What's new

The MacLeod Approach

Thaumantica

Administrator
Staff member
Joined
Aug 16, 2007
Messages
7,011
Location
Grasstown ND
Capital
Caitekurke
Nick
Nilshanks
Three Years Earlier
From Whitefox to Eisgarten

On the other side of one night in Whitefox Penal Colony’s boreal embrace Sherry and her group of five met another smaller group of four trainees who had run through the same drill the night before. Each nodded at them and offered their chairs, rushing to pour them a cup of coffee and push a warm bowl of oatmeal into their timid hands.

“That part is over, thank your kin and ancestors twice!” a young handsome man offered them, “Next is Eisgarten I think, to train combatives with Heydendahl PMC!” he declared.

Sherry found the young man attractive, maybe, but she wasn’t exactly sure what anything meant yet still. “What are you?” Sherry asked the young man. Members of his group and hers shuddered, they had been woken up at all hours of the night to the sound of moans and barking hounds with this same question: what are you?

“I’m Theodore Goetzel, my friends here all call me Todd though, who are you?” the young man replied affably. The others there with him all shot Todd nasty looks, they were not his friends. Sheryl-Lynn winced again, this time through a splitting headache that the bright lights in this room did not help at all. “It doesn’t matter who the fuck you are, Todd. Shut up and let us eat!” Sherry sliced.

The next day they were in the sun again, not a warm sun, but true liberating natural light. Eisgarten’s volcanic mountains and icecaps loomed in the periphery as the small group of trainees marched to their next task. Captain Reeves was there again, marching them along in revolutionary war cadence, the Sylvanian revolution of course.

“Mark time march, group halt, left face” Reeves rattled off, “Now what the hell did Engellachians contribute to the Sylvanian Revolution that the mixblood blockhead Sylvanians couldn’t do themselves?”

“Captain, Wilbur Rydell hired my ancestors the Freikorps Ostmarkische Grenadiers who tipped the scales, Captain Reeves!” Theodore Goetzle chirped.

“Shut the fuck up Todd,” Reeves reprimanded, “Sure the Ostmarkians took this volcanic shithole that only trendy tourists and wannabe Ostmarkians enjoy, but no Todd, it was the Running Rifle Militia employed by General Skip Valance!”

Sherry held back a smirk, she knew what this was, and learning it would be another physical and mental nightmare. Skip’s Militia didn’t just run to the battle for miles on end, they would then dive into the dirt and aim, then fire their shot. It was actually a joke for the entire war Sherry’s Cussian step father had told her several times, yet Skips odd style of sprinting, diving, then cracking off a shot on target actually matured when rifles began to repeat reliably.

For the next week Sherry and the other repeated this sprint, dive, and shoot on target drill over until their bruises were bruised. They practiced with grenades and were tackled hard into the mud each time before the explosion just because the safety officers enjoyed the ritual. And best of all they gained confidence with these tools of violence as if they were hammers and nails.


Easter Sunday, 3:00am
The Bungalow
Chinde, Port Stanley

Sherry turned from the window, sprinted to the bed, and dove on top of William MacLeod. “Will we have to go, this is our, this is your chance!”

The young lady dragged the young man out of bed and fed garments at him like a machine gun. “Hurry hurry, Will!” she sang to him, glad she stopped herself from calling him a robot. In a few moments they were sliding down stairs and Sherry had her finger in her mouth to whistle for the party of nine to stop.

“Y’all got room for two more?” Sherry shouted as they caught up, “William of Clan MacLeod can lend a hand, and a sidekick, to your cause!”

Realizing that these were meaningless statements she simply put her hands on her hips and said: “I won the Ironsights Yammasaw Grand Prix in Beautancus last year, that’s a three day march, swim, shoot race. We’re coming with you!”
 

Azraq

Super Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Aug 25, 2018
Messages
583
Capital
Nkalamenga
Nick
Norse
Skies over Azraq

As the landscape below him slowly changed from the dense green of jungle to the arid yellow of scrubland then desert, all Dalmar could think of was Countless MacLeod - and what would life away would mean with her.

From the sands of Kollam to the rainforests of Port Stanley, what had started as an awkward attempt into escaping the internecine politics of Azraqi nobility had grown into a whirlwind - or more perhaps appropriate given the time of year - typhoon romance. The Spice Islands did not have the same restrictions on alcohol as mainland Azraq, as wine, beer and of course Gunnish whiskey flowed freely. In the warmth of a beach sunset, they may have even enjoyed a sly smoke of hashish or sip of opium tea to wind the night down. In truth Dalmar could not fully remember, all he could think of was her.

Unlike upper born Dawamali women, who had their necks gradually stretched, noses curved, eyes narrowed and limbs lengthened all since birth, just so they wouldn't look like 'other' Himyaris, the Countess was all natural.

Her supple curves contrasted to the stick thin frames of many Azraqi ladyfolk, the dumpy fleshiness of typical female Nethians and the almost boyish bodies of Toyouan whores who wandered the streets of Jugol. It was even better than those the Renaissance paintings his father had stowed away gathering dust, collectibles collected for the sake of collecting.

Reclining into his chair as the private jet began its descent, Dalmar decided, whether here in Azraq or over "there" in Gunnland, he would have that Countess as his own.
 
Last edited:

Gunnland

FTR
Joined
Nov 1, 2006
Messages
2,035
Location
Virginia, USA
Capital
Windhaven, Gunnland
Monday morning
RLI Forward Operating Base
near Filabusi, Loago

They drove through the night, stopping only to refuel the humvees from jerry cans. Jude MacReddin drove the first, rotating with the fat prosecutor Smith and the two other 15AR men, in case there was trouble. Will squeezed in with them, but there was no room for Sherry, and even without her Padraig Smith made no small number of jokes that God did not make him to sit three-to-a-backseat. So he rode shotgun and never drove, and the other four large men grumbled about being squished. Smith slept with a smile on his face that protruded from a gigantic mound of military surplus blankets. "I am an excellent manhunter, you know," he was telling Will before falling asleep. It seemed like the other men had heard this shtick. "When Queen Julian went some summers ago, do you think they sent these spooks to the gritty backstreets of Trivodnia and the MacLeish's Eiffellandian pleasure-palaces? No, young man, they send big ol' Smith for the big ol' jobs."

They were six in the second humvee, but the Gunn was the only large man. Joachas sat in the front and was pleased when Udomo consented to allow him to drive, so that Kate could get some sleep. Robert sat in the back, with Robin and Sherry to either side. He looked at the "Cussian" woman oddly. First an eavesdropper, now an adventurer. Maybe more than she seems. But if she were really someone's agent, she wouldn't be so eager to jump into a convoy full of the 15AR's best men, would she? Sherry caught him looking at her. He just winked. Robin was telling stories across him, to Sherry, of the aforementioned Eiffellandian pleasure-palaces of Duncan MacLeish, who in fact had purchased and renovated the palatial Chinde bungalow they had departed the morning before for his lover, Queen Deoiridh. The stories explained, in so many words, why she was so protective of young Joachas ("His mother was a monster") and eager to rescue Adelaide. She was accustomed to the ways of psychopaths. Robin was now explaining the mechanics of the human fish tank that the MacLeish kept her in. "...wearing this breathing mask, and sometimes just that, attached to a pressurized tank by a long hose that he could pull back and forth..." Robert remembered kicking through the ruins of that aquarium with Smith. But mostly he remembered Adelaide driving the Borschel 986 convertible down the Eiffellandian Autobahnen, the wind in her hair... I hope she is still alive.

The trucks squealed to a halt, and the tired travelers snapped on kevlar helmets. The horizontal red-yellow-green tricolor identified their destination as a Port Stanley military base, from the looks of it a hastily refitted Burukova compound. Sherry opened the door to the blinding Himyari sun, revealing an older man in fatigues with his arms clasped behind his back.

"Mr. Gunn, welcome back to Himyar, I was expecting you."
"Colonel." Robert nodded curtly and forced a smile. "We need a capable guide to take us to Cornelius Ndjoba."
Callum Marlow raised his eyebrows. Smith was making a big to-do, panting and wheezing, squeezing himself out of the other humvee, a too-small green helmet stuck on his massive head. "And we'll be needing another humvee too."


Smith and Gunn are remembering this episode:
 

Thaumantica

Administrator
Staff member
Joined
Aug 16, 2007
Messages
7,011
Location
Grasstown ND
Capital
Caitekurke
Nick
Nilshanks
What a blessed life Sheryl-Lynn had lead since returning from Loago. William was engaged in forging the next Germanic Tiburan Empire, and she was wrapping up a degree at Marian University. In her spare time she was attending Gunnish Catholic Mass and participating in young ladies groups, sparing them her connections with the MacLeod's and berthing even wider from her experience in Loago.

And as best as she tried to forget about the Thaumantic Civil Service, the Service did indeed remember her. She was walking home from class one day, Mastery of Marpesian Dialects, when a chillingly familiar accent chirped in her ear. "Take a seat over their, 'hun", this was an Engellachian man, "Bloody bastard," Sherry couldn't help but shout, before being pushed into a park bench roughly. She fought to stand up, but he had pressed his fist into her forehead and she failed to regain a center of balance. "Fine, fine, what the fuck do you want you shit?" Sherry spat.

"Oh Lady Rydell, how you've gone astray. Did the Dark Continent make a Dark Age Catholic out of you?" the Engellachian man, dressed in blue suit and red tie sneered, but after a few moments of staring at her his offense lowered into a sympathetic half smile. "Listen Sherry, we think you've lost perspective. The Engellexians & Cussians do not care to exploit your contact, and if you've seen what we are up to at home . . Well, it's about extinguishing those dumpster fires."

Sheryl-Lynn shook her head, "How do you people find a way to fuck up everything, year in and year out, two centuries of failing to reach what my Great Great Grandfather accomplished?".

"Back on track, eh?" the man said with a snicker.

"Oh a pox on you, sir, fuck you truly!" Sherry yapped. "I'm not leaving unless your Sauerkraut boss extracts me with a gun, and I'm doing it my way until I lose interest, okay?"

The Engellachian man stood up, tipped his hat, then strolled off towards a pub to mix in and disappear in to Gunnland. Sheryl-Lynn crossed her arms, sighed, and slunk into the park bench. "I'm not doing enough, am I?" she asked aloud, in the Engellachian accent he had left her with.

Hurried pedestrians were passing now, on about their daily business, and she began to consider her future in Gunnland - perhaps the Tiburan Empire of the Barbarians. 'You need a job or a baby, darling' she thought to herself instead of saying aloud. Later today, if she could reach him, she would suggest her application to be a secretary for the 'Imperial Diplomatic Corps'.
 
Last edited:

Gunnland

FTR
Joined
Nov 1, 2006
Messages
2,035
Location
Virginia, USA
Capital
Windhaven, Gunnland
Undulating amber light in two snifters. Ardmar 10, redolent with the peat bogs of the Isles where Keiths still cut turf. One glass raised by the corpulent attorney, "To the MacLeod, and to empire!" the other glass by skinny-necked chatterbox who was hero of the hour. William MacLeod had been the deciding vote for empire.

"Sherry deserves the credit," Will was saying breathlessly to Padraig, "She discovered the precedent for our Arundel Parliament to send an interim MT to the Thingstead." Then he grew pensive. "To be honest with you, I'm surprised how glad she is to be back in Windhaven..."

Padraig Smith leaned back in the great leather chair behind his imposing mahogany desk, which gave Will the mental image of someone trying to catch a basketball in a baseball glove. The fat man sighed deeply. I suppose now isn't the time, he thought. His swollen hands held a fat file labeled RYDELL, SHERYL-LYNN "I am a robot," he remembered. Was she trained to undergo that torture? That had been the first clue for the 15AR.

Will was still talking. "...I am going to ask her to marry me."

Better than your sister's match, Padraig thought, but again remained silent. It had been a long day. The vote in the Thing. And, even more of a headache for the enquêteur, news that a spotting of Don MacLeish had been confirmed in Ayr. The Donald. Bribed his way out of a Pelasgian jail sometime during the civil war. Smith would have some late nights ahead of him, or it would only be a matter of days before Chief Mark "MacLeish" -- in fact as much a Buchanan man as Smith was -- would be lying face down in Ayr harbor like Alejandro Pelagio.
 

Thaumantica

Administrator
Staff member
Joined
Aug 16, 2007
Messages
7,011
Location
Grasstown ND
Capital
Caitekurke
Nick
Nilshanks
Sherry pulled Will in for a kiss, her head pounding and body dripping with sweat, she felt that he was about to cum so she held on to him with all of her might to keep him inside. She laid then there for awhile until he rolled over beside her, then tucking her legs and hips in toward her body to keep what he left within.

‘Say goodbye to vodka cocktails and Cussian cigarettes . .’ Sheryl-Lynn reminded herself as she re checked the mental math of her feminine cycle, dictating the tempo of the Tiburan Catholic rhythm method to the advantage of creating life. This was her operation, not the Engellachians, Cussians, Gunn’s, or Thaumanticans, and damn it it felt right!

Sherry fished for and found William MacLeod’s hand through the sheets and squeezed hard, “I want to marry you and have your children,” she declared in forward bluster, “I do not need the titles or the media attention your sister gets, all I want is you and what we can create together as man and wife!”.
 

Gunnland

FTR
Joined
Nov 1, 2006
Messages
2,035
Location
Virginia, USA
Capital
Windhaven, Gunnland
During the next thirty minutes two hundred and fifty million MacLeod spermatozoa swam their flagella off up, up, up the canal of the vaginal cault. The gametes became 'hypermotile' when fibrinolysin from the prostate gland dissolved their alkaline clot, like multi-stage rockets reaching a secondary launch through the cervix and into the uterus. Only one in fourteen million would reach the fallopian tubes. And only one would become...

Will rolled over and thought he would have to be married before his sister.
 
Top