Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline wandered the length of the ship, following the ropes with her eyes and trying to fathom what each one did. Most gold wizards were also artificers of a time and she had to admit that she found the system to be rather fascinating. So adsorbed was she in the activity that she all but walked into a group of sailors idling on the forecastle deck between the timbers that secured the bow sprit.

"Easy there lass," one of the men called, "Don't want to go tumblin' overboard." One of his fellows snorted and leaned back to blow out a stream of pipesmoke from between his lips.

"Let her fall I say, bad luck to have a woman aboard," another advised.

"Or really good luck," a lean looking man with a pronounced hatchet of a nose, thrusting his hips forward lewdly to the approving cackles of his mates. Emmaline rolled her eyes.

"How you gentlemen pass the time below decks is none of my business," she told the thespian archly. Color stole into the fellows cheek as his mates roared with laughter and slapped the decking with approval of the jest.

"Why don't you come over here and keep us company darlin'" the first man who had spoken invited.

"Want to know what a real man is like?" he leered.

"Why do you know any?" Emmaline asked sweetly and it was the other sailor's turn to hoot and jeer at their fellow.

"You are wasted on that limp Araybian," one of them observed. The fact that Amal and Emmaline were sharing a cabin had not gone unnoticed among the crew, who, naturally enough, made assumptions. Emmaline knew his effette satrap role wore on Amal and besides she did like to tease.

"I'm the one who should be limping," she suggested slyly, "he hasn't given me a wink of sleep in days." That comment bought them all up short. Until the leader scoffed.

"Please I walk by their every night for my watch and haven't heard nothing," the man quibbled.

"He gags me with a silk scarf first," Emmaline explained, a comment with ensured that several sailors trousers were obviously tented when Amal climbed up the stairs to the forecastle.

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Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline awake languorously, still unable to quite credit all that had happened in the city of the dead. That Amal had managed to cheat a long dead king of of the jewels of his crown seemed to fantastic to credit but the fact that they still lived and that four of the large stones lay tucked away in the thief's pouch were more than proof enough. She paused for a moment and stretched, arching her back and thrusting her breasts upwards with a sigh of pleasure. For her own part she felt tired but exhilarated the brief glimpse she had seen of Apsath still lingered in the back of her mind, and the mark of the Goddess remained tatooed between her breasts, the only part of the mystical tatoo that hadn't vanished as they walked the path that had been planned for them by whatever arcane forces had guided their footsteps. Emmaline wondered if that made her a priestess of Apsath now. She belched in a rather unpriestess like fashion and sat up. Well if Apsath wanted her to be a priest then the Goddess was going to need to provide some instruction material at some point.

Amal had already left the cabin the shared. She have been secretly sneaking peaks at him while he was naked and rather an impressive sight he was. She pondered that as she pulled on her clothing over her silken shift. The ensemble, the best available for a 'princess' was a dress of finely milled linen, a skirt of finely milled linen in dark red with a dark gray leather corset over a white shirt with elbow length sleeves. The Captain had been rather evasive about where he had come by the garments and why he had them in his sea chest and after a few questions Emmaline had felt everyone would probably be more comfortable if she let the matter drop. Properly dressed she risked briefly opening her magical senses. That had been a change she had noticed almost immediately. Where once everything would have been bathed with the glowing ambiance now her vision was tainted with flickers of other colors, a soft white, a lambent green, a deep purple, a powerful blue, and even a flicker of purple. It was obvious that she was perceiving the other winds of magic, but she shouldn't be able to do that. Though she was powerfully tempted to see if she could twist the little vespers of magic into a spell she was worried that such a thing might be corrupting, the way Dark Magic was and, more pragmatically, she didn't know any spells that used the other winds. Hopefully when she reached Marienburg she could invest in a few books.

Fully dressed Emmaline headed out onto the deck. El Cargador was a fine ship, long and lean though broader of beam than a true warship, she was three masted and drove through the water like a charging horse. When they had first come aboard the captain had proudly showed off the twelve small cannon, six on each side, which he claimed were more than enough to see off the pirates that infested these waters. Emmaline who had grown up around cannon in Altdorf and Nuln, did not think they looked very impressive, but had to conceded that they were far more than all but the largest pirates would dare. The snap of canvas aloft was all but deafening and she immediately sensed they were no longer heading northwest to clear Brettonia. Glancing up she saw a dozen men aloft, sheeting home more canvas and unfurling sails on the tall yard arms. She had a momentary fear that a pirate was indeed chasing them, but dismissed it almost as quickly, though the men seemed tense they didn't seem afraid.

"What is going on?" she demanded of the first mate, a greasy looking Tilean named Garza with a receding hairline and a tar stained shirt. The man goggled at her, eyes fixed firmly on the bosom of her dress as though mesmerized, his pudgy face slowly transforming to a leer. Emmaline reached out and took his chin between her fingers and raised his eyes to meet hers.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she repeated, slowly as though to a very simple child. Garza seemed to shake himself then scowl at her.

"We are cracking on sail," Garza told her, glowering now his initial embarrassment had passed. Emmaline though he might have been a handsome man in his youth, but years of excess and bad diet had robbed him of any charm she could detect.

"I see," she said reasonably, "and why is that." Garza shook his head in amazement that anyone would need to ask such a question. It seemed to make him fell superior enough to mellow his irritation however.

"There is a storm comming, Captain can feel the damp he can and he is never wrong, not in ten years of sailing with him... why I remember this time..."

Emmaline resisted the urge to slap the man with a considerable effort of will. Garza seemed to notice this and returned to the point with another bristly scowl.

We want to get west of Cape Breton before it catches us see, the sea here is full of shoals and reefs and the wind might drive us onto the rocks. We are running for open sea so we can ride it out without worrying about that don't ya see?" Garza asked smuggly. Emmaline frankly didn't see, but neither did she think she could stand another moment of the first mates company or his onion reeking breath.

"I see," she lied.

"Well I am glad we are in good hands," which, she rather hoped, was less of a lie.

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WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

"Let's join them," Mave declared with sudden inspiration. The moved up into the crowd of eager hunters, many of them were young and boastful though a few were older and hard looking though all of them had a spark in their eye that spoke of a desire for adventure not yet extinguished by the world. The climbed the short flight of stairs into what looked to be a small square when not overtaken by the hunters. There was a carnival atmosphere, enhanced a great deal by several tavern keepers who had rolled out barrels of ale and wine, of no doubt indifferent quality, for which they were charging a few coppers for a cup.

"Ho a beautiful woman and a strapping lad!" cried one of the hunters, a husky looking fellow in a mail shirt with a spiked mace hanging from his belt. He had a bristling black beard that, rather incongruously, had flowers woven into it. A pair of women, both around Mave's age and both appearing rather irritated to have the object of their attention termed 'beautiful', appeared to have done the weaving.

"I'll wager there is a tale to be had here, what are your names, come now, hunters oaths!" he laughed. Mave smiled as best she could. Hunters of the Horn were not exactly inconspicious, but on the other hand they were easy to dismiss as glory hunting fools as well. They might offer her the chance she needed to operate around Illian.

"My name..." Mave faltered, she wasn't bound by the Three Oaths but neither could she lightly lie if she expected to pass herself off as an Aes Sedai.

"I am called Kashvi," she modified quickly, "and I too am a hunter." Neither of those were lies, though neither of them were the whole truth either. Her tutors would certainly have approved.

"Well join us then Kashvi," the fellow boomed expansively before turning his eye to Ali.

"And you lad, who are you to enjoy such fine company?"

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City in the Dark - An Urban Shadows RP

By The City I mean the convention in the book where you can play in an unspecified city. Tropeville where it is always night, always raining and a hard rain is always about to fall...