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Post by Preacher on Jul 23, 2019 17:27:41 GMT -8
We are discussing the merits of drinking, and catching up. And discerning the identities of a certain Tweedledee and his accomplice, Tweedledum. He gave the auburn-tressed interloper an even, unassuming stare, all innocence and sincerity. I think she means you.
The stare continued long enough to make anyone at the bar slightly anxious. And then it continued. Eventually, Silas turned back to Karana Malora. If you seek information, and if you believe time is of the essence, what holds you here, other than Adrien's preference that it be so? I will accompany you if you need to 'bend Draykon's ear.' **happy with his correct usage of the saying** We are all here for many reasons, and none of which are getting traction right now. They can 'drink and catch up' while filling your ear with the words you came to hear. This waiting is fruitless. He stood, sliding his barstool back and retrieving his hilt from the bar-top. In doing so, he eyed Isabelle. Oh -- you're still here. to Malora Should we go and make my Captain's day a little harder?
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Post by Preacher on Jul 11, 2019 18:00:10 GMT -8
He took in as much of her wordstuff as he could, much of it first class garbledegook to him. But the general idea and her obvious feelings on being kept waiting were clear. He poured himself something a pleasing shade of green, and considered downing it in a single toss, before sniffing it and then pushing it as far away from him as he could manage.
I am Silas of Biul, Preacher of the Third Realm. I have had-- he paused as her speech fully processed and he was reminded that he and Draykon were joined in a very raw and primal way as the latter lay critically injured aboard the 'Shadow. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments as he dredged his / Draykon's memories for remnants of Fel. It was fragments. It always was. But being a good Preacher meant being able to read and interpret these images and pictures. He saw the man, Fel. Felt his anger, his confusion of emotions toward Adrien. Saw them at opposite ends of gun barrels, more than once. Saw more than he should have been privy to, and for a moment, felt guilt at the intrusion. Draykon was not being judged. What would the Code say of this? ...but this black-tressed mistress of chaos, this Malora... she held her pain at bay, but there was no denying it. He knew what it was to search for something for more than three years, and if he could ease her way, he would see it done. --Draykon... he... he does not have what you need. He has words. Words and an image or two... A plea. Perhaps he has hope for you, which you need. But this Fel -- the Captain does not have what you seek. He fixed her with a clear-eyed, earnest glance I am sorry it isn't what you wished. And besides, I think the saying is: You didn't hear it from me?
He swivelled to look for a moment at the violet-hued pretty-boy. But that one... That one looks like he has much to say.
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Post by Preacher on Jul 10, 2019 11:24:51 GMT -8
Silas followed the chill till his trail terminated at what appeared to be a watering hole of sorts. Galley? Meeting-place? He couldn't be sure. All of this... from the social norms, to the 'fresher, to this place in specific, was all new to him. He'd never set foot in this place in his life. And aside from the past couple weeks, wherein he'd met and befriended (and saved?) at least a few of the bodies huddled around tables in the half-light, he didn't know these faces from Adam. That's not to say there were no allegiences. Sure, he owed his host for furthering his own cause, and for a roof over his head for the time being. He owed Neassa... well, he couldn't say just what. But he owed her. The rest of the crew of Draykon's ship -- those he'd served with, at least -- he owed a debt of gratitude and camaraderie. But these were not the ones he concerned himself with.
After shooting a glance at Isabelle that said in no uncertain terms 'keep your distance, devil-woman' he walked right over to the bar, and swept his long coat aside to sit astride the bar-stool, adjacent to the raven-haired woman. It was 10 degrees colder here than anywhere else in the room, and he fixed her with an even stare, placing his hilt on the bar-top, inches from her hand, drawing knowing glances from both the Source of Chaos, and her friend in armor, sitting with her back against a wall.
"...ain't a whole lot of talk happenin' here. We ride out on the 'morrow, I think we all need to know what to expect from you. Not you and yours. You. Don't mind me sayin' so... but I can tell you're the type, you stick a finger in the air nearby a flock o' gulls, shit sticks to it. Why don't you tell me about Galdaart Fel."
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Post by Preacher on Jun 22, 2019 16:43:23 GMT -8
Silas nodded simply, flipping Mack one of the few casings he had left. If the man was confident in his abilities to craft new shells for his hand-cannon, so be it -- though he wasn't sure about Mack's assertion that his rough-hewn weapon was in any way 'fine' (except when it came to killin' folks.) He was in no need to have the weapon back, and though it went unsaid, they both knew it would be easier to machine and press the rounds with the pistol in his possession, so when he turned to follow after Neassa, the Preacher's sidearm stayed behind, with Mack. I should really find the architect of our chaos ...and I think she's the one with black hair, and smelling lightly of mint. He walked in the direction of the scent of anticipation, fear, anger and remorse. I imagine I'll be alright with just this... he said, not quite under his breath, as he willed his sword to his right hand, twirling the hilt once before lightly running his fingers over the activation plate.
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Post by Preacher on Jun 6, 2019 15:57:46 GMT -8
Silas grasps Mack's hand, while enduring the onslaught of questions from Dax. His mouth opens and closes a half dozen times, as if ready to speak, only to be silenced by yet another barrage from the Rodian. Once he was pretty sure Dax had, for the moment, occupied himself with the woman he was (not) speaking to, Silas replied, as only he could.
I am from a place where all of this he gestures to the air around himself, seeming to indicate the world as a whole is foreign. I have much to learn about the universe. Fact is, I'm not certain I've ever seen the likes of you before, Dax. Mack -- you say you are quartermaster to the crew... what do you make of this?
Withdrawing his sidearm, Preacher turns it handle-first and extends it toward the solidly-built man. --from my home-world. Forged the moving parts myself. But I'm rather low on brass. he fishes in one of the capacious pockets in his long coat and withdraws a handful of casings, maybe seven or eight.
And in answer to your question, Dax... my query about the state of my weapon should tell you all you need to know about what I think of 'us.' Draykon surrounds himself with chaos. And you two looked like the calm at the centre of it, as odd as that might be. he pauses, taking in the others that are filtering off the 'Shadow ...the rest of these strays? I can vouch for the Warrior Woman. She is better than a match for any of us. The young mechanic, Castle, also seems to be possessed of a good heart. But those... nodding in the direction of Liya Tawaza, Karana Malora, Aedon Montrose and Isabelle Eoura ...those, I do not trust.
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Post by Preacher on May 24, 2019 18:07:40 GMT -8
**blows the dust off**
It was odd that these referred to him mostly by his given name, that was rare on his home-world. There, he was simply 'preacher.' One of several. Here, he was, he didn't really know what he was. But he knew Draykon's heart was good. And that the warrior woman, Neassa, was a worthy comrade. He was also certain that their paths were meant to cross, for reasons yet to be revealed to him. Their ranks had swelled at the cesspool known as "Red Shift," and as yet he was unsure why they needed frequent such an establishment. Yet some of these new faces intrigued him. He had been mostly silent since the order had been given to return to the ship, and had done his best to stay out of everyone's way whilst aboard. He sat in the hold while others, obviously acquainted previously, spoke in terse, hushed tones (except for the wild woman, who spoke animatedly, for all to hear.) Upon arrival to Draykon's lair, he disembarked along with the others, but didn't really know what he was to do. There was a familial, brotherly quality between many of these, that he simply did not share. Yet.
All were engrossed in their own conversations, their own means to whatever ends they privately sought. And so Silas did what Silas did. He observed. He catalogued. ...he found that after a few minutes, he was mostly left alone in the large, expansive room that the ship hissed and popped, creaked and flickered within. Castle and the dog-man walked a spell in front of him. The wild woman and the man with hair the shade of raetun-berry jelly his mentor once made, had left with Draykon soon after landing. Neassa and the warrior man had likewise departed, walking slowly, taking the strides of those who sought to see all they could see, glean all there was to learn about their surroundings. It was befitting their position as warriors.
A few more, who wouldn't have looked out of place in the Red Shift, still milled about, openly scrutinizing everyone who had been aboard ship with Draykon moments before. No doubt allies of his Captain. Though the small voice bestowed upon him by his Gift told him he should follow the wild woman, these intrigued him, and though he was woefully inadequate with the "chit-chat" as Draykon had once termed it, the Preacher wanted to know the measure of these men. Lacking all subtlety, and not caring a whit for it anyhow, he approached the few nearest the bow of Draykon's ship (Mack, Dax, Ryder and the young Neah.) Tucking his long-coat behind the butt of his slug-thrower in a friendly gesture which foretold of his carrying, the off-worlder addressed the gathered toughs as only he could.
"Greetings. You are men-at-arms for Draykon, yes? I am Silas. I would know you better."
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Post by Preacher on May 23, 2018 18:57:36 GMT -8
You're ALIIIIIIIIVEEEEE!!
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Post by Preacher on Apr 15, 2018 9:02:17 GMT -8
Banned for causing the ice storm. Yeah, I'm blaming you.
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Post by Preacher on Apr 14, 2018 16:29:16 GMT -8
Boo.
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Post by Preacher on Feb 14, 2018 21:04:25 GMT -8
She did know how to raise an eyebrow or three -- he'd give the woman credit for that. Not a skill just anyone has. (Skill? Damnable bit of bad luck? Curse?) She splintered the glass into shards, and in doing so, most of the eyes in the bar -- the ones that weren't too far into the bottom of their cups -- turned to look at Karana Malora. And in so doing, they took in quite a sight. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. And she was deadly. That was made plain by the former receptacle now slicing into her hand. Trouble. Trouble was coming this way, and fast. Silas saw it. He knew Castle saw it, because it had been Castle's eyes that shot toward her first, from behind the bar. Silas had swivelled in his seat, to find that Neassa had also taken note, and the Blonde-haired tough woman not far off had tensed visibly. A newcomer to the bar -- though one who looked casually at home here -- a violet-haired individual (let's call him Purps for short...) also looked at her, as if seeing a ghost. Silas saw this, and more. The Shistavanen was also interested -- hell, everyone in here was aimed squarely at the vixen with hair black as coal...
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Post by Preacher on Feb 5, 2018 13:41:03 GMT -8
You go on... I'll be along shortly. He smiled at her, in that way one does when there's a comfort to the words -- though she likely knows his 'shortly' means forty five minutes or more. He could easily get lost in the stars, and the flight deck was as good a place as any to be lost. The softly flashing lights and the soft hum of the electronics, and because of the tight space and the concentration of machinery and computers, it was often the warmest part of this ship -- excepting the engine spaces... but those were immediately disqualified as spaces to be thoughtful, due to noise and cleanliness factors. Even the presence of the pilot robot was in a way comforting. It didn't require conversation or reassurance, and so while there was a presence in the room, and Silas rarely felt 'alone' because of it, there was no pressure to talk in any way.
True to form, about an hour later, Silas emerged from the cockpit, and moved aft toward the galley, and, not finding Neassa there, again moved aft toward the cabins. He passed by his own cabin to approach hers, and opened the door to find her curled up in her bunk, and watched her for a moment, a silent, tender smile creasing his features, before crossing the floor and lying on the floor beside her bed. He lay on his back and crossed his legs at the ankles, folded his arms behind his head, fingers laced together, and was asleep in moments.
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Post by Preacher on Feb 5, 2018 13:14:20 GMT -8
Silas seriously considered asking the young man if he'd heard many stories of ships getting from point A to point B in several pieces... it didn't seem the preferred method. But then he imagined (rightly so?) that Castle was joking, and so he smiled conspiratorially, the inference being that they were, again, on the same page, when the truth was, Silas was still out of his depth.
"...I'd like to be flying again."
That makes one of us, Mr. Castle. I don't exactly want to be here... wherever here is... but I most certainly would rather not be out there. waving a hand in such a way that the 'sky' is referenced When are you available to ship out?
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Post by Preacher on Feb 4, 2018 18:25:10 GMT -8
Silas looked as clued-in as he could, but the fact was, much of what the barkeep had said was an alien language to him. Grav boots? Did those go on your feet? A T65-X-what?
"So, what kind of ship are you currently serving on, friend?"
Uh... it's... small. And dirty. But honourable. I'll put in a word with my captain... checking over his shoulder, and speaking this next bit under his breath once he isn't being accosted by the Raven...
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Post by Preacher on Feb 3, 2018 20:39:14 GMT -8
At the mention of someone needing his services, his eyes lit up. Not that being a temporary bar tender was boring, but it wasn't his calling. He preferred to feel the thrum of engines beneath his feet, the hum of the O2 scrubbers and the faintly metallic scent of a ship's air. The creak of bulkheads and the shift in gravity as the momentum dampeners kicked in was his idea of home."I would certainly appreciate if you could put the word out, Silas. I've been stuck here far longer than I'd prefer to be."Filling another glass for Silas, he slid it over to the man as another large and rather intimidating looking sentient approached the bar and growled for a beer. Castle was well versed in many of the species that liked to frequent the Shift, but this creature was something else entirely. Walking over to the cooler, he opened the door, grabbed a beer for the being, popped the top and walked back over to the furry sentient."Can I get you anything else?"He wanted to speak with Silas more. Learn what sort of ship he traveled on and who he traveled with. But his responsibilities as a bar tender came first. Hopefully the large sentient would be content with a beer for now. Preacher nodded as his glass was refilled, acknowledging the man's efforts. He glanced over at the lupine sentient that had entered after his crew, and smiled thinly. Not entirely certain that what he received was a smile or not, he chose to look elsewhere, lest his efforts be taken as an insult, and watched as the dark-haired woman approached Adrien. She moved with a fluidity and swagger that said she was either supremely confident, or careless, or both, and the Preacher listened in on comms as she began what passed for conversation with his Captain. She was rough around the edges, but charming. This must be 'Malora,' the one Adrien thought of regularly. The one Silas had seen in his mind's eye. Speaking in a low enough voice that he'd not be overheard, but certainly picked up by his earpiece comlink, he whispered to Neassa, indicating Liya Tawaza. That one looks interesting... He let the statement hang, as the Draykon Crew's resident Warrior Woman would surely have seen the arrival of Tawaza, but Silas was interested to see what she had to say on the matter, and hoped for a reply, however quick. Things seemed, for the moment, to be cordial between his Captain and the black-haired woman, and so Silas turned back to the bar, to speak with the bar-keep once more if possible. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, the man came made his way down the bar to where Preacher sat. Any kind of work in particular you'd rather opt out of, friend? It'd help me to know who I should put the word out to, if I knew what kind of a crew you felt yourself best suited to...
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Post by Preacher on Nov 29, 2017 16:24:43 GMT -8
Silas does not question. Nor does he concern himself with what they ought, or ought not to do. Rejoining Draykon would come. It would happen as surely as his next breath. For now, and as ever, there was only the path laid before him. He was content to walk it, as he always had. Folding The Book into its burlap sheath snugly, and fastening the bone thong in place that served as a button for the cover, he slid the tome away in his small shoulder bag, and came to sit behind Neassa, to watch the stars dance.
He knows not how long the trip will take, nor what awaits them on this world he has never seen, but they took the lives of children. No good could ever come of it.
"Surely -- If I sharpen My flashing sword, And My hand takes hold on justice, I will render vengeance on My adversaries. I will make My arrows drunk with blood, And My sword will devour flesh..." he cuts the passage short, noting how closed and obtuse it seems to speak in parable. Never for the credits, Neassa. looking out the window ...it's pretty.
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Post by Preacher on Nov 25, 2017 19:53:55 GMT -8
Silas' reaction to the data pad is nil -- yet another sound from the ship which he has little understanding of, though Neassa has been showing him a few things to make him a more functional denizen of the 'verse. Still, the various hums and buzzes and hisses of the ship mean nothing to him, likewise the whirring of computer systems, the clanging of warning klaxons, and the flashing of lights. As ever, Silas takes his cue from the Warrior, Neassa, in these situations. Had she not indicated what to do, he would merely have done nothing.
His actions are ritual in response to any stimulus while he is engrossed in The Book. First the blue fabric ribbon goes in place, then the jacket is lovingly closed. The leather sheath slides over the book, and then finally, the old, burlap cloth folds over that. Normally, The Book would go back into his small pack -- even though he has (at least temporary) quarters here aboard Neassa's ship he could make himself at home in -- but for now, it rests in front of him at the table, while the man turns his attention to the datapad. His actions are likewise methodical, tentative with the electronic device. What would take a nominally-skilled slicer mere moments takes Silas fully thirty seconds as he hunts and pecks.
It's a message... he speaks, voice noncommittal. Not for us, specifically. Looks like one of your algorithms plucked it out of the sky. He reads in silence, and after a moment, she can see his features harden, brows furrow, eyes like cut glass, mouth drawn into a hard line. It's from a woman named Myrid. She's from a settlement in the Western rim called Absolom-7. Seems their community, a little over sixty souls, has run afoul of a group of brigands intent on driving them from their claims. Common enough fare, except for the last bit, which I can't figure out. It says they've... killed their children. He turns the data pad toward Neassa so that she can read for herself. His eyes look deep into hers, as she tucks an errant strand of long black hair behind her ear, and begins to read the message. How far is it?
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Post by Preacher on Oct 28, 2017 7:32:43 GMT -8
This is Trent's profileI don't know if he's a lone PC or an alt. Ade knows. Sorry Admy.
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Post by Preacher on Oct 27, 2017 16:56:21 GMT -8
No idea. Ade has his (?) contact info...
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Post by Preacher on Oct 20, 2017 15:48:48 GMT -8
...Looking for a crew to join and offer my skills as a mechanic...
Silas nodded knowingly. You say you're a mech -- could be I can introduce you to some folks might have need of your services. He tilted the glass back, savouring the taste of the ale.
...I wasn't....coherent enough to fully grasp what was happening at the time...
Again, the Preacher nodded, and studied the contents of his glass appraisingly as he spoke, sucking the foamy head off his upper lip. Sure, doesn't the scrip read, "Who do we align ourselves with? Do we align ourselves with the presence of Righteousness as it is abused, broken, bleeding, and mocked and scorned even now in this 'verse? Do we take that one step down, risking violence and guilt by association, to stand beside those who are both victim and accused, and public sinner – criminal and despised?"
He looked up after taking another sip, to find Castle's vaguely questioning eyes trained on his, and the traveller made a friendly, dismissive gesture. But let that pass, Castle. I am out of my element, and the ramblings of a backward man mean nothing in this place. Another round of that good ale here, my friend.
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Post by Preacher on Oct 20, 2017 12:41:56 GMT -8
The Preacher continued looking around the bar, casually. There was a man sitting at a table across the bar from Adrien (Yusanis) whose eye were bound, from some sort of awful industrial accident, Silas assumed, and one or two other sentients that were nose-down in drink. When Castle spoke to him, Silas' eyes moved back to meet the young man's behind the bar. He didn't want to give away any of Adrien's immediate plans, but there was no harm in telling his own truth.
I'm Silas. I'm searching for a man. A man who took everything from my people, and gave only death and suffering. It is a long road, I am sure of it, Castle. And I do not believe I will find him here. But this is a good place to find people who know, and have been many places. So, with luck, I will find out something I did not know, and my journey will become that much shorter. And you? What brings you here?
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