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Ezekiel
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Zeus23Ellie gives Val the 20 bucks she bet on 'Clive goes Commando's
The bet that Clive goes 'commando' is still on.
The bet that Clive goes 'commando' is still on.
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 17 days ago
Status
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
-372
We gentrified the guild, the filthy casuals are basically advanced now.
Emmaline glanced from the carpet and back to the orcs. Even Gerald was on his feet now, swinging a captured orc cleaver in his good hand, his ox like strength shattering a rusted coat of mail with a sound like a million pennies being hurled against flagstones.
"The gold!" Emmaline wailed, momentarily unable to control her own gold lust even as she ducked a thrust by a spear tipped with what might have been the blade of a shovel. She lifted her hands and chanted a spell aiming it at a nearby orc. Charmon rushed in on her like a crashing tsunami and she sqeaked in terror a heart beat before a golden beam of light six feet in diameter erupted from her hands, leaving nothing of the greenskin save a pair of smouldering shoes. To her horror she couldn't disengage the spell and she swept her arms around drawing the beam like a great sycthe.
"Down!" Amal shouted, tackling Sir Brenly and yanking Douglas by the ankle so hard he lost his footing and toppled to the ground. Gerald gaped in wide eyed horror and managed to dive into the leaf mold a moment before the wildly swinging beam of golden light would have decapitated him. The spell fire burned across the stones like a blast from a steam tank, singing the grime and lichen away in a streak and leaving the stone undamaged. The wild arc cleared the hilltop of orcs in a few seconds but Emmaline continued to blaze with power as she frantically tried to close the tap to Charmon she had opened. At last she cut the spell and the golden beam vanished, leaving her shaking little motes of golden light from her hands like water droplets.
"She is a mighty sorceress!" Douglas declared making a sign to ward off evil.
"No it isn't that I'm really not... I mean its this place... you know what forget it," Emmaline stammered dropping to her knees and begining to gather up gold coins into the folded hem of her borrowed jacket. Brenly pushed himself to his feet, using the elven sword to lever himself upright. His eyes were wild and he glanced around. There were still orcish shouts in the fog beneath them but none appeared eager to rush the hilltop again.
"We need to get out of here," Emmaline stated, completely unnecesarily. Everyone already agreed on that point but any direction they wen't they were likely to met with greenskins.
"Can't you use your magic?" Douglas asked. Emmaline scowled at how quickly people went from 'beware the witch' to 'save us witch!' but now was hardly the time.
"It doesn't work like that," she said "We need to..."
There was a shout from the fog below and then another. More and more voices took up the cry until it echoed across the valley.
"Galzeez! Galzeez ! Galzeez!"
"Ummm," Emmaline temporized her face draining of color as the fragments of orcish conversation came back to her.
"Do you know what they are saying?" Gerald asked, his eyes still half glazed with battle lust, "What is this Galzeez?" Emmaline shook her head and stuffed the remaining gold into her jacket, knoting the corner to serve as a makeshift pouch.
"Not a what, a who, he is a..."
There was a sudden surge of unfamiliar magic and a wind rose from nowhere with the force of a spring gale. The fog fled up the valley like the retreating tide revealing the forest below. Three score of orcs stood crouching behind rocks and trees roughly encircling the small rocky hill. On another large rock stood a small twisted figure in dark robes. It lifted a staff hung with what might have been human skulls and a variety of unfamiliar objects and shook it angrily towards the circle. Emmaline was familiar enough to recognize a goblin and a shaman besides.
"This might be a problem," she admitted, licking her lips nervously.
"The gold!" Emmaline wailed, momentarily unable to control her own gold lust even as she ducked a thrust by a spear tipped with what might have been the blade of a shovel. She lifted her hands and chanted a spell aiming it at a nearby orc. Charmon rushed in on her like a crashing tsunami and she sqeaked in terror a heart beat before a golden beam of light six feet in diameter erupted from her hands, leaving nothing of the greenskin save a pair of smouldering shoes. To her horror she couldn't disengage the spell and she swept her arms around drawing the beam like a great sycthe.
"Down!" Amal shouted, tackling Sir Brenly and yanking Douglas by the ankle so hard he lost his footing and toppled to the ground. Gerald gaped in wide eyed horror and managed to dive into the leaf mold a moment before the wildly swinging beam of golden light would have decapitated him. The spell fire burned across the stones like a blast from a steam tank, singing the grime and lichen away in a streak and leaving the stone undamaged. The wild arc cleared the hilltop of orcs in a few seconds but Emmaline continued to blaze with power as she frantically tried to close the tap to Charmon she had opened. At last she cut the spell and the golden beam vanished, leaving her shaking little motes of golden light from her hands like water droplets.
"She is a mighty sorceress!" Douglas declared making a sign to ward off evil.
"No it isn't that I'm really not... I mean its this place... you know what forget it," Emmaline stammered dropping to her knees and begining to gather up gold coins into the folded hem of her borrowed jacket. Brenly pushed himself to his feet, using the elven sword to lever himself upright. His eyes were wild and he glanced around. There were still orcish shouts in the fog beneath them but none appeared eager to rush the hilltop again.
"We need to get out of here," Emmaline stated, completely unnecesarily. Everyone already agreed on that point but any direction they wen't they were likely to met with greenskins.
"Can't you use your magic?" Douglas asked. Emmaline scowled at how quickly people went from 'beware the witch' to 'save us witch!' but now was hardly the time.
"It doesn't work like that," she said "We need to..."
There was a shout from the fog below and then another. More and more voices took up the cry until it echoed across the valley.
"Galzeez! Galzeez ! Galzeez!"
"Ummm," Emmaline temporized her face draining of color as the fragments of orcish conversation came back to her.
"Do you know what they are saying?" Gerald asked, his eyes still half glazed with battle lust, "What is this Galzeez?" Emmaline shook her head and stuffed the remaining gold into her jacket, knoting the corner to serve as a makeshift pouch.
"Not a what, a who, he is a..."
There was a sudden surge of unfamiliar magic and a wind rose from nowhere with the force of a spring gale. The fog fled up the valley like the retreating tide revealing the forest below. Three score of orcs stood crouching behind rocks and trees roughly encircling the small rocky hill. On another large rock stood a small twisted figure in dark robes. It lifted a staff hung with what might have been human skulls and a variety of unfamiliar objects and shook it angrily towards the circle. Emmaline was familiar enough to recognize a goblin and a shaman besides.
"This might be a problem," she admitted, licking her lips nervously.
Someone touched Clive's stuff without asking
oh gosh oh golly here we go
I figured having them make off with your guns would promote some action :P
snark to your satisfaction!
You know not what you do!
Miranda tossed her head and then took a seat at one of the consoles, bringing up some of the video compiler software and beginning to tap at the holographic keys. She began to import footage she had prepared before the mission on the off chance she ran into just this kind of idiocy.
"Perhaps we should name the ship?" she suggested with tart sarcasm tinging an artificially bright tone. She made a show of considering it, looking back and forth between the two other newcomers.
"Perhaps 'The Cowardly Boyscout' would suit you gentlemen?" she asked with pie eyed innocence.
"Or maybe 'Opportunity Lost' is more to your taste?"
Considering that the pirates were giving away a ship for what they were billing as a simple extraction, Miranda might have gone with 'Obvious Setup' but that really didn't fit in with the through line of her other jokes.
"Perhaps we should name the ship?" she suggested with tart sarcasm tinging an artificially bright tone. She made a show of considering it, looking back and forth between the two other newcomers.
"Perhaps 'The Cowardly Boyscout' would suit you gentlemen?" she asked with pie eyed innocence.
"Or maybe 'Opportunity Lost' is more to your taste?"
Considering that the pirates were giving away a ship for what they were billing as a simple extraction, Miranda might have gone with 'Obvious Setup' but that really didn't fit in with the through line of her other jokes.
Also if anyone else want their bags to be stolen you are welcome to include that, this is just what Ellie noticed.
I have additional smart comments to make before we move on, I was giving everyone a chance to post!
Eleanor strode up the ramp and into the heated concourse of the Seattle-Tachoma International Airport, half supporting half carrying Val. Whatever drug or drugs the alchemist had on board had crashed her out mid sentence shortly after the reached cruising altitude. Fortunately the transition from warm cabin air to the chilly connecting walkway and then back to the warmer air of the concourse seemed to be rousing her. It was also fortunate that a groggy traveler didn't attract too much attention. It was by now late in the afternoon and the early onset of twilight was already darkening the sky beyond the glass windows that lined the airports arrival terminals. Ellie guided Val down the escalator towards the baggage claim area allowing the other passengers, in more of a hurry, to power-walk past her to what they no doubt imagined were important engagements.
Fortunately the arcane workings of the baggehandling process seemed to be running smoothly and bags were already emerging from behind the slittled flaps of black plastic and beginning their circle towards their waiting owners when Eleanor arrived. Her own bag was one of the first off but she deliberately ignored it giving herself an excuse to linger while the rest of the team arrived from their own less generous seats. At various times members of the Sunday Group had suggested a personal lear jet for such outings. Besides expense there were good reasons to avoid such a plan, it made travel more conspicuous and it made the authorities look more closely, worse since the War on Terror had begun there were whole groups of people who wasted their time reading aircraft tail numbers and trying to spot clandestine flights. The last thing the Group needed was intel being spread all over some message board or whatever it was the kids used these days. Perhaps it was the thought of spies and espionage that made her notice, but looking up Eleanor spotted a man in jeans and a shirt standing on the edge of the crowd. Unlike the other passengers he didn't appear to be watching the baggage as it slowly emerged from the chute or checking his phone while he waited. Glancing to the other side of the crowd she picked up an equally nondescript woman doing the same thing. Fine hairs on the back of her hands stood up and she reached casually into her pocket and retrieved her phone. Turning it on she sent a quick text to Emmaline letting her know she had arrived safely then switched to the group text that the group were sharing.
There is surveillance at baggage claim. Get your gear and get out asap.
Almost as soon as she pressed send the man she had spotted pushed his way through the crowd to the carousel. With every appearance of propriety he grabbed the heavy duffel bag that contained Clive's luggage and hauled it off onto a stainless steel pushcart. The wheels squeaked alarmingly under the weight. Simultaneously the woman stepped forward and grabbed Eleanor's own bag as it emerged to begin its second rotation. Without a backward look both of the apparent thieves headed for the door.
"Shit," Eleanor said under her breath, glancing around for the rest of her team.
Fortunately the arcane workings of the baggehandling process seemed to be running smoothly and bags were already emerging from behind the slittled flaps of black plastic and beginning their circle towards their waiting owners when Eleanor arrived. Her own bag was one of the first off but she deliberately ignored it giving herself an excuse to linger while the rest of the team arrived from their own less generous seats. At various times members of the Sunday Group had suggested a personal lear jet for such outings. Besides expense there were good reasons to avoid such a plan, it made travel more conspicuous and it made the authorities look more closely, worse since the War on Terror had begun there were whole groups of people who wasted their time reading aircraft tail numbers and trying to spot clandestine flights. The last thing the Group needed was intel being spread all over some message board or whatever it was the kids used these days. Perhaps it was the thought of spies and espionage that made her notice, but looking up Eleanor spotted a man in jeans and a shirt standing on the edge of the crowd. Unlike the other passengers he didn't appear to be watching the baggage as it slowly emerged from the chute or checking his phone while he waited. Glancing to the other side of the crowd she picked up an equally nondescript woman doing the same thing. Fine hairs on the back of her hands stood up and she reached casually into her pocket and retrieved her phone. Turning it on she sent a quick text to Emmaline letting her know she had arrived safely then switched to the group text that the group were sharing.
There is surveillance at baggage claim. Get your gear and get out asap.
Almost as soon as she pressed send the man she had spotted pushed his way through the crowd to the carousel. With every appearance of propriety he grabbed the heavy duffel bag that contained Clive's luggage and hauled it off onto a stainless steel pushcart. The wheels squeaked alarmingly under the weight. Simultaneously the woman stepped forward and grabbed Eleanor's own bag as it emerged to begin its second rotation. Without a backward look both of the apparent thieves headed for the door.
"Shit," Eleanor said under her breath, glancing around for the rest of her team.
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