Dervish

Mass Effect: Borealis

<Snipped quote by Rtron>

I'll confiscate Pad Deux.

@DearTrickster

Oh, but I was using that for my fine art collection.

Sigh.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

When the Elkman Pokes a Mountain: A collab between Dervish and Hank

When Brynn turned his attention to Faruq, probably to try and edge some yarn of a tale out of him, Cedric was left to his devices, measuring who was capable of at least letting their hair down and relaxing, so to speak. Cyrendil had gone to speak with a man who appeared to be overly relieved at having a member of the Vigilant yammering on about something, Gaela and Kiralla seemed to be getting on rather chummily, and then there was the mountain of apple-hued muscle that seemed to only have two expressions: scorn and smug arrogance.

Clearly, this was an orc that needed to be prodded. After all, there had to be something that made the shirtless wonder tick. Perhaps he was fond of theater, or catching sheep with his bare hands and eating it on the spot? Cedric was curious about what buttons could be pushed, and what exactly motivated a clearly horrible individual to wake up and continue on the next day without going on a rampage. He probably kicked puppies for fun, the monster.

Lifting his tankard from the pitted and stained table and his bow, which was leaning against his chair, the Reachman wandered to the quadrant of the table where Maulakanth sat seething, or something. It was hard to get a read on the guy. Noticing that there was a wide berth afforded to Maulakanth, Cedric did the reasonable thing and pulled up a chair, chummily close and sat down with a well-practiced air of carelessness. "So, you never said if it was yer mother or father who was the giant." he said with a cheeky grin. "Also, don't eat and drink our entire budget in one sitting, I know the temptation must be there."

The orc looked up from his own mug of ale and returned Cedric's shit-eating grin with an unreadable expression. Maulakanth hadn't expected any of the small men to attempt conversation with him, and Cedric's audacity surprised him a little. It was also confusing -- what did the Reachman hope to gain by making jokes at Maulakanth's expense? Getting his face smashed in? Maulakanth frowned and shrugged. "They both were, if we measure them by your race's standards," he said. "What do you want, hill-troll? I'm trying to enjoy my drink in peace. Your face is going to put me off my appetite."

"Well, the way I see it, we're going to be spending several long days in one another's company, and I've always wanted to meet a honest-to-Akatosh mountain troll. I imagine you have to eat half of yer weight a day just to sustain yourself." Cedric said with a shrug. "So I don't imagine the likes of me is going to put you off your food binging, lest you feel the need to eat a tree or two on our way to Camlorn. How did you end up in our charming company, anyway? Count Fookface got jealous that you have better posture than him?"

Maulakanth grunted, downed his mug of ale in one go and slapped his hand on the wooden tabletop with a loud thud -- this was his way of ordering a refill. One of the extremely wary barmaids approached with a pitcher of ale and gingerly poured the tankard full. "Careful who you call a troll. As for the Count -- of course he was jealous." Maulakanth spread his arms wide, displaying his rippling, enormous torso, and chuckled. "Who wouldn't be? Either way, I was in his employ as an enforcer. Milk-drinker had the gall to disagree with me all the time. Stubborn little creature. He told me our contract was severed and I punched him in the face." Maulakanth took another huge swig of ale and belched in an unapologetic manner. "What about you? Did you fuck one of the Count's goats? And I don't mean his daughters."

Cedric drank slowly, pacing himself, as he listened to Maulakanth boast, finding amusement in the decision to punch the vulture faced bastard in the face. For reasons to get incarcerated for, that certainly ranked highly in Cedric's approval list. He raised his tankard in mock salute. "Green ain't my kind of complexion, but you're one up on the rest of us for getting our licks in on the Count. Shame he had to lose his head so soon, but you strike me as a man who has a hard time keeping a job, unfair to say?" Cedric asked, smiling behind his tankard. "You mean his daughters and goats aren't one in the same? Colour me bloody surprised. But sexual deviancy aside, I was nipped for poaching. Didn't realize our mutual arsehole friend had ownership of all the lands and tried to sell a deer in town. Shame, it was a nice buck, too."

Poaching. What a laughable crime to get thrown into a prison cell for. For one man to think that he owned the nature around him was folly. Maulakanth furrowed his brows at Berich's observation about his employment record. "People are weak and pathetic everywhere. The king of Orsinium had me exiled for trying to expand his territory. He'd rather play nice with the Lords and Kings than fight for what's ours to take. And the Bretons around these parts are just as sad, but they all think they know what's best for them," the Orc said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And they're entitled."

"I'm not a worldly man, and couldn't give a shite about politics, but seems to me when your kingdom's been sacked several times over the years, you shouldn't bite off more than you can chew, lest you choke on the long cock of retribution. Think you could have held the lands you tried to take?" Cedric asked, draining his tankard before reaching for a pitcher. The sweet amber hue of ale tumbled into his tankard, and Cedric's throat still was parched. Drinking again, swirling the grain-made alcohol in his mouth, he swallowed thoughtfully before offering Maulakanth a grin. "But, as it so happens, I quite agree that most of the high folk in these lands are a right bunch of pretentious cunts that don't know an honest day's work. But let's face it, Maul, if people weren't weak and pathetic, think they'd be hiring a man like yerself? They need yer, ah, sunny disposition and ability to crack a man's skull with yer bare hands. Why didn't you just become a sellsword? You can be a bit more picky that way."

Maulakanth stared at Cedric while he talked, waiting for the man to finish, and brought his fist down on the table with the force of a forgemaster's hammer when it was clear that Cedric was done. Wood cracked somewhere beneath the surface of the table and it gave slightly. "You challenge my ability as a warlord, whelp? Of course I could have held those lands. The kingdoms of High Rock are divided and weak and the Redguards were preoccupied with the Dominion threat. I spent two years reorganizing Orsinium's armed forces, filling the leadership echelon with capable Orsimer that knew how to follow orders. I'm the greatest fucking Hand of Mauloch that Tamriel has ever seen, and--"

It was then that the inn collectively turned to look at Fiona teaching an unmannered, hairy Breton a lesson. Interrupted in the middle of his rant, Maulakanth growled in annoyance. "Look at these people," he sneered. "No discipline. This is no way to challenge someone to a duel."

Cedric watched as the meaty hand smashed into the table, and the audible crack was something to be respected. Not many people could make a solid table give out before their bones did. "Easy there, lad. Let's not spend our coin on a new table for this fine establishment, yeah? But begging yer pardon, it's hard to take you at your word for your ability as a warlord holding foreign lands when you couldn't hold yer job."

His attention turned with Maulakanth to the ruckus that turned out being some repugnant drunk making some ill-advised moves on the girls. Cedric worked his jaw and his fingers in and out of a fist as he watched the scene play out, preparing to excuse himself to go teach the idiot some manners. As it turned out, Fiona turned out being his kind of woman as she utterly dominated the drunk and made him turn tail. It was just as likely he'd be back with friends, and that suited Cedric fine. He nodded in agreement with the orc. "Aye, I'm inclined to agree with you there, Mauly. Normally, I'd just go and punch the cockswine upside the head and break a few pieces of furniture in the process." he drank from the tankard again with a laugh. "More fun that way. So, care to wager if the lasses' admirer comes back with some of his goblin pals?"

Cheeky -- that's what Maulakanth decided Cedric was. Real fucking cheeky. It didn't appeal to the orc very much, but he decided against starting another fight in the tavern all the same and buried his bristling pride in the bottom of his tankard. He grunted noncommitally at Cedric and ignored the implied insult.

The idea of the beaten Breton coming back with all his little friends, however, was a nice one. That would be a good excuse to get his hands dirty... but a man beaten by a woman might feel too shamed to return. "Ten Septims says he's off to lick his wounds and doesn't return, Elkman," Maulakanth said while gesturing for a barmaid to refill his tankard again. The ale was finally starting to have a mild effect on the big orc -- after the sixth pint -- and his ever-so-foul mood improved slightly. "As for mercenary work," he continued, referring to an earlier point in their conversation, "I did that too. Wasn't any better. At this point, I've half a mind to set off, carve out a kingdom of my own and kill every knife-eared white-skin that disagrees with me."[/color]

The Reachman grinned, raising his tankard in cheers. "I know I liked you, Mauly. Ten shiny dead Emperors for the chance to punch some cunt, sounds like the deal of the week. And boy, you are an ominous fellow. Just do me a solid, yeah? Let me know when and where you plan on making Orctopia and I will go somewhere else less stab-happy. I'd hate to think you were inconsiderate." he smiled, as the orc had surmised, rather cheekily.

Maulakanth chuckled and then grew instantly serious, leaning across the table and frowning at Cedric. "Well... you're a right cheeky sod, and you think you're too funny for your own good," he said after a few seconds. "Tell you what, Elkman. Keep the sass to a minimum and I will give you fair warning when I bring the wrath of Mauloch down on these soft, pampered runts. That sound fair to you?"

"Aye, can't complain. There's plenty of me to go around, don't you worry your colossal green hide, I'll be on me best behaviour. Maybe." he said with a wink. His meal arrived not long after, an actually alluring smelling stew that was probably best not to think about what went into it. Preparing to settle into his meal, he said, "Ah, here's the distraction I've been looking for. I'm famished. Let's hope our wager doesn't come waddling back towards the lasses while I'm eating."

Satisfied, Maulakanth leaned back with a grunt and surveyed the tavern while Cedric's food arrived. The orc had already eaten and felt pretty satisfied with the amount of consumed ale. "He's all mine if that happens," he said as a reply to Cedric's concern and flashed his tusks in what could only be a grin. "By the way, remind me to teach you how to fight properly one day. That bow won't do you any good up close."

Cedric shifted in his seat somewhat, leaning to the side as he pulled the mace from it's lanyard and placed it on the table by the orc. He returned to the stew in front of him. "I've never had much of a problem in that department. I like when they get nice and close, it breaks up the tedium of cursing when people can't get close enough to bash me fookin' head in. They are less impressed when they find out I can do the same to them. But sure, I'll take a few pointers from a man who clearly gets his jollies in by fookin' stabbing people for a living. I am, after all, a man of learning."

The two continued to chat quietly amongst themselves when the door of the tavern opened once more and a familiar face with a pair of men flanking him walked in the door behind him. They found a table nearby and were doing a terrible job hiding their contempt filled glances. Cedric grinned at Maulakanth. "You're gonna owe me money." he said in a sing-song voice.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

The January rains came down as a cascade, and it was something that kept most people indoors and off of the streets, certainly at this time of night. Perched atop one of the roofs overlooking an unremarkable municipal street lay Shay Alden, concealed beneath a heavy grey wool blanket that broke his silhouette to an indistinct shape that the eye might pass over, mistaking for a part of the structure. The blanket was soaked through at this point, so it hung heavy to his body, but the rain never bothered Shay. Two years on the Western Front had all but acclimatized the Irishman to poor weather. There were periods of the war where he felt he’d never be dry again, and on evenings like tonight, he simply was glad he wasn’t up to his knees in mud in the miles and miles of zig-zagging trenches, wondering when a bullet might find him, or a loosely aimed shell would crash down in his trench and end everything in an instant. However, here in London, he was safe from those who would seek to end his life, but he never let his guard down. A single mistake would compromise him, and that simply would not do.

His reason for being perched atop a building in the driving rain in the midst of winter was a simple one. Two days after Christmas, Shay was seated with Samuel Addley, a fellow Rougher whom Shay was not particularly close with. The man struck Shay as a rather intense lad, his attention to his personal grooming and tense mannerisms gave Shay the impression that Samuel Addley wasn’t unlike a shark; smooth and graceful in his way, but when he unpredictably snapped, there wasn’t much you could do to abate his rage. Still, Shay felt comfortable around the man. Past calling him “Mick” on occasional as a playful rib at his heritage, Sam had never made Shay feel unwelcome, and that night, surrounded by Christmas decorations and patrons who were either eager to get away from their families or had none, Shay knew what Sam was asking him was serious when he actually called him by his real name.

Shay, I need you to keep an eye on my sister. Word is, she’s leaving her flat late at night and I want to know why… and I need a man I can trust to keep her safe.

The words ran through Shay’s mind as clear as when they were uttered through a cloud of Sam’s third cigarette. Shay agreed, and he accepted the payment of a pack of cigarettes and bottle of whisky more as a thank-you gift than payment for spying on Sam’s sister. And so, for a month, Shay had staked Vera’s apartment, night after night, and when she did leave, always just before midnight, Shay followed discretely at a distance, twice even passing her on the street, face downturned, so she would disregard him as a threat, just someone going for a late night stroll, perhaps to the pub or back. After two weeks, he’d discovered her meeting with a man on the same street, where she purchased what looked like some kind of drug from the man. The exchange only lasted a minute or two at most, so it wasn’t as if she were exposed for long. Shay didn’t make assumptions, so he had to know for certain what she was up to.

A week prior, he’d wrapped his war-time Enfield rifle in a thick blanket and walked unmolested down the street, no one sparing him more than a passing glance. Finding a fire escape for one of the taller buildings lining the street, Shay had set up his perch at 2245h, knowing he’d be waiting well over an hour for the woman. However, he wanted to see when the street pusher would arrive, and who else he made deals with, wanting to read their faces. Through the 2.5x magnified sight of his rifle, Shay had a slightly clearer picture of the street below, able to make out faces and better see what they were handing off. When Vera Addley showed up, as predicted, just before midnight, the exchange happened and Shay saw the brown bag that was stuffed into one of Vera’s pockets with haste. It was almost certainly a drug of sorts, but impossible to tell which. He’d have to tell Sam about it, that much was certain.

As it turned out, the rest of the week had been scarce trying to find Sam, and near impossible to find an appropriate moment to talk to the man about Vera. The night before Vera’s next scheduled pick-up, Shay managed to pull Sam to the side before him and a couple of the others managed to run barrels of rum down to the docks.

“Sam, you ought to know that I’ve certainly watched Vera purchase some kind of drug from a street pusher. I couldn’t tell what it is because it was in a bag, but she’s been going to the same man on the same street at the same time each night… I had to make sure. She’s due tomorrow night just before midnight.” Shay had said.

Sam nodded, clearly managing his building anger. “Okay, okay. Not what I wanted to hear, but okay. You do what you were doing, make sure nothing happens to her, and I’ll be waiting for her back at her flat for when she gets back.” He grasped Shay by the shoulders. “You’re a good man, Shay. Good man…” he said, walking off to rejoin the others. Sam swore loudly and kicked a discarded bottle, it shattering against a wall. The others turned to look at Sam, some throwing inquisitive glances at Shay before Sam waved his hand in dismissive irritation. “I’m fucking fine! Let’s get this job done, boys.”

And so, on this rainy evening, Shay set up perch for what he’d assumed would be the last time, watching Vera’s beautiful face through the crosshairs of his optics and the as of yet unidentified street pusher. The transaction went as usual, and Shay began to relax when suddenly, someone called out to her, prompting her to turn and pull out a revolver from her pocket. Shit, she was carrying? His entire body tensed as he moved his crosshairs to the alleyway near where Vera and the dealer were standing. Subconsciously, his thumb pressed the safety lever forward, releasing the trigger block.

Their voices would have normally carried in the night, but the rain drowned out the conversation, but this clearly was not an expected or wanted encounter – the gun on Vera was a testament to that. He watched the man, gauging his intent. The tight grip on his revolver was sign enough that he was here to kill. Shay lined up the post of his sight just under the man’s eye and as he had done dozens of times before, let out a slow exhale that joined a depressed trigger moments later. Shay watched as a ragged red hole of the powerful .303 round punched through the man’s eye and blew apart a brick in the wall behind him, along with bits of bloodied skull and brain tissue. He racked the bolt with a forefinger and thumb, his left eye not leaving the offset scope. Another tried to find shelter, and Shay drove the point home by putting a round through his bicep. The bolt racked. Another went down when Shay’s sight went to his leg, and two seconds later another had a shot through the hip. They were quick, sloppy shots, but the entire exchange of fire only took ten seconds. His magazine still had six rounds, and he searched for the other gang members who would try to harm Vera, who wisely fled. He followed her with his rifle and his teeth gritted when he caught sight of the Paddy wagons rounding the corner, cutting her off. Moments later, Vera was slapped in cuffs and taken out of sight by the constabulary.

“Fuck.” Was all Shay managed to mutter as he gathered his rifle and the soaked blanket and hurried down the fire escape as fast as possible. He had to get to Vera’s apartment and warn Sam as soon as possible, especially before the cops had a warrant for searching her property.

~ ~ ~

Four days later…

Halloway Prison wasn’t unlike every other prison Shay had seen in his life, the same monolithic structure with high barbed wire fences and the same dour guards standing watch. The only thing that made this place different was that it was for the women, and so Shay and Eli Lindsey were confident in relaxing as they waited for Sam to secure Vera’s release. It was unlikely, after all, that they’d run into anyone who might recognize them here.

Both men leaned against the Peugeot, about half way through their cigarettes. “I’m surprised you aren’t sporting a shiner for Vera getting snagged by the coppers.” Eli said, exhaling an acrid cloud between pursed lips. He rarely used his fingers after igniting a cigarette. Shay flicked some ashes free with a thumb and took a drag. “Was bad luck, is all. Sam has a bit of a temper, but he isn’t irrational. Had I not been there, miss Vera would have likely been shot, and there’s not much you can do about coppers showing up. Thank the Lord miss Vera didn’t shoot at the Adders herself, or she’d be in a world more trouble. Ah, here we are.” He said, nodding as the outer gates were opened to let Sam and Vera out. As Sam approached, Shay flicked away his smoke and climbed into the driver’s seat, Eli heading around front to crank the engine.

“Shay, take us to the Tawdry, eh? Vera deserves a drink, and I certainly need one after this.” Sam asked, his voice tense but not unkind. Shay nodded.

“Of course.” He said simply, the vehicle turning over and Eli climbing in, smoke still dangling between his lips. Shay put the vehicle in gear and started on a course down the now-familiar streets to the Tawdy Countless. Eli and himself remained silent as Sam chastised Vera for a number of things, the narcotics being paramount about it. Both men in the front bench didn’t dare butt in, preferring to be ignored for as long as possible. It was impossible not to feel bad for Vera; everyone made mistakes, and she happened to be in a spot where it came back to bite her. Shay wondered if Sam would have been easier on her if the Jolly Roughers hadn’t suffered a hell of a setback when the coppers had raided the gang the year prior. Probably not, he decided.

Eli suddenly spoke, breaking the brief silence as the siblings came to an impass. Shay inwardly groaned when Eli put him on the spot, asking him to reveal his role in these events. Shay spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Begging your pardon, miss Vera, it was me who was the rifleman that night. I was asked to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, and so I did.” He said, without elaborating further. He didn’t want to toss out more information than he absolutely had to.

Not long after, Shay pulled the vehicle up to the curb in front of the Tawdy Countess and headed inside with the others. Making a straight line for the bar, Shay was hoping Vera wasn’t in for a world of hurt. He caught Vera’s eye as she walked past with Sam, and Shay looked at her with apologetic eyes. He’d saved her life, so why did he feel like a damn villain?

Mass Effect: Borealis

Who wants to volunteer for a collab with everyone's favourite slav?

Hider

no fat chicks

@Zombiedude101

I can does that. Tanya's been wanting to chat with Iosif after dah mission anyways.

<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

Tanya's out. :p She's rather butch.

@Fallenreaper

Bitch, please. Real women can lift an engine block.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by Dervish>

@Peik

So... is that a no?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Don't you guys all find this rather attractive? I think it adds some nice texture to the posts, and it clearly isn't distracting or tacky in any way, no sir.

So why don't we all just vote yes for absolutely everything? You know you all like it.

Mass Effect: Borealis

Look at all these tasty poasts!

Nom nom.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Optional, and for player characters only. You do NOT want to have to sort out all the NPCs and remember who gets what colour code.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

I AIN'T DISREGARDING SHIT PLAYA

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Imma excuse Do'Karth from his lack of whacking blue balls (tee hee, balls) because his staff is down at the bottom of the shaft, so Imma just say a sailor grabbed it when he was climbing up, and Do'Karth is helping ferry up supplies for the college people who can't be evacuated.