Drhoz

Started a Shadowrun campaign - the GM intends to run it from 2050 forward. The players include most of the usual suspects.
 
The characters - 'Incubus' a elven Metal mage who has a day job as an effects magician on the Seattle music scene. A somewhat debauched individual, and the complete opposite of Felix Bethke (who will soon be earning the sobriquet 'Bubbles' despite his best efforts), his neat-freak Hermetic mage housemate.


Felix: We have rules, remember? So how is it that I found a half-empty can of Ebola Cola in my circles? It does not need that sort of thing - you could have ruined the chalklines!
Incubus:Hey, I didn't ruin it. I made it awesome!

Greenlight: I'm going to call you Bubbles
Felix OoC: I'm going to be stuck with this, aren't I.
Incubus: Just wait until I tell somebody to watch out, or I'll sic Bubbles on you.


Incubus needs the money from shadowrunning to help cover his share of the rent. Felix is just saving up to improve his investment portfolio. Felix used to be a wage mage for Aztechnology, but apparently learned something embarrassing to the company.


Titus: The entire corporation is run by chihuahuas.


But since his grandfather is a mid-level corporate in that company, simply having him killed would be even more embarrassing. Their fixer hooks them up with two runners they've not worked with before - Greenlight, a young man who's been living on the streets since his family got abducted by Renraku Corporation, and Titus, a troll. This, apparently, is the kind of team the client was after.


Incubus: We have an elf, a human, and a troll. And the beginning of a joke.

Greenlight: I've already got a neural jack, sticking other things in my head is just parsley around the burger.


The client is here to assess us before we meet her superior and are offered the job. After she leaves, we go to work - Incubus telepathically assessing the tail she picked up, stunning the lowlife in question with an Orgasm spell, then following the client back to her corporate helicopter while Seattle's genius loci keeps him concealed. With that info, it's short work to ID her, her field of expertise, her superiors, and the likely reason we're being hired - skill chips that company is making for the military.


GM: She works for Global Technology
Titus: It doesn't mean they're international, they just make light globes


Her superior is slightly annoyed but grudgingly impressed that we've already identified him, and his reason for hiring us, before we've even met.


Incubus: We did our research.
Felix: We ARE professionals, sir.


Apparently a trusted employee helped a group of runners steal the experimental military skill chips, and he needs them back before the end of the week. None of that stops Incubus from flirting shamelessly with "Ms. Johnson"


Felix: Can't you control yourself for five minutes?


Greenlight does not want to know what Incubus did to that lowlife trailing the Johnson, that left him twitching spasmodically in the hallway of the club, earlier.


Felix OoC: Some might describe him as seedy. Particularly afterwards.
Greenlight: I don't want to know.
Incubus: I just manipulated his pleasure centers.
Greenlight: What did I just say?
 
Incubus' player : I bet Jrska wishes she could do that
Me: *shrugs* Eh, she prefers the personal touch
Incubus: That reminds of a song. Except I haven't been.
Titus: ?
Incubus: Blowing Bubbles.


Back to Felix and Incubus' converted loft apartment. It's actually a very nice pad - lots of warehouse room below for their respective magical researches, and a hydroponics set-up so they can actually get fresh vegetables.


Felix: We even have fresh tomatoes
Greenlight: What the f*** is that?

Felix: We have rules though. He stays that side of the line on the floor, I stay mine. And the first person to mention The Odd Coven will be shot.
Greenlight: Have you to sold the rights to your lives or something?
Incubus: *glares*
Felix: No.

Started a Shadowrun campaign - the GM intends to run it from 2050 forward. The players include most of the usual suspects.
 
The characters - 'Incubus' a elven Metal mage who has a day job as an effects magician on the Seattle music scene. A somewhat debauched individual, and the complete opposite of Felix Bethke (who will soon be earning the sobriquet 'Bubbles' despite his best efforts), his neat-freak Hermetic mage housemate.


Felix: We have rules, remember? So how is it that I found a half-empty can of Ebola Cola in my circles? It does not need that sort of thing - you could have ruined the chalklines!
Incubus:Hey, I didn't ruin it. I made it awesome!

Greenlight: I'm going to call you Bubbles
Felix OoC: I'm going to be stuck with this, aren't I.
Incubus: Just wait until I tell somebody to watch out, or I'll sic Bubbles on you.


Incubus needs the money from shadowrunning to help cover his share of the rent. Felix is just saving up to improve his investment portfolio. Felix used to be a wage mage for Aztechnology, but apparently learned something embarrassing to the company.


Titus: The entire corporation is run by chihuahuas.


But since his grandfather is a mid-level corporate in that company, simply having him killed would be even more embarrassing. Their fixer hooks them up with two runners they've not worked with before - Greenlight, a young man who's been living on the streets since his family got abducted by Renraku Corporation, and Titus, a troll. This, apparently, is the kind of team the client was after.


Incubus: We have an elf, a human, and a troll. And the beginning of a joke.

Greenlight: I've already got a neural jack, sticking other things in my head is just parsley around the burger.


The client is here to assess us before we meet her superior and are offered the job. After she leaves, we go to work - Incubus telepathically assessing the tail she picked up, stunning the lowlife in question with an Orgasm spell, then following the client back to her corporate helicopter while Seattle's genius loci keeps him concealed. With that info, it's short work to ID her, her field of expertise, her superiors, and the likely reason we're being hired - skill chips that company is making for the military.


GM: She works for Global Technology
Titus: It doesn't mean they're international, they just make light globes


Her superior is slightly annoyed but grudgingly impressed that we've already identified him, and his reason for hiring us, before we've even met.


Incubus: We did our research.
Felix: We ARE professionals, sir.


Apparently a trusted employee helped a group of runners steal the experimental military skill chips, and he needs them back before the end of the week. None of that stops Incubus from flirting shamelessly with "Ms. Johnson"


Felix: Can't you control yourself for five minutes?


Greenlight does not want to know what Incubus did to that lowlife trailing the Johnson, that left him twitching spasmodically in the hallway of the club, earlier.


Felix OoC: Some might describe him as seedy. Particularly afterwards.
Greenlight: I don't want to know.
Incubus: I just manipulated his pleasure centers.
Greenlight: What did I just say?
 
Incubus' player : I bet Jrska wishes she could do that
Me: *shrugs* Eh, she prefers the personal touch
Incubus: That reminds of a song. Except I haven't been.
Titus: ?
Incubus: Blowing Bubbles.


Back to Felix and Incubus' converted loft apartment. It's actually a very nice pad - lots of warehouse room below for their respective magical researches, and a hydroponics set-up so they can actually get fresh vegetables.


Felix: We even have fresh tomatoes
Greenlight: What the f*** is that?

Felix: We have rules though. He stays that side of the line on the floor, I stay mine. And the first person to mention The Odd Coven will be shot.
Greenlight: Have you to sold the rights to your lives or something?
Incubus: *glares*
Felix: No.

Yar Yar Yar...Merry Plundering!

Far-out space projects

Spectral features of water vapor in transiting exoplanet atmospheres
 
I've pulled the preprint off of arXiv and given a cursory scan since this was relevant to my class today. An extremely difficult measurement to have made, and there is a lot of data massaging there. Might be correct, though.

Comet ISON: It's dead, Jim (?)
 
Great animations there.

The warband nominally under the control of renegade Space Marine Cassius continues in its long-term project of building alliances, swapping favours, and finding some poorly defended planet to enslave. Mammon, where both sides of the population earnestly believe they are doing the God-Emperor's will by exterminating the other half, seems ideal for the latter.

One useful item - for when we're infiltrating the Imperium later, anyway - would be the Inquisitorial Rosette that once belonged to that inquisitor we found turned into a deamonhost. Interrogator Crane might have known where it was, but he's not the man he was - not after a few nights of being used for party games by Jrska and her brother. She finds the mewling wreck on one of the piles after the party - it appears the Fleshcrafters have been having fun with him.

Jrska: Just a minute - I just want to demonstrate how the Imperium has treated its own citizens for the last 10,000 years. And by a happy coincidence I filled up at the bar. *unbuttons pants*

There's no reason to take him back aboard the Chains of Judgement, either.

Jrska: They're no fun when they're broken. Broken in, on the other hand...

And, of course, there are the other long-term projects - Cassius' intention to build a space marine chapter unbeholden to the Imperium OR Chaos, for example. Introducing Adept E, Jrska's latest minion and one of the tech-priests formerly slaved to 'Father's' will, and now assigned to medical duties among the meat-bags. A disturbing and resentful, almost sadistic individual, with a gimbal-mounted head and absolutely no bedside manner. Of course he's going to want genetic and tissue samples from Cassius.

Adept E: I require samples of the original germline. Please hold still.
Cassius: No.
Adept E: It will be inefficient to acquire samples if you are moving.

Oddly enough, Cassius is fine with Adept E drillling samples out of the Dreadnought's occupant - blood, skin, genegineered organs, and brain. Indeed, Cassius takes a disturbing amount of pleasure telling his captive what they are for.

Adept E: What sensory input do you receive when I do this? *drills biopsy samples out of the dreadnought's brain*

Apart from thousands of slaves to either run the ship or be sold off as raw material, the Chains of Judgement needs sensors, weapons, and urgent maintenance to the void and Gellar Fields.

GM: The Gellar Fields work, sort of. They just take much longer to switch on then you'd like.
the Peanut Gallery: Does that make them the Michelle Gellar Field?
Jrska OOC: Nah, the Michelle Gellar field never worked again

Navigating from the Ragged Helix to Mammon is even more difficult, and allegorical, than trying to navigate in 'normal' warpspace.

Aladar : I'm just sitting in the bridge watching the plaid.
Jrska: I can believe it - gazing into the warp is supposed to drive a mortal mind insane, after all.
Aladar: And we're travelling at Ludicrous Speed too.

None of which us reassuring, given the dire state of the ship's defences. The sign hanging near the Gellar Field generators being a case in point.

Cog: Days since last warp incursion -6

Still, the Chains of Judgement makes it to Mammon intact, despite detours through dimensions of madness and poetry.

GM: It takes you potato days to get there.

Jrska: I'll let Lord Cassius know we've arrived. *Strolls off singing* I want a magic purple pony princess, lalala
Me: You probably don't want me to finish this song - the original (Frank Zappa's 'Jewish Princess') was filthy enough, and it already had lines about doing it with four on the floor, and two sisters.

Jrska OOC: Going into safe orbit is your job. The Navigator has control over getting us here - and we have no control over the Navigator

Aladar proves amazingly inept at practically everything, including flying us down to the surface. It's astonishing we got down alive, to embark on Cassius' plan to enlist one of the factions. He'll have to do all the talking himself, since Jrska's mutant appearance will likely provoke a murderous riot.

Cassius: The only other way I can see this working is one you'd enjoy too much.
Jrska: ...that doesn't rule out much.
Cassius: It involves a collar and chain.
Jrska: *perks up*

Adept E takes the opportunity to criticise Cog for his close association with the fully organic - ironic, since that used to be his job - and express his distaste for same.

Adept E: They ooze, so biologically.

Aladar nearly crashes the lander, twice, as he circles across the post-apocalyptic landscape looking for a settlement to intimidate.

Cog: I just had the lander waxed! *Pumping fists in an inadvertently obscene manner*
Cassius: ....
Cog: I blame the Slaanesh cultist.

Jrska: Screw this up and I'll be very cross. You'll be spanked in ways you won't like.

The rest of the party don't have much luck spotting good landing areas either. And the landing is only just shy of pancake.

Jrska: The gods are against us. Against YOU anyway, they love me. The only god that counts, anyway.

GM: 'We landed on a witch.'
Jrska OOC: 'We represent the Lollipop Guild, Lollipop Guild' .... Of course the lollipops are old street signs they use as weapons.
Cog OOC: 'We represent the Jailbait Guild, Jailbait Guild'...

The local faction evidently believe the God-Emperor is dead, but if they exterminate all his enemies he'll come back to lead them. The colour of the sky, and its constant screaming, are the echoes of his death. They are understandably suspicious when some turns up claiming that he serves the Emperor, and the Emperor wants them to hand over any enemies that survive the constant battles so Cassius can make them earn redemption aboard the Chains of Judgement. Cassius convinces them of his sincerity, however, after considerable effort and some suggestions over the mike from Jrska - she has some knowledge of the million variations of the Imperial Cult, and claiming that Cassius still serves the Emperor's Will, through appalling carnage and suffering, was once true enough.

Cassius: I speak the words, I just don't believe them anymore.

The 6000 rusty revolvers Cassius provides should make the battles easier, although Cassius has to phrase basic gun safety in religious terms so they'll stop accidentally shooting each other.

Jrska: Arms, arms for the poor.

Cassius: Death and destruction is not the Emperor's ultimate desire - for this reason the first chamber must not be loaded.

The next few weeks are spent patching up the surviving captives and ferrying them up to cells aboard the Chains of Judgement - although a fair number get accidentally flushed into space when Aladar screws up again. THEY believe the Emperor is alive - how can you kill a god, after all? - but wounded by his own treacherous priests. The bloody sky and screaming is the ongoing battle against his legion of enemies, and they do what they can to help, by slaughtering the other faction on Mammon. They, after all, claim they are priests of the Emperor. These beliefs suit Cassius and Jrska to a tee - him, because he too believes the Emperor's objectives were betrayed by the Ecclesiarchy, and Jrska because those beliefs can so easily be perverted towards Slaanesh. She immediately commissions icons of a human figure pierced by numerous weapons - ostensibly the Emperor as these Mammonites picture him, really her own deamonic patron.

Jrska: Easy enough to do - the Imperial Cult has more then enough martyrs of that variety - Sebastian, Sabbat, all those other hagiographic hedgehogs.

Cassius has PER ARDUA SALVATIO, PER OFFICIO SALVARI painted opposite the cells. None of the prisoners can read, but they do have Jrska's demagoguery to convert them to the modified faith - that they can find favour in the eyes of the Emperor, by serving Cassius. In fact, her unnatural charisma and terrifying aura is now so potent she can process a thousand at a time. Of course, there's still a few hundred who refuse to comply, but those we can also sell them to the soul-merchants of Q'sal, or as experimental material to various hereteks, and so on. And Jrska sacrifices 66 of them to reconsecrate the chapel in suitably devout manner. True, sacrificing 66 clerics of the Emperor in the largest cathedral on Scintilla would please Slaanesh even more, but it's a start.

Jrska: And I can teach them some songs.

Come on, young children, and hark to our chanting
Bright copper hacksaws and hot heavy panting
Space Marine Chaplains all tied up with chains
These are the blessings that Slaaneshites gain

Cupcakes from ponies and slick ample strap-ons
Kumquats and truffles a leper has fapped on
DEILF* maidens screaming, insensate and spent
These are the blessings that Slaanesh will send

Clamps on your lipples** and Cog's awkward dancers
Soul-blasting riddles without any answers
Tyranid eggs with their buried yolk lit
These are the blessings that Slaanesh will spread

When my pants tent
When my bra's rent
When my head is smegged
I revel in pleasures that Slaanesh has sent
Until I can't feeeeeeeeeel my legs

*DEILF = Dark Eldar I'd Like to Flay - the words 'DEILF maidens' can be replaced with 'Dark Eldar', if your cultists have trouble remembering the line. Or, just whip them until they learn it.

**Lipples are a combination of 'lips' and 'nipples', a concept that originated in a rather, ah... specialized brand of adult entertainment. Lord Slaanesh approves!

Cassius: No.
Jrska: *shrugs* Their loss

And much kudos to pencil_monkey, who came up with that little number especially for this game.

Aladar screws up again, this time failing to spot a major ambush. The worst thing about it? It was Jrska that encouraged him to try to impress Cassius again.

Cassius: I was pleased by the way he accepted he was no help. And it wasn't me who talked him into trying again. I'm not blaming him for this - I'm blaming you.
Jrska: *to Aladar* You're getting such a look when you get home.

Cassius: My advice to you is ignore whatever Aladar tells you. In fact, do the opposite.

What next? Apart from Jrska training a cadre of 'morale officers', anyway.

GM: There are things to do on every planet.
Jrska: I'm sure there are. But then, I'm a Slaaneshi cultist. The two great human obsessions for all of history - can I eat it? And can I f*** it?

Get a message via facebook from Clueless.
"Hey, the key you gave me to my storage locker doesn't work!"
"Pretty sure I gave you the right one, and you're at #25?"
"Yep, different brand of lock on the unit as well."
"Ok, I'll come by in a few minutes to check."
Five minute drive later, no sign of Clueless.  I check the lock, yep, it's the right key, etc...
Get home, message back to say I didn't see her there, but am sure it's the right key.
She says she's been there the whole time.
I call her and ask what storage unit place she's at.  Of course it's the wrong one.  I should note, she has been to her storage before.

Dear Mr X,
 
Let us review your situation. You got a 22 out of 100 on the first exam, but were unaware of that for most of a month because you never come to class and never picked it up. In fact, you learned of it from your advisor after I used the academic alert system telling her you were failing the course and should drop it before last Friday's deadline; you declined to do this because you'd lose your scholarship if you did. You have turned in exactly one assignment on time, the trivial one the first week of class. You skipped the second exam, made an appointment to take a make-up right after class yesterday, which you unilaterally canceled by email, sent halfway through that class (which, of course, you skipped). You have completely blown off the major writing assignment in the course by abject refusal to submit anything. You have declined to turn in the lab work, which is essential in the course as well. And now you subject me to your fantasy that you'll do well on the final and pass the course. Tell you what: don't bother me any more and I'll give you your F without any further aggravation on my part. Otherwise, you will have no grasp on how much I am going to enjoy watching you die.
 
Love and F's,
Dr. Cancer.

Whilst waiting for the elevator at school yesterday:
 
Student: "Why so lazy, Mr. _____? There is such a thing as stairs."
 
Me: "There's also such a thing as arthritis."
 
Student: <beat> "Oh."

Spoilered for animation
 
 
 

Yeah. That's creepy. What is it from?

This approach also works on teen-age daughters.

Following an encounter with a Bard, we were interrogating him and he refused to talk. Finally I threatened him with a fate worse than death.
 
"If you don't talk, I start singing," I deadpanned.
 
"You wouldn't dare! You're tone-deaf and sing like cat's fighting!" he shrieked (DM hates it when I sing cuz I'm a deep Bass and most the music I like is High-Baritone and Tenor range).
 
Me: "Fine, if that's the way you want to play it... 'I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel pretty, and nifty, and bright! And I pity, any girl who is not me..."
 
My Wife: "Fa-la-la-LAlala!"
 
Bard: "No! I'll talk, just please stop that horrible noise!"
 
Our DM got smacked in the head with my hat after the game.

Double Dose of Cuteness
 

Re: And now, for your daily dose of cute...
 

Re: And now, for your daily dose of cute...
 

Re: And now, for your daily dose of cute...
 

Re: And now, for your daily dose of cute...
 
Sure it's cute now, but just wait until it tries to crawl into your lap when it's 600 lbs!
 
 

Re: And now, for your daily dose of cute...
 

That is wonderful.

Short two players this session, but not to worry - there were more then enough loose ends to tie up, and shopping lists to write. Jrska chancing across one of the pirate hordes her twin brother leaves stashed across the Screaming Vortex for those occasions he or she needs ridiculous amounts of petty cash will help. The plaque it's hidden behind amuses her excessively.

 "This plaque erected in honour of Thierry Nyugen, the demon whoremonger of Rangoon and satisfier of over 10000 women, and 592 men and 3205 zoological specimens and 800 things we're not sure about. Died laughing of explosive scrotal failure on this spot while pleasuring 18 Deamonettes, all of whom committed suicide in grief."

Jrska: The joke is that everybody knows it was 80 Deamonettes. I do hope my brother is still around - you'll like him
 Cog: I doubt this.

On Jrska's shopping list - somebody that can help her reconsecrate the Imperial chapel aboard the Chains of Judgement. Of course, given that she'll be reconsecrating it to Slaanesh, and the kind of things Slaaneshi rituals entail, finding someone that will survive until the end of it may be difficult. Especially in the face of Jrska's Weaponised Smut Field (™)

Cog: You need someone hardy and thick.
Cassius: *chokes*
Jrska: *looks innocent*

Some other useful acquisitions at the Painted Ziggurat - progenoid glands from the enemy Traitor Marine Sorcerer we blew up, intoxicated, and slaughtered (useful for Cassius' intended private Space Marine Army), and a mothballed genetek lab he can do all the cloning in. The decontamination chamber gives Jrska a chance to make her colleagues uncomfortable.

Jrska: 'Decontamination Chamber'? Does that mean we can get as dirty as we like? *leers*

They, unfortunately, deliver a barbed reply after the antiseptic shower.

Cog: Someone smells like wet dog in here

Still, Cassius and his followers return to the Wailing Halls, Jrska weighed down with assorted bling, and showing off her new Mark of Slaanesh that the god rewarded her with across her right breast.

GM: That crown really wasn't designed for somebody with your shape of head.
Jrska: On me, anything looks fabulous.

The inhabitants hold off on a robbery attempt - possibly out of curiosity, more likely because they saw us head off after an obviously superior party, and return not only alive but mostly uninjured, weighed down with bling, and dragging assorted Chaos Marine bodyparts. In the crowd of 'wellwishers' Jrska spots one of the locals she bought a treasure map off - a perfect opportunity to add a few more hapless souls to Cassius' crew.

Jrska: Friend! Buddy! I wish to thank you, most sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart! The map you sold us proved absolutely accurate! Just look at what we found! In gratitude, my lord Cassius wishes to offer you and your family a place aboard his starship. How swiftly can you gather all your family and loved ones? Unless you'd prefer to stay here, of course. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.*gesturing to the crowd, who have a growing air of 'pointed inquiry'.*

We hand over the Tyrant's Cord (Garath doesn't try anything, more's the pity) and receive a friendly warning that mercenaries were out asking questions. About Jrska, in particularly. Now might be a good time to get off Sacgrave, but not until we've arranged transport for the army of mutants we acquired earlier. Jrska practically salivates at the sight.

Jrska: I can't wait to educate them in the worship of Slaanesh. But don't worry, my lord Cassius. We're completely loyal to you. Isn't that right, boys and girls?
6000 Mutants: Yes, Lady Jrska.

Addressing the New Mutant Army

Jrska: Now, our lord Cassius is a very busy person, so if any of you have any problems or requests I want you to come to me.

If she doesn't have Cassius' entire army fanatically loyal to her before the year is out, I will be very surprised. On top of everything else, Jrska is prone to bursting into song - uniformly filthy songs, of course. Such as this one. Should  help with employee relations too, although that does assume the New  Mutant Army count as employees. After all, no-one intends to actually pay them. She goes to sweet-talk the spaceport Comptroller, turning on the full force of her cleavage, charm, and Smut Field.

Jrska: Now, who do I need to talk to to get me off...... this planet?

Unfortunately the only transport large enough is the mercenaries' own - and they're Khornate.

Cog: That is unfortunate - they are unlikely to be impressed by your oratory, given your own affiliation.
Jrska: True *sighs* My Mark would have impressed anybody else, too. Tits out for Victory!
Cog: *spurts carbonated nutrient fluid from his nose*

Fortunately, the soldiers are only on Sacgrave to pass on a message. One Prince Pseudanor of the Liberator - a good Slaaneshi name for a ship - demands Jrska's presence at their palace in the Ragged Helix asteroid belt. Time to plant some more paranoia. Even Cog helps.

Jrska: Of course they want to see us. All goes in accordance with the prophecy.
Grey: Prophecy?
Cog: Hail be the prophecy.

Grey: I assure we are not here to do you harm.
Jrska: This is indeed fortunate. I refrain from saying for who.

And the mercs even agree to shuttle the New Mutant Army up to the Chains of Judgement - it'll save time. So, off to the Ragged Helix, where pirate princes - megalomaniacs, libertines, and sociopaths all - take great pleasure at cutting each other dead with a witty remark or vicious rumour. It's going to be so much fun.

The Further Adventures of Slaanesh's Lonely Hearts Club Warband - but first some discussion the Warhammer 40K mythology, and in particular the various incredibly bone-headed decisions by the Emperor of Mankind that made the Horus Heresy inevitable. Things like abducting Angron from the side of the slave army he had lead to a final stand against their oppressors, and not explaining to Magnus why the Warp was so dangerous, and not telling Horus that he was returning to Terra to oversee the creation of an interstellar Webway. All stuff to be filed under 'Tragedies that could be averted with a five-minute conversation'

    Rold Dundee OOC: We need a big poster of the civil war, with the caption 'This is why you should talk to your children'



Cassius, on why he has turned his back on the the Imperium of Man.

    Cassius OOC: I like the people, I just hate the government.... Oh god, I'm playing Lenin.
    GM: I assume you mean the Russian, not John.



Briefing Cassius on the events of the previous session, such as giving Garath the Tyrant's Cord

    Jrska: And he didn't try anything, and give us an excuse to kill him for his treachery!
    Cassius: *sarcastically* Gosh, I wonder how he became so influential.
    Cog OOC: 'I'm the nice kind of evil - I'll only stab you in the face.'



The New Mutant Army, while sizeable, is still grossly insufficient to crew a starship.

    Aladar van Rijn: We could just let them breed.
    Cog: That might take a while.
    Cassius: And it depends on them being compatible.
    Jrska: *perks up* My lord, I will make it a priority to check their anatomy.
    Cassius: Why am I not surprised.



Among Jrska's purchases - make-up, beauty product, fabric, sewing tools, etc, but not just for herself. After all, they ARE going to a party.

    Jrska: I look good in anything, but YOU three...



Cassius wants to acquire a cadre of minor psykers - to expand his repertoire of powers. His player misses the roll by 1.

    Shopkeeper: If only you'd been here five minutes earlier!
    GM: I'll let you have them but I'll keep it as a plot point that...
    Cog: Something is off about them.
    Cassius OOC: That's ominous.



Sadly, the GM disallows one of the many abuses of the Black Crusade rules - a harpoon gun with a 100-round ammo belt.

    Rold Dundee OOC: Four hundred rounds to reload.
    Jrska OOC: To nip down to Bunnings for a new roll of fence palings.



The Khornate mercs that deliver the New Mutant Army to the Chains of Judgement do have... interesting... news to impart. Apparently, one of our tech-adepts redirected their shuttle to another part of the ship. This is news to us, since we thought we'd already killed all the tech-adepts on board. Naturally, we play innocent, and hurry off to interrogate the nameless navigator about what has been happening in our absence. Apparently 'Father' has awoken. And Father is the ship's chief engineer, and he's currently converting Mother's cannibal tribe into servitors, while the various tech-adepts cybernetically slaved to his will attempt to repair the ship. Our delivery of 6000 mutants was promptly commandeered.

    Jrska: Yoohoo honey, we're home.

    Nameless Navigator: Rest assured they're being put to good use.
    Cog: What's this green stuff we're eating?

    GM: The navigator quite old and covered with feathers
    Rold Dundee OOC: He got into a pillowfight earlier.



Cog protests that he should be the one running the ship.

    Surviving Cannibal: I feel sorry for you
    Cog: Wait until you see my bill.
    Surviving Cannibal: Wait until Father finds out you want his job.

    Cog OOC: Hungry Hungry Hippos in Space
    Cassius OOC: I'm glad they haven't made THAT game into a movie.

    Cassius: I going to kill Father.
    Jrska: Or negotiate a peaceful compromise?
    Cassius: I plan to have a pointed conversation. With lots of punctuation.
    Jrska: In his torso? oh, sorry, that would be punctures.



Finding some of the converted cannibals attempting to repair warp-damage to some of the corridors, where the original crew were fused into the metal. Hacking into their brainchips allows us to find the safe route to Father, although bluffing our way past the heavily armed security servitors does prove necessary.

    Cassius: I'm not annoyed yet.
    Jrska: Well, technically we haven't lost any crew this way
    Cassius: That's why I'm not annoyed

    Jrska: Trying to sand somebody's face off the floor panelling, are they?

    Rold Dundee OOC: I love that we're getting our map from the Roombas.
    Cog OOC: I've never been electrocuted by a Roomba... Apart from that one time

    Jrska: You wanted a plasma cannon, didn't you?
    Cog: Not to the face!

    Jrska: We can always use Aladar as a distraction. His outfit is bound to confuse their optical sensors.



The Enginseer 'Father' is eventually convinced that Cassius is an acceptable Shipmaster, although he's suspicious enough to radio off a message to the nearest Inquisitorial outpost. Given that it's lightyears away, we're not overly concerned. 'Father' is also suspicious about having a mutant crew, and Jrska's presence on board, but Jrska convinces him that its all for purposes of disguise on mutant-held planets. Cassius claims that Cog will act as liaison between the mechanical and organic components of the ship, and Cog assures the Enginseer that Jrska is the ship's new seneschal and spiritual advisor.

    Jrska: Spiritual Advisor. I like that - I'll have to have that put on my door.



Along with Morale Officer and Chief Medical Officer.

    Cassius OOC : 'Turn your head and cough'



'Father' invades Jrska's personal space - like she cares - and spits out reams of dot-matrix printout. It's mostly a list of everything on the ship that needs repairing.

    GM: There's also a priority order of depilatory cream for the seneschal.
    Jrska:
    Cog: But when the fur grows back she'll be itchy and take it out on everyone.



And off to the Ragged Helix. Jrska assigns rooms and assistants to everybody. Cassius gets the most professional. Rold gets a few likely security types, but Jrska is careful to avoid anybody that could be the nucleus of a Khornate warrior lodge. She, of course, picks her own.

    Jrska: Interesting skin texture you have there. Are you like that all over? OK, you, you, that cute one hiding down the back, and Mister Tripod there.
    Aladar: Hey! What about me? Do I get cute ones too?
    Jrska: Nope. You do get the most sycophantic though.



And, of course, Jrska keeps her promise to Aladar, about showing him how grateful she is - turning up at his stateroom with a nice romantic meal and chilled bottle of amasec. For starters. She rapidly guilt trips him into accepting her advances, although her new prosthetic Pheromone Emitters certainly help, especially in a confined space.

    Jrska: Is it because I'm a mutant? *puppydog eyes* It's OK, we can do it with the lights off.



Aladar soon succumbs. Leaving him passed out, Jrska strolls off whistling a happy tune, and turns to her attendant servo-skull, Partybot 2000. The one with all the night vision cameras.

    Jrska: Did you get all that?



Minutes later her next target, Cog, is more resistant to her charms, despite a different ploy.

    Jrska: As chief medical officer it's my duty to know all about your anatomy. I know you cogboys are a bit sensitive about your meat-flesh, but I promise I won't tell anybody. Cross my heart *crosses the wrong side of her chest*



Then there's the problem of the surviving cannibals, who gave their fealty to Cassius and are somewhat aggrieved that he wasn't around to protect them when Father woke up. He solves this problem with admirable callousness, telling them there's plentiful food in the cyberconversion labs, and to go line up outside. A few more acts of treachery like this and the Chaos Gods may well reward him with his first mutation. Morphic resonance and his power armour's history being what they are, that first mutation will likely be wings. Appropriate, given his Storm Crow origins and Extinction's Angel title whenever Jrska introduces him.

    Jrska OOC: Sire? You appear to be growing feathers.
    Cassius OOC: POMF! Wingboner!

    Aladar: I'm bored
    Jrska: *leers* I can fix that.
    Cassius OOC: I bet you can.
    Jrska: It's my duty as morale officer. Please ignore any noises you here coming for Captain Aladar's room. I was going to work slowly, but if he's bored and we have five weeks... I'm sure I can have him in a gimp suit with his face between my thighs before then.



Rold finds a broken space marine power sword in the corridor outside his quarters. Despite the repercussions of the last time he picked up a strange sword, he picks this up too. He doesn't bother telling anybody about the discovery, either.

    Cassius OOC: 'I picked it up to see if anything bad would happen'. There's a quote for you.
    Jrska OOC: And epitaph, probably.
    Rold Dundee OOC: I've got as many Slaaneshi advances as Khornate.
    Jrska OOC: Makes sense. Poor impulse control is a feature of both.



At the Ragged Helix, we are challenged by a pirate vessal Aladar recognises - it was one of many that used to harass his fleet.

    Aladar: Don't you remember me?
    Pirate Captain: Remember you? Why would I remember the wart on some Nurglite's arse?
    Jrska: Nice one, I'll have to remember that. May I address them?
    Cog: Did you just say address or undress?
    Jrska: *shrugs* Both work for me
    Cassius OOC: A little from column A, a little from Column B.



The pirate is clearly shocked when Jrska sticks her head in front of the holocamera, and nervously escorts us to Prince Pseudanor's domain in the depths of the asteroid belt - a lavish and well-armed palace.

    Jrska: Let's walk in like we own the place

    Jrska: May I advise you, Lord? Aloofness is entirely appropriate for you here. Just pretend that nothing here impresses you.
    Cassius: That will not be difficult



Cassius is also unimpressed by the assorted debris from previous evening's debauch.

    Cassius: Shows a lack of discipline
    Jrska: Oh, I'm all about discipline. Isn't that right Aladar, darling?
    Cassius' player: You're enjoying this far too much.
    Me: Yes, yes I am.



But the palace IS the most lavish Jrska has seen outside the Inner Vortex and the demonworld Pandemonium, where she grew up.

    Jrska: Also known as the Party Planet. For lightyears around you can hear the DOOF DOOF DOOF.



The Slaaneshi pirate's court is swarming with a throng of libertines, freaks, and even a few demons, none of whom seem impressed by the frankly scruffy warband that just arrived in a wreck of a ship. But we do find out why Pseudanor sent those mercs after Jrska, demanding she attend his court. Since it's her beloved twin brother under a new name.

    Jrska: *squees like a schoolgirl and rushes forward, until she's blocked by his bodyguards.*
    Me: (to GM) You're just blocking me so I won't squick you with my intended greeting, aren't you?
    GM: Yes.

    Aladar: Holy crap, did that guy just eat a bicycle?
    Jrska: Don't worry sweety, you'll see a lot worse than that around here. Or better.

    Jrska: Hey cutie. Ever done it with someone that can lick their own eyebrows?
    Bodyguard: Yes.
    Jrska: Great! You know what to expect. I'll see you upstairs in 30 minutes - bring some friends.



Turns out Pseudanor is a bit upset with Jrska - mostly the way she went missing for 200 years and never sent any postcards. Also turning up again with such disreputably Khornate-leaning individuals like Rold is a bad sign. He intends to test her, and her associates, to see if she is still worthy of his support. Naturally, there will be six tests - six being the number of Slaanesh - based around Greed, Gluttony, Carnality, etc.

    Pseudanor: I am not convinced you are the person you were, sister.
    Jrska: Five minutes alone and I'll prove it.
    Pseudanor: That is just ONE of the tests.

    Cassius: Six Sins?
    Pseudanor: Six Delights.
    Cassius: Six Delights, then. If you betray us, you will taste the seventh - Wrath.



Jrska volunteers Aladar for the first test. After all -

    Jrska: This man was once a Rogue Trader - he risked his entire fleet against the minions of the Corpse-Emperor, in a blind desire for yet more profit - and LOST. Can any of you deny he embodies the finest standards of Greed?



His opponent will be Pseudanor's accountant, who wagers the locale of one of the legendary Treasure Dens in a simple game of chance. Since betting his life or eyes is too passée, Aladar promptly bets the ship. The ship isn't his, but Jrska points out that being so blinded by greed that he'll risk Cassius' wrath can only be a GOOD thing. Happily, he wins the first toss, and his opponent suggests a second bet - the combinations for the treasure den defences. Instead, Aladar demands six years service. And THIS roll ends up a draw. Jrska manages to talk them and the crowd into a stylish compromise - six years service, at the end of which he'll get the ship. As Cassius points out, if the ship is lost in those six years, the accountant's incompetence will be a contributing factor. He agrees.

    Jrska: Three cheers for the contestants!
    Cassius: Six.
    Jrska: Good point.



Next up, Gluttony. An eating contest against the giant heaving mound of flesh that was eating a bicycle earlier. Jrska turns her attention to the space marine psyker - after all, his biological engineering will give him certain advantages. Superhuman toughness, for one. And acidic saliva that should kill any food that tries to fight back.

    Cassius: You wish to test your gluttony against the genetek secrets of the Dark Age of Technology? Sir, I salute you.

    Plukus: Round one - The fried chicken!
    Jrska: A Subjutator Titan - aka the Slaaneshi Death-Chicken
    GM: That'll be the last round - the OTHER fried chicken XD



By the sixth round they've escalated to live food - in this case, Ravenous Face-biter Squigs.

    Cassius: I've fought planetary campaigns like this... the trick is to get the upper and lower lip at the same time.



Then on to the truly inedible, like a barrel of fuel oil.

    Rold Dundee: Chaser to the squig.
    Cassius: Haven't done this since I was a scout.
    Jrska: Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!



But it's when they step thing up to whole human - two slaves dragged from from the audience, that Jrska steps in to assist. She reprimands the glutton Plukus for wanting to eat human raw. Any true sensualist would prepare the meal first. Her intention is actually to give Cassius' digestion a few minutes to recover, but instead Cassius loses patience, lifts up the next course, and sprays acidic spit over his face. Which indeed eats away the flesh. Such callousness is rewarded by the gods with mutation - a large pair of bird wings.

    Jrska: Must be all that fried chicken. Ladies, Gentlemen & Sacred Hermaphrodites! I give you Extinction's Angel!

    Rold: I wonder how they're going to keep escalating this.
    Jrska: Demonmeat. Eat the deamonette!
    Demonette: You only had to ask....



Or possibly auto-cannibalism? Happily, they don't have to - Cassius resorts to psychic disciplines for the next round, with the unfortunate - or fortunate - side effect of instantly putrefying all food in the room. Thus is too much for Plukus, who loses the L and the contest. Next up, Carnality!

    Jrska: *bouncing up and down* Ooh! Ooh! Pick me!

    Me: How about a song contest? I'll sing the complete Doug Anthony All Stars catalog, and you can assume I win. Necrophilia, bestiality, unbirthing...
    Jrska: *sings excerpts from the relevant songs*
    Cassius' player: Open with World's Best Kisser, for that line...
    Jrska: *sings* I only kissed one girl before, my Grandma, on the kitchen floor, she dribbled and grinned, and said 'hey kid, you taught me things your Grandpa never did'.
    Me: And break it up with some Tom Lehrer, and the Ballad of Eskimo Nell
  Jrska: *sings* Stories of tortures, used by debauchers, lurid, licentious, and vile, make me smile. Novels that pander, to my taste for candour, give me a pleasure sublime, let's face it, I love slime.



But instead of Black Crusade - the Musical, Jrska faces a more ordinary test of her carnal appetites. Her opponent warns her that one one other person has survived her boudoir - Jrska's brother. Jrska gives him a delighted grin and two thumbs up, which he briefly returns. That's the joyful pervert she knows and loves.

    Jrska: Even if I don't survive it'll be worth it.

    GM: We'll draw a discrete curtain over the scene
    Jrska: Boooooooo!



Thanks to her patron's Mark, the pheromone emitters, and sheer awesomeness, Jrska has such a high charisma she can't fail the first seven rounds of the test. Mostly it's swapping tips and discussing her brother.

    Jrska: He makes the cutest noises when you do this.



But they do become increasingly extreme and strenuous.

    Jrska OOC: Lucky for me I'm female and therefore multiply orgasmic.

    GM: The courtiers listen with increasingly interested and appalled expressions, but all you see are the contestants' heads sticking out from between the curtains, when they request more supplies.
    Jrska: Bring me another penguin, this one's busted!



It all climaxes with Jrska's scream of triumph, and her challenger being helped to a chair and fanned down. The chamber itself, somewhat resembling the hotel room from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, is briefly considered as a museum piece to educate future generations, before they remove the entire chamber as is and dispatch it towards the heart of the Vortex so it can be closer to Slaanesh.

Jrska takes the time to change into something black and slinky for the next challenge - trading insults. Alas, her first plan of attack - getting her opponent to agree that Slaanesh is the youngest of the Chaos Gods, then demolishing that premise on the grounds that living things, even plants, have evolved insanely extravagant displays just for a chance to f*** since before there was even any intelligent life in the Universe - backfires when her opponent agrees. After that it rapidly degenerates into comments about Jrska's vaguely canine appearance, and then to criticism of each other's sexual habits.

    Jrska: If you think I spend all my time on my back, you need an education in doggy-style

    Jrska: I must compliment you on your understanding of Slaanesh. It shows an insight so concentrated, so pure... that one might almost mistake you for a virgin.
    Opponent: Being open to all experience does not require me to open my legs for anybody. One can find favour with the Prince of Pleasure by exploring a single aspect in all detail-
    Jrska: Oh,you're admitting you're monogamous then?

Jrska: I really have to restore my costume collection - sexy nurse, Imperial commissar, that sort of thing.
Cassius OOC: Don't forget Librarian.
Jrska: There's also Gothic Lolita but my brother was always better at that. Anyway, don't be concerned if you see me wearing a Commissar's cap and longcoat, and nothing else, and chasing Aladar down the corridors with a whip.
Cog: Now I'm picturing you in a mitre
Jrska: 'Pope of No Hope'

Fun in the fiefdom of Prince Pseudanor. Fun for Pseudanor's sister Jrska, anyway. For some reason her 'Master' Cassius is unimpressed by superhuman levels of debauchery.

Jrska: I'll be dancing the Masochism Tango across the dance floor. Some people do this with a rose between their teeth. I go straight for the Electric Eel.
Cog: I bet.
Jrska: And wait til you see where I put it later.

Cassius's player: Cassius' Pride is Foresight. And it's justified.
Me: So is mine - Beauty. And Jrska is GORGEOUS

Jrska OOC: I'm just waiting for you all align yourselves to one or another of the Chaos gods, so I can use the Seduction rules to lure you away again.

There's still two of the Trials to undertake, too - Vainglory and Indolence. One suggestion we make is combining the two - order several hundred of our mutant crew into Pseudanor's hunting preserve, and harry something almost to death, then step in and claim the kill.

Cassius: 'We're too lazy to do two tests for Pride and Indolence - let's do it in one. '

Of course, it's more likely the creature will hunt them, and then gorge itself into a food coma, but that makes for an easy kill too. But Pseudanor doubts it would be a good test of Indolence - true Sloth involves pursuing a pleasure right to the edge of oblivion, and then not taking that last easy step.

Jrska: Planking.

A difficult challenge for any true champion of Slaanesh, that's for sure. Either way, our host has an amusing idea for the test of Vainglory. Rold and a courtier will battle against a certain 'guest' currently in the custody of his Noise Marine allies. These wildly mutated marines are currently down in one of the tunnels, to limit the property damage.

Jrska: Well, you can't have them in the main hall - they'd wreck the fixtures. Like that lovely chandelier.
Cassius OOC: Especially after all those games of Horseshoes, throwing slaves onto it and seeing how many would stick.
Jrska: And all the other party games. You should see the Piñata. Well, sort of a piñata. And Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Except we don't have a donkey. Or a tail. We've got Interrogator Crane and a soldering iron.

Thus the entire court - and the heavily secured mystery target - strolls across to one of the neighbouring asteroids that Pseudanor has set up as a hunting park. He had the bridge paved with the living skin of Imperial citizens.

Jrska: Don't mind me, just admiring the tattoos.

Jrska claims a couch and hookah on one of the hovering viewing platforns, and sets herself up to be pleasantly stoned with hand-hermaphrodites sucking her toes.

Jrska: Have fun boys, Mama's going to relax right here

Rold and his opponent - both armed with swords - take up their positions opposite the crate.

Jrska: Notice how he hasn't even asked what he's up against yet? Cute butt, but the other end isn't much to speak of.

The occupant of the crate is revealed as a Loyalist Space Marine Dreadnought. Of Cassius' former Chapter, the Storm Crows. He is not pleased, to put it mildly.

Jrska: This should be fun.
Cassius: *Dragging Jrska up to face level, by the throat* This is a TRAVESTY.
Jrska: *going carefully limp* Perhaps you should advise your servant to take the Dreadnought alive, my Lord?
Cassius: .... As usual, your counsel is good, mutant.

Cassius: I have advice for you - don't die. I.E, don't kill him, or I'm going to kill you.

Jrska manages to get the entire court on Rold's side in the ensuing battle, with the swordsman attempting to duck under the Dreadnought's arms and climb up its front to attack it weak points.

Jrska: Rold, Rold, he's our man, if he can't do it, no-one can!
Cassius: Rold, Rold, he's our man, if he can't do it, GREAT!

GM: The Dreadnought can't actually see much at the moment
ME: I'm not surprised - it has Rold's codpiece across its face. I can just picture the machine spirit display 'TYRANID INFESTATION - CORRECTION, PUBIC LICE.'

Cassius' fury rapidly becomes disgust, since his battle-brother should have made short work of a mere two swordsmen. As it turns out, the dreadnought was playing for time, and uses it's remaining ammo to shoot out the hover-platform's anti-grav. It, and we, pancake spectacularly, and the Dreadnought shrugs off the wreckage and prepares to finish us all off.

Dreadnought: NOW IT IS MY TURN

Jrska: Time to double team with my brother
All: ...
Cassius: ... Not touching it.

Jrska hurries to borrow Cog's weaponry - she and Pseudanor survived the crash with catlike grace, but everybody else has been seriously wounded. The various courtiers lie around enjoying the exquisite agony of multiple compound fractures.

Jrska: I'll step on the faces of any courtiers en route - they won't mind.

Cog: It's an ammo glutton - you won't get many shots off.
Aladar: We won't need many.
Cog: Spoken like a dead man.

Cassius, flying overhead with his new wings, reluctantly decides he's going to have to disable the cyborg himself, and does so with a spectacular attack from above.

Cassius: .... Fuck it.
Jrska: I'm sure there are Slaaneshi champions that have tried to.

The trial of Vainglory aborted, Rold's opponent takes the opportunity to stab him in the kidneys. Apparently Jrska's jeering stung his pride. Being cut in half by Rold probably stings too. Rold claims the other's Flensing Blade for his growing collection of swords.

Jrska: Get many more and you weld them into a throne. A pointy, pointy throne

Pseudanor: I give you this warning, sister. You may have failed in the test of Vainglory, but should you succeed in the final test, I will be forced to consider you a threat to my reputation and dominance. I give you this offer - strike me down, and prove yourself worthy to be my replacement. Or leave now, without facing the final test. Your associates are placing you in deadly danger, and I must ask - How far are you prepared to go?
Jrska: *gives a little laugh* After all the things you and I have done, brother? You should know by now - I will stop at nothing. *steps closer* But I am the only person in the entire Vortex that will be genuinely pleased to see you excel. *kisses Pseudanor deeply, in a full body embrace with grinding hips, then turns to the others* Lord Cassius? We must go.

Of course, by doing this she just passed the Test of Indolence without even meaning to.

Jrska: Hey, remember that time someone said the brain was the ultimate sex organ, and I got you that electric drill for your birthday?

Aladar: I was expecting you to kiss him, then stab him
Jrska: I love my brother. I have stabbed him before, but it was just foreplay.

Jrska manages to persuade the Noise Marines to relinquish their guest in Cassius' custody, with a promise of the video and a carefully phrased argument and a certain ambivalence about which Storm Crow she's talking about.

Jrska: Surely Our Lady of Perpetual Indulgence would approve of our bringing one of the Corpse-god's servants into the fold? And imagine the marine's exquisite agony of seeing one of his brethren brought low.
Cassius OOC: It's cute how Jrska thinks Cassius doesn't see exactly she's doing.

Heading back to the docking bay, picking our way through the piles of unconscious and expired party-goers, and the various bodily fluids dripping off the walls and ceiling.

Jrska : This was a fun weekend. Nice and relaxing

Cassius doesn't bother 'picking his way' and deliberately tramples over anybody in his path.

Jrska: You really should be doing that in stilettos
Cog: Now I'm picturing you in power armour with heels.
Cassius: You haven't met the Adepta Sororitas

But Slaanesh's Lonely Hearts Club Warband continues to face some major obstacles, despite acquiring that accountant, and the group now having a phenomenally high approval rating among the pirates of the Ragged Helix. For one thing, they still desperately need more crew. Also, supplies, cargo lighters, and weapons for the ship. Jrska suggests a world they can raid, where the locals are not only loyal to the Emperor, but are armed only with rocks and sharpened rebar.

Aladar: We'd be gods.
Cog: They're not that stupid.
Jrska: Yes they are. They really are.

The world in Mammon, where the entire post-apocalyptic population is divided into two factions. One faction thinks that they are the true servants of the God-Emperor of Man, and that the other side are Chaos-worshipping scum worthy of total extermination. The other side thinks exactly the same thing. Naturally, the entire Vortex thinks this is endlessly hilarious, and occasionally supply one side or the other with an old laspistol, or even deamon weapons, then sit back and enjoy the fun.

Cog negotiates the services of the Chains of Judgement's Reclaimatorium, converting the pirates' assorted human debris into servitors, in return for food for the mutant crew.

Cassius: No more cannibalism
Jrska: Unless they want to.

Cassius' player starts comparing the make-up of the party to a certain popular animation. Jrska is insulted that she isn't considered the Element of Generosity

Cassius' player: *sings* My little cultist, my little cultist

Jrska: I'll have you know my brother and I never had any problem sharing our toys. Speaking of which... Aladar, sweety, could you come here a minute?
Aladar: *sigh* Coming, Mistress.
Jrska: Why don't you get your mistress a new wardrobe?
Cassius: Or more crew
Jrska: True. I can always skin them for the leather later.

Aladar, however, screws up the order - Jrska has no interest in Imperial fashions.

Jrska: Excuse me a moment. Ignore any noses you might hear coming from my stateroom. *drags Aladar off by his ear*
Rold: You should get those cut off, you keep getting dragged around by them.

Me: *staring at something on the fence*
Aladar's player: What is it?
Me: Just a bit of fluff caught in a spiderweb. And you're Jrska's bit of fluff