N3v3rM0r3
Ezekiel
Pizza Box
RPM
Hos
rush99999
tadcfnaf
Syrenrei
Zeus23@Naril gah that sounds awful! No rush!
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 8 days ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 days ago
Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
16 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
@Ducksworth
The werewolf alpha gave Emrys a skeptical look, clearly primed to expect some trick from a wizard who, let's face it, were famous for their magic tricks.
“You expect me to believe that a great and powerful wizard built a vault you can't open without the help of your pet duck or whatever?” he asked, his voice hovering somewhere between disbelief and contempt. It hung there for a second and the werewolf sighed, the sound more like the huff of an irritated dog than that of a man. He opened his mouth to heap further contempt on the young wizard but there was a distant howl from out in the darkness. All of the werewolves tensed and the atmosphere seemed to almost crackle with suppressed violence. Jack stood up abruptly, his eyes shifting towards the window.
“Fine we will bring the bird with us, keep it real safe until we get where we are going,” he declared. With what seemed like undue haste Emrys was bundled out of the room and down to the street where a half dozen Harley Davidsons, lovingly painted with various wolf themes growled and revered. Somewhere off in the distance another wolf howl came but this was not a cry of warning, it sounded like pain. Sirens were screaming in the distance as more firetrucks and emergency services rolled to the bombing, or responded to disturbances it engendered.
Quill was on the side of one of the bikes, in what looked to be a small bird cage stuffed into one of the saddle bags, it’s bars wrapped with thin filaments of copper wire in a basic ward against magical interference. The work was inexpert and crude, the sort of thing a talented layman might throw together. Thunder cracked in the distance and a smattering of rain, warm and pleasant began to fall. Jack grunted with irritation and climbed onto his bike, beckoning to Emrys to join him.
“Where to Harry Potter?” Jack asked as a crackling bolt of lightning lit up the horizon.
_______________________________________
@POOHEAD189
The favors of the Winter Court were considerable, though like all bargains of the kind, were more expensive than they first seemed. Faster and stronger than mortals she might be, but even Kelly Asher could not quickly shed the effect of a 9mm to the stomach. As the rain lashed down she lay on her cot, shivering and feverish. Her body temperature rapidly plunged far below human norms, her skin growing an almost ghostly white and her lips turning an alarming shade of blue. Despite this they continued to move, muttering and mouthing words that might have been incantations, curses, or something in between, mostly directed at Mab the Queen of Winter. Frost formed and dissolved on the window like a monochrome kaleidoscope, strangely reminiscent of an audiograph to the nonsensical conversation. Through it all her pulse remained steady and eventually she subsided, returning to something more like normal human unconsciousness.
Lightning rent the sky outside and the rain grew steadily worse. Occasionally the purplish crackle of energy illuminated the red eyes of crows as they fluttered damply about. One lightning strike crashed so close to Rupert’s hide out that the hair on his arms prickled. Abruptly a television, an old cathode ray set that had long been nonfunctional, sputtered to life in a series of sputtering clicks. Paying no attention to the fact that it wasn’t plugged in, the snowy static congealed into a black and white image of a man in a 1950s style suit standing in front of what looked like a TV weather barometric chart.
“...weather will degenerate over the next several hours, if the cold front breaks we could be in for very serious weather by the early hours of tomorrow..” Bursts of static intercut the apparent weather report with momentary flashes of the Tem tower exploding outwards, flinging bodies into the void. The figure in the weather report seemed to reach up and slap the inside of the television, an act that seemed to clear the picture.
“Of course it is too early to tell but we are advising everyone take precautions and…” the weatherman’s eyes opened wide with horror and the static closed in from all directions. Just for a moment it seemed to make a pattern. The leering, fanged visage of a dragon. The television clicked off, a puff of smoke escaping from the side of it, several pops crackling inside of it, filling the hide out with the faint smell of burning plastic.
At almost the same instant, there was a thunderous knock on the door.
____________________________________________
@Fetzen
No vampire gunmen emerged from the night in pursuit but for a moment it seemed that dozens and dozens of fireflies glittered from the surrounding buildings, giving the uncomfortable impression they were watching. The sparks seemed to alight on the air like embers from a wild fire. They rushed after the fleeing Balthazar, coiling and swirling in the night sky. The metal orb vibrated more urgently and seemed to grow hot. The sparks recoiled away as though striking some kind of barrier or meeting an attack. Abruptly they vanished and, in their place, rain began to fall.
Two police cruisers came around a corner, their lights refracting off the raindrops. These weren’t city cops, but rather the tan of state troopers. Both cars went past and the eyes of the police inside scanning over Balthazar. Abruptly, the breaks went on and the light bars began to flash, one of the cars squealing on the asphalt as it turned in pursuit.
The werewolf alpha gave Emrys a skeptical look, clearly primed to expect some trick from a wizard who, let's face it, were famous for their magic tricks.
“You expect me to believe that a great and powerful wizard built a vault you can't open without the help of your pet duck or whatever?” he asked, his voice hovering somewhere between disbelief and contempt. It hung there for a second and the werewolf sighed, the sound more like the huff of an irritated dog than that of a man. He opened his mouth to heap further contempt on the young wizard but there was a distant howl from out in the darkness. All of the werewolves tensed and the atmosphere seemed to almost crackle with suppressed violence. Jack stood up abruptly, his eyes shifting towards the window.
“Fine we will bring the bird with us, keep it real safe until we get where we are going,” he declared. With what seemed like undue haste Emrys was bundled out of the room and down to the street where a half dozen Harley Davidsons, lovingly painted with various wolf themes growled and revered. Somewhere off in the distance another wolf howl came but this was not a cry of warning, it sounded like pain. Sirens were screaming in the distance as more firetrucks and emergency services rolled to the bombing, or responded to disturbances it engendered.
Quill was on the side of one of the bikes, in what looked to be a small bird cage stuffed into one of the saddle bags, it’s bars wrapped with thin filaments of copper wire in a basic ward against magical interference. The work was inexpert and crude, the sort of thing a talented layman might throw together. Thunder cracked in the distance and a smattering of rain, warm and pleasant began to fall. Jack grunted with irritation and climbed onto his bike, beckoning to Emrys to join him.
“Where to Harry Potter?” Jack asked as a crackling bolt of lightning lit up the horizon.
_______________________________________
@POOHEAD189
The favors of the Winter Court were considerable, though like all bargains of the kind, were more expensive than they first seemed. Faster and stronger than mortals she might be, but even Kelly Asher could not quickly shed the effect of a 9mm to the stomach. As the rain lashed down she lay on her cot, shivering and feverish. Her body temperature rapidly plunged far below human norms, her skin growing an almost ghostly white and her lips turning an alarming shade of blue. Despite this they continued to move, muttering and mouthing words that might have been incantations, curses, or something in between, mostly directed at Mab the Queen of Winter. Frost formed and dissolved on the window like a monochrome kaleidoscope, strangely reminiscent of an audiograph to the nonsensical conversation. Through it all her pulse remained steady and eventually she subsided, returning to something more like normal human unconsciousness.
Lightning rent the sky outside and the rain grew steadily worse. Occasionally the purplish crackle of energy illuminated the red eyes of crows as they fluttered damply about. One lightning strike crashed so close to Rupert’s hide out that the hair on his arms prickled. Abruptly a television, an old cathode ray set that had long been nonfunctional, sputtered to life in a series of sputtering clicks. Paying no attention to the fact that it wasn’t plugged in, the snowy static congealed into a black and white image of a man in a 1950s style suit standing in front of what looked like a TV weather barometric chart.
“...weather will degenerate over the next several hours, if the cold front breaks we could be in for very serious weather by the early hours of tomorrow..” Bursts of static intercut the apparent weather report with momentary flashes of the Tem tower exploding outwards, flinging bodies into the void. The figure in the weather report seemed to reach up and slap the inside of the television, an act that seemed to clear the picture.
“Of course it is too early to tell but we are advising everyone take precautions and…” the weatherman’s eyes opened wide with horror and the static closed in from all directions. Just for a moment it seemed to make a pattern. The leering, fanged visage of a dragon. The television clicked off, a puff of smoke escaping from the side of it, several pops crackling inside of it, filling the hide out with the faint smell of burning plastic.
At almost the same instant, there was a thunderous knock on the door.
____________________________________________
@Fetzen
No vampire gunmen emerged from the night in pursuit but for a moment it seemed that dozens and dozens of fireflies glittered from the surrounding buildings, giving the uncomfortable impression they were watching. The sparks seemed to alight on the air like embers from a wild fire. They rushed after the fleeing Balthazar, coiling and swirling in the night sky. The metal orb vibrated more urgently and seemed to grow hot. The sparks recoiled away as though striking some kind of barrier or meeting an attack. Abruptly they vanished and, in their place, rain began to fall.
Two police cruisers came around a corner, their lights refracting off the raindrops. These weren’t city cops, but rather the tan of state troopers. Both cars went past and the eyes of the police inside scanning over Balthazar. Abruptly, the breaks went on and the light bars began to flash, one of the cars squealing on the asphalt as it turned in pursuit.
“It seems like you have plenty of men…or ahhh…lizards to do this yourself,” Emmaline observed as she followed behind Sketti. The bulk of the dwarf made an agreeable battering ram, pushing aside low hanging jungle foliage with ease. She had to pay attention and stick close though, lest a branch snap back into place and hit her. The lizard man whose name, if Emmaline caught it correctly, was something like ‘Sss’tomek’ made an obscure gesture which seemed to pass for a shrug or maybe a shake of the head.
They had agreed to the trade of course, and had been heading north all morning, the ground rising from the lowlands into a series of small hills. As they moved the forest seemed to thin somewhat and the air grew misty and cool. This seemed to slow the half dozen lizards that accompanied them and they blinked their large eyes sleepily.
“We cannnssst not, it issss forbidden by tstekch,” Tomek provided, completely unhelpfully, “we mayssss ss’only guide you toss’it,” he hissed, struggling with both the cold and the language barrier. Emmaline didn’t press it. The lizards were probably their only chance of making it out of here alive and if they wanted to stand on some obscure religious grounds she supposed they were welcome to do so. Still the way the little monster kept glancing at her tattoo made her decidedly uneasy.
They crested a hill and abruptly the sightline opened up over the shallow valley on the reverse side of the hill. A shallow but broad river ran along its center, one of the many they had discovered which had been too shallow to accept the draught of the Hammer. The river bank was cleared for a few hundred yards on either side at some point, though forest growth was beginning to reclaim what must have once been fields. The ruins of a rope bridge led to a small village of similarly derelict huts of decaying bamboo. The only intact building was a stone tower that looked for all the world like every Church tower in every village in the Empire. An odd unhealthy light seemed to shine from its peak, where a bell would have been in a civilized place. All of the lizardman guides threw themselves flat as one and refused to look at it.
Markus grunted and opened his spy glass, an expensive piece of equipment which Emmaline, so bored that even work seemed preferable to idleness, had laid several enchantments. He looked through it and made a sour face, then handed it to Emmaline. The distant village seemed to leap towards her as she put it to her eye and she immediately saw what displeased the pirate. The village was swarming with ghouls. The misshapen brute snapped and tore at each other like rabid dogs. Occasionally one was badly wounded by these blows and his fellows would fall upon him with teeth and claws, rending him apart for meat. Emmaline tried to view the strange light in the bell tower, but the glow hurt her eyes and she had to look away. She panned the glass downwards instead and found a single word in faded text on a decaying sign post.
Crotonenburg.
“It was ssssetled ssssome time ago,” the skink hissed, not lifting his head from the dirt. “Fffoor a time it wassss ignored but then, on a ship came an undying one and he laid a cursssse upon them. Led them into the templesss of the peoplesss, ssstole from ussss. Retrieve what was st’ssstolen and we ssshal aid thee..”
They had agreed to the trade of course, and had been heading north all morning, the ground rising from the lowlands into a series of small hills. As they moved the forest seemed to thin somewhat and the air grew misty and cool. This seemed to slow the half dozen lizards that accompanied them and they blinked their large eyes sleepily.
“We cannnssst not, it issss forbidden by tstekch,” Tomek provided, completely unhelpfully, “we mayssss ss’only guide you toss’it,” he hissed, struggling with both the cold and the language barrier. Emmaline didn’t press it. The lizards were probably their only chance of making it out of here alive and if they wanted to stand on some obscure religious grounds she supposed they were welcome to do so. Still the way the little monster kept glancing at her tattoo made her decidedly uneasy.
They crested a hill and abruptly the sightline opened up over the shallow valley on the reverse side of the hill. A shallow but broad river ran along its center, one of the many they had discovered which had been too shallow to accept the draught of the Hammer. The river bank was cleared for a few hundred yards on either side at some point, though forest growth was beginning to reclaim what must have once been fields. The ruins of a rope bridge led to a small village of similarly derelict huts of decaying bamboo. The only intact building was a stone tower that looked for all the world like every Church tower in every village in the Empire. An odd unhealthy light seemed to shine from its peak, where a bell would have been in a civilized place. All of the lizardman guides threw themselves flat as one and refused to look at it.
Markus grunted and opened his spy glass, an expensive piece of equipment which Emmaline, so bored that even work seemed preferable to idleness, had laid several enchantments. He looked through it and made a sour face, then handed it to Emmaline. The distant village seemed to leap towards her as she put it to her eye and she immediately saw what displeased the pirate. The village was swarming with ghouls. The misshapen brute snapped and tore at each other like rabid dogs. Occasionally one was badly wounded by these blows and his fellows would fall upon him with teeth and claws, rending him apart for meat. Emmaline tried to view the strange light in the bell tower, but the glow hurt her eyes and she had to look away. She panned the glass downwards instead and found a single word in faded text on a decaying sign post.
Crotonenburg.
“It was ssssetled ssssome time ago,” the skink hissed, not lifting his head from the dirt. “Fffoor a time it wassss ignored but then, on a ship came an undying one and he laid a cursssse upon them. Led them into the templesss of the peoplesss, ssstole from ussss. Retrieve what was st’ssstolen and we ssshal aid thee..”
How hard could it be to find a stick? Hannah clambered out of the shelter of the root bohle into the driving rain. It wasn’t pleasant but it was more pleasant than admitting she had absolutely no idea how to cook a fish. To her, food was something you purchased from a street vendor or at a chop house, not something you did yourself. It was a little irritating to be less worldly than a literal wizard but she couldn’t pretend it ranked very highly on the list of upsetting things she had encountered so far today. Her initial appraisal proved to be wrong as the sun had long set and the rain shielded the moon and stars. She groped around the tree base for what seemed like an age before she found a likely stick three feet long with a fork at one end. A smell made her nostrils twitch and she was suddenly very aware of the scent of damp fur and something like rotted meat in the air. Very slowly she peaked around the tree's trunk only to find herself face to face with two large canine eyes and a set of slavering teeth that seemed to hang disembodied in the darkness. The huge wolf seemed to smile, drawing its mouth back into a snarl that was twinned by the greenskin that sat atop it, spear in hand. Hannah’s guts clenched and her heart tried to hammer its way free. Her sword was still in her belt and she couldn’t even imagine trying to draw it. The beast's foetid breath blasted, her hot and rancid with old meat. Hannah did the only thing she could think of. She drove the stick she had just acquired into it’s right eye. The feeling was sickening, even though the beast eye didn't give way, the end of the stick splintered and the brute snapped its jaws shut and let out a quick ‘bort’ of pain, leaping back away from the unexpected pain. The goblin on top was taken as much by surprise as the wolf was, and pitched from its crude saddle. The greenskins leg tangled in the leather knot that served as a stirrup and Hannah heard a distinct crack of bone as the wolf let out a yowling howl and took off an an unsteady gallop, one paw swiping at its injured eye, the goblin dragging along after it. Hannah was stunned to find herself still alive much less having managed to drive off the beast.
Her relief was very short lived, as out in the darkness other wolves took up the howl of their wounded pack mate. Eyes, some beady and red, others golden and feral turned to look at her.
“Sigmar’s salty scrotum,” she whispered, as howls and goblin screams sounded out. She fancied she could hear the thunder of their paws as the rushed towards the lonely tree. Before she could fully command them to do so, her legs were moving and she was scrambling down the embankment and back into the tree. Malcador met her at the door, eyes wide with shock and confusion. She waved her stick like a field marshall’s baton to get him to duck out of her way, but she didn’t slow from a dead sprint.
“Run!” she screamed, pelting through the forbidding door and into the darkness beyond, the green skinned host of hell hot on her tail.
Her relief was very short lived, as out in the darkness other wolves took up the howl of their wounded pack mate. Eyes, some beady and red, others golden and feral turned to look at her.
“Sigmar’s salty scrotum,” she whispered, as howls and goblin screams sounded out. She fancied she could hear the thunder of their paws as the rushed towards the lonely tree. Before she could fully command them to do so, her legs were moving and she was scrambling down the embankment and back into the tree. Malcador met her at the door, eyes wide with shock and confusion. She waved her stick like a field marshall’s baton to get him to duck out of her way, but she didn’t slow from a dead sprint.
“Run!” she screamed, pelting through the forbidding door and into the darkness beyond, the green skinned host of hell hot on her tail.
“I do not believe adding burglary to breach of contract would be a good move for you master Ruttiger. I think your time would be better spent preparing what you already owe me,” Calliope called out. Kayden reached out and gently guided her out of the frame of the window.
“Not a good idea in a world of crossbows,” he explained sotto voce.
More men were gathering in front of the house now, the burly cording of their muscles as well as the tools they carried proclaimed their vocations. Ruttiger was a mining magnate and the presence of pick axes and prybars demonstrated that he was more than willing to mobilize his workforce.
“You cannot expect me to neatly accept ruin based on a trick, a clever trick I’ll grant you, but just a trick none the less. Come down now and speak with me, or it will go poorly for you.”
“We can cut our way free my lady,” Otto suggested, clearly uncomfortable with the direction things were going. Calliope shook her head, the situation was spiraling out of her control, she had not expected such backbone from a gutless worm like Ernst Ruttiger.
“If we take part in a massacre all of this will have been for naught, if they declare me an outlaw Ruttiger will be able to weasel out,” Calliope explained.
“The mercenaries then, they can break this up, can you get word to them Caradwalden?” Otto asked. Kayden was nodding his head.
“A few of my boys could slip through to them but I dont know that it would prevent a massacre if the miners try to stop them reaching us,” the mercenary captain replied.
“Send your men, have them send riders to Calsdat,” Calliope decided suddenly, “Have them rouse the temple curates and anyone they can get from the Baron, bring them by force if you have to,” she decided.
“Even at the gallop that is nearly a two hour trip,” Kayden pointed out, “two hours there, two hours back, plus however long it takes to round people up.”
“Then you had best get started,” Calliope replied tartly, once they get here, come in with your troops, it will be obvious if we have witnesses who was attacking whom.”
“Any plans for how we will last out the next four hours then?” Kayden asked. Calliope marched to the window and threw open the shutters, to the horrified winces of both Otto and Kayden.
“Herr Ruttiger, I will not speak with you until you provide some earnest of what you owe me, I appreciate your shortage of ready coin however. Bring me the downpayment I provided you and I shall come down and talk,” she declared.
“And as waiting is thirsty work, have the taverns provide drinks for your men, on me,” she added, drawing cheers and chuckles from the miners that their foremen tried in vain to quash. Ruttiger fumed but seemed unable to figure a way out of the fix.
“Very well, I’ll send to my factory for your gold,” he admitted grudgingly. Calliope slammed the window shut and stepped away.
“Clever,” Otto observed, “but how are you going to avoid going down to him once he brings the gold. Calliope smiled a little wryly.
“He may have trouble producing it, because I dispatched Mesmer to steal it nearly two hours ago,” she admitted with a dark chuckle. “It will buy us some time at least, Kayden get your men moving, Otto, have everyone else barricade the bottom floor.”
“What if he tries to burn us out?” Otto asked in concern.
“I think I can probably do something about that,” Calliope replied.
“Not a good idea in a world of crossbows,” he explained sotto voce.
More men were gathering in front of the house now, the burly cording of their muscles as well as the tools they carried proclaimed their vocations. Ruttiger was a mining magnate and the presence of pick axes and prybars demonstrated that he was more than willing to mobilize his workforce.
“You cannot expect me to neatly accept ruin based on a trick, a clever trick I’ll grant you, but just a trick none the less. Come down now and speak with me, or it will go poorly for you.”
“We can cut our way free my lady,” Otto suggested, clearly uncomfortable with the direction things were going. Calliope shook her head, the situation was spiraling out of her control, she had not expected such backbone from a gutless worm like Ernst Ruttiger.
“If we take part in a massacre all of this will have been for naught, if they declare me an outlaw Ruttiger will be able to weasel out,” Calliope explained.
“The mercenaries then, they can break this up, can you get word to them Caradwalden?” Otto asked. Kayden was nodding his head.
“A few of my boys could slip through to them but I dont know that it would prevent a massacre if the miners try to stop them reaching us,” the mercenary captain replied.
“Send your men, have them send riders to Calsdat,” Calliope decided suddenly, “Have them rouse the temple curates and anyone they can get from the Baron, bring them by force if you have to,” she decided.
“Even at the gallop that is nearly a two hour trip,” Kayden pointed out, “two hours there, two hours back, plus however long it takes to round people up.”
“Then you had best get started,” Calliope replied tartly, once they get here, come in with your troops, it will be obvious if we have witnesses who was attacking whom.”
“Any plans for how we will last out the next four hours then?” Kayden asked. Calliope marched to the window and threw open the shutters, to the horrified winces of both Otto and Kayden.
“Herr Ruttiger, I will not speak with you until you provide some earnest of what you owe me, I appreciate your shortage of ready coin however. Bring me the downpayment I provided you and I shall come down and talk,” she declared.
“And as waiting is thirsty work, have the taverns provide drinks for your men, on me,” she added, drawing cheers and chuckles from the miners that their foremen tried in vain to quash. Ruttiger fumed but seemed unable to figure a way out of the fix.
“Very well, I’ll send to my factory for your gold,” he admitted grudgingly. Calliope slammed the window shut and stepped away.
“Clever,” Otto observed, “but how are you going to avoid going down to him once he brings the gold. Calliope smiled a little wryly.
“He may have trouble producing it, because I dispatched Mesmer to steal it nearly two hours ago,” she admitted with a dark chuckle. “It will buy us some time at least, Kayden get your men moving, Otto, have everyone else barricade the bottom floor.”
“What if he tries to burn us out?” Otto asked in concern.
“I think I can probably do something about that,” Calliope replied.
@TideTypedWrong If you are still interested, you can move your character to the Character tab and post your intro!
Calliope stood at the window of the three story town house she had rented, peering out over the streets. Even from here she could sense the nervousness of the people below. Here and there Ruttiger’s bully boys swaggered about but they looked to be compensating for something. Calliope lifted the goblet to her lips and sipped at the rich red wine thoughtfully. She wondered if every step of her path would need to be this convoluted. A smile tugged at her lips, part of her hoped so, she did so enjoy a good scheme.
“Captain Caradwalden my lady,” Sir Humbolt, one of Otto’s men announced as the mercenary captain strode in. She stepped away from the window and turned to greet him. Kayden made a gesture somewhere between a salute and a wave and then helped himself to the wine.
“One of Ruttiger’s boys tried to bribe me,” he said without preamble. Calliope arched an eyebrow at him.
“Obviously I didn’t take it,” he added in a slightly irritated tone.
“Of course you might just be saying that,” Calliope teased. A raven fluttered down out of the chimney flue, casting ashes in all directions as it hopped free and shook itself as though taking a bird bath.
“Trraaath, trraath,” it cawed, flicking its wings in irritation.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me why he has it out for you, or why he is hiring every footpad he can get his hands on?” Kayden asked.
“I suspect,” Calliope began, “that something has stirred up the orcs in the mountains and they are currently swarming all over the roads he depends on to bring his ore to market. Which might be inconvenient if he had agreed to supply several hundred weight to someone by noon today.”
Kayden stared at her for a moment, but his mind was quick.
“That’s what it was about? You had my men drive the orcs out so they would swarm and stop him from honoring his deal?!” he demanded. Calliope nodded and took another sip of her wine.
“Silverhill is all but played out, its value as a mine is limited,” she admitted. Kayden shook his head.
“And what happens when he cant provide it?” he asked. Calliope’s lips drew back from her teeth.
“I’m afraid in his enthusiasm to take advantage of a down on her heels noblewoman, Herr Ruttiger wrote some rather harsh terms into our contract. Of course, it never occurred to him that it would be he that couldn’t follow through.”
“And they call me a mercenary,” Kayden said, the undertone of admiration clear in his voice. He took another sip of wine then looked around.
“Where is Mesmer?” he asked, surprised to see the taciturn man far from his mistress’ side.
“Abroad,” Calliope replied. She didn’t amplify the remark but the crow began to caw ‘Abrraaad, Abraaad.’
______________________
“She tricked me!” Ernest Ruttiger howled, his puddy face a shade of red that had more in common with beets than with men. The spherical man was dressed in a suit that had been out of fashion in Altdorf before Calliope had left, all roughed collars and sleeves. The men in the guild hall muttered uneasily at this outburst. The guild hall was the largest building in Nehren, not that this was saying much, a recent construction of polished wood and imported stained glass. It smelled of parchment and ink and the fortunes made by those mining magnates who frequented itself.
“Order!” Rickter Meirhoff, the reedy looking Burgermeister declared, banging a gavel down on a wooden striking plate to make his point. The two dozen merchants and their hangers on quieted down.
“Lady Blackwood, have you anything to say?” he asked, pressing a pair of pons nez glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Judging by the sheen of sweat, herr Meirhoff was regretting the bribes he had taken from Ruttiger now that he was being required to pay them off.
“I have a very clear contract, Herr Ruttiger was to supply me with three hundred weight of ore by noon today,” she declared, waving the contract around to emphasise the point.
“I have not received my delivery, despite the hour being long past and several polite notes,” she added.
“She set orcs on my wagon trains!” Ruttiger screamed, all but apoplectic. Calliope snorted in derision.
“I am certain Herr Ruttiger imagines I have all manner of magical powers,” Calliope sneered, “but I doubt even he seriously believes I can bend greenskins to my will.” Kayden covered his mouth at the mention of magical powers, but the rest of the room chuckled at the joke, happy enough to see their rival discomforted.
“She used her private army to do it!” Ruttiger ragged, making a gesture at Kayden to make it clear of whom he was speaking.
“I have, my friends, engaged soldiers to recover my own mine at Silverhill, an activity that has no bearing on Herr Ruttiger and that I am entirely within my rights to do. My friends at court would no doubt applaud me using my own resources to deal a blow to the greenskins who menace us all, I cannot imagine why it exercises dear Ernst so,” she said in a tone of soft and apparently genuine concern. Ruttiger began to shout a response but Meirhoff banged his gavel again, so forcefully that the powdered wig he was wearing nearly fell off.
“May I examine this contract Lady Blackwood?” Meirhoff asked politely. Calliope handed the scroll to Kayden who carried it across to the lectern the Burgermiester stood behind and passed it up to him. Meirhoff made a show of considering it, a sly look coming to his face.
“This is a very large amount Lady Blackwood, do you uh.. have the coin to pay for it?” he asked delicately.
“Honored Burgermeister, the contract states I will pay on delivery, and pay I would have done… had it been delivered,” Calliope responded with affronted dignity.
“It is most irregular perhaps…” Calliope held up a hand to interrupt the corrupt official.
“Herr Ruttiger was kind enough to have the contract vetted and witnessed by the Temple, I am certain they will stand by their opinion,” Calliope responded. Another wave of uneasy muttering went through the crowd. Merchants might lie and cheat each other, but the Temple of Sigmar was another matter entirely.
“Herr Ruttiger cannot be held responsible for the activities of orcs any more than you can be blamed for them,” Meirhoff said, his tone wheedling. “Perhaps if he simply returned your downpayment plus some modest fee…”
“The contract is very specific Burgermeister, it states that if he is not able to provide me with the ore I requested he will compensate me with twenty thousand gold florins or twenty two thousand Imperial Karls.” This sent a wave of shocked gasps though the crowd as it was an exorbitant amount. Calliope held up her hand for quiet.
“The same amount I would have been required to pay if I had not produced the funds,” she added, “Herr Ruttiger is very clear on this in the document.”
“I ah… see,” Meirhoff said miserably, his eyes going to the fuming Ruttiger. Such a figure would be ruinous to any merchant without the backing of the court or one of the major counting houses. A guarded look passed between Ruttiger and the Burgermiester.
“Very well, as the legality of the contract is secured by the Temple we will follow Temple law. As it is currently a Holy day, Temple business cannot be conducted. By noon time tomorrow Herr Ruttiger will render you the payment either in coin or in mortgages on property, is that acceptable to you Lady Blackwood?” Meirhoff asked, sagging as though exhausted.
“Entirely,” she replied smugly, favoring Ernst with a cold smile..
“Captain Caradwalden my lady,” Sir Humbolt, one of Otto’s men announced as the mercenary captain strode in. She stepped away from the window and turned to greet him. Kayden made a gesture somewhere between a salute and a wave and then helped himself to the wine.
“One of Ruttiger’s boys tried to bribe me,” he said without preamble. Calliope arched an eyebrow at him.
“Obviously I didn’t take it,” he added in a slightly irritated tone.
“Of course you might just be saying that,” Calliope teased. A raven fluttered down out of the chimney flue, casting ashes in all directions as it hopped free and shook itself as though taking a bird bath.
“Trraaath, trraath,” it cawed, flicking its wings in irritation.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me why he has it out for you, or why he is hiring every footpad he can get his hands on?” Kayden asked.
“I suspect,” Calliope began, “that something has stirred up the orcs in the mountains and they are currently swarming all over the roads he depends on to bring his ore to market. Which might be inconvenient if he had agreed to supply several hundred weight to someone by noon today.”
Kayden stared at her for a moment, but his mind was quick.
“That’s what it was about? You had my men drive the orcs out so they would swarm and stop him from honoring his deal?!” he demanded. Calliope nodded and took another sip of her wine.
“Silverhill is all but played out, its value as a mine is limited,” she admitted. Kayden shook his head.
“And what happens when he cant provide it?” he asked. Calliope’s lips drew back from her teeth.
“I’m afraid in his enthusiasm to take advantage of a down on her heels noblewoman, Herr Ruttiger wrote some rather harsh terms into our contract. Of course, it never occurred to him that it would be he that couldn’t follow through.”
“And they call me a mercenary,” Kayden said, the undertone of admiration clear in his voice. He took another sip of wine then looked around.
“Where is Mesmer?” he asked, surprised to see the taciturn man far from his mistress’ side.
“Abroad,” Calliope replied. She didn’t amplify the remark but the crow began to caw ‘Abrraaad, Abraaad.’
______________________
“She tricked me!” Ernest Ruttiger howled, his puddy face a shade of red that had more in common with beets than with men. The spherical man was dressed in a suit that had been out of fashion in Altdorf before Calliope had left, all roughed collars and sleeves. The men in the guild hall muttered uneasily at this outburst. The guild hall was the largest building in Nehren, not that this was saying much, a recent construction of polished wood and imported stained glass. It smelled of parchment and ink and the fortunes made by those mining magnates who frequented itself.
“Order!” Rickter Meirhoff, the reedy looking Burgermeister declared, banging a gavel down on a wooden striking plate to make his point. The two dozen merchants and their hangers on quieted down.
“Lady Blackwood, have you anything to say?” he asked, pressing a pair of pons nez glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Judging by the sheen of sweat, herr Meirhoff was regretting the bribes he had taken from Ruttiger now that he was being required to pay them off.
“I have a very clear contract, Herr Ruttiger was to supply me with three hundred weight of ore by noon today,” she declared, waving the contract around to emphasise the point.
“I have not received my delivery, despite the hour being long past and several polite notes,” she added.
“She set orcs on my wagon trains!” Ruttiger screamed, all but apoplectic. Calliope snorted in derision.
“I am certain Herr Ruttiger imagines I have all manner of magical powers,” Calliope sneered, “but I doubt even he seriously believes I can bend greenskins to my will.” Kayden covered his mouth at the mention of magical powers, but the rest of the room chuckled at the joke, happy enough to see their rival discomforted.
“She used her private army to do it!” Ruttiger ragged, making a gesture at Kayden to make it clear of whom he was speaking.
“I have, my friends, engaged soldiers to recover my own mine at Silverhill, an activity that has no bearing on Herr Ruttiger and that I am entirely within my rights to do. My friends at court would no doubt applaud me using my own resources to deal a blow to the greenskins who menace us all, I cannot imagine why it exercises dear Ernst so,” she said in a tone of soft and apparently genuine concern. Ruttiger began to shout a response but Meirhoff banged his gavel again, so forcefully that the powdered wig he was wearing nearly fell off.
“May I examine this contract Lady Blackwood?” Meirhoff asked politely. Calliope handed the scroll to Kayden who carried it across to the lectern the Burgermiester stood behind and passed it up to him. Meirhoff made a show of considering it, a sly look coming to his face.
“This is a very large amount Lady Blackwood, do you uh.. have the coin to pay for it?” he asked delicately.
“Honored Burgermeister, the contract states I will pay on delivery, and pay I would have done… had it been delivered,” Calliope responded with affronted dignity.
“It is most irregular perhaps…” Calliope held up a hand to interrupt the corrupt official.
“Herr Ruttiger was kind enough to have the contract vetted and witnessed by the Temple, I am certain they will stand by their opinion,” Calliope responded. Another wave of uneasy muttering went through the crowd. Merchants might lie and cheat each other, but the Temple of Sigmar was another matter entirely.
“Herr Ruttiger cannot be held responsible for the activities of orcs any more than you can be blamed for them,” Meirhoff said, his tone wheedling. “Perhaps if he simply returned your downpayment plus some modest fee…”
“The contract is very specific Burgermeister, it states that if he is not able to provide me with the ore I requested he will compensate me with twenty thousand gold florins or twenty two thousand Imperial Karls.” This sent a wave of shocked gasps though the crowd as it was an exorbitant amount. Calliope held up her hand for quiet.
“The same amount I would have been required to pay if I had not produced the funds,” she added, “Herr Ruttiger is very clear on this in the document.”
“I ah… see,” Meirhoff said miserably, his eyes going to the fuming Ruttiger. Such a figure would be ruinous to any merchant without the backing of the court or one of the major counting houses. A guarded look passed between Ruttiger and the Burgermiester.
“Very well, as the legality of the contract is secured by the Temple we will follow Temple law. As it is currently a Holy day, Temple business cannot be conducted. By noon time tomorrow Herr Ruttiger will render you the payment either in coin or in mortgages on property, is that acceptable to you Lady Blackwood?” Meirhoff asked, sagging as though exhausted.
“Entirely,” she replied smugly, favoring Ernst with a cold smile..
Calliope wasn’t entirely sure how she should relate to Kayden. Growing up on her estate in Averland people had been clearly divided into those you socialized with and servants. The mercenary captain was more like an employee but in Averland a noble engaging openly in business was still gouache and so she hadn’t had much opportunity to practice. In the Colleges of Magic the situation was much the same, the magically talented were the nobility and everyone else were the servants. Perhaps it was best not to give him a tongue lashing for asking impertinent questions just yet. Fortunately the arrival of Sir Otto allowed her out of the awkwardness.
“Bring him in Johan,” she told Mesmer. A moment later Otto tramped in, armor rattling and looking very pleased with himself.
“My Lady I…” he trailed off as he registered Kayden’s presence in the tent.
“What is he doing here?” he asked, more sharply than he might have if he hadn’t spent the last few hours riding through rough country in full armor.
“He is here,” Calliope replied acidly, “because he just escorted me from the mines.”
“The mines, you went down there without us? My Lady you cannot…”
“I may do,” Calliope began, enunciating each word very precisely, “exactly as I please.” The words were directed at both Kayden and Otto despite the knight currently suffering her ire.
“And in any case, you were not here to properly escort me. Fortunately Johan and Captain Caladwarden were up to the challenge,” she continued. Otto’s eyes cut to Mesmer and he clearly wanted to make further objection but apparently he was smart enough to stop digging when he found himself in a hole.
“Of course My Lady, I apologize for not being at my post, the ‘good’ Captain had made it clear that we wouldn’t be needed. So I decided to take the men and sweep for spies and stragglers and we found some,” Otto said, snapping his fingers. Two knights brought in a pair of men in rough peasant clothing, their wrists were bound and they looked terrified.
“What were you men doing in the hills today?” Calliope asked with deceptive indifference. The larger of the two men bowed his head in a frantic gesture of obeisance.
“Weren’t nothing youse ladyship ‘honest, just trapping rabbits is all,” he blurted. Calliope raised a sculpted eyebrow.
“Trapping rabbits on the same hillside an army was fighting greenskins, I cannot imagine you caught many,” Calliope said dryly. Otto and the knights chuckled at the dryly delivered jest. A look of relief came across the man's face and he nodded in furious agreement adding his own sickly laugh.
“Right you are youse Ladyship, not a single one,” he agreed. Otto reached into a satchel and produced a rather expensive looking spy glass and passed it to Calliope. The sorceress snapped it open and peered at the alleged spy, her dark eye appearing huge in the lens, like a monster out of legend.
“He was carrying this, a stick of charcoal for notes too but he ate the paper before we could confiscate it,” Otto explained. The captive looked outraged.
“We didnt eat nuffin, and that their looking glass was a gift from me da!” he exclaimed. Calliope chuckled and closed the glass with a snap that made the man flinch.
“A gift from your da indeed,” Calliope snickered, “do you have a name sir?”
“Yevins, Carl Yevins your ladyship,” he supplied.
“I don't suppose you are for hire Carl Yevins?” Calliope asked, “natural talent should be encouraged wherever it springs up.” Yevins looked this way and that, doing a credible job of appearing confused.
“For hire your ladyship, like as a rabbit trapper?” he asked guilelessly. Calliope laughed again and gestured to the scowling Knight.
“Cut them loose Sir Otto,” she commanded. Otto’s mouth worked for a moment, but he obediently produced a knife and sliced the bonds of the two prisoners. Both men began to chafe their wrists together, restoring the circulation after the tight binding. Calliope closed the spy glass and tossed it to Yevins, who caught it neatly.
“You may go,” she told the two potential spies. Both men looked confused, and Otto began to redden with anger.
“You…you are just going to let us go?” Yevins asked, clearly taken aback.
“If you really insist I suppose I can have you birched for trespassing on my land, but I really am terribly busy so you will have to ask Sir Otto to do it if you feel it necessary,” she replied dryly. Yevins’ eyes cut between Calliope and the fuming Knight, then he bowed and scuttled out of the tent with his companion.
“Is it really wise to let spies go free my Lady?” Kayden asked in a rare moment of solidarity with Otto.
“It is if you want them to report their findings,” Calliope responded.
“Have your troops make a show of fortifying the mine, then have them rest. I will be returning to Gallows end in the morning, I shall require that the majority of the men remain here, but will require fifty or so as an escort,” she told Kayden.
“Bring him in Johan,” she told Mesmer. A moment later Otto tramped in, armor rattling and looking very pleased with himself.
“My Lady I…” he trailed off as he registered Kayden’s presence in the tent.
“What is he doing here?” he asked, more sharply than he might have if he hadn’t spent the last few hours riding through rough country in full armor.
“He is here,” Calliope replied acidly, “because he just escorted me from the mines.”
“The mines, you went down there without us? My Lady you cannot…”
“I may do,” Calliope began, enunciating each word very precisely, “exactly as I please.” The words were directed at both Kayden and Otto despite the knight currently suffering her ire.
“And in any case, you were not here to properly escort me. Fortunately Johan and Captain Caladwarden were up to the challenge,” she continued. Otto’s eyes cut to Mesmer and he clearly wanted to make further objection but apparently he was smart enough to stop digging when he found himself in a hole.
“Of course My Lady, I apologize for not being at my post, the ‘good’ Captain had made it clear that we wouldn’t be needed. So I decided to take the men and sweep for spies and stragglers and we found some,” Otto said, snapping his fingers. Two knights brought in a pair of men in rough peasant clothing, their wrists were bound and they looked terrified.
“What were you men doing in the hills today?” Calliope asked with deceptive indifference. The larger of the two men bowed his head in a frantic gesture of obeisance.
“Weren’t nothing youse ladyship ‘honest, just trapping rabbits is all,” he blurted. Calliope raised a sculpted eyebrow.
“Trapping rabbits on the same hillside an army was fighting greenskins, I cannot imagine you caught many,” Calliope said dryly. Otto and the knights chuckled at the dryly delivered jest. A look of relief came across the man's face and he nodded in furious agreement adding his own sickly laugh.
“Right you are youse Ladyship, not a single one,” he agreed. Otto reached into a satchel and produced a rather expensive looking spy glass and passed it to Calliope. The sorceress snapped it open and peered at the alleged spy, her dark eye appearing huge in the lens, like a monster out of legend.
“He was carrying this, a stick of charcoal for notes too but he ate the paper before we could confiscate it,” Otto explained. The captive looked outraged.
“We didnt eat nuffin, and that their looking glass was a gift from me da!” he exclaimed. Calliope chuckled and closed the glass with a snap that made the man flinch.
“A gift from your da indeed,” Calliope snickered, “do you have a name sir?”
“Yevins, Carl Yevins your ladyship,” he supplied.
“I don't suppose you are for hire Carl Yevins?” Calliope asked, “natural talent should be encouraged wherever it springs up.” Yevins looked this way and that, doing a credible job of appearing confused.
“For hire your ladyship, like as a rabbit trapper?” he asked guilelessly. Calliope laughed again and gestured to the scowling Knight.
“Cut them loose Sir Otto,” she commanded. Otto’s mouth worked for a moment, but he obediently produced a knife and sliced the bonds of the two prisoners. Both men began to chafe their wrists together, restoring the circulation after the tight binding. Calliope closed the spy glass and tossed it to Yevins, who caught it neatly.
“You may go,” she told the two potential spies. Both men looked confused, and Otto began to redden with anger.
“You…you are just going to let us go?” Yevins asked, clearly taken aback.
“If you really insist I suppose I can have you birched for trespassing on my land, but I really am terribly busy so you will have to ask Sir Otto to do it if you feel it necessary,” she replied dryly. Yevins’ eyes cut between Calliope and the fuming Knight, then he bowed and scuttled out of the tent with his companion.
“Is it really wise to let spies go free my Lady?” Kayden asked in a rare moment of solidarity with Otto.
“It is if you want them to report their findings,” Calliope responded.
“Have your troops make a show of fortifying the mine, then have them rest. I will be returning to Gallows end in the morning, I shall require that the majority of the men remain here, but will require fifty or so as an escort,” she told Kayden.
“My knights and I will handle it,” Calliope unexpectedly interjected. Conversation between the mercenaries couldn’t have been stopped more effectively if she had produced a pistol and shot Kayden through the heart. Everyone simultaneously reacted with some version of ‘no’ or ‘you cant’ but Calliope paid them no mind.
“My Lady,” Mesmer said in his odd cultured voice. “Sir Otto and the rest of the knights are scouring the hills for spies.” It was by far the longest sentence Kayden had ever heard Mesmer speak and he seemed to sense it, shrugging his shoulders defensively. Calliope’s eyes flashed with irritation.
“And who told him to do that?” she asked. Mesmer, apparently seeking to regain his speech economy, shrugged his shoulders. Calliope shook her head dismissing the matter.
“Johan, fetch my things,” she instructed the manservant, then turned to Kayden.
“I will need an escort, perhaps a half dozen men,” she ordered. Kayden made a face as though he had bitten into a lemon. Clearly the idea of his employer putting herself in danger did not appeal.
“We could send more men, no need for you to put yourself at risk,” he temporized.
“Done much tunnel fightin’ ave ye?” Morek demanded, “got some secret weapon that’ll send the grobbi scarperin’?”
“There are many kinds of combat master dwarf, and since I am paying for all this, let us not waste further time in debate. Mesmer was returning from Calliope’s horse across each shoulder he had a silk wrapped bundle, one bulky one slender.
“This is madness,” Kayden muttered under his breath. Two ravens who had been perched on the limb of a twisted apple tree cawed and began to croak. Maaaadnss Madddnns. Calliope arched an eyebrow and Kayden threw up his hands.
“Fine, I will come with you. Morek, pick a couple of…”
“Francesca and the dwarf should be sufficient,” Calliope cut in. “If it proves as perilous as the girl claims, we will fall back and wait for my men.” Calliope glared at the hills as if willing Otto and the rest of her knights to return, but while concerning, her ire wasn’t quite enough to force the hills to produce the errant men at arms.
The inside of the mines were an eerie place as the small group moved down the shafts. Francesca trembled violently until Calliope laid a hand on her shoulder. For some reason that seemed to calm the girl and she led them down through several chambers where the working had been done. Rusted rails and dilapidated equipment lay strewn about and the walls were covered with orcish glyphs and graffiti or an indecipherable but obviously crude nature.
“Manling miners are fools but I doubt even they could draw more ore from this rock,” Morek observed as they passed through a gutted chamber with an ancient pump house smashed half to kindling. Calliope ignored the observation, her eyes scanning the area.
“Not much further,” Francesca announced in a deathly calm, her eyes seeming almost to spark with amethyst light in the flickering illumination of the hurricane lamps. Mesmer paused and passed the thinner of the silk wrapped bundles to Calliope then drew the covering back from his own. It was a massive zweihander, a large two handed sword meant to dismember men and horses alike. The steel was blackened by some process of forging making it seem like he held a blade wrought of shadows in the lantern light.
“Great a sword tae big tae even swing in a mine,” Morek scoffed. Calliope pulled her own silk away, revealing a slender staff of dark ebony. A rough crystal had been set at its top, like the inside of a geode turned outwards, glistening purple. Odd runes had been carved into the wood and Calliope ran her fingers along them.
“And now we have a stick as well,” Morke grumped, though he sounded a little uncertain. Mesmer led the way down into the next chamber, a large cavern in which the destroyed pump station had allowed water to accumulate until it created a black lake split by a causeway of uncarved rock. The smell of blood and death announced that this was the chamber where it had happened even before they found the bodies, the bits of bodies anyway.
“Magic,” Kayden hissed and was answered with a demented cackle as an enormous goblin stepped out from behind a stalagmite. He held a staff in his hand, a twisted gnarled thing topped with a carved representation of a grinning moon, beside him two massive orcs lumbered, their eyes filmed as though blind from cataracts or some other condition. Despite this they held massive cleavers and wore armor that seemed to have been cobbled together from a variety of humans and dwarves.
“Gork and Mork, Mork and Gork, feast on their bones for they not orcs!” the goblin cackled. Almost faster than the eye could follow he leveled his staff and a burst of greenish light lashed out. Calliope raised her staff and a barrier of bright amethyst energy exploded into being, the green light crackled over it like static discharge then winked out. Both orcs charged, their movements eerily synchronized and lacking the usual war cries of their kind. Mesmer stepped to meet one, his black blade whirling in a figure eight which deflected the orcs attack and struck sparks from its chest plate. Morek stumped in, shouting in Kazilid and hammering his axe at the brute knee. The orc twisted and kicked, the blow pitching the dwarf into the water with a splash. Kayden was obliged to face the second alone, his sidesword weaving a series of desperate parries, any attempt to block the massive cleaver would shatter his blade in an instant. Calliope whirled her staff around and hundred of what seemed to be fireflies pulled themselves from the cavern walls and whirled down onto the goblin like locusts. Screaming vile imprecations the Goblin crossed his arms and a thunderous green gold detonation blew the fireflies away like dandelion fluff. Raising its arms its face began to glow, then seemed to detach from its face for all the world like a wax death mask being peeled away. It expanded until it was ten feet across, learning and spewing energy. It lunged forward, spewing green fire but Calliope was chanting and whirling her staff, the very darkness seemed to twist and the face distended as though being sucked into a whirlpool, the goblin howling and clawing at its real face as the phantasm met a disc of crackling amethyst darkness. Light was howling across the chamber, reflecting and refracting off the water and bathing the walls in unhealthy hues. The air smelled of camphor and fire damp mixed with something floral and astringent. Mesmer cut at his attacker, taking its arm off at the elbow and fetching a blow that sent him spinning across the causeway. Somehow he held onto his blade, its passage marked in the sparks it drew from the flint of the causeway. Kayden backed away, giving ground to the oddly silent, orc and worrying it with quick precise thrusts that already had blood soaking its lower chest and legs. The darkness lit with a pistol discharge as Francesca fired, not at the orcs but at the shaman herself. The ball streaked across the room in a fraction of a heartbeat then seemed to freeze a few feet from the capering goblin, the ball beginning to glow and smoke in the abused light.
“Die! Die! Die!” the little monster screeched, spittle flyinging. It’s massive faux face drew back, snarling wide enough to devour a wagon, a wall of green flame belching forth. It raced towards the combat, the water on either side boiling at its passage. Mesmer amputated the orcs foot with a one handed cut, then leaped backwards, sword raised to protect his mistress. Kayden thrust his side sword into his opponent’s belly, then leaped into his arms like a child clasping its mother. Calliope spoke a single word and flicked her finger. Twisting waterspouts of black lake water leaped from the darkness and crashed over the goblin from both sides. It let out a petulant cry that was silenced a moment later when Francesca’s pistol shot, now glowing red hot from the spell that until a moment ago finished its flight, punched through the creature's right eyeball, steam screaming away as super heated metal hit cold mountain water, casting its ruddy glow like a meteor. Everything went silent save for the agitated sloshing of water. Then Mesmer produced a lantern which he had somehow kept dry enough to light.
“A curse on all Manling mercenaries and their hare-brained ideas,” Morek spluttered as he pulled himself from the water, nothing wounded but his dignity. Kayden, miraculously, had survived, having used his attacker's body as a shield against the onrushing flames. The orc’s back was a flayed ruin, but other than a slight smell of singed hair, Kayden was unscathed. Mesmer looked like he had aged a decade but was calmly wiping the great zweihander clean with a rag.
“I believe your men… and women will be able to take it from here,” Calliope said calmly, lowering her faintly glowing staff with an air of satisfaction.
“My Lady,” Mesmer said in his odd cultured voice. “Sir Otto and the rest of the knights are scouring the hills for spies.” It was by far the longest sentence Kayden had ever heard Mesmer speak and he seemed to sense it, shrugging his shoulders defensively. Calliope’s eyes flashed with irritation.
“And who told him to do that?” she asked. Mesmer, apparently seeking to regain his speech economy, shrugged his shoulders. Calliope shook her head dismissing the matter.
“Johan, fetch my things,” she instructed the manservant, then turned to Kayden.
“I will need an escort, perhaps a half dozen men,” she ordered. Kayden made a face as though he had bitten into a lemon. Clearly the idea of his employer putting herself in danger did not appeal.
“We could send more men, no need for you to put yourself at risk,” he temporized.
“Done much tunnel fightin’ ave ye?” Morek demanded, “got some secret weapon that’ll send the grobbi scarperin’?”
“There are many kinds of combat master dwarf, and since I am paying for all this, let us not waste further time in debate. Mesmer was returning from Calliope’s horse across each shoulder he had a silk wrapped bundle, one bulky one slender.
“This is madness,” Kayden muttered under his breath. Two ravens who had been perched on the limb of a twisted apple tree cawed and began to croak. Maaaadnss Madddnns. Calliope arched an eyebrow and Kayden threw up his hands.
“Fine, I will come with you. Morek, pick a couple of…”
“Francesca and the dwarf should be sufficient,” Calliope cut in. “If it proves as perilous as the girl claims, we will fall back and wait for my men.” Calliope glared at the hills as if willing Otto and the rest of her knights to return, but while concerning, her ire wasn’t quite enough to force the hills to produce the errant men at arms.
The inside of the mines were an eerie place as the small group moved down the shafts. Francesca trembled violently until Calliope laid a hand on her shoulder. For some reason that seemed to calm the girl and she led them down through several chambers where the working had been done. Rusted rails and dilapidated equipment lay strewn about and the walls were covered with orcish glyphs and graffiti or an indecipherable but obviously crude nature.
“Manling miners are fools but I doubt even they could draw more ore from this rock,” Morek observed as they passed through a gutted chamber with an ancient pump house smashed half to kindling. Calliope ignored the observation, her eyes scanning the area.
“Not much further,” Francesca announced in a deathly calm, her eyes seeming almost to spark with amethyst light in the flickering illumination of the hurricane lamps. Mesmer paused and passed the thinner of the silk wrapped bundles to Calliope then drew the covering back from his own. It was a massive zweihander, a large two handed sword meant to dismember men and horses alike. The steel was blackened by some process of forging making it seem like he held a blade wrought of shadows in the lantern light.
“Great a sword tae big tae even swing in a mine,” Morek scoffed. Calliope pulled her own silk away, revealing a slender staff of dark ebony. A rough crystal had been set at its top, like the inside of a geode turned outwards, glistening purple. Odd runes had been carved into the wood and Calliope ran her fingers along them.
“And now we have a stick as well,” Morke grumped, though he sounded a little uncertain. Mesmer led the way down into the next chamber, a large cavern in which the destroyed pump station had allowed water to accumulate until it created a black lake split by a causeway of uncarved rock. The smell of blood and death announced that this was the chamber where it had happened even before they found the bodies, the bits of bodies anyway.
“Magic,” Kayden hissed and was answered with a demented cackle as an enormous goblin stepped out from behind a stalagmite. He held a staff in his hand, a twisted gnarled thing topped with a carved representation of a grinning moon, beside him two massive orcs lumbered, their eyes filmed as though blind from cataracts or some other condition. Despite this they held massive cleavers and wore armor that seemed to have been cobbled together from a variety of humans and dwarves.
“Gork and Mork, Mork and Gork, feast on their bones for they not orcs!” the goblin cackled. Almost faster than the eye could follow he leveled his staff and a burst of greenish light lashed out. Calliope raised her staff and a barrier of bright amethyst energy exploded into being, the green light crackled over it like static discharge then winked out. Both orcs charged, their movements eerily synchronized and lacking the usual war cries of their kind. Mesmer stepped to meet one, his black blade whirling in a figure eight which deflected the orcs attack and struck sparks from its chest plate. Morek stumped in, shouting in Kazilid and hammering his axe at the brute knee. The orc twisted and kicked, the blow pitching the dwarf into the water with a splash. Kayden was obliged to face the second alone, his sidesword weaving a series of desperate parries, any attempt to block the massive cleaver would shatter his blade in an instant. Calliope whirled her staff around and hundred of what seemed to be fireflies pulled themselves from the cavern walls and whirled down onto the goblin like locusts. Screaming vile imprecations the Goblin crossed his arms and a thunderous green gold detonation blew the fireflies away like dandelion fluff. Raising its arms its face began to glow, then seemed to detach from its face for all the world like a wax death mask being peeled away. It expanded until it was ten feet across, learning and spewing energy. It lunged forward, spewing green fire but Calliope was chanting and whirling her staff, the very darkness seemed to twist and the face distended as though being sucked into a whirlpool, the goblin howling and clawing at its real face as the phantasm met a disc of crackling amethyst darkness. Light was howling across the chamber, reflecting and refracting off the water and bathing the walls in unhealthy hues. The air smelled of camphor and fire damp mixed with something floral and astringent. Mesmer cut at his attacker, taking its arm off at the elbow and fetching a blow that sent him spinning across the causeway. Somehow he held onto his blade, its passage marked in the sparks it drew from the flint of the causeway. Kayden backed away, giving ground to the oddly silent, orc and worrying it with quick precise thrusts that already had blood soaking its lower chest and legs. The darkness lit with a pistol discharge as Francesca fired, not at the orcs but at the shaman herself. The ball streaked across the room in a fraction of a heartbeat then seemed to freeze a few feet from the capering goblin, the ball beginning to glow and smoke in the abused light.
“Die! Die! Die!” the little monster screeched, spittle flyinging. It’s massive faux face drew back, snarling wide enough to devour a wagon, a wall of green flame belching forth. It raced towards the combat, the water on either side boiling at its passage. Mesmer amputated the orcs foot with a one handed cut, then leaped backwards, sword raised to protect his mistress. Kayden thrust his side sword into his opponent’s belly, then leaped into his arms like a child clasping its mother. Calliope spoke a single word and flicked her finger. Twisting waterspouts of black lake water leaped from the darkness and crashed over the goblin from both sides. It let out a petulant cry that was silenced a moment later when Francesca’s pistol shot, now glowing red hot from the spell that until a moment ago finished its flight, punched through the creature's right eyeball, steam screaming away as super heated metal hit cold mountain water, casting its ruddy glow like a meteor. Everything went silent save for the agitated sloshing of water. Then Mesmer produced a lantern which he had somehow kept dry enough to light.
“A curse on all Manling mercenaries and their hare-brained ideas,” Morek spluttered as he pulled himself from the water, nothing wounded but his dignity. Kayden, miraculously, had survived, having used his attacker's body as a shield against the onrushing flames. The orc’s back was a flayed ruin, but other than a slight smell of singed hair, Kayden was unscathed. Mesmer looked like he had aged a decade but was calmly wiping the great zweihander clean with a rag.
“I believe your men… and women will be able to take it from here,” Calliope said calmly, lowering her faintly glowing staff with an air of satisfaction.
“Put yer fething gen ep! Yer have the honor of speaking to Camilla Seraphina Lucretzia Fiamenta Belladona de Trantio Dechess of Cabreze, Cap'n General of Spinward League, Hereditry Colonel of the Coldface Dragoons, Laird of Breka, Cemmedure of the Illiadyen Argosy, by the Grece ef the Immertel Emperer, Cap'n and Rogue Trader! “ Alcander announced, hooking a thumb at Camilla without actually shifting his gun from the presumed guards.
“Oh and Hierophant of Colton's World,” Jocasta added with a ‘what are you going to do shrug. The men licked their lips uncertain as to how to proceed. As prison guards, having their authority questioned almost always led to a violent response, something that obviously wouldn’t work well for them in this case.
“Perhaps,” Camilla suggested with the weariness of aristocratic disdain, “you might convey us to whoever is in charge?”
There was a sudden booming crunch from deeper into the compound but none of the guards so much as flinched at it.
“Yes,” the man with the chainblade said after a moment, “You want Grannock.”
“Sure…” Camilla said skeptically but gestured for the men to lead on.
They past through a double line of flakboard barracks, all abandoned and in poor repair into a large invagination of the frozen bay. On the ice sheet stood a rather remarkable looking vessel. The banging they had heard clearly emanating from its many chimneys and effluent egress tubes. It was perhaps fifty meters in diameter and roughly circular, perhaps with a slight point at fore and aft. Its three tiered stories were lined with cranes and derricks and in several places industrial cutting rigs stood. Some were powerful hydraulic jaws, others were long chainsword like attachments at the end of rubberized pressure hoses. Fires glowed within and steam emitted from pipework all over the vessel in long plumes. Here and there, long dirty icicles of recondensed steam hung like the teeth of some insane predator. Nor were they the only thing. Bodies hung from improvised gibbets, naked and frostbitten. More than one were missing hands or limbs, apparently shattered when the wind drove their frozen forms against the rusted steel hull platting.
“What in Terra’s name is that?” Camilla demanded, simultaneously revolted and fascinated.
“It appears to be an urchin pattern ice fishing derrick manufactured on Sicra V sometime before 982.M38,” Jocasta provided without missing a breath.
“Extensively modified of course, It looks like they have retrofitted it with crawler tracks from a least a dozen Byrox heavy mining haulers. I wonder how they are adjusting for the axial flex, much less how they are handling synchronizing hydraulics over…”
Camilla held up her hand wishing, and not for the first time, that she had a mute button for the talkative tech adept.
“Ice fishing derrick. Got it,”
“Ats right,” the guard Camilla had clouted on the jaw replied, rubbing the bruise with a sullen look.
“We take ‘er out once a month and punch a hole in the ice, replenish our stocks,” he explained. Camilla could see men moving around on the super structure, all of them dressed in variations of what these guards were wearing, heavy masks and bits of flack armor supplemented by leather and chain mail. All carried weapons, though it looked like firearms were in somewhat short supply.
“I thought you were taking us to see your leader, Grannock was it?” Camilla asked as it became clear they were being led to an improvised boarding ramp rather than to one of the buildings.
“He always leads the hunts himself,” the guard replied, “he is already on board.” Camilla sighed, getting anything more out of the guards seemed like far more work than simply waiting a minute until she was ushered before someone with some actual authority.
“Very well, get moving then man, my time is valuable,” Camilla snapped. The guard produced what might have been a simpering smile or a sneer but led them aboard up the ramp and onto metal grilled walkways. The whole vessel stank of blood. An icy slick of it coated many of the walkways and there was more down in the bilges. Frozen it had a very metallic scent, lacking the rot that would have been present in normal environments.
“They are designed to render the carcasses of great whaleforms, cutting them into sections on the top decks which then fall to the lower decks to be broken up into increasingly finer increments. I wonder if they have the onboard cannery or if they…”
“Jocasta,” Camilla said with a sigh, “perhaps we may speak of this later?” she suggested. The tech priest pouted but fell silent. It was quite an image, some great whale, hoisted onto the upper decks, then sliced to pieces, its blood and flesh pouring down the sides of the derricks in torrents. Camilla had no doubt that even the blood was recovered to form nutrient gruel or whatever other horror the prisoners were forced to subsist on. After several interminable minutes of walking they entered a bridge area, marked out with smart yellow paint and armor crys panels that gave a breathtaking view over the frozen bay. A powerfully built man who appeared to be in his late forties stood there dressed in much the same fashion as the rest of the guards, save he had a long leather coat and a rusted iron gorget. Another man stood beside him, seemingly a dwarf at first view but closer inspection revealed him to be wizened and bent. He wore rags and the remnants of guild Astropathica ramient, the many plugs in his skull and spine were surrounded by discoloration caused by frostbite transmitted by the metal. Superation was being kept at bay by some kind of reeking ointment that smelled of animal tallow.
“Ah esteemed visitors!” the tall man boomed. His smile was probably meant to be welcoming but the effect was spoiled by the fact that his teeth were not human but rather implanted fangs, perhaps those of a shark or some other aquatic predator. How he managed to speak without ripping his lips and tongue to shred was a minor miracle.
“Are you bringing more g…prisoners, we had not heard that another batch was due for at least a month,” he said in his booming voice, his confusion evident.
“We are not, in fact I am here hunting for some specific prisoners,” Camilla replied.
“Ah of course you are welcome but by what authority?” he asked, sounding civil and genuinely interested.
“My warrant of trade gives me the right to commute sentences of prisoners to life terms aboard my vessel,” Camilla replied. Technically this was true, though the vaguely worded provision was intended to supply ratings, the lowly laboring class, rather than officers. In such a remote place however it was unlikely to be challenged.
“I see, we have dealt with several Rogue Traders before, what kind of prisoners are you interested in?” he asked. Camilla kept her face impassive but the clashing of his inhuman teeth and his gentle speech were an unpleasant combination. She would almost have preferred a snarl.
“The Porphyryn Mutineers,” Camilla supplied. Grannock nodded and looked down at the pathetic remnant of an astropath.
“Do we have records of them Berek?” he asked. The astropath reached into a pouch and began searching through several small pieces of ivory that Camilla realised must be human teeth. Each one of them had been marked in someway, perhaps with idetic encodes that helped the astropath remember.
“Two seasons ago some were taken by the Gray River, two human males and a female, they were…” Grannock cut off his advisor with a wave of his hand. Then leaned down to a brass speaking trumpet built into the bridge controls.
“Change course for Gray River!” he boomed into the device, and a moment later the deck shuddered as the vast derrick began to slowly crawl forward across the ice.
“You keep prisoners in secondary facilities then?” Camilla asked, confused. Grannock laughed.
“Facilities? Of course not, we let them run wild in the tundra, there would be no fun in it if they were stuck behind fences all the time!” Grannock chuckled.
“I see,” Camilla replied, though by the Emperor, she did no such thing.
“Oh and Hierophant of Colton's World,” Jocasta added with a ‘what are you going to do shrug. The men licked their lips uncertain as to how to proceed. As prison guards, having their authority questioned almost always led to a violent response, something that obviously wouldn’t work well for them in this case.
“Perhaps,” Camilla suggested with the weariness of aristocratic disdain, “you might convey us to whoever is in charge?”
There was a sudden booming crunch from deeper into the compound but none of the guards so much as flinched at it.
“Yes,” the man with the chainblade said after a moment, “You want Grannock.”
“Sure…” Camilla said skeptically but gestured for the men to lead on.
They past through a double line of flakboard barracks, all abandoned and in poor repair into a large invagination of the frozen bay. On the ice sheet stood a rather remarkable looking vessel. The banging they had heard clearly emanating from its many chimneys and effluent egress tubes. It was perhaps fifty meters in diameter and roughly circular, perhaps with a slight point at fore and aft. Its three tiered stories were lined with cranes and derricks and in several places industrial cutting rigs stood. Some were powerful hydraulic jaws, others were long chainsword like attachments at the end of rubberized pressure hoses. Fires glowed within and steam emitted from pipework all over the vessel in long plumes. Here and there, long dirty icicles of recondensed steam hung like the teeth of some insane predator. Nor were they the only thing. Bodies hung from improvised gibbets, naked and frostbitten. More than one were missing hands or limbs, apparently shattered when the wind drove their frozen forms against the rusted steel hull platting.
“What in Terra’s name is that?” Camilla demanded, simultaneously revolted and fascinated.
“It appears to be an urchin pattern ice fishing derrick manufactured on Sicra V sometime before 982.M38,” Jocasta provided without missing a breath.
“Extensively modified of course, It looks like they have retrofitted it with crawler tracks from a least a dozen Byrox heavy mining haulers. I wonder how they are adjusting for the axial flex, much less how they are handling synchronizing hydraulics over…”
Camilla held up her hand wishing, and not for the first time, that she had a mute button for the talkative tech adept.
“Ice fishing derrick. Got it,”
“Ats right,” the guard Camilla had clouted on the jaw replied, rubbing the bruise with a sullen look.
“We take ‘er out once a month and punch a hole in the ice, replenish our stocks,” he explained. Camilla could see men moving around on the super structure, all of them dressed in variations of what these guards were wearing, heavy masks and bits of flack armor supplemented by leather and chain mail. All carried weapons, though it looked like firearms were in somewhat short supply.
“I thought you were taking us to see your leader, Grannock was it?” Camilla asked as it became clear they were being led to an improvised boarding ramp rather than to one of the buildings.
“He always leads the hunts himself,” the guard replied, “he is already on board.” Camilla sighed, getting anything more out of the guards seemed like far more work than simply waiting a minute until she was ushered before someone with some actual authority.
“Very well, get moving then man, my time is valuable,” Camilla snapped. The guard produced what might have been a simpering smile or a sneer but led them aboard up the ramp and onto metal grilled walkways. The whole vessel stank of blood. An icy slick of it coated many of the walkways and there was more down in the bilges. Frozen it had a very metallic scent, lacking the rot that would have been present in normal environments.
“They are designed to render the carcasses of great whaleforms, cutting them into sections on the top decks which then fall to the lower decks to be broken up into increasingly finer increments. I wonder if they have the onboard cannery or if they…”
“Jocasta,” Camilla said with a sigh, “perhaps we may speak of this later?” she suggested. The tech priest pouted but fell silent. It was quite an image, some great whale, hoisted onto the upper decks, then sliced to pieces, its blood and flesh pouring down the sides of the derricks in torrents. Camilla had no doubt that even the blood was recovered to form nutrient gruel or whatever other horror the prisoners were forced to subsist on. After several interminable minutes of walking they entered a bridge area, marked out with smart yellow paint and armor crys panels that gave a breathtaking view over the frozen bay. A powerfully built man who appeared to be in his late forties stood there dressed in much the same fashion as the rest of the guards, save he had a long leather coat and a rusted iron gorget. Another man stood beside him, seemingly a dwarf at first view but closer inspection revealed him to be wizened and bent. He wore rags and the remnants of guild Astropathica ramient, the many plugs in his skull and spine were surrounded by discoloration caused by frostbite transmitted by the metal. Superation was being kept at bay by some kind of reeking ointment that smelled of animal tallow.
“Ah esteemed visitors!” the tall man boomed. His smile was probably meant to be welcoming but the effect was spoiled by the fact that his teeth were not human but rather implanted fangs, perhaps those of a shark or some other aquatic predator. How he managed to speak without ripping his lips and tongue to shred was a minor miracle.
“Are you bringing more g…prisoners, we had not heard that another batch was due for at least a month,” he said in his booming voice, his confusion evident.
“We are not, in fact I am here hunting for some specific prisoners,” Camilla replied.
“Ah of course you are welcome but by what authority?” he asked, sounding civil and genuinely interested.
“My warrant of trade gives me the right to commute sentences of prisoners to life terms aboard my vessel,” Camilla replied. Technically this was true, though the vaguely worded provision was intended to supply ratings, the lowly laboring class, rather than officers. In such a remote place however it was unlikely to be challenged.
“I see, we have dealt with several Rogue Traders before, what kind of prisoners are you interested in?” he asked. Camilla kept her face impassive but the clashing of his inhuman teeth and his gentle speech were an unpleasant combination. She would almost have preferred a snarl.
“The Porphyryn Mutineers,” Camilla supplied. Grannock nodded and looked down at the pathetic remnant of an astropath.
“Do we have records of them Berek?” he asked. The astropath reached into a pouch and began searching through several small pieces of ivory that Camilla realised must be human teeth. Each one of them had been marked in someway, perhaps with idetic encodes that helped the astropath remember.
“Two seasons ago some were taken by the Gray River, two human males and a female, they were…” Grannock cut off his advisor with a wave of his hand. Then leaned down to a brass speaking trumpet built into the bridge controls.
“Change course for Gray River!” he boomed into the device, and a moment later the deck shuddered as the vast derrick began to slowly crawl forward across the ice.
“You keep prisoners in secondary facilities then?” Camilla asked, confused. Grannock laughed.
“Facilities? Of course not, we let them run wild in the tundra, there would be no fun in it if they were stuck behind fences all the time!” Grannock chuckled.
“I see,” Camilla replied, though by the Emperor, she did no such thing.
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