NSWRPF Archive D U N E - Chronicles of the Imperium

GM approved.

Name: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Height: 5'8
Skin Color: Light tan
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Dark
Homeworld: Lankiveil, (Birthplace) Geidi Prime (Resides)
Allegiances and Alignments: Harkonnen
Profession: Royal heir
Rank: Na-Baron
Weapons: Various different poisons. Two gladiator knives, a long blade, and a short blade. The short blade has a poison tip.
Possessions: Fine clothing, personal shield, slaves.
Languages: Galach
Skills, Talents and Special Training: Hand to hand Combat training. Special Baron training from his uncle
Appearance: Feyd is handsome, muscular and lean.
Biography: Feyd-Rautha was born on Lankiviel to Abulurd and Emmi Harkonnen. Feyd was named after his maternal grandfather, Rautha Rabban. The infant Feyd was taken by his uncle Vladimir Harkonnen to be his heir. Fayd grows up in his uncles house, learning politics, and how to fight. Later on he would figure heavily in the Barons plans to gain power for house Harkonnen.

 

OOC: Even though the description is obviously based on the book, I can't help but think that I'll only picture Sting when I read your posts

 

OOC: Indeed, that moment when Sting comes walking out of the steam shower wearing only a black "hawk" codpiece in the movie was enough for me to consider swtiching teams

 

OOC:
[image=http://www.magickrituals.com/sting.jpg]
Yyyyyyy M C A!

 

OOC: I just wanted to post a set-up, and I needed to write a Dune post or I was going to explode. No one?s really tagged, and I?m not expecting responses. A few more CSes are in the wings, and then we?ll get started.

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[blockquote][i]?A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. This every sister of the Bene Gesserit knows.?[/i]
[b] ? from [i]Manual of Muad?Dib[/i] by the Princess Irulan Corrino[/b][/blockquote]

[b][color=purple]IC: Reverend Mother Gauis Helen Mohiam, Bene Gesserit Chapterhouse Library, Wallach IX[/color][/b]

[blockquote]Mother Mohiam inclined her head slightly, her eyes now protected from the harsh noonday sun by the parasol held in place by a pink-cheeked young acolyte with a blue ribbon in her hair. Just minutes ago, there had been an eclipse; the Guild Heighleiner that now loomed low in the sky had reverted from foldspace directly in the path of Wallach IX?s sun, plunging the dayside of the world into darkness. The representatives aboard hastily apologized from orbit before dispatching the shuttle carrying their delegates and moving the massive cylinder out of the way.

Mohiam scowled at the huge black ship. The fish in their tanks were prescient; they didn?t make mistakes. She was not surprised by their behavior, however: the Guild and the Sisterhood did not always get along, and it was a singularly masculine gesture for them to flex their muscles whenever they could. The unfathomably large phalluses the Guild travelled in were comic, in this context. She chuckled to herself. The acolytes, ignorant but eager to please, chuckled as well.

[hr]

All were met at a long table on the Chapterhouse?s veranda. It had not taken long for the Guild delegate to dispense with pleasantries. Soon, he was discussing the same vagaries mentioned in their recent overtures and correspondence with the Bene Gesserit. The Navigators, it seemed, were getting restless. They could sense ?problems on the horizon? and were ?worried about the future.? They appeared to want the Bene Gesserit to address the problem, or to at least be aware of it. The Sisterhood, uncertain what the fish were prattling about and unwilling to commit to a partnership, had abstained from direct action.

?Why,? Mohiam began to ask, her voice wheezing and twanging like an untuned baliset, ?have the fish sent a representative here to tell us this? We?ve received your letters and listened to your overtures. What is different, now??

The delegate, a skittish little man with the characteristic dead eyes ? no doubt wearing contact lenses to mask his spice addiction ? of a Guild employee, twiddled his fingers over the table. He had not touched the hors d?ouvres. Mohiam, on the other hand, coolly slid a morsel past her lips. The Guild representative spoke. ?It appears,? he said, carefully measuring his words, ?that we have run into something of a problem. Evidence has appeared that a Harkonnen freighter, the [i]Inkvine,[/i] was not vaporized or lost in space.?

?Why should it have been??

?It was involved in the overthrow of the Atreides on Arrakis. ? The Guild representative was hiding something, and Mohiam, with her Truthsaying abilities, was able to tell it was of utmost importance. The loss of Lady Jessica on Arrakis was a terrible blow to the Sisterhood?s breeding program. And yet, it was always a possibility that she was not lost at all?

?And it was presumed lost?? Mohiam asked.

?We lost all contact with it, but debris has shown up on the black market, and distress satellites usually launched if a ship is disabled in space were uncovered in the desert without any sign of reentry damage.?

?And this is of concern a year later because???

?Because the ship contains priceless information.?

?What sort of information??

The Guild representative shuffled, and continued as if he hadn?t heard the Reverend Mother?s question. ?We sense trouble on the horizon,? was all he said in reply.

?Why can?t your Navigators use their presc

 

OOC: ::

I couldn't resist. First round of updates.

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[b][color=purple]IC: Ibnir Falut, Harkonnen Spice Refinery, deep desert, Arrakis[/color][/b]

[blockquote]They?d changed their tactics, finally. [i]Good,[/i] Ibnir thought grimly, his once hearty laugh reduced to a wheeze. Precious water trickled from the bullet wound in his chest. It mattered little. He would not leave this place alive. God had not willed it. The Harkonnen soldiers had uncovered his explosives and disabled them. They had radioed for reinforcements. It would be dishonorable to fail in this mission, and so it would need to be accomplished one way or another.

It did not matter that his tools had been lost and destroyed. God would provide the way.

Ibnir struggled to his feet as yet another pair of guards passed his position. He coughed up blood, black from lack of moisture. The guard quickly lifted his communicator to his mouth, speaking in Harkonnen battle language, no doubt informing the forces of the Beast where the Fremen infiltrator was located. Again, no matter. Let them come. Ibnir was an agent of a higher power, and would fight until his time was up.

He took a deep breath, immersing himself in the weirding, and charged. His crysknife bit deep into one soldier?s arm, clean through the wrist, separating his radio from his body. Spinning quickly, Ibnir chucked his weapon straight into the other guards? face, and he fell, his lasgun clattering to the ground as the other Harkonnen?s water flooded from his stump. A quick punch to the throat closed the dismembered man?s throat. Showing mercy, Ibnir stooped, retrieved his weapon, and then snuffed out the handless Harkonnen?s life.

The exertion caused more blood to pump from Ibnir?s wound. He felt the life leaving his body and attempted to stop the blood flow to the wound as he?d been taught. He stumbled. The world went black.

[i]No![/i] His work was not finished. He willed himself awake in time to see ten Harkonnen guards in their blue regalia running down the hallway, blades drawn and shields up. Their shields would not protect them from the tooth of Shai-hulud.

And then Ibnir found himself staring towards the floor. He muttered a prayer and bent low to retrieve the lasgun that had fallen to the ground. When he tried to stand again, his strength failed him. It took him three tries to successfully grasp the lasgun, his hands only paying lip service to his brain?s commands. He finally lifted it, though it felt heavy as a planet. By the time the Harkonnen soldiers noticed what the Fremen in the hallway was doing, it was too late for them to do anything, though at least two scrambled to deactivate their shields, their attempts to reach their shield belts thwarted by their own instinctive, quick movements.

Ibnir spoke softly. ?Muad?Dib.? And then he pulled the trigger, watching in his last instant as the brilliant red light of the lasgun beam reached eagerly, dooming the Harkonnen dogs and delivering Ibnir to Paradise.[/blockquote]

[b]TAG: TheManInBlack

[color=blue]IC: Thufir Hawat, outside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Corinth City, Kaitain[/color][/b]

[blockquote]The special, annual convening of the Landsraad had just adjourned. A largely ceremonial event, the yearly synod served to bring large groups of nobles to Kaitain to see and be seen, to make grand proclamations and financial contributions to the Imperium, and to show off their riches. Real concerns were very often raised, but they were not the main attraction and were better served by being voiced at the smaller High Council meetings. Duke Leto had detested such pageantry, but accepted it as politic, and as a necessity. The good Duke had been a practical man. A good man.

He was also a dead man, and with him lay dead any hopes of decency in the Imperium.

Thufir Hawat felt his hand begin to shake and his knees go weak. The residual poison planted in his body by the twisted house mentat Piter DeVries, the poison that now bonded him to Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, was taking

 

IC: Harad "Amad Tasguen" Ginaz
Outside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Corinth City, Kaitian

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[i]?See him over there?? Aloysius asked, holding out his flask for his apprentice to take. ?That?s the na-Baron Harkonnen. Sixteen years of nasty wrapped up into one pretty little boy.?[/i]

"Amad" took the flask from his master, chancing a quick glance at its contents. It was empty, of course, which implied that he was supposed to simply hold the flask until one of the numerous servants came to take the glass. The entirety of the event was quite the spectacle, to put it mildly, and the young Swordmaster-in-training recalled similar events, if a bit hazily, from his youth. Back when he had been Harad Ginaz.

Back when his family had been alive.

He did not dwell on these thoughts, however. A fighter's role was in the present, where he could best serve his leader. That was the one lesson even Aloysius had not needed to teach the young man. His master was something of a rowdy fellow, and he could have used a good deal of tutelage in manners, but he was essentially the only family Amad Tasguen had, and the youth looked up to him with admittedly mixed emotions.

He followed his master's gaze over to the na-Baron. Feyd... something or other, if his memory served. He was an attractive youth, which was all the more surprising considering his relations, and he had a lean powerfulness about him that suggested a fellow hardened through fighting. Amad contemplated what it would be like to fight such a man. It was an entertaining if dangerous prospect. On the one hand he seemed an apt fighter. On the other, he seemed the type to not play fair, the kind of fellow who would only too kindly poison you. Amad made a mental note to watch the na-Baron carefully for the duration of the encounter.

While these assessments whirled through the young man's mind, he invariably noticed his master take a spit at the floor. Whether this was a product of bad habit, a foul opinion of the Harkonnen, or a little of both, Amad could only guess. He suspected it was the last one.

[i]?I hear he?s having a birthday ball tonight, Feyd is,? Aloysius continued, chuckling, ?Maybe we should crash it.?[/i]

Amad allowed himself a smirk at the suggestion. Same old Master. "The idea does sound entertaining," the apprentice replied, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible, "But somehow I don't think the good Baron would take kindly to such a display on our part." He was of course referring to Baron Wallach, but the accidental duplicity of the statement was not lost on the lad.

[i]?Are the preparations in order for our departure??[/i]

[i]Speak of the Devil[/i], Amad thought, as an all too familiar voice came from behind the two swordmasters. He turned, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the Baron Wallach.

[i]?Yes, m?lord. I suppose we?ll be heading back then? I don?t know if Amad here?s seen enough of the capital,?[/i] Aloysius replied, clearly waiting for the youth's reply.

Amad weighed his response carefully before finally deciding to simply respond truthfully. "If my Lord Baron wishes to leave, I am of course willing to leave," he began, bowing his head in a gesture of deferment, "Although I admit I am slightly curious to observe the na-Baron Harkonnen's fighting techniques." It was all sincere, and the fact that Amad had a reputation as an avid student of fighting styles helped to reinforce his reasoning for staying. He of course did not need to mention that he had seen this city before, twelve years ago.

[b]TAG:[/b] BobaMatt

[b]OOC:[/b] The situation name-wise is a little funky with Harad/Amad, so I think what I'll be doing henceforth is putting the full name, with alias in quotes, in the IC line, and then simply refer to him as Amad in the actual text.

 

IC: Count Rabban
Arrakeen Palace

If Rabban wasn?t so angry over his men?s incompetence, even he would have felt bad about the man?s fate. Glossu didn?t have to go that far with the worm?and it would take at least a week until the blood could be cleaned from his office. Two men carried out what little remained of the Lieutenants body, after Rabban?s latest tantrum, at frightening pace. Rabban was many things, stupid, mean-spirited, and short tempered. Combine that with his large powerful, agile frame, and skill in unarmed combat?it usually meant death for those who displeased him in any fashion. Those who survived where the unlucky ones, as Rabban usually sent them to a Slave pit in Gedi Prime, where the tortures of a Harkonnen dungeon on Arrkias would seem like a paradise.

Rabban scurried down the gold platted halls as beautiful women in black robes, Bulky (though not as bulky as Rabban himself) guards, and court mentants flocked to him, like prophet of old ready to help them ascend to the long awaited heavens.

?Tell my Dear uncle that first off all this wasn?t my fault. I doubled security at the damned place, AND THEY WHERE HIS MEN. Second tell my Dear Uncle, that I require an extra battalion of Harkonnen soilders to replace the ones I lost, third request to my Dear Uncle that I need additional funds and men here to ensure the security of other Harkonnen faculties, and finally request to my Uncle that I receive 5 additional battalions of Harkonnen soldiers?this is proof, definite proof that we need to eliminate the damned Fremen from this planet.? The Beast spat. A court Mentant, nodded and moved quickly out of his way, already planning to tell the Baron?s answer through a subordinate. The Baron would likely only fufill the first request, as he far from believed the desert people known as the Fremen could have pulled this off, he would simply dismiss to smugglers and chastise the Count for his supposed stupidity.

Things had been going surprisingly well too, it had been a month since he had to report anything other than the usual equipment losses due to storms and other naturally occurring disasters on this little backwater world. Rabban rubbed his brow, as he exited the Palace entrance and store out the vast expanse of city, and the infinitely vaster desert behind it. Even though this was a hellish place, seeing it always seemed to calm him. For what seemed like an hour to him he just continued to stare out appreciating the Harkonnen?s profane adjustments to Atredies decoration and sculptors that where erected during the short time they ruled here. Built to give an air of grandiose and noble aristocracy towards them, they now showed the power of the Harkonnen fist. His eyes gazed to a large mural of a slimmer more muscular Baron crushing the skull of Duke Leto, who lay prone brusied, bloody, and crying?looking utterly broken, with the heel of the Baron?s left foot, while cracking a large wolf like smile. A similar picture showed Rabban towering over tall over the sobbing and groveling Paul, Jesscia Atredies, and recently added at his request, Gureny Halleck. Their where already, three small statues of the man altered showing the Count vanishing the foe in combat to having to flee like a dog with his tail between his legs, but this one somehow always brightened his mood. As did the Large painting of Feyd and him ordering Jesscia?s and Paul?s death. Of course that hadn?t really been the case, not that it mattered if it was really the desert death ordered by the Baron or Sadukar that killed him, it proved he could have killed the Atrides scum?wait.

A rare moment of insight entered Rabban?s head. Although he would have to do it subtly, as to avoid the Baron?s annoying scrutiny, but he could call on those forces again if he had too. Ferling and the Sadukar never felt right about leaving the Akkais after learning about the Fremen. Too much of a wild card in the Imperium. Too much of a skilled wildcard at the very least. They like Rabban, wanted to set up a cleansing program that would r

 

Denayade' Tus
Sietch Ma?kkah, Arrakis


Denayade' was just freed from her latest task from the Reverend Mother, and she was taking a break, eating a bit as she had missed her earlier meal. So far, her training had been quite intense. So many who worked for the Sayyadina here, it was almost intimidating. But it was powerful as well, just being at the Sietch Ma'kkah was nothing short of a blessing to her. Denayade' sat, along an outcropping of rock, with a small view outside, when she saw a light go up.

A flare? That would mean visitors. The Sietch had many visitors from time to time. Perhaps the visitor would have news from the outlying areas. Curiosity now had a hold of her. She was not do back for her other duties for a few hours. Perhaps she could at least get a glimpse of the newcomer.

Swallowing down the last of her meal, Denayade' moved towards the area they would most likely bring in a new visitor. She stayed hidden behind the rocks, so that she could hear when this new visitor arrived.


TAG: Saint, GM


OOC:HEHE..I found an online map of Dune world..so I found where our Sietch is located. WOO HOO!

 

OOC: The rest of the first round...

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[b][color=purple]IC: Milo Brogg, Spacing Guild heighliner [i]Fealty,[/i] above Kaitain[/color][/b]

[blockquote]Milo stared into the yawning mouth of the fine porcelain jar, dangling the lid over the floor, held loosely in his fingers. It was half filled with a nearly iridescent blue, flaky powder that smelled strongly of cinammon. The Guild delegate lowered the fingers of his left hand into the jar and extracted a pinch to add to his steaming mug, resisting the urge to dig his whole fist into the stuff, coming up again with a heaping handful and to cram into his mouth. After replacing the lid with a clatter, he dropped in the blue substance, took up a spoon, and stirred his coffee with a compensatory civility.

His sipped the coffee and felt the heat fill him and course through his veins. It was restorative. He had long become used to the cold of space, and the energy spent keeping the compartments aboard the heighliner comfortable helped much in the way of making things livable, but when exhaustion set in or he was forced to be idle, he began to feel worn. He yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes. His eyes were fatigued. He paced towards the toilet and flicked on the light, placed the mug down on the vanity table and, after wetting his forefinger with water from the tap, reached up to his eyes and removed one of his contact lenses. He took a moment to regard his face ? one eye seemingly normal and human, the other deep blue within blue ? but rather than amuse him, the sight disturbed him. He quickly removed his other lens and blinked the soreness away, then washed his face and recovered his mug.

It had been two weeks since the visit to Wallach IX, whereupon Milo had spoken to the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam as, meanwhile, halfway across the planet, the major players of House Wallach were loading their ships and then loading those ships into the vast hold of the [i]Fealty.[/i] House Wallach was not the first House retinue loaded into the ship, and it would be a full week before the last one was, seven days of hopscotching across the Imperium and bringing the representatives of Major Houses to the great Landsraad synod. From his couch, Milo stared out the window at the hold of the ship. In the distance, freighters and yachts had their lights on. In starliner closer by ? emblazoned with the crest of House Ordos ? there was a lively party visible through the viewports. The Landsraad stood on the brink, and yet there had been a week of ignorant pageantry going on below on Kaitain and even within the holds of the [i]Fealty[/i] and three other heighliners in low orbit. And amidst it all there was the unknowable alienness of the Navigators. Milo reflected that, though he had spoken to more than one on many an occassion, he had never once seen a Navigator. What were they thinking? What were they doing? Did they care? He sipped his coffee once more in a deep draught. His ravening for spice was often brought on by uncertainty.

Milo didn?t like Heinweir Stalas much, but he understood the man?s skill and necessity. As one of the few Guild mentats aboard the ship not attending to the ship?s systems, he made Milo feel a bit uncomfortable. He?d never run a background check on Stalas, but he wouldn?t be surprised if the Guild had gotten him from Tleilax. Never had he met such an eccentric one. Above all, though, it was that he didn?t partake of the spice as the rest of the Guild did that put Milo off. There seemed to be a haughtiness to his abstinence. Stalas? continence made Milo twitch.

It was then that the door chimed and, from his seat, Milo made it slide open, admitting the man to his current quarters.[/blockquote]

[b]TAG: JediMarine

[color=green]IC: Juan Szorsky, Arrakeen, Arrakis[/color][/b]

[blockquote]Juan wrested the heel of his hand on his pistol. He wasn?t afraid, per se, but cautious. There were Harkonnen about, and other unsavory types. It was said the savage people of the desert sometimes made their way into the city to drink

 

OOC:
[image=http://pages.eidosnet.co.uk/jon4a/main/images/guildspace.jpg]
Edric wishes you Americans a Happy Thanksgiving!

 

OOC: BobaMatt: I've got to say the quality of your writing, especially on the Fremen side of things, has exceeded my expectations. Well done. *hums Brian Eno's "Prophecy Theme" from David Lynch's movie...*

IC: Sammel the Naib, within Sietch Ma'kkah, Arrakis

They'd sent word to him because of the visitor's place of water: Sietch Tabr.

He had not surged or bounded from his seat (that would have been a considerable waste of water, even in-sietch where the windtraps and frictionless walling captured every drop of his sweat) but had simply risen from his chair, setting aside the spice coffee he had been enjoying the last of, and moved towards the entrance. Khalain, the bearer of word from the sentries, he told to bring the visitor to the small entrance chamber which lay directly before the entrance to the sietch. The chamber which had frictionless walling and a concealed windtrap ... but also quick-opening slots from within the sietch large enough for maula pistols to be put through and the chamber filled with projectiles.

Though he was too Fremen to assume anything, the chances were good this was no assassin. No, this visitor was to be handled carefully, as carefully as an Old Man of the desert, because of his place of water. A place where a heresy seemed to be evolving. Sammel set the thought aside, heading for the entrance to the sietch.

He was garbed in the usual in-sietch clothing he chose: a beige robe with no sleeves and gathered in at the waist with a sash, his crysknife at the front, as it always was. At a junction of two tunnels Khalain reported in that the visitor, Faraz Talian, had been brought into the chamber, and that the Sayyadina Denayade' Tus had moved in to some of the holes-in-rocks to listen to the exchange.
Marvellous. This heresy had the ear of half the Sayyadina already, and there was every chance this visitor would speak more of it. No matter; if he chose to speak words against the teachings of Pardot Kynes, this Faraz Talian would give his water to this sietch a moment later.

Sammel reached the wall separating the sietch passages from the entrance chamber, and spoke through a small slot in one of the rocks. "You are Faraz Talian, a stranger to this sietch. You come bearing gifts. Though you are a stranger, the gift is the blessing of the giver. What blessings do you bring, and what words do you bring with this blessing?"

TAG: BobaMatt, Ktala

OOC: Will get to the Wallach encounter soon.

 

IC: Nydia Wallach

Corinth City, Kaitain

This was boring.

Nydia's smile was perfectly in place and gave nothing away, but she was bored nonetheless.

With any other companions, she would be able to make her excuses and get away - but she was being fawned over by none other than the Princess Irulan and the Lady Fenring, both of whom, like her, had been trained by the Bene Gesserit and would recognise her excuses for what they were. In fact, Nydia suspected her facade had already cracked; Lady Fenring's eyes were starting to glimmer with subtle amusement.

"This is your first visit to Kaitain, is it not?" Irulan was saying. "You must be sure to visit the Hassik III Center for the Performing Arts. There's nothing like it anywhere in Imperial Space..."

Why had Father insisted she come along? He had plenty of heirs; he had older, more eligible daughters to parade around. Duke Jonas had been adamant on introducing his youngest to the Imperial court, and had described Kaitain's splendour in such detail that in the end Nydia had agreed, intrigued - but upon arrival she had been immediately accosted Irulan and Margot Fenring. And was rapidly discovering that diplomacy was much more interesting in theory than in practice.

It was a fencing match; delicate, subtle, and played with words rather than swords, but a fencing match it remained - one in which the combatants were stuck circling one another, waiting for a chink in an opponent's defences, before doing ... absolutely nothing. Endlessly.
She envied her siblings at the embassy, performing real duties for House Wallach.

"I've heard of its beauty," Nydia said now, feigning interest. "And the plays performed there are the best."
"Of course," Margot Fenring said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Nothing but the most renowned troupes are allowed to perform here; the Emperor deserves nothing less, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course," Nydia echoed.
Irulan smiled too. "If you've an interest in the arts, perhaps we could arrange ..."

When was the celebration starting?

TAG: Matt, darthramza, etc

 

OOC: Saint: Awwww thanks! Creative writing major, here...plus, it's posters like yourself that set such a high standard. I can't have great writers contributing to the RP only to write half-assed updates for them. P.S. Don't forget about Baron Harkonnen...

Great updates everyone. Something about Lady Fenring preening over a young Nydia Wallach while an oblivious Irulan looks on...fantastic.

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[b][color=red]OOC:[/color][/b] In case no one?s caught on to my Sinrebirth style color code: [color=green]Green is Wallach,[/color] [color=blue]Blue is Harkonnen,[/color] [color=purple]Purple is non-Landsraad factions.[/color]

[b][color=purple]IC: Faraz Talian, within Sietch Ma?kkah, Arrakis[/color][/b]

[blockquote]Faraz could not help but measure up his escort as he was led to the naib?s chamber. They were Fremen, and so were tough, but they were not Fedaykin, and what?s more they were not followers of the Mahdi and so were not favored by God. It was then that an echo in the caverns reminded Faraz of where he was; Sietch Ma?kkah was a place of djinns and spirits, where even God?s favor might not be enough. He would be better served by not underestimating these warriors.

The naib was not a large man, but he had the bearing and strength of one. Hell, of two or three large men. His body was taut with caution; Ma?kkah was not the only Sietch with a reputation. "You are Faraz Talian, a stranger to this sietch,? the naib began, ?You come bearing gifts. Though you are a stranger, the gift is the blessing of the giver. What blessings do you bring, and what words do you bring with this blessing?"

Faraz bowed low and removed the mouth filter from his face. ?Thank you for your gracious welcome, Naib Sammel. It is true that gifts are the blessing of the giver, and Sietch Tabr has been very blessed of late. As such, I bring you these,? reaching into his robe, Faraz produced three jingling chains, ?Water rings, from the coffers of my Sietch. We wish to share the fruits of our windtraps with all of Dune. I also bring these,? another pocket of his robe contained small, fibrous balls, ?seeds for palm trees, seeds for grass. The dream of Kynes is alive and well.?

?What words?? Faraz stood erect again, a gift in each hand, ?I bring you the good will of Muad?Dib, and his wish that your Sietch join with ours and the many others working together to resist the Harkonnen dogs. We have heard tales of your warriors? prowess.?[/blockquote]

[b]TAG: Saintheart, Ktala

[color=green]IC: Aloysius Brenner, outside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Kaitain[/color][/b]

[blockquote]The Baron nodded gravely, and spoke. ?Perhaps it would be better to return to the embassy and return to Wallach IX by the end of the night. Kaitain is a cesspool, this time each year, of treachery and pageantry.

?Amad,? he said, turning to the young man, ?collect the Lady Nydia.? He clapped the swordmaster apprentice on the shoulder, and made sure to adjust the young man?s livery. Thufir Hawat, the former Atreides mentat, must be sure to recognize the symbols of House Wallach.[/blockquote]

[b]TAG: darthramza[/b]

 

OOC: I must say two things...greatly excited, and APPROVED!

Name: Count Hasimir Fenring

Gender: Male

Age: mid forties

Height: 5' 10"

Skin Color: Lightly tanned skin

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black

Homeworld: Kaitain

Allegiances and Alignments: The Imperium, spec. Shaddam IV

Profession: Counsel to the Emperor, former Siridar-Absentia of Arrakis, Governor of Arrakis during Atreides/Harkonnen handover, as well as a man capable of doing Shaddam's dirty work. Currently siridar-absentia of Caladan following the Atreides/Harkonnen handover.

Rank: Count

Weapons: Any bladed weapon, poisons, and hidden dart launchers.

Possessions: Fenring has a vast personal fortune which he makes use of to accomplish his missions.

Languages: Galach, secret "humming" language.

Skills, Talents and Special Training: Fenring has trained himself to be a master assassin. He is also a failed Kwisatz Haderach (at least a generation too early), resulting in his status as a genetic eunuch. However, this flaw comes with a gift - Fenring is built perfectly for work as an assassin. He has also received some training in the Bene Gesserit way (observation of minutiae, certain combat techniques and a basic knowledge of the Breeding Program).

Appearance: Dapper man, described as "weasel-like". His eyes are large and dark, and his hair grays at the temples. Fenring seems physically frail, a deceptive appearance. His mannerisms (odd humming and unpredictable body language) have a tendency to make others uneasy.

Biography: Perhaps Shaddam IV's only friend, Fenring is a distaff cousin to House Corrino, having been raised alongside the young Shaddam as well as being instrumental in the then-Crown Prince's rise to the throne. Fenring is, for the most part, loyal to Shaddam, respecting their past history and providing the "dirty work" for many of Shaddam's unsavoury plots. He is not, however, a sycophant, and lays his own plans within Shaddam's. Fenring has overseen spice production on Arrakis, accompanied by his wife, the Bene Gesserit Margot Fenring. Fenring's allegiances are unclear; he remains in Shaddam's pay, but seems to have had minor involvement in the fall of House Atreides.

 

Scroll delivered to Count Hasimir Fenring in his hotel quarters in Arrakeen, sealed with the Harkonnen Griffin:

Dearest Count Fenring,

The Count Glossu Rabban humbly requests that your esteemed sir join him for dinner this evening at six o'clock local time. There are urgent matters he wishes to discuss, and he well knows of your wisdom, and that you have the Padishah's ear. Please be prompt.

Sincerest thanks,

Peter Flannix
Arrakeen Palace Chief of Staff

TAG: Penguinator

 

Count Fenring
The Arrakeen Palace

This was absurd.

The so-called forms of kanly having been "obeyed" to a point, the Duchy of Caladan in his hands, Arrakis under the heel of Rabban, and the Golden Lion Throne occupied by a very insecure man. This was all absurd, and this was why the Count Hasimir Fenring found himself in Arrakeen, away from his wife and the duties of his new fief. Business had brought him here; the business of an Emperor, or rather the business the Emperor wished few people to know about. There were always a few strays here and there that Shaddam needed to deal with, and that meant that Fenring had to deal with them. He felt the stresses of the past few months throbbing against his temple, but resisted the urge to rub it. Don't relax. Not with Rabban.

Rabban! Of all the fools to spend an evening with, Hasimir had to spend this one with him. Ah-h, Margot, my dear...a few more days.

Well, perhaps he could enjoy himself a bit this evening. Perhaps drop a few hints at Rabban being replaced? The Emperor's anger at the reports of rebel activity? That one made him grin slowly in the comfort of the groundcar; his own investigations had given him a wealth of information to use against his enemies, and at this point in time, it seemed the Baron's only concern was as much spice as he could claim for himself.

We'll see about that, though Fenring as the groundcar pulled up in front of the Residency. Five minutes to six, just the right time for arrival. Bulky soldiers and guards rushed to greet him, and advisors flocked about him as he strode to the front doors. Whatever the end result, tonight will surely be an interesting ordeal.

Tag: TheManinBlack, BobaMatt

 

IC: Harad "Amad Tasguen" Ginaz
Outside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Corinth City, Kaitain

---

[i]The Baron nodded gravely, and spoke. ?Perhaps it would be better to return to the embassy and return to Wallach IX by the end of the night. Kaitain is a cesspool, this time each year, of treachery and pageantry."[/i]

Amad had to concede the validity of this argument. Wallach IX was infinitely more preferable to being anywhere near these aristocrats, particularly the Harkonnens. They had a nasty reputation, and the Baron Harkonnen himself... Well, he was far from pleasing to the eyes, to put it as politely as possible. Furthermore, and the possibility had only now occurred to him, it was not inconceivable that someone, somehow, would notice something vaguely familiar about this young swordmaster, especially given the general pool of attendees.

[i]?Amad,? the Baron continued, turning to the young man, ?collect the Lady Nydia.? He clapped the swordmaster apprentice on the shoulder.[/i]

It seemed to Amad as if his uniform had been adjusted in some way during the rather routine procedure. No matter. Baron Wallach ranked in absolute last among people Amad thought capable of betraying his trust, and even if someone did... Amad patted his carrying case of antidotes reassuringly. It would be a dark day if the last son of Ginaz actually went in the same manner his family had.

Cautiously working his way through the crowd (And finally managing to locate a server willing to take his master's empty flask, which Amad had been holding for close to two minutes at this point), Amad was eventually able to reach Lady Nydia, who, it seemed, was discussing the performing arts at length with the Princess Irulan and the Lady Fenring. He waited for a suitable moment to cut in, although he felt a bit apprehensive about pulling her away from a conversation that, as far as Amad could tell, she was clearly interested in. He glanced sidelong at the Baron. Duty called.

"Excuse me, Princess Irulan, Lady Fenring, my Lady Nydia," he interrupted, giving short bows of recognition to each before eventually facing the latter. "My Lord Baron has requested that I take you to him, my Lady, by your leave."

[b]TAG: Xan, Matt, etc.[/b]

 

IC: Nydia Wallach

Corinth City, Kaitain

Nydia had decided that Irulan had to be winding her up deliberately. The Princess was currently prattling on at length about the current play being performed at the Center and the events it had been inspired by ... while Nydia admired her enthusiasm and the depth of her knowledge, surely one did not generally regale fellow guests with historical details.

"Excuse me," a hesitant voice interrupted. Nydia turned and had never been more relieved to see Amad Tasguen, the Wallach Swordmaster's apprentice and a member of their guard detail. "Princess Irulan, Lady Fenring, my Lady Nydia," he said, giving short bows of recognition to each before eventually facing the latter. "My Lord Baron has requested that I take you to him, my Lady, by your leave."

"Of course," Nydia said, perhaps a bit too brightly. She winced internally and turned back to the other two women, pasting a graciously apologetic smile on her face. "If you will excuse me, Your Highness, Lady Fenring - my father calls -"

The requisite farewells made, Nydia followed Amad away. "What is it?" she asked him curiously as they walked. She appreciated the rescue, but a rescue alone would be rather uncharacteristic of Father - there was a reason for it.

TAG: ramza, Matt

 

IC: Harad "Amad Tasguen" Ginaz
Outside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Corinth City, Kaitain

---

Amad silently thanked his good fortune that the Lady Nydia had been willing to leave almost as quickly as he had arrived. Clearly the Baron had wanted to leave with all due haste, and he had perhaps been a bit too lenient with the timeframe he had provided the Lady. However, had he rushed her there was always the possibility that she would have been extremely agitated with the young apprentice. He very nearly let out a sigh. It had been over a decade, and he still found that he preferred being on the receiving end of these courtly mannerisms.

[i]"What is it?"[/i] the Lady asked, a hint of curiosity in her tone. Amad did not stop in his path towards her father, but did turn his head to address the Lady in a low whisper.

"My Lord Baron wishes to depart for the embassy, and... home... as quickly as possible, My Lady Nydia," he replied, a slight hesitation preceding the reference to Wallach IX. A small slip, one he was still working on, but in front of a Bene Gesserit like the lady... Amad turned to face the crowd again, his pace unaltered. [i]Hopefully she'll just take it for searching for the proper phrase...[/i] he silently prayed.

"Actually," he continued, hoping to drive the flow of the conversation to something more befitting of his adopted persona, "If I may be so bold, I had hoped to witness the na-Baron Harkonnen in the arena later, but the desires of my Lord Baron are of greater import."

[b]TAG: Xan, Matt, etc.[/b]

 

IC: Heinweir Stalas above Kaitain on the Fealty

Heinweir passed the sycophant "guards" outside Milo's quarters and pressed on purposefully into the room. Heinweir had known from early on that a stride of determination could give him the upper hand in any dealings with guild members...even with his superiors. Something about using "spice" made them very reluctant...not "passive", but not strong willed...perhaps the haze of un-registered prescience made them jumpy and unsure. To Heinweir, why they behaved that way was one formula he didn't wish to solve...as soon as he could understand why they behaved so finicky, he would realize how it could end, and that was something he hope neither he nor his rival could unravel.

He barely gave Milo a second look as he moved to the central multipurpose table in the modest quarters. He examined the generic quality of the room. Like so many on this and every other heighliner, it was angular, pragmatic, and to the point in it's appearance. There was an efficiency to it that made Heinweir proud of his association...and a coldness that made it clear that this would never truly be "home".

He spun on his heel, and glared hard into Milo's blue on blues...the man had nearly clipped him he was following so behind. The sudden turn had made Milo lurch in a moments lapse of poise...genuine fear was expressed in those alien eyes. But in just as quick a flash, the mask of nonchalant malaise returned...the monolith of unfeeling guild culture...and the ego it so eagerly concealed and poorly achieved.

"So what is it now, Milo? I don't like my vacations interrupted."

Vacation would be an understatement. For nearly 7 months, Heinweir had barely heard from his Guild overseers, let alone been on official assignment. He spent as much time as he could stomach on Junction before the monkish peons had grown too monotonous. He skipped world, stowing on a heighliner with a navigator "friend" to Geidi, where he blew through some credits on amusements others might find thrilling or arousing. Heinweir simply calculated and cultivated the contempt he felt for such base and animal pursuits...it was entertainment unto itself.

From there, he caught another "friend's" heighliner to Ecaz...home...or at least as much a home as Heinweir could register...to him, it was the logical place to establish a central place of existence, as he knew it better then most anywhere...he had grown up there, and had very meticulously ingrained every feature of a quarter of the planet to memory. To the most recent day, he could tell if the 14th tree in a grove had made a good harvest or that a rock against the shore had shifted in a tide.

It was while on Ecaz that a messenger from the guild mastery came to summon him to Kaitain. It was an instant change of regard from his "friends" to the "mastery". While Heinweir had long known many of the most senior guild navigators...and as such, all the navigators were acutely aware of him, the protocol of official business was a layer put on when it was important that many eyes see what was to come, and many in the guild hierarchy play their parts to make it so public.

Which was why Heinweir was glaring down at modest Milo Brogg. The man was a poster boy for the guild existence...something which logic could calculate, but reasoning failed to understand. In truth, a conversation Heinweir had many times with the navigators followed such lines...'if the navigators were prescient, and therefore could know who can take the spice and join them, why let the others take it?'...the answer was obvious...but it still made Heinweir look down, with equal parts pity and disgust, on men like Milo...who would attempt to be something they could never be.

It was a moment's pity brought on by the momentary lurch that made Heinweir ease his shoulders and very accurately measure his sternness to a more "extreme interest" in what was going on. Heinweir was very good about how others would gauge him. He was the master of people's imp

 

IC: Count Rabban
Arrakeen Palace


Glossu Rabban, bowed to his esteemed guest, barley concealing the snarl he wanted to show this rat faced man. He certainly wouldn?t have been able to hold it in, if he had known that the nearby guards and servants all laughed in their heads about the oddity of seeing these two in a room together, as it was like animals imitating humans, by walking around in circles while they wore human clothing.
Rabban tried on a friendly smile and offered Count Ferling his hand in mock friendship.
?I had expected our good Emperor to send an esteemed guest, but not one as great as yourself. Please have a seat Ferling, could I get you some Harkonnen Brady, or Caladan Wine, we still have much left over from the departed Atredies.? Rabban said in a slightly honest humble tone.

Rabban still wanted to know if the Baron would finally listen to reason and finally realize the world of Arrkais had a problem, before embarking on this course. Notheless a fist needed to come down on these Freemen parasites, whether that be Imperial or Harkonnen didn?t really matter to Rabban at this point.


Tag: Pen, Saint and Matt

 

Count Hasimir Fenring
Arrakeen Residency

And there he was, "Beast" Rabban, extending a hand towards the count. Fenring made a point of not shaking it, instead looking about the palace he'd once occupied with his wife Margot. "Hm-m-m, I believe water will suffice until dinner, my friend." Let him stew in his own juices for a bit. Fenring was counting on Rabban's short temper letting something slip. He knew the Harkonnens were up to something, but he couldn't fathom what, and it bothered him. Granted, Rabban's cunning uncle was the source of all this, but Fenring didn't like losing ground to a lesser opponent. He reminded himself of what Margot would tell him, that this wasn't a failing on his part but merely a testament to the Baron's cunning. She always knows just what to say, he thought, smiling to himself.

"And how is Arrakis treating you, Glossu? I trust, a-h-h, all is well?" Hasimir looked out a window, gazing at the shield wall. "I lived here for a while, you know. Ah-h yes, at first I thought it a wasteland, worthless except for the spice. But it grows on you, hm-m? There's a strange beauty in the desert, a will to live. At times, I admire its inhabitants." If that doesn't elicit a response, then I am out of practice.

Tag: TheManinBlack, BobaMatt

 

OOC: Delicious work, everybody! Particularly on Fenring's mannerisms, Penguinator. Imagining all that hemming and hawing he does actually makes me squirm in my seat.

Updates coming soon. Saint, we're waiting a bit on the Baron, and The_Loyal_Imperial has said he wanted to wait on you before he posted.

 

IC: Count Rabban
Arrakeen Palace



"And how is Arrakis treating you, Glossu? I trust, a-h-h, all is well?" Hasimir looked out a window, gazing at the shield wall. "I lived here for a while, you know. Ah-h yes, at first I thought it a wasteland, worthless except for the spice. But it grows on you, hm-m? There's a strange beauty in the desert, a will to live. At times, I admire its inhabitants."

Rabban grimaced, trying to hold back a rush of obscenities from leaping off his tongue. The fact he hadn?t tackled Fenring and ripped out his throat already meant Rabban was at the end of his leash. His face was already red, fuming with anger. He was going to be using human targets, for testing out his Slugthrower collection again.

?So, the Emperor?s man admires treason? Admires men, whom the Sardaukar explicitly wanted wiped off this planet. Is that even YOU that much of a?.Forgive me, my appetite causes me to say things I do not mean.? Rabban yelled, before catching himself. This meeting wasn?t something that should allowed to come back to haunt him. He needed Fenring, and would have to play his games. He couldn?t play this one though.

?Are you sure you don?t want a glass of Harkonnen Brandy? Before we eat, I so want to show you how well we have taken care of your Wife?s garden. I?m afraid we haven?t added anything to it.? Glossu said, waving his left subtly, telling his guards and the rest entourage to leave. ?But then again I didn?t want to ruin the vision she had for that place. I never cared for this desert, nor will. Funnily enough, I actually do like many of the other deserts that worlds have to offer. But something about that garden, tells me why I hate this one. All thst priceless and beautiful greenery, can exist only there in this world. Here in this small palace and city is the only place where such things can grow after all. Any where else it would die a slow death, for this is the only place on this planet where water flows. Sure some grasses grow in the wild desert, but what of them? They do not bloom like the roses we treasure so much. They are but isolated clusters in then infinite desert.?

As soon as he saw the guards where gone, he entered the small sitting room the left of the hall, and motioned for Fenring to sit down.

?Some call you the Ambassador to the Smugglers, I bet you have heard that once or twice correct?? Rabban said with a wolfish smile.


TAG: PEN


OOC: Rabban is only about half aware of the symbolism in that little speech of his. Rabban can?t tell you the square of 4, but he sometimes has his moments. And Pen.... on Fenring. He actually acts like the Fenring I imginined when reading the book. A very hard task to do.