The Promotion, by LostInSpace

[Rathustra]

The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Trooper, what's this I hear about your contract being turned back?"

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "Heard correct."

The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Get the fuck to the mess hall. You and everyone who went with you."

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "Understood."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Copper is thinking at us, wants us in the compound right now."

The lean, amber-eyed female rises from the ground, and clambers to her feet.

The lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Aye alright."

You say to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Up you get, and fall in."

The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Let me rephrase that, in case I wasn't clear, you and every Bynner who was with you."

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "We're coming now."

The lean, amber-eyed female winces as she rolls her shoulder.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Pretty sure I'm about to get chewed the fuck out."

The lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Probably."

You think:
     "About to fucking suck."

The Mess Hall [W]

The coal-black haired portly man is standing here.
The tribal-tattooed, dusky man is standing here.
The toned, ash-haired woman is standing here.
The husky, pudgy-cheeked woman is here, picking away at some stew.
The rugged, sandy-haired manservant is here, sweeping the floor slowly.
The buxom, brown-haired maidservant stirs a large, bubbling stewpot here.
The lean, amber-eyed female has arrived from the west.
The broad-shouldered, roughshod man has arrived from the west.
A war beetle has arrived from the west.

With a raspy chuckle, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Feck Lieutenant...c'mon.."

The toned, ash-haired woman eyes a war beetle.

You exclaim to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Don't bring the fucking bug in here!"

You stop leading the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man quickly salutes the toned, ash-haired woman.

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head tilts to the side, his gaze flickering over you.

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes.

You notice: The lean, amber-eyed female looks at the toned, ash-haired woman.

You notice: The lean, amber-eyed female looks at the tribal-tattooed, dusky man.

Rolling her neck this way and that, speaking to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, the toned, ash-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
     "You see the one what looks like his mother beat him a bit too hard?"

The shaggy-haired, grungy man salutes the tribal-tattooed, dusky man as well.

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes the tribal-tattooed, dusky man and the toned, ash-haired woman firmly.

The coal-black haired portly man finds a place against the wall, trying to remain inconspicuous.

Turning a brief glance for the group, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Which one tha' be Lieutenant? They all look feckin' soft.."

You think:
     "Not really sure what's fucking happening..."

Calling over to the newly arrived unit, the toned, ash-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
     "Which one of you was the soft motherfucker that caused us to lose coin today?"

In an aside, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "There's always one soft link."

With a slow shake of his head, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Should o' jest let us take it Lieutenant. Ya' feckin' know we would o' got th' job done."

The coal-black haired portly man looks about hesitantly, a bit puzzled.

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man spits at your feet!

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You cost me food today ya fuck!"

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "I was in charge Lieutenant, responsibility is on my shoulders."

Reaching out to give his shoulder a good punch, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "Knock it off, sergeant."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Ya caused me fuckin' a turn wit somethin' wet too!"

Stepping forward, the lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Was me Lieutenant, Couldnt kill em fast enough."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head offers a submissive dip towards the toned, ash-haired woman, before taking a step back.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad-shouldered, roughshod man with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man:
     "You better get to the fucking mess quick as you can, Lieutenant Copper wants us all here, I left you be because you were krath struck."

Quietly, lifting a hand, the coal-black haired portly man says, in sirihish:
     "I don't know what happened, because I wasn't there, part of it likely belongs to me."

Chewing at the corner of her mouth as she looks between the lean, amber-eyed female and you, the toned, ash-haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "So you two were the twits that cost me money. Prapti, step forwards."

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man has arrived from the west, glancing over his shoulder as he jogs, wincing.
A war beetle has arrived from the west.

Scowling, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man says to a war beetle, in sirihish:
     "You . . stop f. . . ."

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man hisses at a war beetle, flailing his hands.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man steps forward, gaze straight ahead.

Turning and trudging on out, a war beetle walks west.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man blinks, glancing to you.

You think:
     "Taking my patch?"

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man snaps to attention, rendering a careful salute to the toned, ash-haired woman.

You notice: The broad-shouldered, roughshod man's face makes a bit of a wince as he moves to the rigid poise.

(The shaggy-haired, grungy man's lips tug downward briefly as his eyes dart to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.)


Glancing over, the toned, ash-haired woman asks the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "Sergeant, I'm tempted to just take his sleeves right here and kick him to the street. He can go rot back in whatever rat-hole he came out if. Do you think we can salvage this idiot?"

You think:
     "He needs to be with Bones, not fucking here."

Turning his attention back to you, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yea? Maybe one more go?"

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "This tha first contract he dropped?"

The lean, amber-eyed female remains near motionless as she stand rigidly.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man stills stares straight ahead, at attention.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man bites into his lower lip, staying mostly still and certainly silent.

With a huff, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "By my count, I believe it is. Tell you what, I don't have one lick of a need for another trooper, but I'll give him a second chance."

You think:
     "Worse things than losing my rank, could be fucking dead."

Holding out a hand, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Prapti, your sleeves and your patch."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head dips a brief nod towards the toned, ash-haired woman.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man nods, reaching up.

You stop using your pair of one-striped studded sleeves.

You stop using your dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch.

You give your dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch to the toned, ash-haired woman.

Folding them gently, you give your pair of one-striped studded sleeves to the toned, ash-haired woman.

With a slow shake of his head, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Shame. His unit be better fer it, yea?"

The toned, ash-haired woman stuffs the patch and sleeves into a massive pocket inside her hooded, black military aba, then reaches into a second, similar pocket.

(The shaggy-haired, grungy man's eyes follow the toned, ash-haired woman's hand.)

Tossing a package over to you, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Put these on."

The toned, ash-haired woman gives you her pair of two-striped studded sleeves.

The toned, ash-haired woman gives you her gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.

The coal-black haired portly man flits his eyes up, expression hopeful, but concerned.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man looks down at your pair of two-striped studded sleeves in confusion.

The coal-black haired portly man suddenly splits into a grin.

A grin slowly crawls across the tribal-tattooed, dusky man's face, as he watches you.

The lean, amber-eyed female widens her eyes briefly, then regains composure and returns to being rigid.

Thumbs running over the two knots, you exclaim to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Yes Lieutenant!"

Tugging them on, you fit your pair of two-striped studded sleeves onto your arms.

Slapping it into place, you reach up and place your gortok-stitched, deep blue patch on your left shoulder.

The coal-black haired portly man taps a salute to you.

Folding her arms over her chest, working her jaw back and forth for a few moments, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "My fucking Dusky Gortoks sergeant got herself killed on some spike-pit or something a month back. I need a new sergeant, and you owe me for this..."

The lithe, tall elven woman salutes you, fist to aba-clad chest.

The toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "...Contract you lost."

With a firm nod, you say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Understood Lieutenant, whatever you need."

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes you.

Grains of dust fall from the tribal-tattooed, dusky man's shoulders, as he offers a sharp salute towards you.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man holds his pose, right eye twitching.

The coal-black haired portly man slowly wipes the grin from his face, his eyes betraying worry.

You think:
     "Dusky fucking Toks."

Taking a look around the mess hall, frowning for a moment, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Now, we're going to go have a nice long talk about how you're going to be doing your job, sergeant. But first and foremost, I think you've got your first order to make."

The toned, ash-haired woman lets here eyes linger on the broad-shouldered, roughshod man for a moment.

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Was just about to say."

You say to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Runner, get to fucking Bones."

You say to the coal-black haired portly man, in sirihish:
     "And you help him."

Gasping it out, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man says, in sirihish:
     "Yes, Sergeant."

The coal-black haired portly man taps a salute, then nods firmly, attempting to assist the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man cranes his body to the right, limping off hastily.

Limping along, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man walks west.

The toned, ash-haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "Anyone else who needs patching up, go see to it. Sergeants, come along."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man scratches at the side of his face, as he follows after the toned, ash-haired woman.

You say to the lean, amber-eyed female, in sirihish:
     "And if you need it, go fucking see Bones."

The lean, amber-eyed female says to you, in sirihish:
     "Its nothing Sargeant.

You sling a bone-bladed gythka staff across your back.

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "All sorted Lieutenant."

The toned, ash-haired woman turns away from the group, heading out of the mess hall.

[MeTekillot]

staff should close the byn

[Veselka]

Staff should close MeTekillot.

Fun log!

[Cind]

This was cool.

I remember Lt. Copper. She doesn't take no nonsense.

[PriestlySiren]

Lieutenant Copper's still there. She's a sorcerer, like Vennant.

[roobee]

I'm confused, why did someone get promoted for losing a contract?

[Barsook]

I'm confused, why did someone get promoted for losing a contract?

Yeah. I need the context.

[Eluin]

Well, my guess is that them being in a position where they owe the lieutenant both for losing the contract and for the promotion isn't so bad for the lieutenant I'd imagine. Reasons to be loyal and not get uppity.

Plus they didn't try and make excuses, just admitted it. And this is just a short scene, we don't really know what happened before or after, so more context'd probably help explain things more.

[Potaje]

Lieutenant Copper's still there. She's a sorcerer, like Vennant.

Seceretly ever npc is a vampire, thats why they never age and never stay dead.. noone ever stakes them through the heart, or burns them to dust. Thats my theory.