POOHEAD189

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

Sean Spicer will get lobotomized, because Scaramoucci stabs you where you least expect it. Most stab in the back, he gives the patented front stab!

Between the hammer and the anvil

Kayden listened intently to the instructions, keeping tabs not only on their objectives, but the mannerisms of his team. One curled finger at his lips, and his other hand idly toying with the fork he'd been given once he had finished. It paid to know who you were dealing with, and who was dealing with you.

He found his room accommodating, the prince tired enough not to care overly much the conditions of his bed. It was far better than the dungeon, and after a bath and good food, he found the bed heavenly. He could have used a woman though, but then again he couldn't exactly have everything.

When he awoke, he found a bucket of water and washed his hair, loosening the small string that tied up his shoulder length hair as he did so. His dark hair was thick and unruly, and he fixed it up again once it was dried. Some might say it was mere vanity, but longer hair did not help out in a fight if it got in the way. Now why he didn't cut it? That was vanity. Stripped to the waist, he was fit and trim, albeit with a few scars from years of fighting. He donned his chainmail and leather trappings, before heading out to the stables.

He'd asked Oldrik for some small provisions, as well as a shortbow and about twenty arrows. He was no incredible archer, but he knew a thing or two. "Morning," he said lightly to Wren, reigning in his horse as she walked up.

Warhammer Fantasy: Morrslieb Ascendant

Alim Bin Hayid - Tomb Robber

Character Name: Alim Bin Hayid

Race: Human (Arabian)

Gender: M

Age: 24

Origins: Al-Haiekk

Religious Beliefs: Oh-mas, Arabian God of the Sun

Career: Tomb Robber

Skills & Talents: Secret Signs (Thief), Outdoor Survival, Read/Write, Scale sheer surface, Search, Speak language (Classic)

Physical Description:

Alim Bin Hayid has a slim, fit physique made for climbing and jumping. His arms are prominently muscled and long, almost simian. With skin the color of dark copper and eyes like liquid night, Alim is a darkly handsome and striking individual. When he removes his headwear, unkempt chocolate hair falls to brush along his shoulders.

Mental Description/Personality: A quick wit and a penchant for mischief and danger, Alim's known among his family as a contradiction. His tendencies as a wildcard contrasting with his overly protective nature when it comes to those whom he cares for can often catch people off guard. He enjoys wooing women and giving them a giggle, but he lacks for forethought, because his heart is often too tender to handle the loss of a woman who he loves. But if there is one thing he enjoys more than women, it's shiny trinkets and treasures,

Trappings (Arms, Armour and Attire): He wears the outfit of a vagabond traveler. Reds and blues covered in wrappings of tan cloth, including a red, open vest that reveals his slim, trim chest underneath. His cap is similar to his torso, a red fez cap swathed in plain cloth that can be unwound further to cover his face or mouth during a sandstorm. His sash belt is black, and his shoes are curled like his wicked-looking scimitar.

Miscellaneous: One hundred and thirteen crowns, bronze necklace belonging to his father, lockpicks, knife, waterskin, and sack.

Background/History: Born to a common family, his father was a merchant and his mother was a stay at home wife, caring for her son Alim, and two daughters, Morgiana and Yashima.

Alim helped his father with his work at age 8, packing items and hauling them on carts, and continued to do so all the way until his father's death when Alim was 14 years old. His father had 'insulted' one of the Caliphs of the city by giving him less than perfect wine for a celebration, and ordered Alim's father to repay him ten times the coveted wine's price, which he could not pay. He was executed, and Alim's mother had to remarry very quickly, finding a semi-wealthy suitor who was visiting from the distant city of Copher, that mistreated her and her daughters if she were to do wrong.

He would have mistreated Alim, if the young boy had not fled into the bowels of the city of Al-Haiekk rather than go to Copher, filled with grief and pain. He learned to survive on his own, stealing food and living alone for two years until he fell in with a group of thieves led by a man named Baba-Yalim, who taught Alim further tools of the trade.

He fell in love when he was 17 years old. A Caliph's courtesan had made a habit of sneaking out of one of the lesser palaces. Alim, already with a vendetta against Caliphs and being in awe of her beauty, showed her the city and protected her. They grew to love one another, and spent over a year in secret together until one of the Caliphs agents reported seeing them together upon a rooftop one moonlit night.

His love was killed, her hands cut off and her tongue cut out. Alim was to die too, but again he fled, this time to the surrounding countryside, his anger causing him to join a few cutthroats led by the notorious Cralam-Muhammed, that lived within the sand dunes. He raided two caravans bound for the Caliphs, until his band was subsequently ambushed by Caliph cavalry. Alim and three of his companions (Cralam, Singrim, and Hakeem) managed to escape, but they lost one another.

Alim found refuge within the ruins of the dead city of Bel-Aliad. He at first did not even know the city was here, or even existed. He had simply found a small oasis near the ruins, and began to explore the sand dunes until he fell through the sand and into one of the catacombs that now made up the sand-covered city.

It was the start of a prosperous trade for him. He began to collect artifacts within the city, collecting them to sell to merchants and rich men seeking ancient relics. He never found much gold, but ancient trinkets were his forte. After three months within the ruins, he ran into the restless dead. It scared him beyond his wits, but he was determined to keep his business going, and 'excavated' for a year until he was almost killed by a greater skeleton within one of the greater tombs, the undead apparition warning him to stay away.

He did, and decided to sell the last of his wares to the highest bidder. Unfortunately, the highest bidder was up in the Old World, a man who sought ancient Arabian artifacts that had sent agents to seek those who could find them. Alim went Northward, and once he was paid, he found himself in a new land with a large sum of money to spend. Though it would drain quickly...he needed employment.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic bit into an apple, watching their exchange. He could understand Ricardo not wanting to see Camilla in harms way. But one of the reasons Camilla had caught his attention was that she got in and out of danger with the same flair he had come to expect. She was a warrior, whether she realized it or not.

"No arguing with her, eh?" Cyrdic asked Ricardo, biting into his apple again. His next words were muffled by the fruit. "Pick your battles."

---

The Imperial felt a bit of trepidation going onto these roofs in the cover of darkness. The sea was in the distance, the coastal breeze filling his nostrils as he stumbled about on the unfamiliar thatching of the Marienburg roofs. It reminded him of night raids he had conducted on Nordland shores, only he was far less sure-footed now than he had been, then. He tried to remind himself that Ricardo was his ally just as a fellow soldier was, but for some reason that was hard to convince himself of.

Cyrdic halted with the Tilean as Camilla's graceful and powerful form leaped across the street with a practiced ease. He marveled at her too, and he felt his heart warm at the woman he could call his lover. But when Ricardo spoke of it, he felt the heartstrings in his breast coil a bit too tightly, and he didn't enjoy the marvel in Ricardo's voice.

Visibly, he had to keep himself from saying anything out of turn. He had to remind his himself that Camilla trusted him, and the two of them needed all of the help they could get. But the lack of private time with her, and Ricardo's...familiarity with Camilla he had never asked about out of respect for her was bringing anxious thoughts to his head, and a certain jealousy gnawing at him.

"She's perfect where she is, I think." Cyrdic said, doing his best not to sound possessive. "We better catch up." He continued after a pause between them.
@Penny

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

In Defense Of The Genre [Part II]

You misunderstand what Pug was saying.

@Master

That's how it's being treated right now, not how I want it to be treated. You're confusing prescriptive and descriptive ethics, which is, like, Logic 101, dude.

@pugbutter

Well initially you said that the position has benefits, which could either mean 1) It comes with the job of being a Mod. Or 2) these particular mods do this, and I went with the former. That's my bad.

In Defense Of The Genre [Part II]

@POOHEAD189 How is being able to kick/ban anyone you dislike, and getting away with it at no costs to yourself, not a blatant social benefit?

@pugbutter

If you think power is a benefit and not a responsibility, then I'm glad you're a user and not a mod, no offense meant. All kicking someone you don't like does is cause an eventuality such as this thread. Mods are people who serve the community. Sure, you could manipulate the system to make it corrupt, but to say that 'mods have benefits' implies being corrupt comes with the job. It does not, if you do your job correctly.

In Defense Of The Genre [Part II]

Easy: cronyism. When a mod does something stupid and wrong (e.g. banning someone unjustly), the other mods' immediate kneejerk reaction is to assume they're justified, ignoring all facts and available evidence meanwhile. I'm one of the lucky ones who got his claim investigated by another mod, but most of the victims mentioned in these whistleblowing threads have not yet received that luxury. They haven't received their justice.

"i don't even agree that anything in those screenshots is incriminating against most of the mods because it's in line with mine and mahz's thinking."

"Those screenshots" referring to the ones in Grimhildr's original thread, now found here. And if you sincerely believe they don't incriminate most of the mods then you're either blind or delusional.

@pugbutter

Those aren't benefits though. That's just trust in other mods.
Granted, the trust is misplaced. But literally there are no benefits of being a mod/admin.

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

7/11 was a part time job.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic blinked, mouth full of food and his cheeks prominent as the two Tilean turned their gazes toward him. He had been listening, but the food was so good. He'd not had southern fish before. The meat was breaded! That coupled with the ale made for a very welcome meal. The past night was much better than trekking through the wilderness and sleeping on his muddied cloak, huddled for warmth. This city was still an oddity to him, but he supposed Mercs were his forte'. He'd fought next to more than a few, even if he was a new addition to their ranks.

"Watch the master at work," he said as he wiped his mouth with a cloth. Camilla's giggle was infectious though, and he smiled, unable to help himself. Ricardo shook his head. "We'll meet back at the brothel tonight." Cyrdic told them, placing down the money for the food, and outfitting himself. Just as he had foreseen, his arm already felt somewhat better, albeit very weak and ached with a vengeance. His sword really did effect him in more ways than chaos-slaying. As he winked at Camilla to ease her concerns over him, he found he hoped the sword helped keep her healthy as well.

With some advice from Ricardo on where to look, within 3 hours he found himself in the Suiddock. It was the Northernmost island near the Bruynwater canal. Apparently this was the very heart of the city, and judging from all of the cutthroats he had seen in the more respectable areas, that was a somewhat dangerous thought.

He passed a few rougher thugs down a cobbled street, eyeing him as to see if he was easy prey. It would be three against one, but Cyrdic carried himself as if he wasn't wounded, and he was well armed and armored. Even if they beat him, it would cause a stir and it wouldn't be without casualties, so they eventually told him to sod off, despite the fact he had never even looked their way.

While that was noted, he still felt a sense of danger as he turned the corner into a side street to use as a shortcut. He didn't know cities well, but he knew what it was like to be tracked. It was near the last second that he felt more than heard a figure landing gracefully behind him. Cyrdic felt a scraping on the shield strapped to his back, and the soldier grinned when he realized the man hadn't recognized the protection of the Norscan shield, as it was within the folds of his cloak.

Cyrdic kicked backward, taking his attacker by the knee. He heard a cry of pain, that was suddenly stifled as Cyrdic put a wirey Arabian in a headlock, the knife now clattered to the ground.

"Who are you?" Cyrdic asked curtly, not in the mood to play games. The man squirmed, but couldn't get out of the Ostland soldier's iron grip. He then tried to speak in his native tongue, but Cyrdic squeezed his neck harder. The man hacked, and sputtered in Reikspiel. "Ok! Ok!"

"Who are you?" He growled, and the man shook his head. "No one! Salim Dalib just wanted your purse!"

"Why not just take it off me?"

"You are wounded!" He said. Cyrdic was taken aback slightly. He guessed he hadn't thought he hid his weakness as well as he had hoped. At least to the trained eye. Cyrdic wondered what else this man could tell him. "Do you know of any antique dealers from Arabia in town? Ones that have hired Imperial mercenaries?"

"Are yo u asking me for a job!?" He sputtered incredulously, having halted his attempts at trying to escape but still squirming to loosen Cyrdic's the grip on his neck somewhat. The Arabian only needed another squeeze for him to see Cyrdic's way of things. "Salim Dalib know!" and he began to spill whatever knowledge he had before his eyes popped out of their sockets. It led him to his next destination.

An hour later, he found himself within the Tavern dubbed the 'Ironbull,' one of the rougher taverns in town. Though it was far more civil than the one that had nearly killed him the previous night. He'd planned on coming into a place like this to ask other Mercs about the two Imperials, but he'd heard that a few characters such as them frequented this bar. He had to see for himself.

It took 3 flagons of ale, the barkeep trying to hire his services as a bouncer, and a busty barmaid attempting to enamor him with a swaying of her hips before he saw two notable mercenaries walk into the bar. Black bearded just as he had heard, both in gambesons and wide brimmed hats favored by Tileans. It seemed they enjoyed playing the part. But their skin was as fair as his, though a bit less ruddy. One was tall, and the other was a bit paunchy but still hardened from years of combat.

They were welcomed into the Tavern as if they were regulars, and were escorted into the back. Cyrdic thought that was a bit weird they weren't even going to sit down and have a drink. He was hoping to overhear them a bit. Much to his chagrin, that wasn't going to happen. But he had to figure out something.

"Can I get you anything else, handsome?" the barmaid asked. She tilted her head and looked at him with a roving gaze. It took him a moment to gather up the courage, but he decided to try something. "Got a few questions to ask you, if you have a private place we can talk?" He asked, holding up a coin.

"You don't need to pay me, shoulders. It's on the house..." she said, her smokey gaze implying she was taking the invitation the wrong way.

---

That night, Cyrdic made it back to the brothel with some new information, and a guilty conscience of pulling a woman off of him. He did have to pay her by the end of it, but he'd learned the names of the two men, and a confirmation of who their benefactor was. One of the wealthiest foreigners in town, who often conducted business behind closed doors. He let Camilla and Ricardo know as soon as he saw them at one of the tables.
@Penny