POOHEAD189

The Sunday Group

Thanks for the link, Penny. I'll be brainstorming my dude over the next few days.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic crossed his arms and listened to the exchange, actually a bit amused at the rumor surrounding the Ostland Baron. He'd heard a few tales of the two of them the past few days, but that certainly was a new one. He tilted his head, his ears twitching a bit as the two conversed. If Cyrdic didn't already know Camilla, he wouldn't have doubted the Duchess claim. She certainly carried herself like he'd imagine the ruler of a city would. And that wasn't a bad thing, honestly. It was pretty attractive, truth be told. It was then he wondered, had he ever heard of Pavona? Miragiliano yes, but...no he was certain he had. Oh well, it mattered little.

This little man had impressed Cyrdic as well, and he gripped his Ulrican sword hilt for emphasis when he next spoke. "Stay on the Wagon with Camilla. I'll be right next to both of you." He told herr Olden. The learned man gave an accepting nod, pleased that he could continue to speak to Camilla, as well as Cyrdic to learn more of their exploits. "Did you ever go to a university, herr Becker?" Olden asked.

Cyrdic snorted. "No. Why?"

"You speak less like a country man. Gruffly, certainly. But you've less slang, I suppose." Olden said. "I've an ear for these things." He explained, almost guiltily.

"I was forced to read in my younger years of serving the military. I got into trouble, and worked for the Quartermaster," Cyrdic said, smiling when recalling the memory.

"Ah, I see. Anywho, how long until we reach Altdorf?"

"It should be a week until Carroburg, and then another day before we reach the Capital proper." Cyrdic explained. "That is, unless we run into trouble."

"What would attack such a heavily armed retinue?"

---

Hours later...

The scream was faint, as if it was made just within the cusp of the horrible mist. It echoed off the trees, causing it to seem unreal, like from within some nightmare one had difficulty recalling. Cyrdic's eyes steeled, and men muttered in confusion as the young Sergeant stood vigil, trying to garner the source of the cry. He needn't have worried, for a very real crash was heard from behind, which caused the rough and ready soldier to spin. Men scrambled and one cried out in dismay, for something very heavy had hit one of the caravan's wagons.

"Out of the way!" Cyrdic ordered, shoving men to the side as he pushed through the throng to stand face to face with the mangled corpse of a swordsman, his unseeing eyes staring straight into Cyrdic's. He knew the man, what's more. Richter had been a fair soldier by all accounts. "What..." Cyrdic breathed, unable to comprehend the loss for what it was. His instincts kicked in as a defense mechanism almost instantly, and as he turned back towards the mist, he saw something he expected, but wasn't quite prepared for.

An enormous towering creature stood like a nightmarish statue at the edge of the treeline, a great Minotaur-like beastman with hate filled eyes. It's jaws were open, revealing serpent-like fangs and buckets of drool drizzling upon the ground. In its left hand it easily held a double headed axe that not even two men could haul effectively. A horrible lizard-like tongue slithered out of its maw and licked its muzzle, still crimson from the bite it took out of poor Richter.

Behind the bullheaded creature, silhouettes began to materialize within the mist, growing more solidified as they approached with a terrifying slowness. Some were not quite as large as the Minotaur, but were a head taller than the other men, clad in blackiron armor and hefting aloft ornate swords of hellmetal. Chosen warriors of Chaos. To look upon them was a daunting sight, much less the possibility of fighting them.

Between the plate armored warriors, other beastmen began to stream out of the forest's depths and ran hooting and howling towards the empire's caravan. Monsters with the heads of Elks, bears, wolves and goats. They each had various grotesque mutations that showed the stigma of chaos, and they held their crude but brutal weapons high as they charged.

"Form up!" the Captain yelled. One arrow sliced out of the mist and hit Captain Holmmann beneath the armpit, staggering him and causing him to cry out. "By the Hammer's mercy..." Cyrdic whispered, before he broke out of his reverie with all of the rage in his heart for such abominations to dare attack an Imperial caravan. "Shield up! Halberds Down!" He roared, unsheathing his sword. Men hustled to obey his orders. "Make ready! Arquebusers!" The riflemen got to their knees and hastened their loaded weapons. "On my mark!"

As the men formed up and began to make a plausible defense, a booming voice was heard from the very front of the line. "Sons of Sigmar!" the Warrior Priest called out, his huge hammer lifted high in one, powerful hand. "For. the. Empire!"
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic let out a breath, doing his best to relax himself. He certainly was in his element, but he told himself he shouldn't get too used to the idea. He and Camilla would only be here for another week, and then...he didn't know. He had never been to Altdorf, truth be told. His father had told him of the city, and he had read of it, but nothing else.

He placed his hands on his hips, ordering the men to relax for a bit and eat as Camilla walked up. He gave her a nod of agreement. "The Drakwald is more dangerous than the forest we fled through over a month ago," he told her. His eyes, grey as iron, met hers. He'd wished he and Camilla had some time to spend together before the troops had fled. He felt a jumble of emotions sometimes when he looked at her, as if something wasn't finished yet. The one time he'd professed feelings for her, they'd both been tired out of their minds. Not for the first time did he feel inadequate compared to the kind of person she could be with, but as usual, he shook the feelings and worries away stubbornly.

This was the Drakwald, and it wouldn't do to daydream or ponder. "Just stick close to me. Or better yet, I'll stick close to the wagon." He said, giving her a reassuring grin.

"Excuse me," Captain Holman said, approaching from the troops to stand before Camilla and Cyrdic. Beside him was a man even skinnier than he, and much shorter. He had on odd looking spectacles, and Cyrdic wondered why they had brought such a man along this dangerous journey.

"Yes, Captain?" Cyrdic asked.

"I'd like you to take special watch over herr Olden here. He has something very special to present to the engineering school at Altdorf, and his survival is of paramount importance." Holman said, and merely waited for Cyrdic to accept before he shoved the short man toward both Cyrdic and Camilla.
@Penny

Darkwater: City of Intrigue and Adventure

Darkwater: Black Jewel of the Southlands

Well met! I welcome you to Darkwater, the only great human city in a hundred leagues. Located within the Marshlands of the Southland, merely twenty miles from the infamous Cutlass Coast. It is a city rife with danger, magic, and ambition. Perhaps you are a disgraced noble having fled the North, and using what influence you have left to live a comfortable life in this city state? Perhaps you're a mercenary, looking to adventure or sell your sword? Or maybe an informant or entertainer, seeking to gain contacts? Or a pirate looking for a new crew? Surely you're not a mage, attempting to gain more power and prestige, perhaps joining the Occult Bastion? Do you wish to rule, to conquer, to explore the wilderness around and find treasures amid the danger?

Whatever you so choose, this roleplay will feature a handful of characters selected by me, each trying to find their fortunes in Darkwater, the greatest city state in the Southland Confederation of Cities. Gain wealth, contacts, NPC companions, or band together (or kill each other). I look forward to seeing who is interested.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Chapter 4: The Drakwald

It was an old forest path used years ago before the roads had been well maintained and guarded for commercial use, but it was still well trodden. The forest had cleared from continual use of marching feet, leaving nothing but a dirt trail wide enough for a wagon, or 5 men walking abreast. All around them the Drakwald loomed around them. Trees as thick as Dwarves and tall as giants towered in the sky, an ominous mist licking the trunks and teasing the vision of the contingent of men now making their way down the path.

"Keep moving!" Cyrdic ordered, giving a Reikland swordsman a hard look and a rough push. The man immediately perked up and stepped with more assurance. Perhaps Cyrdic had offered his and Camilla's services too soon. For the contingent of troops had been leaving that day, and they had to hurry with their belongings. It was now three days travel in the Drakwald, and Cyrdic had swiftly gone back to his old ways as a Sergant.

Usually he would blame the caravan guard for being lax, but this mist had everyone's spirits down this day. There was something about the forest that was thick and dark. Almost suffocating. That wasn't an excuse for the men however, and if they expected a kind word from him then they could kiss his ass.

There were 30 swordsmen, 20 Halberdiers, 20 riflemen, and over a score of various Mercs scattered throughout the Caravan. Why they needed this many troops, even in the Drakwald, was beyond Cyrdic. It was merely a shipment of iron and gunpowder bound for Altdor, for what he'd been told. The three wagons at the center bumped along the unpaved forest floor, mules letting out groans and snorts. The sound made all the men on edge, for everywhere else the silence was deafening. As eerie as the forest was, he knew trees couldn't drive a sword in his gut. They were in the heart of the empire after all. The man sighed, and knew he was just trying to convince himself. The Drakwald was famously dangerous.

He caught a glimpse of who was leading the front next to Captain Hollman. A towering Warrior Priest of Sigmar strode confidently, his armor thick and his faith as loud as his laugh. Close cropped hair and a powerful chin gave him an easily recognizable face of authority. It was a contrast to the Captain, who looked as slim as a blade.

none of you seem to understand

A thread in the spam section I actually enjoy...

Sometimes the night is kind to me.

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

"Xenos" Herold spat with disdain as he saw one Greenskin far off in the distance through his scope, raising its choppa and rallying its troops for an assault on the walls. It looked a bit more purposeful than the normal boasting of an Ork Warleader. Though he doubted that was the Warboss. He fully expected a brute of monumental proportions, and the one he looked at now seemed like an up-jumped Nob with the support of a few thousand of his eager fellows.

With a guttural cry, the Ork horde that had hunkered down on the front lines suddenly lifted themselves up and charged. Gretchins leaped up with them. The Ork's smaller cousins gnashing their teeth and wildly shooting ramshackle pistols into the air. The bigger Orks loped with a heathen ferocity, brandishing their weapons and firing whatever guns they had forward, though most didn't even have the range to hit the wall at their distance.

That was when Herold and Ansgar unleashed hell, the Krieger troop informing Herold of the sweep to the left. "Right secured," Herold replied, ripping through green flesh and bits of hammered metal with the intense reign of fire he was sweeping over them. He had not used a Heavy Bolter in years, but it was still familiar to the Arbites sensibilities. He hardly ever smiled, but he had a very grim satisfaction that so many Ork Xenos were perishing under his watch.

The hours counted down, and when three were up, the Orks had seemed to have lost their fury at the moment. The Nob that led them lay dead, along with a few hundred of his fellows piled around him. "Ammo needs refilling," Herold told one of the approaching tech priests, and he stepped off the turret once he received news of the briefing they were to receive. He reported in, echoing Ansgar's information of a failed Ork incursion.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic gave a bow to Boris Todbringer, and saluted his Ostland kin. While he was technically free now, he would never announce his return to Ostland if he ever did return. Though he wasn't against the idea, at some point. There were many places the Count did not view at all times, and Cyrdic believed he might still have a living father there, somewhere.

He smiled despite the sting of her smoothing her hand over his wound. "You know, I think the Corsair look works for you." he joked, his grin sly and wide. "I knew we'd win. We'd gone through too much not to."

"And what is it you two shall do now?" Boris asked, his voice a bit more on a personal level. He seemed curious, and Cyrdic slipped his arm around Camilla's waist, turning to Boris. "Well...do you know of anyone who needs a couple of sellswords?"

"I offer you a noble title and you choose to keep fighting?" he asked, and Cyrdic nodded. Boris smiled. "I like you two more and more. Worry not, you'll be welcome back in Middenheim whenever you see fit, and the title and estate is on the table. As for a job, there are a few Reiklanders transporting some goods to Altdorf that need all of the men they can get. The Drakwald's dangerous this time of year, though nothing you cannot handle I'm sure."

Cyrdic turned to Camilla. Even fighting in Nosrcan territory, Cyrdic respected just how dangerous the Drakwald was. But he wasn't about to back down. "Sound good to you?"
@Penny

High Casual Medieval RP?

This has caught my interest.