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Recent Statuses

2 days ago
Current I don't know what a novella type roleplay is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask
10 days ago
I'll post my pictures publicly. I only send a selfie in private if they ask me, and it's never for RP purposes lol
1 mo ago
Happy Halloween!
2 mos ago
Will pray for them!
2 mos ago
Advertisements are not allowed, btw. Gonna have to get the ol' status remover


About Me

Name: Ben
Username: The one and only. Dare I say?
Age: 30
Ethnicity: Mixed
Sex: Male
Religion: Christian (Nondenominational)
Languages: English, Japanese (Semi-fluent & learning), I also know some Scots Gaelic, Quenyan (Elvish), and Miccosukee (My tribal tongue)
Relationship Status: Single (Though generally unavailable unless I find I really enjoy someone).

Current Projects/Freelance work

  • I am a voice talent and script writer for Faerun History
  • I have a much smaller personal Youtube channel that I use to make videos on various subjects. Only been making videos for 2 years, but it's growing!
  • I'm the host of a Science Fiction & Fantasy Podcast where I interview authors of the genre.

Interests (Includes but is not limited to)

  • Writing/Reading (Love writing and I own too many books)
  • Video Games (Been a gamer for close to 23 years now)
  • Working Out/Martial Arts (Wing Chun/Oyama Karate mostly. Some historical swordplay as well.)
  • History (Military History is my specialty)
  • Zoology
  • Art (Mostly Illustrations. Used to be good. Am picking it back up)
  • Voice Acting/Singing
  • Tabletop Gaming (Started late in the game. Been at it for 3 years. I was the kid who bought the monster manuals and D&D books just for the lore for the longest time. I've played 3.5e, 5e, Star Wars D20, Edge of the Empire, PF, and PF2.)
  • Weaponry of all kinds
  • Anime (mostly action/shonen. DBZ & YYH being my favorites)
  • Movies (Action/War/Drama films being my go-to)
  • Music (Rock of all kinds, as well as historical folk songs, sea shanties, pub songs, a bit of classical music, etc)
  • Guitar (am learning to play, but being left handed makes it challenging)
  • There's more but if you care enough you can PM me :P

Roleplay F.A.Q.

  • Fantasy, Sci Fi, and Historical are my genres. Fantasy being my favorite and Sci Fi/Historical being close seconds.
  • Advanced / Nation / 1x1 / Casual (only in certain circumstances)
  • I generally write at the 'Advanced Level' meaning 4+ Paragraphs with good grammar.
  • I am usually busy with many projects and RPs, but if you wish to do a 1x1 with me, you'll need to present your case. Those I already do it with have my trust as a Roleplayer.
  • I love many, many fictional universes so me trying to list them all is an effort in futility!


Most Recent Posts

"-and here we see Varkin charging forward, coming in strong while Edwards is clunking along-" The commentator narrated, the camera panning over the two valks as Neil and his opponent barreled at one another, the flash of the machine gun bright on the holovid. He watched, his arms crossed and his pool stick in his hands.

"That's right, Chet, and like a true master he gives his opponent a false sense of security and makes his weakness his strength, this match will go down as a mastercall of-"

Jocasta snapped her slim fingers in front of Neil's face, causing the rakish pilot to blink. "Hey, you got a mirror I got a holovid, let me appreciate this for a second." He said, but it was clear he was being playful. He already had a grin on his face, eyes now on Jocasta and the table. The sixteen balls were stacked and meticulously left at the center of the table, Neil grabbing the white ball and spun it on his finger before underhand tossing it to Jocasta. He took a shot glass from the table and downed it as she casually caught it and put the ball down, swinging her head so her ponytail flipped fully down her back. Jocasta bent over as she lined her shot, the pole sliding back along the small tunnel made by her fingers. Neil hadn't expected it, but he got a very good look at her generous, shapely back-end as she readied her shot, and with a thwack, the cue-ball struck the center. Neil whistled appreciatively, not sure himself if he did so at her pool shot or her ass.

"And it's a strong hit!" The commentator said from the holovid, his pronouncement working in tandem with the game even bereft of context.

Balls rolled in an explosion of inertia, bouncing this way and that. Two balls slunk into the pockets, and Jocasta smiled at the results brightly. She smirked, pushing herself off the table. "What do you think, wrench monkey?"

"Hmm? Oh uh, thas- yeah good shot." He said, and before he went to the table he poured himself another drink.

"I got two in, that's two shots." She said, referring to the liquor.

He held his hands out wide as if a referee made a wild call. "I just drank one before y-" He started, but her look showed him she wasn't going to give him any mercy. He sighed and poured himself another. His previous liquor shot was before the fact, he should have kept himself from drinking before she went. "Yeah yeah, that's on me."

Behind him, Cygi popped up. She still wore her button down blazer but out of view, someone tossed her a funnel and a bottle opener, playing herself as a newscaster trying to juggle the items in surprise. Soon a hail of bottles piled on her like cartoonishly

"You're cute but that's not going to help you win," Jocasta toyed, stiffling a snicker from Cygi's antics. "Win one fight and you think you're Kragzalor the Destroyer."

"Looks who's talkin'" Neil remarked on both counts. She quite clearly caught him because she was cute, and one good shot and she was getting smarmy. He knew she was being ironic though, and after his second shot of liquor, he gave a satisfied 'aaah' and set the glass down. The magnetism stuck it to the table neatly. He strode to the table with purpose. "You think I'm good at mech-fighting, let me show you how a wanted man plays pool."
"By the dripping shit of Set!" Amal remarked acidly, secreting away the jewel into his pantaloons and rolling his head along his broad shoulders. His tanned torso dripped with crimson from the wounds, his defined thews and abdominals slick with sweat and blood. Amal had not climbed into this hellpit and braved shadow beasts and serpent gods to be baselessly slaughtered by a cheap conjurer! "Crawl atop me, woman!"

Sythemis balked for a moment, wondering if the shemite had gone mad from fatigue. But he knelt down, even as a skeletal hand clawed its way out of the ground a mere stride from his nose. She slithered atop him, placing her two thick legs along his shoulders. The deadly thief rose, his stygian priestess a yard taller than she was familiar with. Amal felt her put her fingers in his mane of thick hair to steady herself. He hoped she had some secret to hill Antiachus, or if a knife to the heart would do. Either way, he would make sure the man was dead.

"We must kill him!" Sythemis hissed with such venom and fervor, Amal was taken aback. He had thought she would order him to flee, but this would do. He was tired, but adrenaline pumped through him and tigrish rage enveloped his powerful form.

Amal leaped over the half-submerged skeleton of a dog beast, nimbly dancing past the specters that continued to rise from their ancient graves. The wizard cackled, his gnarled hands slowly floating upwards as he called forth more skeletal fiends to rise. Sythemis grabbed Amal's head and turned his gaze to a fallen tree trunk. "There!" She called, and he sprang for it. He felt claws rake his leg, but one more shallow wound did naught but fuel his ire and blood-lust. He scooped up the branch, and twirled, shattering the next skeletal beast with a powerful blow to the chest. Bones scattered and witchlight was snuffed out of the dirt-caked eyesockets. Amal grinned grimly, sidestepping the sailing skeleton of a tiger, the beast's form raking into the rubble of pebbles.

"Fool! You have destroyed one in ten dozen!" Antiachus cackled like a squawking bird. "How long can you keep it up!?"
Galt hit the boat with an unsteady roll, jarred from the wriggling craft. He reformed into a crouch with the grace of an experienced thief, and he lifted up his left pants-leg to retrieve his collapsable short bow. Folded in half, the brace in the middle made it slightly weaker than your average composite bow, and it could barely be said to harm anyone wearing something thicker than a few layers of clothing. However the fold-bow was a useful weapon any good archer in the guild did well to buy. An arrow hitting any vitals was still potentially deadly. He reached into a small slide sequestered within the fold of his vest and retrieved an arrow.

With a deft movement, he loosed. His arrow caught one of the pursuers in the neck, and Galt fancied he could hear the gurgle from his bloodied throat from that distance. He wasn't used to killing, but somehow he felt less poor about it when he did it to someone who was looking to do the same to him. The man tumbled into the river as his compatriots decided to scramble for cover rather than chase them along the side of the canal, at least for the moment.

"Galt, row!" Kashvi snapped.

"Uh, right." Galt dropped the fold-bow and grabbed a paddle. He doubted the pilot cared, having leaped into the canal just after the dead man flopped into the drink.

The small craft slipped into another small canal, sliding under a bridge where the three found a couple of beggars to switch places with them with some hard looks and flashing a few coppers. It was barely half a minute before a different trio rowed out into the open again while Galt, Kashvi, and Joe huddled under the bridge next to a small iron grate that connected to the sewer. Galt held a hand out to keep his two companions there as he peered out, careful not to expose any of himself in the sunlight. At first glance all he saw were a gaggle of dandies and fops cajoling a handsome woman and a couple walking past for a day about town. He caught a glance at a few street toughs engaged in cards by another gondola, unaffiliated no doubt. But his keen gaze caught eyes looking his way just past them, a flash of red below them before they disappeared.

"We need to move," He said urgently. "We got Dogs of Disfavor on our tail now, too."

"Halleth," Kashvi sighed.

Galt groaned, dropping down next to the iron grate, guessing it couldn't be helped. He had spent months and months climbing out of debt and bartering for the best toys in the business, but here he was using it all up in one afternoon. He fished out a small vial from his pocket and plucked the top off, carefully bobbing his finger atop the bottle so two, clear liquid drops fell on the hinges of the iron. "So what trouble did you get me into?" Galt asked. Immediately the material began to sizzle and corrode, dissolving before his eyes. He firmly put the top back on and slid it into his pocket again.

"What did I do!?" Kashvi asked incredulously, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Someone is hitting our whole guild, you pennyweighter!"

Galt was up in a flash, a finger almost pressed into her nose. "That was one time!" He said, then realized they were still standing there. "Come on, help me pull this grate off. If we take the sewers we can at least get away from here before we're swarmed."
Chapter 2

Dread in Darkwater

The bird calls and hoots from strange simians were ever present, even as we passed over the rickety rope bridges and sturdier, timber built ones crossing the small stretch of wetlands to reach sight of the city. On the last stretch of road, the trees were cleared away and there were only a handful of varying tufts of grass on a road that fed into towering, impressively ornate iron gates. The mosaic depicted on their front was the rising of a great, wingless dragon from the depths of the sea. They were set on huge hinges, connected to tall walls of dark swampstone. Posted at the gate and above were men in green surcoats and iron mail, with parma shields and winged spears.

Their stoic faces broke when they saw the ragged group stepping off the last bridge, passing through the ferns and wide leafed palms onto the open stretch. Nicodemus's arm was around my shoulder, and I helped Archimedes walk on the left side. The other two protostates used roughly fashioned canes to trudge their way. Emmaline was at the vanguard, and she gave a great walloping gasp of finality when the city walls came into sight, but the baroque nature of it gave her a thoughtful pause.

"It is like you said," She remarked carefully, placing a fingernail to her bottom lip. I could easily read her thoughts. It seemed a foreboding place, but the size and apparent wealth mean there were plenty of places to eat, rest, and bathe. Other than the distant sound of a crowd, music wafted through the open games. There was a guitar playing a tune almost conversational, with licks and lines playing over the beat of a variety of drums, and though not very regimented, the riffs were pleasant to the ear. I smiled tiredly, glad to be so close to the city after such a long time.

"Where do you hail from, and what is your business here?" The watchman on the left called, lowering his spear and approaching us. Emmaline stepped in front of the iron spearhead, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the man past her nose. It couldn't have been she was too frustrated or exhausted to care, no I felt it was bravery as usual. She sometimes bungled and tripped and she had a love of comforts, but gods she was dangerous when she wanted to be.

"Survival, if you must know. My companion and I came upon an outpost of men three days ago, and the jungle swallowed it up. These men, my lover, and myself barely survived. But let us in or run us through, but be done with it! A lady of my station has no patience for this." She remarked, one manicured hand resting on her sword hilt now. "Yes that's right," she sneered at their questioning looks. "I am Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, of Vysamirce nobility!"

"We've heard that one before, beggarwoman." The left said, "Fancy name, who'd you steal that from?" But as they approached they got a better look at her.

The two gatemen looked at one another quickly, and back at the buxom blonde. Her boots were caked and her traveling garb was cuffed and scratched, but it did have a distant aristocratic air to it, and even if her stately looks and outfit weren't enough, the gleaming jewel snuggled into her bosom was enough to convince them. The one on the right with a cauliflower ear spoke up. "Forgive us, Dame Morganstern. You can take these men to the magistrate, down the main drag. If you would like, we could also announce your presence to the Enclave."

She seemed less than enthused they had no offered to simply take the wounded, but the last bit gave her pause. "Enclave?" She echoed, but her words died on her lips as she saw me cutting my hand across my throat and shaking my head just over the guardsman's shoulder. "I mean, of course, the Enclave! Yes, do announce me. Us! I require a bath as well-"

I placed a palm on my face, sighing. It was my fault, she wasn't to blame. I had hoped to bring her to Darkwater without the attention. The city played politics like men played dice, and the Enclave was a collection of disgraced aristocrats, second sons, daughters who refused to marry, or landless gentry having traveled south to find more power where they could. It was a cutthroat ruling body all gathered in one place, and though the city was relatively well run, I would have rather paid for a quaint spot and find baths than be put under the scrutiny of sneering lords and ladies. I guessed it wasn't the worst in the world and other than a few questioning looks, we could leave to our devices. But I knew it would be seen as suspicious. Emmaline, on the other hand, likely would enjoy being pampered amongst socialites and comfortable accommodations.

"Bath and lodgings will be available for you, my lady. Just keep going down the way until you reach the counciler's office a quarter mile down past the gate."
The forest had been dark and cruel as of late, even at the cusp of winter. Only the birds still appeared, and they only appeared when the sun did, which was infrequent at best. In fact, this was likely the first sunlight Ali had seen in weeks. The winter had been harsh, and there had been talk of Wolves and Bears appearing in the Westwood. Wolves were rare, but he had not heard of a bear in seven winters, yet here they were, attacking livestock and men. Ali wouldn't easily forget having to fight off a small group of wolves after two sheep had been taken naught but a month ago.

The day was crisp, and the sun's warmth had barely begun to lessen the cold of night as Ali left Fulton's Ferry to head southward toward the town, taking one of the lesser known roads to make better time. Old folk would say it brought you dangerously close to the Mountains, and Gods know what sort of spirits haunted that dreaded area. But there was many miles of forest separating the road from the mountain, and the young adventurer had taken the road many times in youthful rebellion of going against his elder's advice. What was one more trip?

He whistled with the birds. The plump little creatures hanging in the trees above him as they sang, and though he whistled a tavern tune, they almost seemed to be singing with him. Ali wasn't one to be merry all the time. He took life for what it was. But it was a fine day, even with the chill. And he could hear the words in his head, from when he heard the song first all those years ago by his nan.

"The fields are sewn and the winter's done.
Celebrate the Raven and await the Sun.
Keep to your kin and love shall win.
Whistle this tune until the demons are gone."

He was just about to whistle the second verse, when something happened.

There was a terrific snarl, and the growling roar of a large canine. Ali turned, just in time to see a flash of fire and the visage of a fanged mouth. Ali was no stranger to combat, nor safety on the road. He ducked under snapping jaws, but the weight of the big animal bore him down. Be tucked his legs under him and kicked out, even as his back hit the road. The beast fell off him, but it scrabbled back onto its feet in an instant.

Ali rolled and reoriented himself, seeing his attacker plainly.

It was a Varghulf. A malevolent species of wolf, intelligent and huge. The grey furred thing leaped at him again, Ali grabbing his staff and shoving it into the thing's mouth to keep it from clamping on his throat. But he couldn't keep the claws busy. They raked against his body, tearing off bits of clothing and skin. Ali cried out in pain, but pushed back against the beast, shoving it off him as he tore out the knife at his belt. The Varghulf wriggled free and snapped at him, but Ali managed to stab the beast thrice, causing it to squeal in pain. Another stab, and it howled and ran back into the woods, limping and shrieking.

Ali stood there, panting, until the tall man collapsed to the ground, blood seeping out of the wounds on his leg and stomach.
The light of the wyrm's tomb faded into nothingness, and save for the small ball of light Jocasta had conjured, the darkness was complete. It crept behind them and gave way before their feet just enough to cause a feeling of claustrophobia. The air was stale and old, and the small connection to the outside world from the chamber behind them was small comfort and too minuscule for any sort of change in the air. It was hard to gauge if any air was moving at all, actually. Beren knew that was a good indication of direction in the underworld, at least in the shallows.

Muragrim had checked the fissure in the path and had given it the all-clear, but they decided not to take that as a trail of yet. Otar trusted the 'Lowways' the dwarves had dug out millennia ago, even though their integrity had been breached. Otar was not only the elder, but a priest. He knew, even with the collapse of the system, that the dwarven pantheon watched over it from both above and below. Beren had never been further than a mile below the surface, but he knew of the pilgrimages dwarves still took into the heart of the world.

The group passed by numerous other rends and tears in the walls, and at one point the well crafted floor had grown grooved as water ran from the right to the left across their path. Every now and then they would find a fallen dwarf, but more common were the skeletons of gundarogs from skirmishes amongst themselves, and occasionally they would stumble upon human-like corpses belonging to dorcha. Once, we heard something living amongst rubble. The light never caught it, but it gave a disturbing 'hreeeeeeor' sound as it scrambled into a hole in the wall, what Beren imagined as a tail being the only part they could see slipping into the shadows.

Jocasta stuck close to Beren, who stood protectively beside her. The dwarves marched in a rough formation, shields always in the direction of the walls and eyes always open to the dangers. Eventually, the groups march was halted by an unfortunate but inevitable dead end. Rock and broken pillars had fallen and blocked the way as sure as any iron gate, but whatever had caused it, it seemed natural. They discovered no bodies at the scene.

"We might need to double back," Beren suggested, hands on his hips. The dwarves muttered to themselves, Gurin making the suggestion they could potentially dig out. Beren was glad no other humans were here, lest someone might suggest it was easy for Gunir to say when he wouldn't help with his shattered arm, but everyone present knew they would have to tie him down to keep him from helping. All dwarves were purpose built for labor, but a dwarf soldier had a sense of duty that put the andredian kingsguard to shame.

"Look here," Jocasta said, and as all of the males turned around, they noticed she was gone. Her head popped out of a small fissure, beaming brightly and waving them to follow. For some reason, the sudden appearance of her face was a memory Beren would never forget. He truly did admire this girl. The warrior monk followed suit, and the dwarves filed in behind them. Beren slipped into the small crevasse, and once through he found himself in a large, elongated chamber. The breathe was taken from him as he realized Jocasta no longer held her magical light. The walls were tinged with blue lights, giving the tunnel a look of serenity. Upon closer inspection, the lights moved gently amongst the rockface.

"They're worms." Beren said, scratching his chin.

"Good find, lass." Radsvir said.

"Haven't seen lightgrubs in years." Buri marveled.
Name: Alidrin Baldyr
Age: 24
Physical description: With dark locks of wavy hair that neared his shoulders and an athletic body, he was not unused to the attentions of girls. To the passerby, his eyes were as dull brown as the earth, but in the sun or shining by firelight, it showed their true maroon hue of color. He wears a red vest over a tan linen shirt, and brown, loose fitting trousers, with a very dark brown belt and shoes. He's a tall man, and fit, with long legs and strong arms.

Bulletpoints for a background:

  • Ali was born the only son, with two younger sisters and an older sister. His maroon eyes were gifted to him from neither parent. They were a curiosity, but none questioned his heritage.
  • A plague swept through their town, and both Ali and one of his younger sisters became ill. His sister died, and Ali barely made it, but experienced terrible nightmares for many nights.
  • When he was eleven, Ali found a wounded hawk in the woods and brought it home to take care of. Once it was good enough to fly again, he released it, and it would occasionally return to him for many years to come after.
  • Having grown up tall, with a penchant for mischief and exploring the woods, he found he liked to travel. At age 15 he was granted a journey apprenticeship in the next town to a blacksmith, but found that though he did learn a thing or two of the trade, his favorite aspect was fetching tools from different towns for his master. Soon he dropped the apprenticeship and became a courier. Learning self defense by the captain of the local guard after Ali had done him a favor.
  • Has spent the last five years of his life traveling and surviving encounters with bandits, transporting important parcels or escorting merchants or men who will pay handsomely.
The cliffs were so tall they nearly reached the sun from the vantage point of standing amid the lapping surf. North and south lay endless beach under the towering drop of the rise. The aircar lay smoking, buried into the sand by a foot and sinking a fraction every surge of the tide. Any evidence the three had experienced a crash landing was long since gone save for the transport and the black plume that gradually rose higher into the sky.

The mercs' omnivisors were shut off, the material over the visor giving a natural shade to the sun, much like old terran sunglasses. They moved with synchronized, silent steps as they descended the ancient stairway. Nessor and his men had been given strict orders from Vorn to locate the renegade Inquisitor Hadrian Drakos and extract him, and were given permission to end the life of Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern and anyone else with them. The DF had informed them they had landed just down the cliff, and after confirming it with a visual from above, they crept down in squad formation alpha. Small green lights of confirmation blinked in their visors when they spotted the aircar once more, on a more even elevation. Agripinaa Pattern Type III raised, Nessor took point as his team waited, creeping to a rock still nestled under the bosom of the cliffs. He turned his monoscope sixty degrees, the visual on the aircar multiplying by a factor of six.

He saw no signs of the occupants or any survivors. The doors were closed with glass shattered, and trailing his scope downwards, it was hard to gauge if the ubiquitous rolls of sand were made by footsteps or were merely a natural occurrence. He gingerly moved his rifle to the right, and then the left. It stopped on a small bag, torn open with local seagulls picking at its contents. Idly he pulled his eye back from the scope, glancing left and right and then returning to gaze down. A bird had a nutri-bar in its beak, desperately trying to gobble it up. A few seconds passed, and he turned on his vox unit.

"Aircar is clear."

What Nessor thought moments after, I do not know. My minuscule psychic powers provided me with only the briefest insight into his psyche and experiences. I could gather quite clearly he, along with his team, were not heretics. They were not necessarily law-abiding, being a paramilitary organization hailing from the planet Luxor of the Segmentum Obscurus. I saw brief visions of them fighting an underhive gang on some distant planet, and the assassination of a planetary governer that had heretical dealings with the accursed Xenos, the Tau. I even caught a glimpse of a small campaign on an Ork-infested jungle world, extracting the daughter of a magistrate from an overrun fort. However, they had been duped by Vorn into believing I was a dangerous rogue bent on the dismantling of the Imperium at large, and I had not the time nor means to convince them otherwise. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong. And unfortunately for their lives, Vorn had ordered them to kill Emmaline and they accepted that contract.

Nessor and the first four members of his team to step into the sand were dead in an instant, ripped to shreds by a remote detonation of a rigged hopper mine, a mere flip of the switch activating its bio-sensors. Sand lifted and rock fragments riddled the landscape like bullets, the sound accompanying it following immediately after with a single loud crack. The four survivors were stunned, shouting into their vox and desperately trying to reorient themselves. I sprang from behind a crag, sand falling off me like loose water. A frag grenade in my hand, I let it cook for the moment it took me to reach the opening to the stairs and I tossed it into their midst. A burst of gunfire hit the sand of where I had stood a moment before.

"Frag! Frag!"

Two of them hit the sand as the grenade detonated, shrapnel scraping the cliff face and eviscerating two of the remaining four survivors. The aforementioned ones that escaped death rolled deftly, raising their weapons my way without delay and firing, shells popping as they clapped against more crags. Emmaline cried out to the Emperor on their flank, suitably tired from her psychic battle but able to provided a distraction as she rose from where she had knelt, her arms before her face so the inevitable bullets that struck her hit only her ornate armor, taking the worst and keeping her relatively unharmed. The driver beside her let off a few shots from an auto-pistol he held, but he kept well out of their vision or he would have been dead immediately.

I leaped from cover once again, my powersword thrumming to life. The heat and sudden dull noise caused the closest trooper to roll again and rise to face me, but I was the quicker. As he raised his rifle my sword cut clean through the barrel, and even as they sprang back and grabbed for their combat knife, my sword removed his head from his shoulders. I completed the spin, bisecting the distracted one with an easy flourish of the blade.

As soon as it had begun, the fight was over. Even as I killed them, I received no pleasure in it.

Emmaline's head poked out from behind her bracers, three small areas on her polished armor still steaming from the shots aimed at her head. The driver, a man named Gydwyn, wiped some sweat from his brow as he cautiously stepped before the stairway that led to a winding path up the cliff to the Cardinal's manor.

"Cettin' et a wee bit close, aren't'ye?" He asked, looking down at the dead men incredulously. He glanced sideways at the battle-armor clad Emmaline. "Why no' git the girl tae fight?"

"The hefty bint couldn't move quick across the sand. Too slow and dangerous for her." I said, having picked up one of the Agrippa assault rifles. I placed the stock against my shoulder and aimed down the scope, then ejected the magazine and checked the ammunition.

"The next time someone calls me hefty-" She started, but I interrupted her with a tossed belt of extra ammunition. Her armor whirred as she went to catch it, letting out an 'Oop! shit' as it hit the sand. She blew a fringe out of her face as she bent over to grab it.

"Strip the bodies and grab a gun." I told them. "Take whatever you can find that's useful. They'll know in half an hour, maybe less, that their team wasn't successful. We need to be in by then."
Galt did not want to admit it, but he felt a chill from the exposure of the rain. The ex-thief was certain he wasn't sick. He had lived on the streets in less shelter than the trees of the forest, he was sturdier than that. But it would definitely do to get out of the rain and if he tested his luck, he just might fall ill. Though Silke's health was his primary concern, as much as she would be loathe to know that. He dismounted his horse and happily gave the reins to the next stablehand, who's name he would find out eventually, he was sure.

Vincent's sudden appearance was not unwelcome, though it was very unexpected. Galt smiled when her brother came up and took charge, glad there would be two of them dealing with Silke's unwillingness to take care of herself. They might just make her comfortable, now. If we kept the pressure on her, Galt thought wryly. Galt inclined his head with thanks at the offer.

"I'll take you up on that. I think I'll take that bath first," Galt said, taking his jacket off as Vincent carried Silke away. Galt smiled like a fox, calling after them. "Silke, thank you for the lovely invitation, I accept most graciously!"

"My lord, if I might excort you this way." A servant said, wearing a sporting coat of the latest fashion, Galt was sure. He bade him lead on, and soon they arrived at a small washroom at the edge of the mansion where a porcelain tub had been filled with very warm, if not hot water. The steam felt nice, and he stripped and decided to take his time enjoying the bath for a couple of minutes before I really got to scrubbing himself with the lye.

After half an hour of washing and drying and getting thrown clothes through the door by the servants, Galt walked to dinner fresh, clean, and hungrier than he imagined he would be. The embroidered tapestries and carpeted floors were comfortable, giving the house a suitable aristocratic air whilst simultaneously being utilitarian. Galt passed more than a few offices and the layout of the manor was austere and pragmatically direct. He did not get the same feeling he had walking through the palace at the capital, where every keep or hall was built to expand organically over the centuries.

Once he arrived at the door to the dinner hall, Franz was awaiting him. The chamberlain gave a smile in greeting, and they exchanged a few words in casual conversation. He asked Galt if his bath was refreshing, to which Galt gave a simple 'yes' and a smile, feeling he could be very unlordly around the chamberlain. It was an odd feeling, considering this man expected the most from him, likely. With a bow, Franz turned and announced Galt's arrival.

"Lord Harrowmark," He declared simply, stepping aside and allowing Galt to enter. He wondered if Silke had arrived yet. It had grown dark outside, casting the windows in an inky color contrasting the pallor of the lamps within the hall.
This seems cool, but idk if I have the time necessarily
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