Penny

Damned to the Depths

he cut throats whooped with glee at the sight of the bejeweled armor. Their excitement seemed a little forced having just seen the only obvious means of escape sealed behind them but Calliopie had observed that men tended to believe what they needed to believe in order to keep going. If the claustrophobia oppressed them it didn’t hinder their rush to the armor where they began to immediately pry jewels from ancient settings with the blades of their short knives. Calliope was no antiquarian but it seemed to her that the ancient pieces would be worth more intact than broken apart, but there was no way to carry the stuff out even if they found a way to return to the surface. Besides something else was at play here, subtle magics so ancient they could no longer be glimpsed lingered in the chamber like the hints of a storm in the clear air.

“Look at this,” she called to Markus, pointing downwards towards carvings made into the floor. They must once have been sharp edged but the passage of ages had worn them down to indistinct indentations. Even if they had been fresh cut, they didn’t appear to be in any language she was familiar with. It might have been a spell, a warning or simply funeary rites. There were probably scholars or wisemen who could translate the inscription but a pair of pirates were not up to the task.

“Aiiiiie!” A scream echoed through the chamber and they both spun to find Hayikk frozen in an attitude of horror. He had a dirk in one hand and a black object he had prized from the scorpion statue in his hand. Calliope realised that the statue's eyes, though indistinguishable from obsidian at a distance, were actually rare and valuable black diamonds. It wasn’t the loot the caused the bandit to scream however. Out of the yawning gap in the wall sprang a massive dark shape, its chitionous hide reflecting the light of Markus’ sword. It was a vast scorpion, with a body the size of a wagon and a stinger larger that Calliope's torso. Hayikk cowered behind the idol, the instinct saving his life as the grotesque bug thing struck the idle, its six joined legs flailing and its stinger stabbing down onto the stonework beyond the thief, gouging a trough in the stone that struck sparks. Its pincers tried to wrap around the idol to snuff out the thief but the articulation of the armor like plates prevented it from grasping a target so close. It hissed in frustration and scrambled back to give itself room. All of the bandits were shrieking hysterically and snatching up ancient weapons that they felt might be more useful than their own modest armaments. Before Calliope could react a second scorpion launched itself from the cavern opening, this one aimed at the knot of cut throats. It scattered suits of armor like a childs pick up sticks as it carreened forward. This one managed to catch one of the bandits by the arm and its pincer snicked shut with enough force to take the limb off at the elbow sending the thief tumbling away screaming and squirting bright arterial blood that winked black in the fire light.

Calliope shouted something and prepared to leap forward, she would grasp its stinger in her talons and take a pincer in her jaws near the base, ripping it free and burning the creature's eyes, while using the scorpion's body as a shield against the second beast. She blinked in disorientation and lashed out with a spell, sending a wrist thick bar of fire blazing into the scorpion still trying to recover from its botched attack on Hayikk. The magic struck the creature and dissipated without effect other than causing it to whip around toward her. It must have been enchanted with some kind of spell protection by whoever had created the things to guard the idol. The scorpion lashed out with its stinger and Markus and Calliopie sprang apart to avoid the blow that shattered the ancient carvings to powder. Calliope gripped her scimitar with both hands and hacked down at the things tail, shattering one of the armored plates but doing little damage. An axe or hammer would have been a better weapon for the purpose, though Calliope supposed if she had the choice she would start out with a twelve pound cannon and work her way up.

“Watch the claws!” she shouted to Markus as she ducked under a flailing pincer and thrust the point of her weapon into the jointed ligature between its leg and thorax, causes a screaming his and a spray of ichor.

The Blackwood Chronicles (WIP title)

Ha! It is true. You should absolutely not start another group rp! (there, my duty is done)

@Penny

The Blackwood Chronicles (WIP title)

@POOHEAD189 My warnings fall on deaf ears I see!

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Totlya opened his mouth, possibly to object to Solae’s words or assertions but Andalyll made a sharp gesture with an unsettling combination of his right hand and left wingtip that silenced the younger male. Not for the first time, Rene wondered if there was some political angle here that was too obscure or simply too alien for them to understand.

“The Duchess has spoken and has agreed to help redress this wrong,” Andalyll said formally. He bowed to Solae and then said something to Lithyll in the Kalderi language before taking Totlya by the arm and withdrawing. No one spoke until the pair had passed the stone lintel at the entrance of the gardens.

“They seemed in a hurry to leave,” Rene remarked arching an eyebrow. Lithyll nodded and made a slight hissing sound which Rene had learned to interpret as a sigh.

“Andalyll does not want to risk Totlya causing an issue with careless words, wounds of the heart quickly lead to wounds of the mind,” the alien lamented. A human might have added wounds of the body to the list but Rene didn’t feel a need to amplify the statement.

“As for your questions Duchess Solae, the humans handle their own records of ships coming and going. The vessels in orbit perhaps have records, but perhaps not,” Lithyll told them. The idea that military vessels, or at least what Rene thought of as such, wouldn’t keep accurate records of shipping struck Rene as profoundly wrong but perhaps the Kalderi viewed matterers differently. All in all it sounded like a matter best handled by police, but the Kalderi didn’t have an analogue of that human institution. Crime was not unknown among them, but it was rare and generally the result of a disturbed mental state rather than an act of desperation. Empowering one part of the community over another in such explicit terms was antithetical to their world view, even their leaders as Lithyll and Andayll certainly were, seemed to be individuals who had a talent and desire for the role which was recognised by the group, rather than any explicitly official status.

The conversation went on for a few more minutes, though there was little additional information to be gained. Lithyll knew little of Bouradine or any other human traders and had only biographical knowledge of Bel’sian. Perhaps the most interesting revelation came in response to a question from Rosaria who wished to know how Toltya had become Bel’sian’s mate in the first place. Lithyll explained that when a Kalderi female reached an age a ceremony was held by her family and their circle. The woman had to give her assent to the proceedings, which wasn’t a given, Kalderi who didn’t wish to mate for whatever reason could and not infrequently did, decline to continue the rite. If they did assent males who were interested would gather and engage in a variety of courtship rituals, the lesser rituals did not involve combat and weeded out those the woman found overtly objectionable. Only at the end was a trial by combat invoked in order to determine a choice between two equally qualified males. Rene wasn’t a sociologist but he got the impression that the transgressive nature of violence in Kalderi society gave the act a special significance above and beyond its physical dimensions. Totlya had gone through the rite over a year ago and he and Bel’sian had been mates ever since.

“I think our best bet is to speak to the traders ourselves,” Rene stated when the discussion had wound down.

“They might be more forthcoming with us, I’m sure if this Bouradine did abduct Bel’sian they are nervous that their trading concessions will be revoked or worse. Though…” he trailed of looking at Solae.

“Anyone that sees you might carry word back to Duke Tan that you are here,” he worried. Rene didn’t think the Duke was foolish enough to risk a war with the Kalderi by trying to remove Solae by force, but that wasn’t certain.

Scum & Villainy: Black Market Runners

Giving the others a chance to post! Don't want to be too domineering

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline smiled a little self consciously. The need had been to find clothing before they attracted too much attention, in the Empire with Witch Hunters and Sigmar bothering priests that could have been a problem, but the stout workman’s clothes did feel a bit like wearing a sack. Well in the morning she could take the time to look up a dress maker or a seamstress, or perhaps a pawn broker who already had such clothing from the wardrobe of some down on her luck burgess.

“I certainly can’t say life has been boring since I met you,” she agreed, running her fingers through his dark hair. It seemed easier to imagine it all as an adventure in retrospect, now that the immediate threat of being sold back into slavery by murderous elves, or burned alive by skaven fire throwers seemed to have abated. Something tickled her from the half remembered time they had spent in the tomb city, like words that somehow evoked a long ago reading of a forgotten tome. Whatever else happened she didn’t think they were likely to live out their days in idle luxury. A grin stole across Emmaline’s face, breaking her sudden pensiveness like a sunrise burning away an albion fog. That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to try!

Leaning down over amal so that her bosom strained against the coarse over shit she kissed him on the lips. Amal arched an eyebrow though he didn’t seem willing to break the spell by speaking.

“I was just thinking that I have been poor many times and rich only once, so I plan to make the most of it!”
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Emmaline replied with a lascivious wink. She wondered if Greta were listening at the door but decided she didn’t much care. A rumble from her midsection reminded her that it had been several days since she had eaten. In fact now that she thought about it, the last time had been on the Dark Elf corsair. She tore a chunk from the nearest loaf of bread and dunked it in her stew, wolfing it down without hesitation before taking a spoonful of the soup directly. It was hot and salty and wonderful and the both attacked the meal with vigour. The wine was excellent and chilled, probably in a cellar beneath the tavern though having drunk her share of palm wine and other less identifiable potable Emmaline found that her palate had expanded considerably.

“Vacation…” she said around a mouthful of bread after they had slaked the worst of the hunger pangs. The idea had never really crossed her mind for so long her priority had been to go somewhere and do something, escape from the harem, find the city in the desert, deal with the endless series of maritime calamity, that they might every reach a place of safety and what they might do if they did had never really occurred to her. Now that she was thinking about it though it sounded wonderful. They had enough gold to live and live well for quite a while, months even at the exorbitant prices this place was charging and Emmaline was certain they could get about the same for much less if they looked around a little. Maybe they could even rent a villa if they tired of the city, once she found out how safe the area was at least.

“I like the sound of that,” Emmaline murmured, lounging back on the settee and enjoying the feeling of food, drink and Amal’s company.