the armory to his own quarters.

Relationships such as these were looked so down upon in the other chapters.. but not the Lamenters.

For the life of an Astartes was a life of torture. Of death and oceans of blood. They knew no fear except the fear of failure. Knew no reprieve except that which was taken. Except for the precious few that allowed themselves to feel these moments of fleeting happiness and joy.

For it was the 41st millennium.. and while there was only war; sometimes there was love.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

Neteyam, transformation

Story is also on ao3!

(tw blood, gore, death, body horror, implied character death, identity issues)

He can feel them long before he ascends high enough to see the wink of the boat's propeller slicing through the water. The vibration shudders through his bones, dragging against his ears, filling the water with the tang of plastic and old blood.

Neteyam closes his eyes and lets himself drift up, up, up, feeling the ocean's fingers rub soothingly through his hair. He shifts his grip on the knife in his hand--the knife he'd carried from the forest, the knife he'd found strapped to his leg when he'd opened his eyes in the water--and twitches his fins slightly, adjusting his course.

Deep breaths, and up over the side of the small boat; he only has a few minutes of air, now, but a few minutes are all he needs. His toes, sharp and webbed, dig lightly into the deck as the webbing between his legs smoothly slides apart, tail splitting back into two feet.

The sensation is foreign to him now, and perhaps always will be. Foreign as the air tickling over his skin and pulling at his hair, foreign as the face of the man who rounds the corner and freezes, blue eyes wide with stunned terror.

Land may no longer be his element, but Neteyam is still fast. He darts forward and slits the sailor's throat without breaking stride, lowering the body smoothly to the ground before darting around the corner. Three others are playing cards, one of them letting out a shout of surprise as he goes for his gun.

A coral-and-barnacle-encrusted fist smashes the first one's face, a knife goes flying into the second’s throat, and his teeth–so much bigger and sharper than they were in his old life–sink into the third one’s neck. Blood trickles down his throat and Neteyam spits with distaste, air growing harsher on his tongue.

There's a bang and a bullet fractures the armor after his shoulder, spending chips fracturing through the air. He huffs and shrugs, letting the pieces fit themselves neatly back into place as fresh coral growls--he'll have to return to the sea to heal, soon, but he doesn't think that'll be a problem.

They won't last long, after all--they never do. He grins at the soldiers gawping at him and springs forward, ripping his knife from the dead man's body as the pearls dotted in his skin in place of sanhí flare bright enough to send them all reeling backward.

Neteyam's quick about the work, he always is. The point is not to draw out suffering, same way it was hunting back in the woods

(the woods, Mom whispers whenever she sees him, their minds intertwined underwater, tsaheylu coiling like a lifetime,remember the woods, remember us, and he does, he tries, even if he has to trace their faces in fresh blood to keep the details straight)

and he whispers prayers the way he used to when he's done, limping through the shift with rasping breaths and gritted teeth. One of the few crewmen has an unpinned grenade and he knows these boats well enough to locate an engine room and kick it open, tossing the grenade down the hatch before turning to run.

He hits the water with a gasp, sucking in great lungfuls of salt as fire blazes overhead. His legs fit neatly back together and he savors each powerful tail swipe as he pushes forward, forward, forward, closer to home with every beat of his salt-swaddled heart.

[digitalsatyr23]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag, @space-writes! My words are fall, find, wander, and journey.

Fall

Despite the pursuing onoids’ best efforts, the three guards managed to reach the waterfall, but it was a long way down. The three skid to a halt and looked down, and in their hesitation, the onoids caught up. The second survivor dove off immediately while Simon drew his gun, firing on the onoids as quickly as he could. Seeing this, Lucia popped her arm back into place and drew her sword, stabbing into an onoid’s eye as she shouted, “Just jump! Better to die to the fall than to them!”

Find

Though it was rarely relevant to its duty, harvest demons had the uncanny ability to tap into the memories of its host bodies. When it was Degory, it knew where his family slept. As Andre, it remembered the pain and ridicule of being the village outcast, kept prisoner only until he was deemed useful. In addition to the memories of its host, the demon had its own memories. Memories of the abyss, memories of the fallen, of witches, and of their craft. In order to make use of these memories, the demon required a body that was better suited to channeling such magic, and it knew exactly where to find one.

Wander

Many years had passed since Aleisha first began her journey alongside Scheiner. Now he was an old man, and Aleisha was a middle-aged woman of fifty-three long, cold summers. Was this truly the freedom she sought, or was it just another cage with a different coat of paint? She was in too deep now. There was no turning back. With a fresh band of hunters at their side, Scheiner and Aleisha followed the trail into the war-torn land of Besalbrie, arriving just days after the war was declared over. But even as they marched their way through the unknown, there was something oddly familiar about the land. Terrible, dreadful, but familiar. For Aleisha, it was like she had wandered back into those dark woods...

Journey

As the others had, so too did Belgram suit himself in teron plate armor—sturdier than steel, yet lighter than leather. He adjusted his gauntlets, tightened his armor straps, then put on his great helm topped with a plume of fire beetle hairs, all orange and smelling of cinders. With this, Belgram and Eldessa left the burrow and climbed down Kijihn, meeting the other four at the dock next to their longship forged from fine silver (For such metal is immune to the effects of the Acid Sea). After climbing aboard, Belgram gave the order to one of the crewmen, Ysval, who lit the ceremonial rope that tied the ship to the dock, severing their ties with it (And thus their home) until such time as they would return, skull in hand.

“Raise up the sail and hold fast your oars, for a long journey awaits us! We go now in search of glory, honor, and retribution!”

“It shall be done!” shouted the other tero.

With everyone at their station, Eldessa spoke the holy words and wrapped the longship in a magical barrier to protect them from the poisonous fumes of the Acid Sea, then the six tero headhunters set out on their quest...

No pressure tagging goes to: @gummybugg, @scarlett-olivier, and @faelanvance. Your words shall be blood, heart, food, and death. And obviously if anyone else feels like doing this, feel free. :D

[judgemark45]

The Japanese Battleship Kongō was Among the Most Heavily Armed When It was First Built. The Japanese battleship Kongō had some of the greatest nicknames in history; the Japanese translations for the vessel’s many names are “Indestructible Diamond,” “Indra’s Spear” and “Divine Thunder.” In addition to this, she also saw extensive service in both World War I and II. Kongō featured eight 14-inch heavy-caliber main naval guns in four twin turrets. These guns were capable of firing armor-piercing and high-explosive shells, and were the first 14-inch guns in the world to be equipped to a naval vessel. Kongō was formally commissioned in August 1913. In November 1944, Kongō was spotted by the submarine USS Sealion (SS-315) in the Formosa Strait. The vessel fired six bow torpedoes at the battleship, two of which hit and flooded Kongō‘s boiler rooms. While she was able to escape the scene, the damage proved to be too much, with her sinking to the bottom of the strait after her forward 14-inch magazine exploded. Over 1,200 crewmen died. Kongō was the only Japanese battleship to be sunk by a submarine during WWII, while Sealion was the only Allied submarine to sink an enemy battleship. - Todd Neikirk

[loominggaia]

Do the freelance good guys use iron

Yep, they use it extensively for all kinds of things. (But only the non-magical crewmen, of course!) They use iron armor, weapons, tools, cookware, building materials, and so on.

Now as far as armor and weapons go, you may be wondering why they don't all suit up and arm themselves with iron if it's so good at blocking spells. It's true that iron is a great defense against magic, but it also has its drawbacks.

Iron armor is extremely heavy, and the more pieces you wear, the heavier it gets. A full armor suit or iron weapon means you move slow, tire quickly, and can't attack as vigorously.

Evan wields a solid iron shield and sword, wears a heavy cape lined with iron chainmail, and armors himself in a suit of iron plates. His lycanthrope strength allows him to do this without much penalty, but any normal man would be slogging around like a clumsy turtle in this stuff. He's well-protected against spells, but not as light on his feet as he could be.

Elska also arms herself with a massive iron hammer and armors herself in iron plates. Its only her centaur strength that makes this possible without slowing her down too much, but she does lose quite a bit of flexibility.

The rest of the FGG chooses to sacrifice some magic protection in favor of being more lightweight and mobile. Lukas and Isaac, for instance, don't wear any iron at all because their combat styles require them to be as agile as possible.

Glenvar and Balthazaar wear a few iron plates here and there, but nowhere near as much as Evan and Elska.

The fae members of the crew can't wear iron because it would impair their spellcasting ability.

Ultimately it just comes down to a person's preference.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

[theseventhoffrostfall]

@dreadnaut Re: religion and military

In both its prominent forms the priesthood is fairly loose. In the new form of the faith, religious leaders tend to be ordinary members of the populace who lead quiet ceremonies more or less as a sideline to their regular occupation, and these ceremonies tend to be adulations of the patron god and the glorious Clan that embodies him.

In the old (and resurgent) faith, the major gods embody the pillars of Clan life, and the leaders of those pillars are the defacto priesthood. If you're a scientist, the head of the research team isn't your direct, irreplaceable link to the Iron Mother, but he does provide spiritual advice and guidance. If you're a soldier, your squad leader will lead small prayers to the Red Father before patrols or excursions while your commander will be leading rituals before a major operation and the bloody celebrations thereafter.

Militarily, I drew inspiration from sci-fi'd-up versions of archaic customs (see, rings as a sign of wealth such that a king could give out rings s spoils and rewards for valor). In this case, the notion that soldiers once had to furnish their own gear is interesting to me.

Essentially, when coming of age and going on your first raid, you're furnished with basic gear (principally consisting of a heavy laser rifle and an armor set based around "scales" of ceramic armor protecting small modular shield generators, for Clan Eissenschtadt). Such basic troops, dubbed "Raiders", bulk out the ranks of campaigns and perform basic roles, and are the most commonly seen types on more basic mercenary contracts and raids (Mercenary work and piracy are longstanding traditions among the Clans, especially Eissenschtadt, whose reputation as remorseless and amoral sellswords is known throughout the galactic arm). Raiders are both the first step for career soldiers and the role of part-time troops like technicians looking to stay sharp and supplment their wealth.

Warriors are the hardened professionals. Crewmen at this stage transition from logistics vehicles and personnel carriers to main battle tanks and warships (while it's not a law or particularly uncommon to see broken, traditional gender roles see males as infantry and armor corpsmen and females as the pilots of fighters and gunships and crew of ships of the line, though sniping is seen as a prestigious role for more adventurous women) Infantry is the spine of Clan militaries, and Warriors tend to be clad in lean, slim suits of bespoke semi-powered armor, not wholly dissimilar in appearance to finely-made plate harness and backed by powerful shield generators. Eissenschtadt's Warriors favor micro-rocket assault rifles with integrated underbarrel plasma projectors.

Full-sized power armor suits are the provenance of the most experienced, battle-hardened, and wealthy fighters. While high-ranking officers and the Prince are expected to master many aspects of combat and periodically step into the role of all aspects of at least infantry, their traditional place is armored up and at the tip of the spear. Designs vary, but the archetypical type favored by most Clans features an array of heavy weapons built into the arms (hence the symbolic nature of arm cannons as a traditional cybernetic weapon; it helps that the skills between them and operating the suit are fully transferable) and shoulders, heavy armor, tremendous shields, and jets for assisted movement and mobility. Bounding and bouncing armored knights aren't an uncommon sight when fighting Clansmen, but when heavy fire or low concealment makes this impractical, many lowborn and alien gunners scanning for an easy target have been fatally surprised by a ton and a half of bristling weaponry bursting onto their positions in a manic, rocket-propelled bear crawl. Flat but sharp-clawed chisel-like fingers are more for securing purchase on walls, steep terrain, or (as above) the ground than digging between and tearing out panels of armor from tanks or the full-sized mechs used by some lowborn militaries, but when pressed, they do the job well enough.

Tank designs vary wildly and alternate between being privately owned or, like almost all artillery assets, Clan assets deployed (or rented out to enterprising commanders) at the discretion of the King and War-Prince

[bard-owl]

Alright it's been a while, time to start wargaming the armored train concept again. Essentially a bunch of mercenaries hauling freight and passengers around the post-collapse countryside in a commandeered and armored train. Aside from needing a secure home-base for maintenance and family housing, the main site would need locomotives and a variety of cars to assemble as needed for the train. This should include at least one steam locomotive for contingency planning and specialty cars for defense and housing guards/crew.

Points of consideration:

Permanent base, or collection of cars able to move between yards. Pros & Cons for each.

Skill sets to recruit and cross-train.

Crewmen's basic load out, uniform/work wear consideration.

Types of specialty cars or equipment for long term operation.

Armor and weaponry ideas for the train itself.

[bravely-default-archive]

Enigmatic writings, 9/26

"I hurried for the capital as the sun dipped below the Norende Plateau.

My steps are unnervingly light without my armor, and these clothes hang oddly on me. Most of all, I feel naked without a weapon."

"I was greeted at the city's edge by the sound of a whistle marking the arrival of a merchant ship.

Between the merchants and wholesalers, the dock workers unloading crates, the tired crewmen, and the eager children excited by the exotic wares, the port was buzzing with people."

"As I pushed my way upstream through the crowd and along the avenue toward the palace, I spotted a splendid building, its roof a rich navy.

This must be the inn the old fisherman described."

"Inside, I found a man with a gentle mien sitting behind a well-polished counter.

I asked after any vacancies, but he replied with a chagrined, "Sorry, we're all full up tonight.""

"It feels quiet for a full in, but I don't suppose I can blame him.

A walk-in customer, at this hour. Clearly not a local. No one to vouch for me.

Any respectable innkeep would offer some version of the same excuse."

"When I inquired after a place to eat, he said down by the port there should be a cheap pub catering to the sailors that's open until morning.

Lovely. Back down I go..."

"At the hill's bottom I ate my fill at a food card aimed at drunken sailors. Now it's back up to the inn.

I refuse to spend the night kept awake by carousing seamen.

I let myself into the empty house next door to the inn. I'll just have to sleep lightly."

[starfleetsxvulcan]

go! i'll fight them off! get to safety!

Spock's gaze went from Uhura, taking in her snaps at him to move, but he didn't, he remained frozen in place.

Then his dark eyes shot to the intruding trio of enemies that had invaded the halls of the Enterprise. Heavily armored, helmets bearing beaks like birds of prey, and mysterious sharpened blades in possession. The red alert was blaring loud, crimson light going in and out as though it were the ship's heartbeat. The invaders took any crewmen they saw down, phasers hardly slowing them as they moved through security like fish swimming through water, except it was all violent and brutal.

One target being the Bridge, the captain. Control, the vulcan internally deduced as his fists slowly clenched.

However, his attention snapped back to the communications officer who had shouted at him to go. To run. Leave her behind. That she would draw their fire as he turned tail towards safety and abandoned her. A jolt of disbelief rippled through him and even appeared on his face at the very concept, perhaps even a deep-rooted spike of anger, as if her even thinking he'd commit-accept-such an act was an insult.

Was this how she felt when he accepted his apparent fate in the volcano?

'If you think I'm going anywhere without you, Lieutenant, you are dead wrong!' He found himself barking in reply before a hand reached out to place itself on her shoulder, as if to hold her back-maybe even closer to himself. 'We go together or not at all!'

[georgemcginn]

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[theghostfield]

Staring at the invitation, written in a flamboyant scrawl and inexplicably, on perfumed parchment, Merreck sighed.

“Do I have to?” He could already assume the answer based on the expressions of his comrades, who all stared ardently up at him.

“He invited you and only you,” Valek pointed out, ignoring Merreck’s question entirely, “That means that Zar- er ‘Jarlaxle’ might not know the rest of us are here. Otherwise why would he not have invited us all?”

“Yeah…uh… I’m really not sure that’s the reaso…”

“It’s our best chance to rescue Saltbreeze!” Jimmy bowled over Merreck’s protest, standing up on his chair which put him nearly at eye level with his seated companions, “If you can distract him we may be able to sneak past his men.”

“You guys I just...If he knows I’m here he probably knows about the rest of you...”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Valek countered, standing abruptly to pace around the table as he formulated his plan, “It’s no secret that your family is in Luskan on business...and you aren’t exactly subtle Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.”

He rapped his knuckles against the back of Merreck’s polished silver breastplate, making the clang of metal reverberate through his frame.

“Gah! Stop!” Merreck recoiled, slapping his hand away, “I can’t stand when you do that!”

Valek pointedly ignored his complaints and continued to slowly circle the table, “What I’m saying is we’re a lot less conspicuous, there’s no reason he should know we’re here with you.”

“You should go!” Jimmy insisted, “Find out what he wants while we go get Saltbreze. Then you can tell us all his secrets!”

“Are you forgetting that he tried to kidnap me last time I set foot on that ship,” Merreck argued emphatically, “He’s definitely angling for another fool to stumble into his spider’s web and I’d rather it not be me this time.”

“That’s racist Merreck,” Valek mock chastised him with a truly unendurable air of superiority.

“Ugh,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands against his eyes in frustration, “Please! I...I don’t even have anything to wear.”

———

Sundown found Merreck, despite his vehement protests, stepping from a precariously rickety carriage onto the grimy streets of the Luskan dock ward. Valek had unearthed his fine evening wear from the bottom of his trunk, unbeknownst to him Lady Clarel had packed it away more than a year ago when he’d mostly ceased attending formal engagements.

He recognized the familiar profiles of the Heartbreaker, Hellraiser and Eyecatcher moored a ways out in the bay, windows glowing warmly with lamplight. Two oddly well dressed deckhands leaned casually against a piling of a nearby dock, waiting beside a dingy and looking out of place in the scruffy surroundings. Merreck knew them at once as the strangely handsome faces of Jarlaxle’s disguised crewmen were all nearly interchangeable.

Straightening a bit as he approached, they regarded him incuriously.

“Master Clarel, I expect?” one of them grated out between clenched teeth, obviously trying to conceal a heavy elven accent and more than a little distain, “This way...the captain awaits.”

After an awkward but blessedly brief boat ride spent dodging the dual looks of mingling distaste and irritation, Merreck was escorted briskly across the familiar deck of the Eyecatcher. Several other deckhands paused in their duties to glower in his direction as they passed, all of whom possessed those uncannily similar good looks.

Leaning against the railing overlooking the bay stood a slim, yellow haired elven woman. Her form was nearly silhouetted by the setting sun, painting quite a striking image with her large, dashing hat against the red and purple backdrop of the sky.

She turned as they approached and Merreck immediately took note of the familiar rakish smirk and black leather eyepatch.

“Ah! The young Lord Clarel at last~” she came towards him, arms outstretched and Merreck experienced a moment of internal panic as it seemed she meant to embrace him. Instead she stopped a few feet in front of him, spinning in a slow circle, tossing her golden curls back over her shoulder.

“What do you think of my outfit?”

Merreck observed her tightly fitted trousers and frilled, low cut blouse blandly.

“Another of your alternate personas?” He questioned, already tired of whatever game they were currently playing.

“Oh yes indeed! Molly Seaspirit, a merchant sailor out of Silverymoon. As you can imagine, she has been instrumental in smoothing interactions with the guilds and smugglers alike~” She glanced coyly over her shoulder, the playful glint in her grey-blue eye turning to puzzlement as she took in Merreck’s lack of reaction.

“It’s very...uh...blonde,” came his unenthused reply.

She cocked her head, looking him up and down quizzically.

“Ah yes,” her delicate features split into a knowing grin as she turned back to face him, “How could I forget? Of course you prefer me like this~”

Reaching up, she tipped the wide brim of her hat and as she did her form shimmered and shifted right before his eyes. In an instant none other than Captain Zardoz Zord himself was standing in her place, tall, strapping and familiarly unclothed save for the loincloth, boots and hat.

Merreck fought valiantly to maintain his neutral expression but could feel his face heat at the display regardless. In the end he couldn’t help but avert his eyes in embarrassment.

“I would prefer for you to speak to me with your true face. I have had quite enough of your duplicity to last a lifetime.” He replied, red faced and exasperated.

“Well far be it from me to deny such a request from a Noble of Waterdeep,” came the sarcastic reply. Merreck glanced up as Zord swept his hat from his head with a dramatic flourish, sinking into an absurd bow so low the large crimson feather brushed the wood of the deck. The illusion dissipated a moment later and Jarlaxle Baenre straightened back up, replacing his foppish hat with a mischievous gleam in his uncovered eye.

He opened his mouth, likely for another witty remark but stopped short as Merreck held up a hand, “Please...if this is to be a civil meeting I must insist that you dispense with the incessant teasing, I am already exhausted with this conversation and it’s scarcely begun.”

Jarlaxle did close his mouth, if only long enough to give him another, much slower once over.

“You come onto my ship looking like that and accuse me of being a tease?” He tisked and shook his head with a wry smile.

Bewildered, Merreck instinctively looked down at himself, unsure of what that comment was even implying. His blue silk doublet and dark trousers were finely made but had little in the way of embellishment nor were they particularly fashionable (Valek admonished his lack of taste at every possible opportunity), and perhaps even a little too snug in the shoulders as he’d grown a half inch and filled out some in his final growth spurt. He’d never bothered to have his evening wear tailored as he so rarely wore it.

There was also a week’s worth of stubble along his jaw from neglecting his morning routine during the sea voyage and his hair was definitely overlong. He’d tied it back as best he could with a length of plain blue ribbon he’d borrowed from his sister but he could feel that some tendrils had already escaped and were blowing haphazardly across his face in the ocean breeze.

The open hunger in Jarlaxle’s expression was especially perplexing given that he himself was dressed impeccably with his tailored frock coat of deep plum velvet and airy, white linen shirt left artfully unlaced to offer a glimpse of dark collarbone. And this was to say nothing of the dove grey breeches which were so well fitted Merreck would bet gold he had to be sewn into them in the morning. A pair of high, polished black boots and that ever present feathered hat completed the ensemble.

Jarlaxle was smirking when his gaze wandered back up to his face, causing Merreck to blush, realizing he’d been caught staring.

“Well my dear, there is no reason I can think of to stand about out here in the wind,” Jarlaxle grinned, sidling up beside him and, not missing the opportunity to unsubtly feel up the muscles of his bicep, looped an arm through his to lead him towards the captain’s quarters, “Come, there will be ample opportunity to admire all of my finest assets while we dine.”

The deckhands accompanied them to the door and lingered there, nodding deferentially to Jarlaxle as he passed but leveling Merreck with distrustful glares behind his back.

“That will be all,” Jarlaxle dismissed them with a wave and thankfully, they did finally depart.

Jarlaxle motioned for him to be seated and swept around to sit at the opposite end of the table which, of course, was set in grand fashion with silver and gold filigree tableware, a large stately candelabra and decanters of both white and red wine.

Jarlaxle reached across to pour Merreck’s cup full of the white before doing the same for himself as another well groomed crewman entered followed closely by a pair of nimblewrites bearing steaming bowls full of some sort of seafood stew.

“The first course is to be bouillabaisse with rouille,” he announced as the automatons set the dishes before them, giving a curt bow and quickly following them out.

Merreck thought he saw a quick flick of his wrist as he retreated that could have only been handsign. He didn’t understand the language however, and if Jarlaxle noticed it he gave no indication or acknowledgement.

Merreck eyed his bowl warily, moving the contents about with his spoon but hesitating to take a bite despite the enticing spicy aroma.

“Darling, it’s not poisoned if that’s what’s worrying you,” Jarlaxle chuckled, reaching across the table to dip his own spoon into Merreck’s bowl. He brought the spoonful to his own mouth and made a great show of swallowing it down, “Mmm~ See? You’ve nothing to fear from me or anyone on my ship.”

Merreck couldn’t help but scoff at the allusion to his personal safety given what had taken place last time he boarded this particular vessel but tucked into his bowl all the same since, despite his apprehension, he was famished.

The food was excellent, flavorful and subtly spicy in a way that Waterdhavian fare was typically not. It reminded him a bit of his mother’s cooking when she’d use the various colorful spices they’d buy off of the trade ships coming in from Calimport and Chult.

“So,” Jarlaxle smiled, setting down his spoon and refilling his goblet, “I’ve heard some very interesting talk of late, concerning you and your colorful associates.”

“My...uh?” Merreck stuttered nervously, reaching for his own goblet to wet his suddenly dry throat, “My associates? W-what have you heard...”

“I heard tell that you fought Lord Cassalanter on the steps of his estate in front of half the city and a gaggle of nobles,” he replied with an unsettlingly knowing expression, crossing his legs and leaning heavily on one arm of his chair, “What a sight that must have been...”

Merreck nearly choked on his mouthful of wine.

“O-oh...that...well it certainly wasn’t half the city!” he responded indignantly, “Maybe 100 or so people but they...mostly...well...”

He hung his head a bit and sighed, taking another deep drink.

“Ah, have I upset you?” Jarlaxle questioned drinking from his cup as well, “My apologies for bringing up a sore subject.”

“No it’s...fine...” Merreck responded perhaps a bit glumly, “it’s just...not one of our proudest moments...”

The second course was delivered moments later, swordfish steak with a similarly spiced sauce. It was equally as delicious as the first course and Merreck dug in, eager to occupy his mouth before he could be made to answer more bemusing questions.

Jarlaxle watched him devour the meal, looking extremely pleased at his enjoyment of it.

“You’re quite fortunate you know,” he smiled, long fingers teasing at the stem of his goblet, “My lieutenant, Fel’rekt, prepared this meal for us and he only cooks for my most esteemed guests. He has become quite the able chef in his time upon my vessel don’t you think?”

“He’s not the one who shot at me when I was drowning in the harbor is he?” Merreck questioned, narrowing his eyes and accusatorially jabbing a delectable forkful of flaky swordfish in Jarlaxle’s direction.

“No that will have been Krebbyg,” Jarlaxle chuckled, “He can be a bit of a handfull... Fel’rekt is much more even tempered. You two might even get along, shall I introduce you?”

“No! Ahem...no,” Merreck cleared his throat and sipped at his wine, “My compliments to the chef and all but I believe I’ve interacted with enough of your crew for the one night.”

“Ah too bad...the three of us could get up to such fun together,” Jarlaxle smiled wistfully, “I suppose he must be busy at the moment anyway...entertaining our other guests~”

“Other guests?” Merreck questioned, stuffing the flaky morsel into his mouth.

Jarlaxle smiled slyly, taking sip from his goblet, “Oh yes...I imagine they’ve arrived by now, yes?”

Merreck swallowed, cocking his head in confusion, “Well how should I know?”

“Oh come now...have you honestly already forgotten?” Jarlaxle’s highly amused grin was unsettling, “Wasn’t it your role to distract me? You are doing an excellent job by the way~”

Merreck felt his blood run cold, the pleasant buzz he had been riding from the wine doused in an instant.

“W-what?”

“Let me guess...” Jarlaxle mused, leaning back and casually swirling the wine in his goblet, “those...charming...companions of yours are below deck as we speak, attempting to carry out some ill conceived rescue mission.”

“I...” Merrick found himself at a total loss for words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

He knew his lie was showing on his face, he was blushing for Tir’s sake. Dropping his gaze inadvertently got him another eyeful of the open collar of Jarlaxle’s shirt which unabashedly displayed a long V of dark skin. Merreck licked his lips unconsciously and reached for his goblet to wet his dry mouth. Jarlaxle moved in his seat causing the fabric to shift, revealing even more skin and Mereck’s eyes shot back up to find him smirking back at him from his position, reclined against the arm of his chair. His visable eye sparkled with mischief, a look that Merrick remembered well and that flooded him immediately with all sorts of conflicting feelings. He squirmed slightly in his seat and heard Jarlaxle laugh.

“Don’t worry, if they are, I wont tell~” He shifted again, leaning forward this time with his chin propped on the back of his hands, “I just hope they don’t injure too many of my men in their little heist…healing them gets expensive.”

Merrick gaped at him, “You’re not going to stop them?”

“Hmm, no I don’t think I will~” Jarlaxle grinned, “I may have taken your gnome friend in...let’s say a heightened state of emotion, but I am no slaver and can assure you they’ve been treated with the utmost respect. If their accommodations are no longer to their liking, I will certainly not prevent them from leaving.”

Merrick sighed and took another drink, draining his goblet, “So if my being here is serving no actual purpose...am I free to go?”

“Go? Why?” Jarlaxle feigned offense, “We’ve been having such a lovely evening! It would be a true shame to leave this grand meal uneaten and this fine wine undrunk.”

“So then am I to be your new hostage?”

Jarlaxle scoffed, leaning back in his chair, “Please, don’t sound so dour. All I want is to make you a proposition...stay, finish dinner with me, help me drink this excellent vintage and when you return to your family, tell you Lord Father that Captain Zardoz Zord was a perfect gentleman who treated you with the utmost propriety. If you promise to uphold your end of the bargain, I will instruct my men to stand down and allow your companions to succeed in their endeavor unimpeded.”

Merrick narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “And what exactly do you get out of this arrangement? Do you expect me to believe you’d release Saltbreeze to us just for a bit of lip service and the pleasure of my company?”

Jarlaxle’s grin grew impossibly more lascivious, “I wasn’t aware that the...ah...‘pleasure’ of your company was up for negotiation. And as for ‘lip service’ well...I was left quite bereft after our last rendezvous imagining what could have been...all that we might have done had we more than the one night together~”

“Well…and the morning...” Merreck murmured, voice scarcely audible.

“Ah yes...how could I forget the morning,” Jarlaxle sighed wistfully, removing his hat to mockingly fan himself with it.

Merreck flushed and dropped his eyes, reaching to pour himself another cup of wine just to have something to do with his hands.

Jarlaxle watched him down the cup with heat in his gaze as the nimblewrites returned to clear the dishes from the previous course.

“It’s ok to think about it you know...” he continued once they had departed, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“H-have you?” Merreck replied nearly in a whisper.

“Have I what?” He could hear the smirk in Jarlaxle’s voice.

“Thought about it?”

“Of course, I remember that night very fondly don’t you?”

“I...It’s complicated...” Merreck sighed, gazing still into the dregs of his wine, You betrayed us...you might have killed me...”

Jarlaxle scoffed dismissively, “I’d not have killed you! Honestly, you’re a nobleman and the heir to a Lordship, you seriously have no understanding of your own value do you?”

“Well I suppose you must have when you attempted to kidnap me!” Merreck spat back, “You say you’re no slaver, well what in the 9 hells would you call that?”

“Most civilizations make a clear distinction between ‘prisoner’ and ‘slave’ but either way, I’d call it insurance,” Jarlaxle replied with all the airs of nonchalance, “I’d have not allowed you to come to any harm or be made to compromise any of your precious morals. What would be the good in that to either of us?”

“Well I’d still call it criminal,” Merreck retorted, crossing his arms, “but despite all that happened…is it strange that I can’t bring myself to remember you unkindly?”

Jarlaxle gave an amused little chuckle, standing and striding over to the opposite side of the table. Merreck scooted his chair back suspiciously as he came to lean up against the table just beside him, swirling the wine in his goblet, “I don’t find it strange at all. Do you ‘remember me’ often? Unkindly or…otherwise…”

Merreck flushed again glancing back down into his empty cup and mumbling something unintelligible.

“What’s that? Do speak up my dear~” Jarlaxle teased, placing his goblet down and leaning closer.

“It’s…embarrassing…” he murmured in reply fingers playing nervously over the silver embossing on his empty goblet.

Pushing off from his perch against the edge of the table, Jarlaxle stepped forward, one leg coming to rest on either side of Merreck’s knees which he suddenly had to actively work to keep from trembling.

“Like I said…there is nothing to be embarrassed of.” He plucked the empty cup from Merreck’s fumbling fingers and placed it back on the table beside his own, “If it gets you all hot and bothered thinking back on our little tryst…well, I would consider it the highest of compliments.”

Reaching down he traced the rough edge of Merreck’s jaw, smirking as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch, head tipping back a little as Jarlaxle seated himself comfortably astride his lap.

“What are you up to now?” Merreck sighed with the distinct feeling that he was somehow being made fun of again.

“You can’t tell?” Jarlaxle smirked, arms coming up to drape over his broad shoulders, “I’m obviously seducing you...Is it working?”

“It isn’t...uh...not...working...” came Merreck’s hesitant reply, fingers clenching nervously on the arm of the chair.

“Mmmm…good,” Jarlaxle purred, lips hovering a tantalizing centimeter away from his, “I wonder…do you remember how I like to be kissed?”

Merreck swallowed audibly.

“I…I think so…” he whispered in reply, images of that night flashing to the forefront of his mind with surprising clarity.

“Hmm…prove it~” Jarlaxle breathed, letting their lips brush teasingly as he spoke.

Merreck chewed his lip, hesitating for a moment, before closing the millimeter of distance and pressing their lips together in a tender, closed mouth kiss.

He could feel Jarlaxle’s lips quirk up under his as slender fingers caressed the shell of his ear, making him shiver. When they parted Jarlaxle stayed close, pressing their foreheads together, wearing an amused smile.

“Mmmm…lovely. However, I remember things a bit differently…if I may~”

Merreck’s breath hitched as Jarlaxle’s hands tightened in his hair, tugging his head back and leaning over him. He scarcely had the time to draw a single shaky breath before he was being kissed, properly this time. His trembling fingers gripped onto Jarlaxle’s knees to ground himself against the heady onslaught of sensation. Jarlaxle’s breath was hot on his upper lip and the fingers in his hair scratched gently against his scalp causing pleasant tingles to radiate down his spine and goose flesh to break out along his arms.

Jarlaxle hummed, a low purr in he back of his throat, and tugged gently on Merreck’s lower lip with his teeth, drawing a gasp out of him as they parted.

Flushed and more than a little breathless, Merreck cast his eyes down shyly to where his thumb idly traced the seam on the inside of Jarlaxle’s knee, tonguing absently at his lip.

“Hmmm,” Jarlaxle mused, tilting Merreck’s head back up with a hand under his jaw, “You’ve not been kissed in some time have you?”

“Not since the last time...with you...” Merreck admitted, amber eyes tantalizingly soft and earnest as he looked up.

“Honestly?” Jarlaxle cocked an eyebrow, sounding incredulous, “With a face like this I’d think you’d be beating those Waterdhavian boys back with a stick.”

“I thought I asked you to stop teasing me...” Merreck sighed, turning out of Jarlaxle’s grasp defiantly.

“Teasing you?” Jarlaxle smiled, running his hands back to twine into his golden hair, pulling loose the ribbon that had barely been holding it in it’s messy tail “Dear boy I’m not teasing you...I’m flirting with you. And trying to understand how someone who looks like this could have remained so perplexingly celibate all this time.”

“I...uh...I’ve...just not met the right person I guess,” Merreck replied, with flushed cheeks as Jarlaxle continued to card clever fingers through his hair. His hands slid up from where they rested upon Jarlaxles knees to grip at his subtly shifting hips.

“Oh?” Jarlaxle grinned, “Choosy are you? Not that I blame you of course…you’d hardly be the first I’ve completely ruined for other men~”

“That sounds an awful lot like teasing,” Merreck accused, tightening his hold on Jarlaxle’s slim hips in warning.

Jarlaxle just gave a pleased hum at the subtle display of force and a rougher roll of his hips, making Merreck gasp and screw his eyes shut against the sudden stimulation.

“So sorry love, I find it terribly difficult to control the impulse around you...” he replied, tone sickly sweet and dripping with amusement, “And I’m afraid I must admit that I have been much less chaste in our time apart~”

“Less...chaste?” Merreck questioned absently, Jarlaxle’s writhing in his lap causing him to lose the thread of the conversation.

“Mmhmm...” Jarlaxle hummed, turning to draw his nose along the scratchy curve of Merreck’s cheek, “but I have so looked forward to our reunion...”

Merreck turned into the insistent nuzzling, receiving another heated kiss and a purposeful roll of Jarlaxle’s hips. This time when he felt the press of teeth against his lip, Merreck allowed his mouth to be teased open and when their tongues brushed Jarlaxle groaned shamelessly, tugging slightly at Merreck’s hair.

“I shall-ah...shall have to tell Artemis that my theory is proving correct~” Jarlaxle breathed against his mouth as they parted, arching his back and grinding against him roughly, seeming to enjoy the way Merreck’s growing hardness pressed insistently up against him through their layers of clothing.

“Wh-“ Merreck began to interject

“Human boys really are bigger…”

“W-wait...” Merreck broke away from the kiss abruptly, stilling Jarlaxle’s hips with a firm grip, “Who’s Artemis?”

Surprisingly, Jarlaxle looked almost abashed for a moment, perhaps as if he hadn’t meant to speak the name aloud and had surprised himself. He chuckled softly, thumb smoothing over Merreck’s kiss swollen lower lip, “No one you need worry yourself about...It was rude of me to bring up another man at a time like this. I apologize.”

“So he’s one of your ‘other men’ then?” Merreck questioned, unswayed by the tender touch, “Just how many of them are there?”

Jarlaxle sat back and crossed his arms. His lips still curved in an easy smile but there was a sudden minute shift in his expression, a subtle sharpness to his eye that hadn’t been present before.

“Hundreds? Perhaps more? And not just men but women and everything in between as well. What should it matter to you?” He answered cooly.

“I-it doesn’t...I just...hundreds??” Merreck stuttered, looking little pale, “You know if you have others...someone you’d rather be with...you don’t have to...uh...do this....with me. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience...”

Jarlaxle’s gaze softened, warmth returning to his expression as he tipped Merreck’s chin back up.

“Oh come now, don’t look so dejected,” he leaned in, pressing the length of his svelte body up against Merreck’s chest, arms coming to languidly drape over his shoulders again, “There are no others here now...just us two.”

Merreck could feel his interest plainly now, pressing through those tight trousers and up against his stomach and, well, he doubted even Jarlaxle was capable of faking that…

“And as to your inexperience,” Jarlaxle continued, breathing the words directly into his ear in a way that made his breath hitch and rekindled that insistent heat low in his belly, “Well, there really is nothing to do for it but practice. Vigorously~”

Merreck groaned as Jarlaxle rocked his hips again and kissed the rough underside of his jaw.

“I like this,” he crooned, brushing his nose against the scratchy stubble of his chin, “Very rugged...it’s a good look for you~”

“Valek says it...ah...says it makes me look disheveled…” Merreck sighed, letting his head fall back, allowing Jarlaxle access to continue pressing hot kisses all down the front of his throat.

Jarlaxle chuckled against his skin, hands meandering down his chest to find the buckle of the wide belt about his waist, “Well perhaps…your friend Valek is jealous that he cannot grow one himself~”

Merreck couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the notion as deft fingers easily unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the floor. A hand then wormed it’s way up under his doublet and shirt, pressing flat against the bare skin of his stomach.

“Mmn...” Merreck arched back against the wandering fingers as the scrape of teeth on his neck sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“Shall we take this off hmmm?” Jarlaxle purred, plucking at one of the brass buttons on his doublet.

“Yeah…ok…” Merreck breathed as the hand retreated from beneath his top. He felt the tension on the silk release in increments as Jarlaxle teasingly thumbed the buttons from their loops. Leaning forward into another kiss, he allowed the garment to be slid from his shoulders and discarded.

Jarlaxle’s fingers next took to loosening his cravat, tugging it from its knot and pulling ever so slowly so that the silk whispered erotically over his throat.

Merreck ran his tongue hot over the shell of Jarlaxle’s pointed ear in response, biting teasingly at the golden rings that dangled from it.

Jarlaxle reaction was nearly feral, growling and gripping Merreck’s jaw to turn his head back and lick into his mouth he arched, his whole body going taught as a bowstring.

“Ah...do you want to do it right here?” Jarlaxle was practically panting against his mouth as they parted, gripping at his hair and the collar of his shirt, “You could have me right on this table, I assure you it’s quite sturdy...I’ve more than throughly tested it~”

“What about...your men?” Merreck gasped between kisses.

“What about them?” Jarlaxle purred, enjoying the pleasant way Merreck’s stubble tickled as he kissed along his chin and jaw, “Come on...remind me what all those muscles can do~”

The words were like a stab of heat in Merreck’s belly. In a single swift movement he’d gripped underneath Jarlaxle’s thighs and lifted him bodily, pressing him back roughly to sit upon the tables edge.

Jarlaxle hissed his approval, legs coming up to wrap around Merreck’s waist.

“Not just big but strong too...yes I remember quite well~” Jarlaxle breathed into his ear, “You could just about snap me in half couldn’t you?”

“I...ah…” Merreck gasped against his shoulder, “I don’t want to hurt you...”

“I’d really love to see you try...” Jarlaxle chuckled, laving his hot tongue over a bite mark on his pulse point.

Gripping his wrists roughly, Merreck called his bluff, pinning him down to the table before taking his mouth in another hungry kiss.

“Mmmmn that’s it,” Jarlaxle breathed against his lips, testing Merreck’s grip, clearly thrilled to find he could not easily break it, “What will you do now that you have me trapped~”

“I…um…” Merreck trailed off, immediately losing the nerve he’d managed to work up just a moment ago.

“No need to be nervous Love,” Jarlaxle purred, relaxing back fully to drape himself suggestively along the length of the table, throughly playing up his submission, “Tell me what you’re thinking about~”

“I…uh…I’d like to try…what you said earlier…with my…my mouth…”

“Oh?” Jarlaxle grins, his interest obviously piqued.

“I’ve never done it though…I might be bad at it…”

“Well you are fortunate to have a most experienced mentor at your disposal then~”

Merreck swallowed nervously again, looking down over Jarlaxle’s prone form, fingers moving to tease apprehensively over the waistband of those impeccably tailored trousers.

“There’s no rush…” Jarlaxle assured gently, sensing his apprehension and sitting up on an elbow, “Come, kiss me some more, we’ll work up to it~”

Merreck gratefully accepted the diversion, leaning over the table as Jarlaxle hummed in approval, arms coming around his neck to pull him in.

They kissed again, Jarlaxle’s tongue curling behind his teeth as knees tighten against his hips. Merreck groaned, kisses trailing down over Jarlaxle’s chin and along his throat. Since his shirt was conveniently already open, Merreck encountered no interference as he dragged his mouth down the centre of his chest. Jarlaxle gave a pleased hum and tangled a hand in Merreck’s hair as he moved down his body, not pushing exactly but certainly guiding him in the right direction.

He laughed as Merreck’s eyes flicked up to glare at him in annoyance, “Oh yes, look at me like that~ Now I believe it’s you who is seducing me.”

Merreck gave an indignant huff, the soft press of his mouth turning into a sharp pinch of teeth.

“HahaAH!” Jarlaxle’s laugh gave rise to a surprised gasp as he was bitten, “Mmmn yes! Just like that!”

Merreck huffed a laugh against his skin, tongue dragging hot over the bite as Jarlaxle’s hips twitched under his hands in response.

There was the barest sound, only a soft rattle and ‘click’ of the doorknob. Before Merreck could even think to react, Jarlaxle had planted a foot firmly on his sternum and pushed him smoothly back into his chair. The door opened not a second later to reveal one of the crewman who paused and narrowed his eyes at the two of them.

Luckily, thanks to Jarlaxle’s quick reaction their position was not as compromising as it could have been but Merreck’s flushed face, disheveled hair and obvious déshabillé surely gave them away. Jarlaxle of course, was perched lightly on the edge of the table, unflustered as you please, looking as though he’d been interrupted doing nothing more scandalous than discussing the weather.

“Pardon the intrusion Captain,” the crewman bit out between clenched teeth, “The nimblewrights are waiting to clear the dinner service. I will send them off if you are…indisposed…”

Jarlaxle waved a hand dismissively, “No need, send them in. We were just about to retire to my quarters for a nightcap. Isn’t that right Master Clarel?”

Merreck, who had dropped his red face into his hands only groaned in mortification.

“Right away Captain,” the crewman replied with a hint of smugness in his voice before departing. The nimblewrights entered moments later and began mechanically clearing the table around them.

“Oops,” Jarlaxle chuckled turning back to Merreck who was still refusing to look up.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” he soothed, stroking Merreck’s fringe back from where it obscured his face, “As exhilarating as a dalliance upon the nearest flat surface may be…well…there is a large bed in my quarters which, I’m sure you remember, is markedly more comfortable. What do you say~”

When an unintelligible reply was all he received, Jarlaxle took his hand and coaxed him gently out of his seat. Following compliantly, Merreck allowed himself to be led towards the ornate double doors that he knew opened into the bedroom.

It was much as he remembered. A large, velvet draped bed still took up the majority of the space with an opulently carved mahogany dresser and armoire set against one wall and a matching writing desk against the other. It was clean if not a bit cluttered. The bed was made and the furniture free of dust but the desk and top of the dresser were laden with an assortment of strange objects and instruments the function of which Merreck could scarcely even guess at. Hanging off of one bed post was a second feathered hat and a cloak that almost seemed to oscillate between colors of the rainbow in the lamplight, obviously Jarlaxle’s, as well as a set of dark clothing folded and draped over the back of the desk chair which were obviously not. Before he could dwell too long on who they might belong to, Jarlaxle had drawn him close with a smile and they were kissing again.

Jarlaxle walked him back towards the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as they went until it could be pulled from his shoulders and tossed carelessly to the carpet. A shiver coursed over Merreck’s body as his feverish skin was exposed to the cool air. The back of his knees hit the bed and he stumbled, sitting down heavily on the mattress. Jarlaxle gripped the bed posts and leaned over him, gaze almost predatory.

“This is a nice view,” he smirked, voice low and velvety as he tipped Merreck’s chin up again, running his thumb over his kiss swollen lower lip, “Shall we pick up where we left off then?”

TBC!

[tigermike]

*** Medal of Honor Monday 🇺🇸🇺🇸 ***

On this day in 1916, a U.S. Navy armored cruiser is wrєcked by a massive tidal wave. USS Memphis was effectively destrοyed and dozens of her crew were lost. Three sailors would earn the Medal of Honor for their actions that day.

One of the three Medals had to be awarded posthumously.

Perhaps the tragєdy drives home two points? First, our milίtary makes sacrifices even outside the sphere of battle. Second, captains and generals may get many headlines, but sometimes it is the guy in the engine room, toiling away to get a boίler working, who proves to be the real hero of the day.

USS Memphis was then anchored in Santo Domingo. Bad weather was not unusual at that time of year, so Memphis sat at anchor with 2 of her 16 boίlers operating.

It wouldn’t be enough.

Not too long after noon on August 29, Memphis began to roll a bit in the water. No weather warnings had been received, but Captain Beach ordered more boίlers lit. He was told that Memphis would have enough steam to get moving at about 16:35.

Unfortunately, the cruiser wouldn’t have that kind of time.

By 15:45, a gigantic wave had been spotted. It stretched the length of the horizon. By 16:00, Memphis was lurching at a 45 degree angle. Water cascaded into the ship via her gun ports and ventilators. By 16:25, water was washing into the ship via her funnels. The crew had been trying to get the boίlers going, but now the fires in the boίlers were extinguished.

Soon the full strength of the massive wave hit the ship. Crewmen were washed overboard. Memphis hit the beach and was more or less destrοyed within 90 minutes.

Was Captain Beach at fault? Was it a tsunami? A wind-generated rogue wave? You can imagine that these issues have been discussed at length during the course of the past 100 years.

But maybe the heroes of the tragєdy deserve a little attention, too.

Claud Ashton Jones was the senior engineer officer working to get the boίlers up to full speed. He was so close to succeeding. But he didn’t quite make it. “[B]oίlers and steampipes [were] bursting about him in clouds of scąlding steam,” his Medal citation notes, “with thousands of tons of water coming down upon him and in almost complete darkness.” He stayed as long as there was any chance—but then the boίlers explοded.

“Jones would not leave his post,” Captain Beach later wrote, “until all the fίre rooms were cleared. I have heard captains praised for being the last to leave a wrecked ship; but what about the chief engineer, who, standing in darkness, scąlded by steam, with boίlers popping about him, is the last to leave his Hell?”

Jones was lucky. He lived to tell the tale. Chief Machinist’s Mate George William Rud did not. Rud’s Medal citation describes a man steadfastly holding to his post “amidst scąlding steam and the rushing of thousands of tons of water into his department.” He was seriously bυrned and kίlled.

Machinist Charles H. Willey narrowly escaped the same fate. He, too, remained at his post in the midst of scalding steam and rushing water, refusing to leave until he was finally ordered to do so. When the boίlers explοded, he continued to help many of his fellow sailors into the breathable air in the engine room.

All three men would receive the Medal of Honor. Their stories deserve to be told. Don’t you think that such “extraordinary heroism” and “supreme unselfish heroism” would prove so inspirational to younger generations today?

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#TDIH #OTD #History #USHistory #liberty #freedom #ShareTheHistory

[ds9-trekkie]

And we’re up to Arena!! Time for some Gorn action! 🦖 Brief Summary: Kirk battles a Gorn captain after a Federation outpost is destroyed. Thoughts: Kirk, Spock, Bones and three crewmen beam down to an Earth outpost on Cestus III to meet up with Commodore Travers. They all can’t wait to have dinner with this dude lol Oh no, when they get there they realize everything’s been destroyed! They find a survivor and Bones does his best. Spock reads coldblooded life signs up ahead and a red shirt dies. Bombs are going off and Kirk does some magnificent rolling and diving 😅 Meanwhile, the Enterprise is under attack and Kirk walks Sulu through fighting back. It gets so bad, Sulu has to leave orbit 🥺 So Kirk and Spock use a fancy grenade launcher to stop the bombing and Sulu comes back to get them! They continue to pursue the alien vessel that was attacking the Enterprise. Kirk believes the whole thing was a trap to destroy the Enterprise to allow for an invasion in this sector of space. Pushing warp 8, they’re still chasing the unknown aliens. Suddenly, both ships are stopped dead and The Metrons voices are revealed! The Metrons feel that both crews are so primitive and violent that the captains should settle their score down on a planet that they have chosen. No contact with their ships, just their wits and some basic tools to create weapons. The losers ship will be destroyed 😱 Also, the alien ship is revealed to be the Gorn, a reptilian race. Kirk is stolen from the ship and finally faced with the Gorn captain. They fight! I love the Gorn’s dress 😍 I mean armor! (Continues in comments) #startrek #startrekuniverse #startrektheoriginalseries #startrektos #tos #trekkie #trekkies #llap #livelongandprosper #episoderewatch #arena #enterprise #ussenterprise #ussenterprisencc1701 #captainkirk #jimkirk #spock #vulcan #drmccoy #bones #thegorn #gorn #themetrons https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd1PdTvOC34/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=