05-27-2018, 12:42 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2018, 10:51 AM by Bandit With No Name.)
The lithe eldar swept her cloak around herself, consumed by a sea of red that graduated from crimson on her shoulders to nearly black at her heels. Etched in glistening metallic white runes, the clothing seemed to defy logic; at once it was impossible to make out any individual characters, seeming as though they shifted and pulsed, retreating from your vision, and yet they never moved. A series of deep red oval gemstones studded the bone white shoulder piece that she placed over the cloak, spanning from two long, pointed pauldrons across her collarbones and meeting the similarly colored neck armor.
She glided to a large pack that was propped in the corner of the room, which was covered in a complex skeletal motif. A vertebral column rose of the top, and a large skull was seated beneath it. She hefted it in the air and it merged with the torso piece, hanging it from her back. She pulled from it two straps, which sealed around her waist without a sound, a large rune at its center.
“Man, we got ripped off,” the nameless woman said with a hint of spite.
Caret despondently plucked at her greasy blue denim overalls. “The dumbasses that thought us up couldn’t have even fathomed anything that good looking.”
“Clearly,” the badlands survivor said, uncrossing her arms. “We ready to go? You got your armor in that pack?”
Balanlara gestured to the large thing on her back. “This is my armor. It can be collapsed for easy carrying if I do not wish to make my presence as a combatant known.”
The bandit shook her head. “Fuck, man.”
“Right?” Caret spat, “I bet I wouldn’t even know how to fix it if it got broken.”
Balanlara smiled in that soft, distant but all consuming way she did. Pangs of sorrow, loss, humor, and intimacy were all spoken with the tiniest lift of the corner of her mouth. “Unlikely.” She slid towards the rough, brass handle of her door and took it up in her hand, a strange juxtaposition of perfect elegance and crude utility seeming to grind against anyone who paid too much attention to it. “But let us move on, shall we?”
The woman stood, her bulky steel armor clattering as she did so. “Yeah, I don’t wanna hang out in Imperial territory any longer than I have to. Dudes are absolutely hell bent on throwing me in jail, even if they ain’t got shit on me.”
Caret strolled through the door, her mind still lost in wonder, unable to peel her eyes from Balanlara’s outfit. “Just not fair.”
---
The trio of women marched out into the darkness of the night, the streetlights of Carefore offering dim illumination and deep shadows as they made their way over the clean but under maintained sidewalk.
The bandit’s truck was parked, awkwardly askew, beside several less impressive vehicles a half block away from Balanlara’s lodging by Rick’s Café. The eldar paused in front of the vehicle and looked at it with mild amusement. “Such wondrous, terrible things this universe offers.”
“Hey!” Caret snapped, “That truck is in peak performance! I worked my ass off to keep that thing in service.”
Balanlara gently placed a hand on the mechanic’s shoulder. “I meant only to compliment your work. It recalls memories of the Imperial Guard. A resourceful and terrible opponent of my people.”
“Oh,” Caret stuttered. “Thanks.”
The bandit lugged herself up the side railing and threw open the passenger door. “Ah shit. We don't have any more seats up front. You’ll have to squeeze.”
“Unnecessary,” Balanlara said, swooping up into the bed of the truck, as if by some unseen force. “I will make due in this section of your vehicle.”
“Uh,” the woman called back, still standing on the side step, “my driving can be a bit, uh, aggressive. You’d get thrown out of there in a half mile.”
Two massive spikes thrust out from the bottom of the eldar’s large boots, embedding her in place with the thunder of piercing steel.
“Oh,” the woman replied. “Yeah that’s fine.”
With a slamming of doors, Caret and the nameless woman were alone in the cab. They shared a look, collectively shrugged, and set out towards the tent that had been set up on the edge of town.
She glided to a large pack that was propped in the corner of the room, which was covered in a complex skeletal motif. A vertebral column rose of the top, and a large skull was seated beneath it. She hefted it in the air and it merged with the torso piece, hanging it from her back. She pulled from it two straps, which sealed around her waist without a sound, a large rune at its center.
“Man, we got ripped off,” the nameless woman said with a hint of spite.
Caret despondently plucked at her greasy blue denim overalls. “The dumbasses that thought us up couldn’t have even fathomed anything that good looking.”
“Clearly,” the badlands survivor said, uncrossing her arms. “We ready to go? You got your armor in that pack?”
Balanlara gestured to the large thing on her back. “This is my armor. It can be collapsed for easy carrying if I do not wish to make my presence as a combatant known.”
The bandit shook her head. “Fuck, man.”
“Right?” Caret spat, “I bet I wouldn’t even know how to fix it if it got broken.”
Balanlara smiled in that soft, distant but all consuming way she did. Pangs of sorrow, loss, humor, and intimacy were all spoken with the tiniest lift of the corner of her mouth. “Unlikely.” She slid towards the rough, brass handle of her door and took it up in her hand, a strange juxtaposition of perfect elegance and crude utility seeming to grind against anyone who paid too much attention to it. “But let us move on, shall we?”
The woman stood, her bulky steel armor clattering as she did so. “Yeah, I don’t wanna hang out in Imperial territory any longer than I have to. Dudes are absolutely hell bent on throwing me in jail, even if they ain’t got shit on me.”
Caret strolled through the door, her mind still lost in wonder, unable to peel her eyes from Balanlara’s outfit. “Just not fair.”
---
The trio of women marched out into the darkness of the night, the streetlights of Carefore offering dim illumination and deep shadows as they made their way over the clean but under maintained sidewalk.
The bandit’s truck was parked, awkwardly askew, beside several less impressive vehicles a half block away from Balanlara’s lodging by Rick’s Café. The eldar paused in front of the vehicle and looked at it with mild amusement. “Such wondrous, terrible things this universe offers.”
“Hey!” Caret snapped, “That truck is in peak performance! I worked my ass off to keep that thing in service.”
Balanlara gently placed a hand on the mechanic’s shoulder. “I meant only to compliment your work. It recalls memories of the Imperial Guard. A resourceful and terrible opponent of my people.”
“Oh,” Caret stuttered. “Thanks.”
The bandit lugged herself up the side railing and threw open the passenger door. “Ah shit. We don't have any more seats up front. You’ll have to squeeze.”
“Unnecessary,” Balanlara said, swooping up into the bed of the truck, as if by some unseen force. “I will make due in this section of your vehicle.”
“Uh,” the woman called back, still standing on the side step, “my driving can be a bit, uh, aggressive. You’d get thrown out of there in a half mile.”
Two massive spikes thrust out from the bottom of the eldar’s large boots, embedding her in place with the thunder of piercing steel.
“Oh,” the woman replied. “Yeah that’s fine.”
With a slamming of doors, Caret and the nameless woman were alone in the cab. They shared a look, collectively shrugged, and set out towards the tent that had been set up on the edge of town.