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Welcome to Year Eight

"Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down, tells you she's hurtin' fore she keens. Makes her a home."

Year Eight and Still Flyin'! Thank You, Everyone!

Pages: (3) 1 [2] 3  ( Go to first unread post )

 Keep Holy the Sabbath, Ares Shield Season 2 - Episode 3
Shepard Yatsy
Posted: Jan 11 2012, 12:46 PM

The Bad Shepard

Group: Members
Posts: 6
Member No.: 1,180
Joined: 26-May 11

Eavesdown docks

The Shepard maintained his march, continuing to move down the docks ever so slowly. His eyes flashed over the brow of every ship he saw, reading the names and then moving on. He didn't need a Hell Hound, or a Siren or even Midnight Stars, he needed a Shield. God knew what he needed, and he would be led there. He prayed it would be soon, for the people around him were beginning to be a bother.

A polite, “No thank-you,” was shot at the trio of young girls hawking their bodies. A quiet, “Not interested,” at the man offering him an illicit substance. He greeted the meat vendor with a, “Maybe some other time,” and the man offering bootleg holy relics with a, “I have all the faith I need.”

The people on these docks were locked in a horrific cycle of sin and debauchery and he irrationally feared if he stayed to long, he would join them. Clutching his Bible at bit tighter to his chest, Yatsy continued his march. There would be no rest for him, not while Niska still drew breath.

* * * * *
“Mr Niska?” The Shepard asked, “The criminal overlord of Ezra?”

The air in the confession booth had become claustrophobic, laced only with Yatsy's breathing and the other man's racking sobs. “That's right father, the very same.” Yatsy imagined the man nodding, head buried in his hands, “I've done terrible things for him.” The man's voice went somber, his grief rising with the volume of his words, “I've killed, lied, stolen and abused for him! Forgive me for those sins father!”

His plea echoed in the booth, his words hanging in the air. “Of course my son. Jesus forgives you, as do I. But I need to ask, why now?” The Shepard inquired curiously, “It's been so long since your last confession. Why reveal all this to me now?”

The booth became very quiet, almost like a graveyard, then the man's voice crept over, tiny and timid. “Because father,” the man said, “I believe he's going to kill me.”

* * * * *
The sound of that man weeping would be lodged forever in Yatsy's mind, with him until he passed from this life into glory. The man who had, indirectly, changed the Shepard's life forever. His thoughts were interrupted by his senses detecting a hand riffling through his satchel. A thief, looking for a quick handout.

Yatsy had no time for thieves.

Shooting down rapidly, his hand snagged the thief's wrist. Looking up, the man matched the Shepard's eyes, his gaze showing the holy man his sorrow. Yatsy did not care. “Thou shall not steal.” His words were harsh and rough. With a twist of his arm, Yatsy broke the thief's wrist with a sharp snap. The man fell away howling, clutching his broken wrist. “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away,” Yatsy quoted. He turned his back on the thief, staff tapping the ground ahead of him as he walked, “It is better to be maimed and enter paradise, than enter the lake of fire whole.”

The thief now chased from his mind, the Shepard strolled on. He had work to do. God's work.
Cpt. J. T. Newton
Posted: Jan 17 2012, 11:28 AM

Pope of Eavesdown

Group: NPC
Posts: 3
Member No.: 1,265
Joined: 17-January 12

Eavesdown Docks

Recognition and fear parted the tide of humanity flowing through the artery known as Eavesdown, recognition and fear of a man known only for his ruthlessness and position. As was the bent of the tyrannical, ‘love’ had been sacrificed for terror and Captain J.T. Newton reveled in the ecstasy of the dominant.

The suit he wore was too expensive for his pay grade, the laser at his side too extravagant for a public servant. His was a life lived and ruled in the two worlds of his trade; sinner and saint, with the favors of each finding root in his wallet. One need not be an expert of such things to realize immediately that Newton bore the mantle of one taken by the comforts of evil.

His face, too young for the sixty summers it had seen, held the nearly imperceptible ‘refinement’ of some of the ‘Verse’s more accomplished surgeons, and while his hair had faded to gray, it remained full and vibrant, as did the muscle and frame of the body beneath it. The desk of his day job and the ‘delights’ of his second occupation had not softened the man that walked with purpose through Eavesdown; if anything, he was more formidable than he had been the year before.

The snap of a thief’s wrist wouldn’t usually earn his attention, but the ‘breaker’ brought a slight grin to his face, revealing too white teeth.

”Guess that’s what happens when you work on the Sabbath, eh Padre?”, the police captain chuckled as he passed Shepherd Yatsy.

Without waiting, or caring, for an answer, Newton rounded the corner and targeted the subject of the hour.

The Ares Shield had come home.

Pausing only slightly to see the ‘risen Phoenix’, his strut influenced walk carried him to the smaller personnel door inset within the larger cargo bay door, both were closed.

Banging against the portal, he waited patiently for one of the few times in his life.

(Anyone aboard may answer. As a reminder, The Shield is a 'live rounds' thread; your character is only as safe as you keep them ;) )
Zandra Sun
Posted: Jan 17 2012, 01:10 PM

The Broken Soul

Group: Members
Posts: 18
Member No.: 1,166
Joined: 10-May 11

On Board The Shield

Her calm quiet was broken by a harsh knock somewhere on the ship. Zandra sat up a bit, turning her torso to look at the door of her dorm. She gripped the blanket in her hands a bit tighter, her mind racing with ideas of danger. It was Laurent. He had found her again, had come to take her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was safe here. No one could hurt her. Womack had promised her. She thought these things with each deep breath.

But since when did she trust men? Why did Womack's promise mean anything to her? Well, he'd treated properly the length of time she'd been here. He hadn't hurt her, yet. For now, he was the epitome of the male kind for her.

Zandra laid back down. Surely, Beatrix or whoever else was on board would get the door. It wasn't for Zandra to worry about. She was merely a guest on this ship, most likely temporary. They lived here, worked here. It would be rude for Zandra to answer the door, right? But quite frankly, the knocking, which sounded so obnoxious in her ears, would not stop. It was starting to get to her, starting to break her peaceful state... If you could call mildly suicidal and catatonic peaceful.

Finally, she could take no more of the knocking. She pushed the blanket off of her before hopping out of her bunk. Zandra placed a hand on the nearby wall, balancing herself. Her legs felt weak from a lack of usage. She'd have to remember to at least walk around the room occasionally. She took a few steps to gain her confidence in the ability before leaving her room.

She took the stairs down to the cargo bay, remembering how she'd been led to her room. Looking around, she had to wonder where everyone was. She know Womack was gone. She was sure he'd come to tell her that this morning. Had the others gone with him? Surely, the doctor was still here.

Zandra went to the cargo door and looked at the personel door set within it. She took a long pause to stare at it, to figure out how to open it. She cracked the door open slightly, seeing the older man outside. Her breathing pattern increased, no longer calm. Quiet, but erratic. Men. Why was it always a man?

She didn't open the door any more than a crack, afraid she may have to shut it immediately in case of emergency. Who knew what this man was capable of? However, the crack was just enough to give tell that she was a teenager, a child. Her voice helped convey that message.

"Can I help you?"

This post has been edited by Zandra Sun on Jan 17 2012, 01:15 PM
Ares Shield
Posted: Jan 17 2012, 03:05 PM

A Pale Horse

Group: Forum Moderators
Posts: 44
Member No.: 33
Joined: 7-May 06

Jin Shan – an affluent neighborhood bordering Eavesdown (Plot Progress)

Scales and the other Second Chancers emerged into the Jin Shan morning and scattered to points, and futures, unknown.

Before anyone else emerged, the first wisps of smoke trickled from the basements of three stately, yet Niska controlled, brownstones. Steam venting from the thermals beneath the streets mingled with the growing burn and the sounds of distant sirens sounded in the new day’s air, granting any onlooker with a curtain, stage, and symphony for the ‘five’ players yet to emerge.

Many years since I was here, on the street I was passin’ my time away
To the left and to the right, buildings towering to the sky
It’s outta sight in the dead of night
Here I am, again in the city, with a fistful of creds
And BAAAABY, you’d better believe

Suddenly where none had been, there now strode four in body…and five in spirit.

I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove
I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove

With the subtle heartbeat of the city, the feet of Tiberius Khan, Christy Lexington, Bugger Jones, and Karlov Womack pounded the proverbial pavement with the might of drums designed for tribal war.

I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove
Back in the Eavesdown Groove, in the Eavesdown Groove

Tiberius, carved from villainy’s foil, marched with the longest gait; a giant without a beanstalk.

In the back of my floater
A wicked lady, sittin’ by my side, sayin’ ‘Now where were we?’

Beautiful despite the blood splattered across her face, Lex walked beside Khan; together, steel and stone.

Stop at Third and Forty-three, exit to the night
It’s gonna be ecstasy, this place was meant for me

Bugger his white dress shirt open to his navel seemed the least ‘deadly’ of the group but his stride marched the straightest, following the bugles of fallen heroes.

Feels so good tonight, who cares about tomorrow
So baby, you’d better believe

Shantasa moved only in Womack’s ice blue eyes, but to the shattered cop, the beautiful ghost held fast his right flank…and his mind.

I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove
I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove

Womack, his black trench coat floating behind him like the sail of some dyslexic clipper ship, walked with both purpose and pride.

His mouth inched into a subtle grin…

This was his rutting town…again.

I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove
I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove

Moments later, four motorcycles rumbled down the pavement…the Horsemen evolved.

I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove
I’m back, back in the Eavesdown Groove

(Bastardized music provided by K.I.S.S.)
(Anyone can progress us to The Shield. PM me with any questions or edits)
Macabee Cricket
Posted: Jan 25 2012, 02:30 PM


Group: Members
Posts: 18
Member No.: 1,092
Joined: 22-May 10

Mack had let the call of nature lure him away from his post for just a minute. He had weighed his options. On one hand, everything was being uneventful there at the ship and after all, the door was locked up tight. On the other hand, that bottle of water he had drank was rather large.

When he heard the knocking begin, he hurried to finish up and started towards the door to investigate.

The only thing was that someone else had went to the door instead.


His gut churned as he saw her open the door from all the way across the cargo bay.

"Can I help you?"

"Ai ya!" he exclaimed under his breath as he started to run, drawing his weapon as he did.

She already had the door open, there was no stopping it now. Very quietly, he slowed down and slid into position behind the girl. He laid a hand on her shoulder and whispered in a very soothing tone.

"Get away from the door Zandra," he said in that fatherly voice he thought he had lost a long time ago. "Let me handle it."

He just hoped the person on the other side was friend, rather than foe.
Cpt. J. T. Newton
Posted: Jan 31 2012, 09:03 AM

Pope of Eavesdown

Group: NPC
Posts: 3
Member No.: 1,265
Joined: 17-January 12

"Can I help you?"

If he was surprised that a child answered the door of one of the ‘Verse’s more notorious crafts, he didn’t let it filter to his modified features. Instead he pulled the ‘coy mask’ from his trunk of personas and gifted the girl with a land shark’s smile,
”Well, well, you must be the lady of the house…and a pretty one at that.”

"Get away from the door Zandra, let me handle it."

J.T. stayed coy but beneath the surface rolled the waves of might from a self-made king,
”Now you,” his smile widened despite the pistol the man held, ”You aren’t that pretty.”

Slowly, Newton opened his suit jacket revealing both a holo-laminate and the more traditional metal badge of his accepted trade as a Captain of the Persephone PD,
”How about you let me in, chief, and we can all stand around being pretty,” his grin whitened despite the rules of nature, ”Well two out of three of us anyway.”
Zandra Sun
Posted: Feb 1 2012, 07:04 PM

The Broken Soul

Group: Members
Posts: 18
Member No.: 1,166
Joined: 10-May 11

”Well, well, you must be the lady of the house…and a pretty one at that.”

She narrowed her eye slightly, angered by and frightened of the compliment. She wasn't one for compliments, not from men. It had always led to horrible things when Laurent had called her pretty. That was often when he was drunk. Pretty was not a safe word. She was almost tempted to shut the door then.

Zandra could tell from the hands that it was one of the men of the crew that had grabbed her. They were bigger, coarser. Not to mention, there weren't many women on board. Just Lex and Beatrix. And Zandra hadn't had much contact with Lex; she was off with Womack. Well, actually, Zan hadn't had much contact with anybody except Beatrix and Womack.

Feeling the gentle grip on her arms, the teenage girl stiffened, despite knowing she wouldn't be harmed. It was just a natural reflex now. Everyone on board knew about her trauma and tried their best to make her more comfortable. She was kind enough as well as polite enough to appreciate that. Her mother would have appreciated it. Sometimes, Zandra felt bad for not having said thank you, yet. She'd be sure to one day, though. She swore to herself she would.

"Get away from the door, Zandra. Let me handle it."

It was a tone that she wasn't used to. Fatherly? Is that how others would describe it? She certainly didn't know. Her father had left before she was born, clueless to her existence. As for her stepfather, they had hated each other from day one. He'd never actually cared about Zandra. She wasn't sure how she felt about the tone. If it frightened her, if it made her suspicious, or if it made her feel... safe? Loved? Whatever the feeling, she silently obeyed and stepped aside, looking at the source of the voice. Macabee, but if Zandra ever had to speak to or about him, she shortened it to Mac.

Zandra crossed her arms protectively over her chest, looking at the floor.

”How about you let me in, chief, and we can all stand around being pretty? Well two out of three of us anyway.”

The teenager couldn't see through the door, couldn't see the badge and arrogant smile of the officer outside. She could see Mac and his reaction, though. And she could hear what was going on. The stranger's tone did make Zandra quite upset. She didn't appreciate anyone being spoken to like that.
Christy Lexington
Posted: Feb 2 2012, 01:01 PM

Lex is a boy's name

Group: Members
Posts: 42
Member No.: 1,093
Joined: 27-May 10

Lex allowed herself to enjoy the ride through Jin Shan and back to Eavesdown. Winding through the streets at breakneck speed was an innocent thrill. At this speed, it almost seemed possible to outrun the demons of her past.

She raced ahead of the others. She hadn't meant to overtake them - she was just having fun. As the bike roared around a corner and arrived at the Docks, she slowed and brought it to a stop. Up ahead she saw the Shield, and she saw that it had a visitor. From this distance she couldn't see who that visitor was.

She waited for Womack and the others. If it was an unexpected visitor, they might want to save the element of surprise.

This post has been edited by Christy Lexington on Feb 2 2012, 01:03 PM
Macabee Cricket
Posted: Feb 2 2012, 01:35 PM


Group: Members
Posts: 18
Member No.: 1,092
Joined: 22-May 10

”Now you,” ”You aren’t that pretty.”

"Ain't meant to be," Mack shot back. "It's not in the job description."

The fellow then very carefully showed his credentials as a Captain of the Persephone PD. Mack was less than impressed. He knew more than anyone else how things could be. Just because you're a cop doesn't neccessarily make you a good guy.

”How about you let me in, chief, and we can all stand around being pretty,” "Well two out of three of us anyway.”

Why did the request to enter sound more like the big bad wolf singing Little Pig, Little Pig, Let me In?

"Not by the hair of my..." he murmured a little in a slight internal dialog. he would have finished the thought, but became acutely aware of Zandra standing there and she would have probably heard the end of his quite colorful alternative description.

He smiled slightly at her, trying to reassure her that everything was OK, then turned back to their unexpected guest.

"Well, the thing is that this is not my ship nor do I command it," Mack told him. "And since Womack ain't here, I don't exactly have the authority to let anyone on board. After all, this could be called a high crime kind of area and I have this young lady to watch over. So why don't you just get all comfy out there in the meantime."

He watched the man closely.

"But I am not completely without some kind of notion of hospitality," Mack said ever so graciously. "Zandra, could you go get us some hot tea and a couple of scones? And tell the doctor that we have some company."

Mack didn't know if they even had scones, but it sounded good when he said it. Mainly he just wanted to get Zandra away from the door and get a message to Beatrix that trouble could be standing at the door. He hoped that Zandra understood what he needed her to do.

"Sooo... How long have you known Womack?" Mack asked Newton, trying to make ridiculous small talk hoping that some kind of backup was coming. "You guys friends? Rivals? Drinking buddies?"
Zandra Sun
Posted: Feb 23 2012, 08:13 PM

The Broken Soul

Group: Members
Posts: 18
Member No.: 1,166
Joined: 10-May 11

Zandra rubbed her arm awkwardly, watching Mack as he dealt with the man at the door. She didn't understand why he was so hesitant in letting the mystery guy in. Maybe she'd made a mistake in answering the door, but someone would have done it anyway, right? Still, she felt a bit guilty for causing an unnecessary struggle. Well, unnecessary in her perspective.

She head Mack mumble under his breath and cocked an eyebrow. She didn't know what he'd said. She hadn't been paying enough attention to catch it. However, she noticed his glance in her direction and figured it'd been something he hadn't wanted her to hear. Still, she was curious as to what he had said.

Mack's smile didn't put her at ease. She simply held herself a bit tighter.

Why wasn't he letting this man in? Well, he was there to see Womack. Would it be wrong to let him in, seeing as he was there to see Womack, who wasn't there? Or was it wrong not to let him in? Was that rude? She couldn't even decided.

"Zandra, could you go get us some hot tea and a couple of scones? And tell the doctor that we have some company."

The teenage girl nodded obediently. She immediately headed towards the infirmary. She wasn't sure if Mack actually wanted her to grab tea. She didn't see why he would. It seemed like he was trying to get her out of the way. Not only was he trying to get her to leave, but he was trying to warn Beatrix. Who was this man at the personnel door.

Zandra went to the infirmary and walked in. She knocked on the door although it was open to give the doctor notice of her presence.

"Beatrix, Mack wanted me to warn you that there's someone at the personnel door," Zandra said softly.
Beatrix Ladden
Posted: Apr 21 2012, 10:15 PM

Health Advocate on Kasern

Group: Members
Posts: 77
Member No.: 113
Joined: 2-August 06

Lying on the triage tables had become a habit of the doctor’s. Her legs crossed and fingers interlinked over her stomach, Beatrix was completely in a world of her own. Staring up at the ceiling, she couldn’t help but feel there was something better she could be doing. Alas her job description consisted of simply waiting around until someone got hurt. Not allowing herself to drink or smoke however made this wait particularly torturous.

Fortunately a knock distracted Beatrix from her boredom. Surprised, she looked up to see Zandra at the infirmary door. It took a moment for her to register the girl’s presence.

"Beatrix, Mack wanted me to warn you that there's someone at the personnel door," Zandra stated quietly.

Immediately the woman sat up and hopped off the table. “Oh yeah?” Beatrix felt her heart rate speed up. She figured it wasn’t so serious if Cricket didn’t mention the words “hide” or “bring a gun,” but knowing this ship’s history, she casually headed for the only weapon she knew.

“So you’re out of bed, I see. That’s good news.” She reached for two syringes on the counter pre-filled with a powerful tranquilizer, pocketing one and inserting the other up her right sleeve. Well, it was her weapon of choice. Aim wasn't exactly Beatri'x strong suit.

”Did Cricket say anything else?” She walked quickly to stand next to Zandra outside the infirmary doors and by the stairs to the cargo bay, listening to see if she heard anything. All she could faintly make out was Mack talking about drinking buddies or something of the like, so she turned back to the girl, meaning to gently pull her back to her bunk. It was unfortunate Zandra chose such a time to finally walk about.

This post has been edited by Beatrix Ladden on Apr 22 2012, 10:27 PM
Lt. Karl Womack
Posted: Jan 4 2013, 12:27 PM

Bad Lieutenant

Group: Forum Moderators
Posts: 259
Member No.: 29
Joined: 6-May 06


The Docks warped and wrapped around him, creating a maelstrom, a graffiti smeared cave wall, telling the story of Eavesdown. Forever under the heel of some street tough, pseudo messiah, or compassion-deficient fiend, Eavesdown’s cleaner souls lived without a champion and without the very basics of the human condition. Safety, food, water, shelter, and hope were commodities too expensive for most, with the ‘poorest’ traditionally the ones devoid of the darkness of crime. For most of its ‘chapters’, the city’s tale stayed the same, hopeless and dark, but once, not so long ago, the story shifted shade…and a light brightened the telling.

But like all flames alive on the black nighttime ocean, the promise of peace was extinguished and the light bearer himself snuffed out…or so it was thought.

However, the wheel had come round again, and new chapters dripped from inkwell to pen, granting the goodly folk hope against the tide of tyranny, and the tale of Eavesdown found illumination by subtraction…subtraction of the villainous.

For now, the dog days were over because the King had returned.

With the morning, the righteous walked the streets toward occupations, children to cramped school rooms, but that day gifted them with a ‘parade’ of sorts, their hero was returning from battle…and he yet rode upright on his steed of steel. As Womack passed aboard his gigantic motorcycle, several of the Dockers cheered and applauded. They knew what his presence meant and praise was all they could offer in payment. The Tongs had stopped walking the streets during the day, collections had ceased, and Drop addicts scurried all over the city trying to ply their thirst. Crime had taken a holiday since his return, thanks in no small part to his policy on the taking of prisoners.

With a gold-plated badge, for a crown, Lieutenant Karlov Womack, lord of the living and the damned, watched his subjects with grave-frosted eyes that twinkled with the promise of oblivion. He saw not only the thankful populace of Eavesdown. To him, ghosts of fallen fiends traversed the sidewalks, inadvertently brushing shoulders with the living, each sect invisible to the other, but all keenly aware of his presence.

Eyes still warm turned to regard the return of Law to their home, while the spectral gazes of Persephone’s dead noted the passage of the being that had taken them from the world of flesh and vice. Living and Lost knew what his presence meant…Justice again rode the streets of Eavesdown, and both worlds trembled. Straddling the line of man and ghoul as he was, Karlov’s shattered and singular mind ‘felt’ the warmth of the ghost riding behind him, utterly convinced of Shanti’s presence just as he was the insubstantial citizenry around him.

Atop the monstrous motorcycle, The Fat Mutha, and flanked by Tiberius Khan and Bugger Jones, Karlov Womack cruised the recently reclaimed streets of Persephone, heralding anew his deep-throated bellow of vengeful justice.

The ebony blood of Niska’s empire pulsed through the dirty gutters and continued along a chaotic course of cracked sidewalks and worn cobblestones. The once great devil was dying, and unlike a wielder of the oath Hippocratic or a dispenser of Last rites, Karl wished to hasten the fiend’s fall, while the worlds, both living and dead, watched. For weeks he had opened the old man’s veins, bleeding Niska’s Persephone operation nearly dry. No Tong had been able to fill the void because he, along with Bugger’s men, had instituted a ‘new normal’…one that adhered to a blood drenched status quo.

The bike slowed to a stop, and Womack dropped his boots to the pavement, waiting for several rickshaws to pass. To his left, a painfully thin woman met his gaze. Greeted with the blank, emptiness of Karl’s ‘shell’, the woman did not blink or avert her stare. Instead she mouthed, *thank* *you* and gripped tighter the small girl clinging to her skirts.

Unsure whether the woman was living or ghost, the bad lieutenant took several moments to react. Finally, incapable of emotional response, Womack simply nodded and, once the path was clear, roared away…still debating the woman’s existence outside of his broken mind.

Ahead in the middle of the road, Lex straddled her bike, presumably waiting on the rest of them, but when Karl drew close, he followed her gaze ahead to the Shield, where a familiar figure stood waiting just outside the personnel door.

Again bringing the Mutha to a stop, Womack pulled beside the warrior woman and re-lit the stub of his cigar.

Still staring at the figure outside of the Shield, he spoke, presumably to Lex, but in his vacant state, the words really could have been for anyone…himself included.

‘J.T. Newton, captain of the local police department…my old boss. Ain’t going to take a rocket-jock to suss out what he’s doin’ here. Old J.T.’s pockets are feelin’ the effects of our ops like a boot to the applesack.’

Rolling his frozen eyes over to Lex, he ‘officially’ directed his final words her way.

‘He’d sell his dick if he could find a buyer, so don’t trust a breath that slips between his dentures…not that you would.’

(I deeply apologize for the extended absence :( and please forgive me while I reacclimatize myself )
(A special thanks to all of you on the Shield for your devotion to these characters and this story. I do indeed realize how lucky I am to write with all of you :) )
(Finally, Karlov holds a special place in my heart, and I need to finish his tale...thanks again)
Posted: Jan 21 2013, 04:25 AM

Christy Lexington

Group: Members
Posts: 5
Member No.: 1,088
Joined: 19-May 10

Lex gave Womack a wry grin, not sure if he was trying to be funny.

"So what are we going to do with him?"

Lex didn't know where the line was. Would Womack cut this corrupt Captain down like the drop dealers? Did he deserve worse? Or better? Would it be talk and threats, or violence and death?

Lex shrugged, looked back up the street towards the ship. Whatever, she was ready.
Cpt. J. T. Newton
Posted: Jan 22 2013, 12:14 PM

Pope of Eavesdown

Group: NPC
Posts: 3
Member No.: 1,265
Joined: 17-January 12

Just outside The Shield

"Not by the hair of my...Well, the thing is that this is not my ship nor do I command it. And since Womack ain't here, I don't exactly have the authority to let anyone on board…Sooo... How long have you known Womack? You guys friends? Rivals? Drinking buddies?"

”Listen, Chief, maybe I’m not being direct enough here. I don’t give a baker’s rutt about your ‘place in this world’, so whether you’re the captain of this boat, a dockside DNA receptacle, or somewhere in between, I’m telling you to step aside and let me the rutt through this door.’

Lowering his head slightly, J.T.’s artificially rendered gray eyes stared at Mack just below his meticulously trimmed eyebrows…a bull readying to charge.

”I’m alone, chief, not like I’m going to plant a flag in the cargo bay, but if you push me, I’ll landlock this big ugly bitch and get it lit as a bio-hazard. Now before I start ‘huffing and puffing’…let…me…in.”
Shepard Yatsy
Posted: Jan 23 2013, 07:55 AM

The Bad Shepard

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Posts: 6
Member No.: 1,180
Joined: 26-May 11

The bad Shepard used to sing hymns under his breath at moments such as this, walking down the crowded streets, ignored by all save God almighty. Be thou my vision, was a favourite of his, always there at the tip of his tongue, its words ringing true in all circumstances. Even after the moment that shattered his life forever, the old hymn provided immense comfort. Yet he sang no longer and would not sing again until his vengeance was complete. He'd made that vow with the blood still fresh in his mind and his wounds not yet healed, it seemed so long ago, maybe it was. With memories it was always hard to tell.

His makeshift staff struck the path before him, the sound it made almost hypnotic in nature, tapping endlessly against the cobblestone. It was a song heard only by him, yet made no less sweet for its lonely audience. None had dared to try and pick his pocket after the first thief's unfortunate fate, with the criminals no longer interested he was ignored by all the rest.

His eyes, sharp as ever even in his old age, continually scanned ship names, searching for the one he desired.

As he walked on the memories tugged once again at the corner of his mind, refusing to be silenced or ignored. Yatsy silently whispered the same prayer he gave every time they ambushed him “Lord, let me draw strength from this past. Let its images sear my being, so that I will not quit until my task is done.”

With that, the Shepard let the flow take him.

* * * * *

“Kill you?” He was perturbed by the man's suddenness and certainty. “My son, you are safe here.” It was times like this that Yatsy hated confession. He wanted to reach his hand across and grab the man's shoulder, to offer him comfort in this troubling time. But alas, wooden walls separated Shepard and sheep.

A hoarse, rasping laugh broke through the tears. “No place is safe father.” There was a long, almost deathly pause. “Nowhere is safe from him.”

Clutching the good book tightly to his chest, the Shepard stated with confidence. “This is a house of God, you will be safe. This I swear to you.”

He felt so confident in those words, like nothing would ever change them and nothing would ever move them.

He was wrong.

* * * * *

His eyes snapped open, the memories of that red day washed away in a haze, like a stiff wind rustling grass. When he glanced upward, almost with divine aid he saw her.

The Ares Shield.

In truth, he expected far less, the Shield was a titan among ants, a weapon of unparalleled beauty and deconstruction among the purposeless. She was to him, the most beautiful thing he'd laid eyes on in many years. And she currently was seeing some hassle.

Evidently, this rather unpleasant looking fellow was trying to barge his way onto the Shield, while another unpleasant looking fellow tried to stop him.

Yatsy wasn't sure at the moment who was who and what the situation was, he'd been given a name and vague description, but nothing really stood out. At moments like this, the wise man waited. So that's what he did. Leaning on his scythe, resting but ready to move at a moment's notice, the bad Shepard waited.

He'd come this far, waited this long, he could wait a little longer.

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