POOHEAD189

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Bahadir waited a moment, wondering if the food was laced with something. Even if they would not outright kill he or the corsair, perhaps they would give them food that slowed them down, caused them to feel nauseous, give them the shits, distract them in the ring? But no, after wondering of it, he knew while the Sultan and Vizier wanted them dead, they also wanted a grand show. And the harder they fought, the more sweet it would be to watch them die, and so he took a small slab of ham and began to eat it, enjoying the succulent meat. It had a hint of sweetness to it, and to a slave, this was nearly tantamount to sexual pleasure, though it did not quite press those same buttons. Still, he could not keep the satisfaction out of his face, and next he plucked what grapes he found, and took some dates to keep[ for later.

He initially kept his head down. Long years under the lash, and the delectable food before him, had his eyes down and shoulders hunched. And he only caught a few words of Reikspiel here and there, as well. He wished he knew the northern tongue better, particularly so he could converse with the foreigner, but it seemed that even Azim chose to speak in that tongue because he felt his main adversary was the woman. Bahadir was merely a useful idiot, made to give a grand show before his untimely demise.

Well, the man thought, I would sooner let scorpions claw my eyes out before I kept myself subservient at my own death! He felt the pirate was rubbing off on him a bit. He never really felt any loyalty to the Sultan, but her promise of something more set a fire in his breast.

"You wish to kill we?" He said slowly, speaking the northern tongue clumsily. "You will have to try harder."

The Vizier and Calliope looked at Bahadir, both with different expressions. The Vizier had a look of shock and disdain, whereas the dark woman smiled, and then laughed like a hyena. Azim rose up, eyes blazing. "You dare speak out of turn, slave?" He asked in Arabyan.

"If you are going to kill me, then yes." Bahadir replied quickly. "I am of the old blood! I have fought men and beast! And if you think I will lay down and let it happen..." He thought for a moment, finding the right words to say it in reikspiel. "...You can...suck... this... penis!"

Azim's eyes widened, and he gave a snarl that would make a mountain cat proud. With a dramatic whirl, his cloak billowing, he turned and strode away, the food and water being withdrawn in his wake. But before he left the chamber in its entirety, he glanced back at them, a smile having returned to his face. "I was vexed to lose such a worthy slave, but now I have no qualms of setting the 'Wahush Wukar' on you!"

His harsh laughter echoed down the halls as he strode away with the theatrical air of a Detlef Sierck melodrama, his entourage in tow behind him. Bahadir settled back down, crossing his arms and letting out a breath. He glanced at Calliope, and knew she understood roughly what he said. Their next enemies would be the 'Beasts that walk.'

The Withered -- An Interest Check

This looks pretty cool

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil was nearly cut by a flailing cultist, but by the skin of his teeth he managed to sidestep a wild slash from a cleaver and stick the cultist in their stomach with an instinctive riposte. He heard a gurgle of blood, and then a giggle that broke through it, followed by the cultist swinging a backhanded strike that nearly took Neil's head. He cursed and ducked just in time, and did the same back to the vile chaos worshiper, taking their head with a swift slice. The sharpened short sword tore through fabric, bone, and flesh easily, and the head went spinning into the tangle of branches left by the fallen tree. Neil was about to wipe the sweat from his brow when Emmaline tumbled into him, sending them both to the ground. Emmaline fell atop him, and he blinked away tears from the smoke. Flames must have caught on the tree.

"You good babe?"

"Yeah, but the others are dead."

"That sucks," he acknowledged, and the two swiftly got to their feet, though they remained close. Both rogues looked around, and what cultists their were left were either on fire or maimed, and the rest had either been crushed or had fled into the wilderness. The horses remained in their spots, however. Neil grabbed Emmaline's hand. "C'mon babe!"

"Wait!" She said, pulling on him. He looked back, and she bit her lip. "Shouldn't we search the bodies?"

Neil paused for a second, and if Emmaline did not know any better, she could hear mechanical cranks whirring in his head as he processed the thought. His eyes then lit up as if a 'bing' sounded, and he shook his head. "I promised you the palace and Ghal Maraz, remember? This is chump change." He reasoned, though of course, he felt it best not to grab more chaos artifacts if they could help it, when there was so much uncursed gold in the largest city of the empire. It was also lucky for them that beasts seemed normal, albeit a bit spooked by the tumult. Perhaps it had been the carriage itself, or the cultists that had caused the steeds their abilities.

Either way, Neil felt assured when their eyes were normal and the allowed Neil and Emmaline to untie their reins and mount them without issue, fleeing off into the night to leave the bodies of the bandits and cultists to burn.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

"Not bad." Bahadir said to her with a satisfied grin. He gave a shrug as if considering his compliment. "A bit rough, but not bad."

She gave the smile a crocodile might before a meal, and the corsair rolled off of him, offering him her hand to help him to his feet. He raised his brows, not expecting the gesture, but she had offered to partner with him, and it looked like she was keeping to her word. He took her hand, and though he was almost twice her size, her body was lithe but fit, and she managed to keep herself somewhat steady as he rose to his feet. The crowd surged, a wave of men and women standing up from their seats and pointing and the pair of them, calling for more. The other slaves jogged to the middle, those that could walk. Some of them were tanned, others were fair skinned, and one was as black of skin as Calliope's hair. They raised their weapons and hooted, screaming out to the crowd with triumph and exultation. Bahadir raised his fist into the air, his face as grim as stone, and that caused another uproar of cheers.

It seemed like forever, but suddenly the crowd went silent, and Bahadir and the rest turned to look northward, toward the Sultan's seat. Calliope followed their gazes, and sure enough, the Sultan had lifted himself from his chair and had approached the swepping balustrade, his vizier just beside him, leering down at the survivors. They were hundreds of meters away, but even from this distance, Bahadir could see the Vizier was displeased. The sorcerer planted his staff onto the floor, and all knew it was a small cantrip that carried the Sultan's voice across the area for all to hear.

"Laqad qatalt bishakl jayd. Allah yueamiruk hadha alyawma, wa'ashkuruk ealaa alqital fi sharafi! Antisarun! He declared, and the crowd roared again at his approval. And as the other day, the Arabyan Mamluks rushed out into the field to guide the slaves back to their pens, so they did not get any funny and dangerous ideas of escaping through some crack in the arena. Calliope whispered to Bahadir for a translation, and he told her 'he thanks us, and says it is the will of the gods we can entertain him so well.'

Two hours later, after having been searched for concealed weapons and being granted their daily ration of water and food, Calliope and Bahadir found themselves now 'free' if one could call it, albeit in a closed off section of the arena. Calliope questioned why they were not allowed to traverse the greater area underground as yesterday, but even Bahadir did not know. They were within a smaller chamber, the size of a living area, with two cushions to rest upon and one jug of water, which Bahadir felt a wonder at. It was rare to be granted such a privilege twice in a day. Closed around three sides, with one wall being carved with inlets and ridges to signify some ancient door, behind them were mere iron bars. It was not until one of the smaller slaves named Ibn-Amrik approached that they could get some answers.

"If it is not the victors of impossible odds," He said in accented reikspeil, grinning with ivory and copper teeth. He was as scraggly in appearance as a starving dog, and as thin, but he seemed in a fine mood. "Bahadir, my friend! Why did you not tell me you have a woman as lithe and dangerous as a serpent?"

"Why don't you tell me why we're in here, and not allowed to walk with what little freedom we are alloted, Amrik." Bahadir responded derisively.

"Have you not heard? Certainly you did not miss the cries of your victory?" He asked, surprise in his wicked voice. "Everyone today could see it was your victory, not the other poor souls of this hell we call home! The crowd speaks of you two more than the Sultan and his nameday!" He cackled at that, a harsh laugh that ricocheted off the ancient stonework. "And you have names, besides! Bahadir they are calling the 'Bronze Tiger,' for your great strength and agility, and you, Corsair, they have named the 'Black Mamba,' a most dangerous serpent of the desert oasis."

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Are those the beasts that don't leave tracks and teleport across logs?!" Emmaline hissed.

"I don't know! Do you have a better idea?" Neil shot back. They both looked at each other, Emmaline a bit more desperate than Neil, but only by a small margin. Neil had always treated life, even deadly situations, with far less care than a sane person would. But being so close to the ruinous powers and having Emmaline to worry about did get him antsy. Lightning lanced downward again, striking the monolith, and Neil had the disturbing thought that it was coming more rapidly as the chants grew more enraptured.

"Ok think, Neil, think..." He said to himself, stroking his chin.

"I fucking hate the woods," Emmaline moaned, and with the release of pressure like a knot being untied, her words unlocked an idea in Neil. He blinked, and a moment later glanced around them. This section of the forest was notably thick with trees, towering oaks and elms that blotted out the sky almost as completely as the obscuring clouds above. The thief pulled back a moment and began to rummage through his pack, praying to Ranald he still had a few sacks of powder. Emmaline peered over his shoulder quizzically. "What are you doing?" She whispered.

In answer, Neil shoved his short sword in her hands. "Babe, don't be mad at me if this is a dumb question, but can you use your magic and make the blade extra sharp?"

"I-..." She started, and peered over the lip of the rise again, before ducking back down. "I think I can, though anything more complicated and they could sense we're here."

"Ok, do it, please." He said to her, and then gave a triumphant 'yes!' a moment later, a few sacks in his hand. Emmaline did as she was bid, slowly and quietly weaving the flows of chamon, the blade now glinting in the pallid light. Neil took the sword back, and crouched. "Ok, stay here and don't move." He told her, and began to skirt down the hill without so much as to a 'why.' She cursed, but did as he bid, knowing he likely had something clever up his sleeve. The time seemed like hours, but in reality it was likely only a handful of minutes, and everytime the lightning struck, it caused Emmaline to jump. She could sense the horrid, corrupted magic in the spells being woven, stuffing her senses with a sickly sensation. She was about to go looking for him when she saw Neil climbing back up the slope like a dog.

"Where were you?" She demanded, but he shook his head.

"Just get ready to run when the signal goes."

"What sig-"

There was a sudden crack, the sound only blackpowder could make. One or two of the cultists turned, but most were too entranced by their ritual to pay it any mind. However, it was an entirely different thing when another snap that reverberated off the trees and the dirt echoed, and drew everyone's attention. The snap dragged, followed by more, and a loud creaking as suddenly, a four foot thick tree with scythe-like branches and the weight of a steam tank fell into the light and struck the very middle of the ritual like a hammer striking an anvil. Immediately, half the cultists were either crushed or smothers by the boughs and leaves, and the other half of them stood stunned. The tree had slammed atop three of the monoliths and covered two more, and as the panic set in, Neil had already set his hochland rifle down, his eye in the scope. He pulled the trigger, and a cultist's head snapped back, half his jaw missing.

"FOR SIGMAR!" Neil roared as loud as his lungs allowed it, and Emmaline screamed like she was a banshee from albion, their cries hitting the confused acolytes like a slap. Neil shot another cultist with his pistol, and Emmaline attempted to do the same, however her gun clicked and a 'shizz!' could be heard above the tumult. More puffs of smoke and flame rose up as the Neil fired and the two of them charged. Even with half the cloaked figures down and three now dead, the rest looked around as if expecting to be surrounded, and Neil took advantage of it, sticking the closest one with over a foot of imperial steel with his shortsword. They just needed to scatter them, and make it to the horses.

Fallout: Philadelphia - America's Cradle

Hmmm, seems interesting

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

The slaves scattered like mice, a few of the newer slaves tossing down their weapons as if that would aid them in any fashion. One man cried to Allah to save him, prostrated on his knees before a rampaging Rhinox slammed its hoof atop him, snapping his body in two for the merest instance before crushing both halves together into a bloody paste. The massive beasts pummeled the floor of the arena, every step causing indentions in the hard ground as they moved. Bahadir had seen them once before, but he had never fought them. He had only watched as one of his few friends had been crushed into the wall.

Bahadir had been granted a moon-bladed axe with a back spike, a privilege granted to one of the most successful fighters. One of the beasts spied him and turned, arcing its head like a mace. He leaped out of the way of one of their swinging horns, his foot catching the ground before pivoting, launching his body at the flank of the turning beast. Bahadir stabbed the spike of his weapon into the meat of its buttocks, causing the big animal to squeal like a boar from the pits of the chaos wastes. A men atop the howdah fired his bow, but the bucking monstrosity caused his aim to swing upward, the arrow loosing into the crowd. A cheering peasant was impaled through the throat, but the crowd did not lower the volume of their screams of adulation.

Bahadir glanced to his left, and saw a neophyte toss his spear at one of the behemoths. It was a weak throw, the spearpoint not even piercing its hide. Across the arena, some of the more experienced men had taken into a skirmish formation, worrying one of the beasts from all sides with tridents and swords. But while it delayed its charge, it wouldn't save them. The Rhinox the spear had been meant for hadn't even noticed it, and it charged into the left line of the slaves, crushing two men immediately and sending a third flying, his broken body landing atop the large statue of glorious Ptra above the eastern wall statue, a tribute to the father god of the sun. As the Rhinox galloped, its undulating body send one of the bowmen to the ground, and out of the dust the black clad woman appeared, slitting his throat with her sword. As the blood spilled on the sand, she took up the bow and slung the quiver, doing her best to nock an arrow as the slaves died around her.

Bahadir saw one of the Rhinoxes scratch the floor, sending dust as it shook its shaggy head, looking for another target. Its howdah emptied from the polearms of the slaves and its own bucking gait. It's eyes fell upon Calliope, but as it snorted, Bahadir's axe hit it square on the snout. It flinched out of sudden fear, before its fear turned to anger and it bellowed into the air as it's eyes fell on Bahadir. The pit-fighter had thrown the axe, and he puffed out his chest and screamed an obscenity at the Rhinox. While the beast obviously could not understand, it took the bait. It charged, barreling at the powerful man with the velocity of a rolling boulder, Bahadir lining himself up and crouching, readying his body. Twelve yards, eight yards, four yards...

Bahadir sprang to the side as the Rhinox crashed into the wall, splintering stone and sending dust into the air dozens of feet. The ancient stone of the wall cracked from the impact, and even Bahadir felt the concussive force of the air. The Rhinox growled in pain and annoyance, but Bahadir was not watching it try and collect itself. His eyes were skyward, and he felt a prayer answered when the large statue of Ptra began to topple forward, its base broken. The poor body of the slave hit the ground in a heap just as the statue fell atop the Rhinox, slamming the dazed beast into the ground. Bahadir wasn't sure if it was dead, but it was not getting up anytime soon, at least.

He got to his feet, only for an arrow to clattering between his feet, a missile from the last man atop a howdah. He coughed dust and squinted from the sun, peering at the otherside of the arena to see how Calliope and the others fared.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

With no tracks or any discernible trail, the group was left without a heading or a means to find it. Per Neil's suggestion, they at least followed what path through the trees they could where they were spaced far enough apart for a coach to travel through. Though eventually, even that plan went sour. The forest grew too thick and laden with stones and fallen boughs. As twilight fell on the forest, it was clear to everyone, even half-crazed Johann, that not only could they not find the coach, but they would have a next to impossible task finding their way back to the road. Neil had fine eyes, but even he was stumbling every now and then, doing his best to keep Emmaline from hurting herself.

Up ahead, Johann and Kurt's figures had returned, cursing. Johann waved his saber about like a child with a rattler, albeit out of frustration rather than enthusiasm.

"We have to make camp, boss. There's nothing left to do here." The crossbowman said reluctantly.

"They couldn't have just up and disappeared!" Johann screamed into his face, daring him to say another word. When Kurt didn't, he waved him off, acquiescing without voicing it aloud. "Go get some firewood!"

Kurt nodded, and Johann pointed at Neil and Emmaline accusingly. "And you two, make the camp!"

Neil gave a nod, followed by a facetious imperial salute while Emmaline stuck her tongue out at him. The darkness, coupled with Johann's blind anger, covered it well. Kurt walked to the east by a dozen paces, holding his crossbow at the ready, until he began to glance at the ground and idly rummaging around on the forest floor. Neil began to clear a space between the trees. Emmaline started to fish through the packs, finding what food they had and nibbling on a bit herself. Up above, Morrslieb loomed bright and green, casting a sickly pall over the forest floor where the shadows did not hold dominion. Neil glanced up at the sky, realizing he was in Reikland, the heartland of the Empire. And still, Chaos and monsters were around every corner. It seemed nowhere was truly safe.

Neil was similar to Emmaline, he was a city boy. But admittedly traveling from Marienburg to Altdorf and Altdorf to Nuln had taught him a few things. He knew how to make a camp without causing too much of a sound. In fact, the silence was so palpable, it caused the next few moments to stand our starkly.

Suddenly there was a rustling, and some inhuman moan that proceeded a cry from a voice. Kurt's voice. The scream rose up sharply, and then was abruptly silence. Emmaline was still chewing on a piece of jerky when Neil tackled her, her 'hrmmm?' barely audible before he planted a hand on her mouth, pulling her into the brush. The leaves cloaked them, but by the green light of the cursed moon, they could still see their immediate surroundings through the diminutive branches and foliage. Emmaline clung to Neil as they watched Johann run into the clearing, yelling for Kurt. He unsheathed his pistol and fired into the gloom, the smoke vomiting from the barrel in a white cloud.

"Thief! Woman!" He screamed next, but Neil did not feel like being a hero with his lover there, and on tonight of all nights. The shadows began to move around the clearing, and soon they separated into black cloaked figures that moved with the grace of hunting cats and the fluidity of serpents. Johann managed to cut into one of them, causing a giggling groan of pain and a splattering of blood, before he was overwhelmed and grabbed, and before Neil and Emmaline's eyes, he was taken, still screaming, into the darkness. Neil held his breath, and Emmaline did as well. They did not move, did not make a sound. The next handful of minutes, they waited there, until they were sure the figures were gone.

"We can't stay here," Emmaline breathed.

"You were always the smart one." He agreed.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Kurt fell over on his ass, having lost the ability to even stand as he tried to regain his own humanity. Neil had felt it too. It was like an all encompassing lust, yet the lust was not of the carnal desire for flesh. It was like a mouse being mesmerized by a swaying cobra. Neil felt if he had not such a strong sense of self, he might have been lost in the maelstrom of that pull. He heard Emmaline curse, and his first immediate worry was alleviated. The three of them had been effected, but it was nothing compared to how the entire scene had ravaged Johann.

At first, he seemed merely catatonic. His eyes staring blankly, lips moving in a wordless whisper. But gradually his eyes darted left and right, and he began to breathe more rapidly, his mind rising above the scramble, but not quite being put back together properly. He jerked, as if waking from a falling dream, and he seemed almost confused and appalled he found himself in the woods. The sun was not quite below the horizon, but the trees blocked it, casting an ominous shadow across the bandits. Johann's whispering became audible, an unintelligible muttering that one could occasional decipher the names of 'Brandt' and 'Gert' and 'Coach.' Kurt had risen by that time, clutching his chest as if to still his quickened heart, but very much nominally back to his old self.

"Boss?" He asked Johann tentatively.

Johann twitched, and when Kurt put a gentle hand on his shoulder, Johann pulled away so quickly, it was as if he had suddenly had cold water splashed on his face. The bandit leader pulled out his saber and unholstered his pistol, and though Kurt looked concerned, Johann didn't point either at him. "T-They took our boys." He said breathlessly. "Our boys, we have to get them back."

"Boss, I don't think-"

"We have to get them back!" Johann insisted with a roar, his gaze sweeping over Neil and Emmaline as well. The lovers looked at one another, still shaken but coherent enough to feel a bit awkward at the command. Johann did not wait for them to comply, he began muttering to himself again, stepping over the log they had placed in the road and hurrying into the woods, moving with a purpose Neil did not understand. Perhaps the road curved that way up ahead and there was a short cut. He guessed it was possible the gang had been through here before.

"Wait, I'm coming!" Kurt cried, grabbing the crossbow he had dropped and running after Johann. Neil took Emmaline's hand, and the two followed them, albeit at a safe distance. Despite the fact Neither wanted to see any more of the cursed coach or it's eldritch passenger, they could not go back to the Inn. Either they were alone, or they stayed with their two armed companions, and on a night like Hexennacht, it paid to stay in groups.

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"And this is supposed to help us transport two thousand civilians out into the fields?" Katiya asked, sliding off the roof. Zeb half-caught her, steadying her as was his duty. Her boots clapped onto the pavement, and she steadied the emblazoned coat of her office.

"If you have a better idea, sir...ma'am." He corrected half-heartedly. He did not think he would ever get used to being a commissar's comrade. He had always been taught a commissar was like a feral beast. It could allow you in it's presence, but one day it would be in the wrong mood, and it would be your head. He had a hard time believing Katia would do that to him, but old traditions take awhile to leave one's system.

"No, I do not." She said, and reached into her coatpocket to pull out a handheld military-grade vox.

"Once we're across, we'll clear the Orks out and let the convoy get through the drained portion." He told her. He could tell she didn't need convincing. She pulled the trigger on the vox, and static rose before a voice answered with a gruff "Corporal Lance Henry" was fed back. She pulled out a dataslate, and began barking orders to Henry with a voice of command that would have karskins standing straighter. She voxed six more corporals, before sliding her thumb across the dataslate and switching the transmission. Static fedback again, whining like a small animal, until another man barked an introduction, his voice baritone and his accent vaguely Tanithish. "Sergeant of the Piece Donnal! Sir?"

"This is Special Imperial Officer Petrovska. What is your current location, sergeant?"

There was a nervous pause. "417 West, Commissar."

"Good. Find me a corporal who can plant six shells at these coordinates I am about to give you. 2917 Eagle, 4869 Neptune."

"Yes ma'am! Er, sir... ETA ten minutes. Out."

"Out." She replied, and glanced behind her. Curiously, Zeb was gone. She tucked the dataslate and vox back into her breastpocket, and stalked toward the filling station they had been planted on not minutes before. She called out for Zeb, but when she turned the corner, she paused and saw he was amidst a squad of six greenhorns, field stripping and refitting a standard lasgun. Even as he replaced the stock and shouldered the weapon, the first armored cars began to arrive, and in the distance of the far street, transport cars filled with civilians and a loose assortment of guardsmen slowly approached in a large column. Katiya waited for Zebulon to notice her, before he stood to attention and ordered the other men to do the same. They saw Katiya and gaped, before roughly snapping to attention, no doubt the horror stories of Commissars still fresh in their minds.

When she gave the 'at ease' Zeb barked at them to get moving. The newfish scattered, scrambling off. Zeb jogged over to her, and grinned. That was when they both heard the high-pitched whinnying of artillery shells.