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Ezekiel
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Zeus23
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 17 days ago
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Recent Statuses
17 days ago
Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
25 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
like
3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
1
like
Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
"These are Khaseem Bai's men," Anya muttered pointing to a red banner that fluttered from a spear that was thrust into the earth. The silken flag was emblazoned with a black lions head that almost seemed to snap and snarl as the wind worked the fabric. Khaseem Bai was a name much on the tongues of the Iristani. It was said that he had come down from the deserts beyond the Ilbar mountains after the tribes of that inhospitable waste had put aside their ancient blood feuds to drive the renegade from their sands. Since that time he had preyed on the caravans and herdsmen of the step, snatching up city-dwellers and ransoming them for supplies and silver. It was said, among the hokah dens and drinking houses of Kafir, that no blade had ever drawn blood from Khaseem Bai and that he was protected by black and malign spirits. It did not surprise Anya that it had been he who had sent assassin's to kill them after learning Ibn-vakir had sold the same goods three times.
"If they know their footpads have failed they don't show it," Anya observed. Indeed, the mood in the camp was alert but the men did not seem alarmed. As she watched a paunchy man hauled a cauldron of soup from the fire and bawled something unintelligible from this distance. The various cut throats ambled towards him to take their mourning meal.
"Strange, I don't see Khaseem Bai among them," Anya noticed, her keen eyes having finished their survey of the camp.
"Indeed you do not," came a deep basso voice from behind them. Anya whirled her hand going to her blade but freezing as the point of a spear pressed against her throat. Two similar weapons were leveled at Abelard. The men holding them had the dark sun burned skin of desert tribesmen and the hooked noses and slightly slanted eyes of the lands beyond the Ilbar mountains. Their leader was a muscular man in a tunic of white silk. His eyes were dark and burned bright with intelligence and his face was handsome in a brooding way. His legs were covered with armor of tooled leather that gripped the side of a galloping horse so a man could use the short recurve bows in fashion in these parts. The thugs with him were dressed less finely, but Anya wagered all of them were veterans who had come south with Khaseem Bai. The must have snuck around them through some hidden ravine, though they had done so with so little sound that even Anya's razor keen senses had been deceived.
"But do not worry," he said with a formal bow that would not have been out of place in the court of Aquilonia, "Khaseem Bai sees you."
"If they know their footpads have failed they don't show it," Anya observed. Indeed, the mood in the camp was alert but the men did not seem alarmed. As she watched a paunchy man hauled a cauldron of soup from the fire and bawled something unintelligible from this distance. The various cut throats ambled towards him to take their mourning meal.
"Strange, I don't see Khaseem Bai among them," Anya noticed, her keen eyes having finished their survey of the camp.
"Indeed you do not," came a deep basso voice from behind them. Anya whirled her hand going to her blade but freezing as the point of a spear pressed against her throat. Two similar weapons were leveled at Abelard. The men holding them had the dark sun burned skin of desert tribesmen and the hooked noses and slightly slanted eyes of the lands beyond the Ilbar mountains. Their leader was a muscular man in a tunic of white silk. His eyes were dark and burned bright with intelligence and his face was handsome in a brooding way. His legs were covered with armor of tooled leather that gripped the side of a galloping horse so a man could use the short recurve bows in fashion in these parts. The thugs with him were dressed less finely, but Anya wagered all of them were veterans who had come south with Khaseem Bai. The must have snuck around them through some hidden ravine, though they had done so with so little sound that even Anya's razor keen senses had been deceived.
"But do not worry," he said with a formal bow that would not have been out of place in the court of Aquilonia, "Khaseem Bai sees you."
-322
I have no idea what my blood type is.
<Snipped quote by Skwint>
Neither do I.
@Skwint
I do not know my blood type either.
Donate blood! They will tell you for free plus I can pump your blood into the bodies of those who need it. Red Cross is super short right now because of Covid.
-322
-318
The sun rose over far of Kosala, spreading across the Iranistani steppe to reveal two riders forging their way north towards the distant white capped daggers of the Ilbar Mountains. In the spring snow melt from those mountains would rush downwards in mighty torrents, wending its way towards the sea in a network of shallow creeks and rocky gullies that for most of the rest of the year ran at but a trickle. Like all steppe-land it was the preserve of nomadic headers rather than farmers, with herdsmen moving their flocks of goats or horned sheep from water source to watercourse with the season. Dawn had bought a few smuts of smoke from neglected cook-fires but from horizon to horizon no soul could be seen save for the two riders. That wasn't to say they weren't here of course. The steppe looked flat to a new comer, but deep gullies and short canyons could be concealed by the waving grass and a traveler might pass within bow shot and never know it until an arrow plucked them from the saddle.
The pair had set out from Kafir after midnight on fine roan horses which the Priest had purchased with coin which had impressed even Anya with its variety of denominations. The solution had been cleaner than her own plan of stealing the beasts, and as Abelard pointed out, lacked the problem of potential pursuit. As the Priest had said, the fact that Ibn-vakir had sent men to killed him argued for the veracity of his information, why else spend the hundred silver drachma to engage the Guild of Thieves to murder them? They had ridden as hard as they dared across such uncertain terrain, there was little doubt that news of the assassins failure would reach their paymasters in due time. They could hope it was carried by a horseman and not upon the wings of ravens or some other sorcery. Anya had made her name as a raider by riding hard and relentlessly and coming at her opponents unexpectedly. She saw little reason to change the habit of a lifetime now.
They drove on towards the headwaters of the River Ashan where the faithless thief had bragged that he had seen the fable Opal, though hadn't dared risk its retrieval. How it had come to rest in such a land, so far from the northern glaciers of its birth was lost to the knowledge of men, though perhaps, not that of Gods. Of their purposes they spoke little. Anya was unsure of exactly why her companion sought the jewel, perhaps only as any man seeks a thing that is vaulable, and of her own quest she had spoken only evasively. The peace between them was yet uneasy.
"Smoke!" Anya called as they cantered across a low shale bedded creek, their horses kicking up shimmering spray in the early morning sun. She pointed to a low dome of haze beyond a small hill more or less along their path. It was too significant to be a single cookfire.
The pair had set out from Kafir after midnight on fine roan horses which the Priest had purchased with coin which had impressed even Anya with its variety of denominations. The solution had been cleaner than her own plan of stealing the beasts, and as Abelard pointed out, lacked the problem of potential pursuit. As the Priest had said, the fact that Ibn-vakir had sent men to killed him argued for the veracity of his information, why else spend the hundred silver drachma to engage the Guild of Thieves to murder them? They had ridden as hard as they dared across such uncertain terrain, there was little doubt that news of the assassins failure would reach their paymasters in due time. They could hope it was carried by a horseman and not upon the wings of ravens or some other sorcery. Anya had made her name as a raider by riding hard and relentlessly and coming at her opponents unexpectedly. She saw little reason to change the habit of a lifetime now.
They drove on towards the headwaters of the River Ashan where the faithless thief had bragged that he had seen the fable Opal, though hadn't dared risk its retrieval. How it had come to rest in such a land, so far from the northern glaciers of its birth was lost to the knowledge of men, though perhaps, not that of Gods. Of their purposes they spoke little. Anya was unsure of exactly why her companion sought the jewel, perhaps only as any man seeks a thing that is vaulable, and of her own quest she had spoken only evasively. The peace between them was yet uneasy.
"Smoke!" Anya called as they cantered across a low shale bedded creek, their horses kicking up shimmering spray in the early morning sun. She pointed to a low dome of haze beyond a small hill more or less along their path. It was too significant to be a single cookfire.
-316
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