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[WorkerDrone]

I choked down the cheap watered down engine coolant they call Toph'sec, slamming the cheap glass back on the dirty bar counter. The Barman gave me a weary glance as he busied himself compulsively cleaning an already sparkling clean glass with an old rag. The patrons of the smoke filled bar were few and far between, with only two others at the far side of the bar, minding their own business and swirling fingers through drinks, putting out Foxblood Stiks in ashtrays. I thought I had spotted a washed out spacer in the corner of the bar taking out a bag of powdery blue material, exchanging CredChip numbers with another equally shady character. There were no Security Officers in this town it seemed, but more than a few tough guys floating between the farm buildings in the distance, driving in on Speeder Bikes, giving eachother passing glares. A stranger like me wasn't that much of a care about at all. I pulled up my coat sleeve to glance at my Quine, noticing it was still towards the afternoon. The quiet town was almost empty for the most part, with only a few people loitering at the haphazard Crete Yard they called a dock...

"Hey Mister..." I glanced up at the Barman. "My name is Douglas Regal."



"I don't give'a'fook wha'cha name is be Mister. But you look like a pretty rough'n sorta man. I run a business 'ere and I don' like your types scarin' way me crowd. So if I give cha some leads to the probability of the only 'onest day's work ya ever dun, would you fookin' leave?" The Barman had a really thick accent, one I had trouble understanding, but I mostly got the gist of it.

"What do you suggest?" The Barman chuckled, still wiping the glass down. "There be a few foolish laddies smokin' up trouble and setting up rings 'round the sector, fer some god awful 'Mercenaries' services. Soun's like'a big load of bump to me. But their branched out into strong armin' and protectin' dose Trading Fookers who run the exchange. Either one makes ya pay to get in. But I hear the work is good for a tough sort like yerself. Go and talk to them, or better yet, I saw ya come in on dat piece of junk Tarsus. Why dun cha go visit the Shipyard an' get yerself some decent shooty bits?" I nodded in a fair enough manner. "Alright then laddy. Now get dah fook out of 'ere."

I stood up, brushing my coat down, and checking my holster. Taking my hat off the bar, I put it back on and slowly walked away, flipping a lighter out and open, and lighting a stik. A half cough half call made me stop for a moment and glance back.



"What was yet name again laddy?" I smirked, remembering how he brushed me off earlier on that particular subject. "Regal."

I stepped out the door, or what was half a door, the other half being what seemed to be a pull down plasteel chainfence, blinking as the still bright suns of the planet glared down on me. Though one of them seemed to be sinking.



I opened my coat up, looking at the vest that protected me, a habitual hobby of mine, that being making sure that if someone pulled a gun I at least wouldn't go down before drawing my...I reached down to see if my Semi-Automatic M-47 Laser Pistol was still in my holster, tucked on my chest inside my coat. I pulled it out to check the safety, looking at the power levels, and resetting it to kill. You never knew.



I took a stroll down the street, past the docking grounds, and entered a nice little empty shop. Well mostly empty. A large hologram of a ship filled the space in the middle of the shop, showing off the only actual ship they sold here. You had to be quite rich to afford a brand new ship. Which is why I was still in the junker I call a Tarsus.



I nodded at the shopkeeper, walking over to the Comp-Tec. The computer sat in one corner of the room. I loaded my ships specs from my Quine, and it popped up on the screen, along with shop options for loaders to add on or remove from my ship.



Nothing I could afford. I left the shop and headed back up the street, to follow up on that Barkeep's advice.

The signs above the two buildings before me had a few posters just below them. Both stated that they were looking for clients and members. I looked at the latter posters. They stated simply that membership into either 'guild' the signs marked out, would cost you around (C)5000 Credits. Hard legal Confederate, not Cargo. I didn't have that kind of scratch in my account, but I'd have to remember that they were still looking for members...

My name is Douglas Regal. I'm a Privateer...well sort of...I guess a more accurate description of my career is 'professional drifter'. Or Spacer, seeing as how my home is in my ship, and my ship is more often then not, in space. Whatever others call me, I'm my own man. I do what I need to get by. But sometimes...its just not enough.

What now?

Spoiler: Read this please. (click to show/hide)

Please no > before you start your posts, this isn't a text adventure, this is Choose Your Own Adventure. And yes, there is no room for specific comedic actions, I will ignore you if you ask for silly things, all humor will be spur of the moment, and done by me. There is a preplanned story in mind, along with setting and writing style and character. This is a story for me to write, you are simply telling me WHAT to write. Eventually, it'll still come together into the story I wanted in the first place, because I intend to piece all events together, the only difference is what moral choices you make. The mostly route is probably doing whatever it was you were suppose to in order to stay alive, and get rich quick. Douglas Regal isn't a loose cannon, and I will not write him as such. If you however choose for him to say, rob someone, it'll probably be in a sequence of appropriate events.

Please begin.

[ToonyMan]

SWEET.  I'll say something substantial in a minute.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Now this looks interesting. I can't wait to see where it goes.

[ToonyMan]

ask around for errands to get some dough


EDIT:  Oh do'h, I broke a rule already, > removed.

[WorkerDrone]

Knowing full well there's little point in leaving the planet without getting some sort of work, I decided to ask around, to see if anyone had need of an 'errand boy'. Now I know what you're thinkin'. Errand Boy. Why in any of the nine hells would I be running errands? Now I ain't talkin' no usual errands. Brilliance and Ultimate casings to underfly the Confederates and make a drop on the edge a 'bulletfly', which was most certainly a suicidal man or women taking their bosses dirty work to heart. Hardly a safe living. Though there was a chance at some actual honest work too. You see, since the Aliens started bouncing the outer sectors with raiding forays, and the riffraff started to pile up because of a lax in actual patrols by the Confederates, its a dangerous time to be in. So people have a hard time for actual travel space, rather liking the relative safety a planet or base provides. So getting things like messages and actual packages not filled with weapons or drugs, but, say things like gifts, or maybe a little bit of hard to obtain medical supplies to keep the family back home going. These jobs usually don't pay very well, but their safer then looking for a dogfight.

And with my junker, anything bigger then a scrapper Talon will probably trounce me. But hey. Its a living. Another habitual thing of mine. Checking my Quine constantly, looking at the time. 011.13:25:37. Still more then enough time.

Beginning to ask around and see if there was anything I could do to make a little bit of scratch, I picked up a small mental list of things I could do.

One man wanted me to head to Cheops, Nav Point 2, and send a little message to someone going by the callsign 'Halo'. Now normally, I remember these sorts of messages, and try not to contemplate them, but it seems kind of important, because he offered me near (C)2500 to get it done before 012.019, which was more then a day from now. Enough travel time if there aren't any delays. The only problem is its in a different quadrant all together. But I know the route isn't that dangerous. Might meet one pirate, but I've met them before. But I'd be an awful long way from Central Quadrant. But then I might have something to do around there after all.

Another wanted me to deliver a 'package' to someone named 'Magnus Unger' over at Hoopers Hope at Vortex Prime, which is a Mining Base. I've been there before, it was bigger then most mining bases, and it had more then a few things to do. If I went there, It might immediately lead to another job. You never know about these kinds of things. The only problem with this one, seeing as how it'd be an easy job, is that I'm only getting payed a bit of pocket change for doing a little bit of flying, and keeping my mouth shut. (C)800 isn't much of a payoff at all, and I might not get another job offer. The trip would be over in a few hours though, and I just might get an even better job in half the time it'd take to finish that other offer.

Oh yeah. And that last offer...this guy must have taken a big hit of Ultimate before getting out in the open, because he says he wants me to head all the way out to 'backwater fuck nowhere' Argos, find some kid named Tommy Wells, and inform him of some random shit or another I don't really care about. I could give him the message, and score around (C)2800. But then I'd be stuck in batfuck nowhere.

On my way out, a girl named...Zoe Lemoine...she had an accent on her too, told me that she was offering her services. I thought the other kind too, but it turns out she actually flies an Orion, and tells me she's a pretty crackshot pilot. She says she can get me anywhere I want safely, for a price. 13 Hours of work for her, but I got to pay five large for it. Not that I need her help in the first place, I just don't have that kind of scratch anyway.

What now?

[ToonyMan]

One man wanted me to head to Cheops, Nav Point 2, and send a little message to someone going by the callsign 'Halo'. Now normally, I remember these sorts of messages, and try not to contemplate them, but it seems kind of important, because he offered me near (C)2500 to get it done before 012.019, which was more then a day from now. Enough travel time if there aren't any delays. The only problem is its in a different quadrant all together. But I know the route isn't that dangerous. Might meet one pirate, but I've met them before. But I'd be an awful long way from Central Quadrant. But then I might have something to do around there after all.

This one looks the best.

[Gunner-Chan]

Take the long job, it has the most potential for oddness.

[WorkerDrone]

Alright. Sorry folks. This is now officially on Hiatus.

Something came up to say the least. Don't want to bore you with the details, but let's just say not only does this put this on hold, but anything else that involves righting for the next...oh...six to eight months.

I might dig this out of the dust later, but right now, the only writing I'm doing has to have the words Black Templar, Dead Emperor, Return of living Primarches, and killing Gods.

And unfortunately, its all on a different forum. Which I refuse to link and get poked fun at for. I'll be back here writing in half a year or more. Don't worry.

I still have time to play games. Just not write them. I'll be around.

[ToonyMan]

To the Google!

[zchris13]

Hahaha, Toonyman. You crack me up.

[ToonyMan]

This it?

The Bolter and Chainsword?

[WorkerDrone]

>:|

No I run a forum with a club of other losers trying to finish a 40K project that should have died six times already but hasn't.

Also.

ITS BACK ON! Don't ask. Let's just say...I deleted over 50'000 words worth of notes off my hard drive for no reason. Oh how I'm so vain. Update probably tonight, when I get around to playing again.

[Gunner-Chan]

[ToonyMan]

 

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Hoorah!