POOHEAD189

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Meanwhile here I'm just glad it's about to storm because every car and building is covered in pollen.

The Book Club

Alright folks, since I am between books at the moment I decided to do a small book discussion/questionnaire.

• 1. What is the book you recommend to about everyone?
• 2. What are your top 5 favorite books you've read?
• 3. Top 5 authors?
• 4. Worst book you've ever read?
• 5. What book seemed really popular but you didn’t like?
• 6. What five books have you always wanted to read but haven’t got round to?

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Alright everyone, you are now free to post an introduction. Bertram will be there to allow you in, and please acknowledge everyone who has arrived before you. Let's have fun!

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Cornack Manor, Derbyshire England.
December 26th, 1929.
7:30 PM

---

Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks.
-Herodotus

"My lord?"

The snow drifted lazily along the front yard of the manor, flakes clinging to the window Thomas Cornack gazed without. It was a cold evening, one he could feel within his bones. Idly, he rubbed his thumb along the bronze, chameleon engraved locket his brother had given him two decades ago. His retainer had to inquire about him a second time for him to break from his reverie.

"Lord Cornack?" the servant urged, concerned of how this entire enterprise could effect the elderly fellow. He wasn't decrepit or helpless yet, but the past 12 years had taken a toll on even his lively energy."Hmmm?" The elderly man started. He turned to the ever loyal Bertrand. "Yes, Bertrand?"

"The first of your arrivals is here, sir. It seems to be the young Alcander. The lad you met a fortnight past?" Bertrand reminded him, aiding him out of his chair with a careful strength.
"Ah, fashionably early I see." Thomas Cornach said with fire, reaching for his cane. "I remember him. He reminded me of Bradley so very much." The servant gave a smile. "As he did me, sir."

Thomas glanced at Bertrand for a moment as he helped him up, and thanked God that such a man was to serve under him. The Brookstones had been retainers and squires to the Cornacks for centuries, and not once did the Cornacks ever have reason to regret it. Of course they had been kind patrons and nobles, but still. Loyalty was so rare these days. It warmed the old man that he still had family left in Bertram, if no one else. "See to the cooks and make sure they prepare the table, and let young Alcander in. I will be down shortly."

"Yes, my lord."

---

As per his usual restlessness, Alcander had only taken the cab to the front of the estate, which still gave him a fair mile to walk in the ever colder temperature of the calm night, something he was now regretting. From his childhood in London, one would think he'd be used to the climate. Oh, he was stoic about it. He'd had a few forays into the frigid regions of the world, most recently Scandanavia. But he had a very real fondness for tropical climates.

The outer wall he had passed through was stone, encompassing the entire estate if he had to guess. Alcander briefly recalled his old lessons in english history, and had the suspicion that this estate was once a fortified manor in the medieval period. It certainly gave such an impression with its imposing defenses and gateway, not to mention a very handsome stable to the left. Within he could hear the short neighing of the beasts, and he smiled. He had not ridden a horse in some time.

As he approached, he passed by tangled foliage he assumed would be exquisitely trimmed hedges and a bountiful garden had it been a warmer time of year. Above in the window, a small flicker of light caught in his peripherals, indicating movement. It must have been one of the butlers having seen him, and the archaeologist pulled his coat tighter around him, expecting to be waiting outside a moment as they announced him to the Lord and traversed the many corridors to reach the front doorway. Unfortunately for Alcander, it would take 10 minutes of waiting and a dozen knocks before his prayers for warmth were answered.

When the door opened to reveal the handsomely dressed retainer Bertram, Alcander nearly bit his tongue on his chattering teeth. "Yes, Dr. Mires. How are you this evening?" Bertram asked, conversationally. His words seemed to flow out lazily past his stylish mustache. Alcander was a bit too cold and impatient to answer cordially. "Fine, how are you?" He said quickly, and he stepped inside just as Bertram replied with a 'please come in.'

"Allow me to take your coat. Please find yourself a seat in the banquet hall. You are the first to arrive, you're to know."

Alcander slid his coat off to show one of the few more fashionable vests and long sleeved shirts he owned. He felt the chill seeping off of him as if ice was melting. He felt rigid enough, and the scholar reached up to fix his collar, the movement limbering him up slightly. "Thank you." He said.

The room they stood in now was a foyer of dark marble, the size of a moderately wealthy man's living room. To the right was a finely polished table with a bust of Socrates to greet visitors. Fitting in a way, Alcander mused. He thanked Bertram, and walked into the short but tall corridor of carved timber, passing by an extravagant painting of the Song of Roland, before stepping into the immense banquet hall. It was hard to describe the sheer size because it was belied by the comfortable surroundings of chairs and hearths, along with a gilded chandelier above the long table. Upon the center of the table was a globe.

Alcander decided to sit and wait, drinking a very sweet pint of mead as he waited.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Alright, I want to thank everyone for their patience. We should have an IC post to start tonight or tomorrow!
@Amaranth@Dervish@ihinka@Hero

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@Gardevoiran@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity
If you guys can post as soon as you feel able, that would be appreciated!

@FetzenIf you'd like, we could skip you this round.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

As Neil slid along the smooth floor under the landing, feeling the bottom of the Highlander for the latch of the hatch, he heard the muffled explosion, followed by the footsteps of approaching enemies. That is, until two piercing bangs from above, which caused two bloodied corpses to fall into the pit with him, viscera and lifeblood spraying everywhere. "Goh-ho-hod-damn!" He laughed, both surprised and then marveling how he shouldn't be. If anyone could solve problems with bullets, it was Sayeeda.

Still, he knew it was a momentary success and he needed to hurry. As he fished around below, the men above renewed their fire on Junebug's position, and she would be able to see the odd hand signal every now and then a few of the men moving around. Thankfully the Hanger on their end was not a big place, and to run over to her side was a suicide run even under cover fire. However it was only a matter of time before they got lucky.

Until they all began to spasm and gasp.

The Captain of the Highlander would hear guns clattering to the floor, along with the screech of palms and shoes on a smooth surface as the men grunted and wiggled, some falling limp for a few moments. As they were effected, Taya's voice popped into Junebug and Neil's comms.

"I increased the volume on their comm frequency. If you're going to do something, do it now!" The girl said with urgency. It was right around this time Neil found the hatch, unlocking it and opening up the bottom of the Highlander. He slipped into the narrow entryway by pulling upon the ladder bars with a few strong tugs, making it through the tube and opening the top hatch that led into the Cockpit corridor.

He needed to find some larger firepower just in case.
@Penny

The Elder Scrolls: Swords and Snobbery

The stone floor wasn't as uncomfortable as one might think. In fact, compared to the other two dungeons he had the misfortune of being dragged into, Dragonsreach was a veritable inn. So far he had only seen two rats in the three days he had spent here, the place was well furnished for a prison, and the walls and floors were well carved. If only the guards fed him regularly, he wouldn't mind being in here too much, other than the very real possibility he would be hanged within a day or two.

The mere act of letting out a frustrated breath caused him to realize just how much he truly wanted to live. He'd rather a quick beheading or an arrow from a bandit ending his life than kicking and gagging until the life was chocked out of him. He very much wished he had his sword in his hand to at least practice some of his forms to pass the time. He suddenly felt his thick mane of dark hair tickling his neck, the hair covered a handsome and somewhat noble visage, though there was definitely a rakish quality to him. With a groan, seemingly more annoyed he found himself in a deadly situation than afraid, he sat up and scratched his head. He felt both tired yet restless, and yet again lamented on the fact he felt like living.

"Hmmm... now now, what's an Imperial like you doing down here in the gutter, huh?" a honeyed voice purred, reaching his ears. He blinked, never having thought he'd hear a sultry woman's voice in Dragonsreach. The young mercenary turned to see a shapely blonde woman gazing at him from across the way, similarly imprisoned.

Markus fancied himself a savvy man, and indeed he was most of the time. He knew a con when he saw one. The glint in her eyes and the smile had him suspicious at least. However...his stay in Whiterun had been particularly dry, and he was a man first and foremost. The spellsword did take a second to drink in her curves and smile, and realize one last time how much he wanted to live, and at this moment it was for a very particular reason. The unguarded moment passed quickly, however. He was still very intrigued at her interest, but he wasn't a slobbering guard. Still, after considering he realized there was no harm in humoring a lovely woman.

"Would you like the long version or the short version?" He asked, amusement clear on his face. After a second, he slid over to the cell door and, while still sitting on the floor, one knee up and one leg out, he faced her and held the rails, his sleeves sliding off to reveal toned and scarred arms. He shrugged. "I had a bounty to collect. Turned out it was more of an illegal hit and I was blamed for being misled. Slaying a Jarl's brother is considered..." He looked out at down the hall to the sleeping guard, propped on his chair. His voice grew both wry and tired simultaneously. "...bad."

Grunting, he pulled himself to his feet with merely his arms holding onto the rails, and patted himself off. "How about you? A woman as pretty as you is rare in a dungeon from my experience."

The Elder Scrolls: Swords and Snobbery

Markus Flintbrook

Username: POOHEAD189

Character Name: Markus Flintbrook

Race/Species: Human/Imperial

Gender: M

Age: 26

Career/Class: Mercenary/Armsman/Amateur Swordmage

Weapons:

• Bastard Sword
• Kite Shield

Physical Description: A lean, fit, but refined man with dark hair and eyes, with a navy blue tunic over chainmail (covering leather) and loose fitting dark brown trousers. He has a fair face, albeit with a scar at the left of his chin and running down his jawline. His hair is wavy, loose and tousled. Not entirely groomed as he was raised, he still looks more or less presentable, and perhaps charming when he feels the need to present himself as such. He has the look of a youth that has been refined like silver through various trials by fire.

Armor:

• Chainmail hauberk
• Leather armor over it.
• Leather bracers/pauldrons

Favoured Skills:

• One Handed Blade (Highly Proficient): Markus was taught from an early age how to fight with the blade, and further enhanced his abilities through his travels.
• Alteration (Moderately Proficient): Markus's studies at the Dragon's Blood were more on support magic, alteration being a forte.
• Enchanting (Moderately Proficient): The spellsword made certain to learn spells that would increase the tool of his trade, his sword.
• Sneak (Moderately Proficient): Knowing the value of hit and run tactics, Markus learned how to move lightly.
• Acrobatics (Somewhat Proficient): Markus has always been fit and flexible, learning how to balance and flip when the need arises.
• Athletics (Somewhat Proficient): Running through alleyways and leaping across rooftops certainly comes in handy, and he's had to do it out of necessity many times.
• Pick Pocketing (Somewhat Proficient): Not his greatest skill, but he has had dexterous fingers and a sly way about him since boyhood.

Spell List:

• Feather
• Shield
• Water Breathing
• Open
• Fire (Sword Enchantment)
• Storm (Sword Enchantment)
• Banish (Sword enchantment)

Equipment/Other

• Sword sharpening/cleaning kit
• Water Jug
• Herbal remedy to halt light bleeding
• 3 pounds of beef jerky

Mental Description/Personality: Markus is a strong willed and adventurous young man, having left his moderately wealthy home to seek his fortunes to the east. He enjoys learning, his rebellious attitude having dimmed somewhat from his training by his Altmer master. He has a good mind about him when it comes to common sense, though he can be a bit rash if he lets his anger get the better of him. Generally he has a friendly, if wary demeanor. He will sometimes spout wisdom he has learned on his travels. In truth he has more general knowledge than spell knowledge, for he is only a fledgling spell caster. Still, he'll always be interested in learning more of the arcane arts. He has a curiosity about him that he sometimes can't help. Ironically, he'll chastise others for taking risks he might take as well.

Goals: Markus' goals are to seek his own fame and fortune, through his own skill. He wants to live as a free man, outside of the pointless bickering of the lords.

Background/History:
The bastard nephew of an Imperial Lord, Markus had always been more focused on exploration in the surrounding forests and his various interests rather than his duties as a vassal. He used his standing not to further his family's fortunes, but to further his own. Not out of selfishness, mind. He'd often seen children who were less fortunate to be encouraged by their parents to do well for themselves. All he had ever heard from his family was what he could do for them.

One day his older brother was killed in a raid during the Great War, which lead Markus and his father to argue and break off their relationship through a fit of anger. Markus escaped the next day, taking a modest sum of money as well as some equipment and traveling east, taking up arms with a few mercenary companies. He found despite his individuality, he was not a bad leader to smaller groups of companions, at least as long as they were after the same prize and had shared goals.

Before long he culminated enough funds to find an exiled Elvish tutor (who held no loyalty to the altmer) in magic and swordplay. He lived there for 3 years, learning from the Elf in a forested tower before he was hired onto a fine expedition to explore the surrounding mountains. The adventure came into disaster, trolls making the group split up. Markus survived the mountains and found himself on the other side of them, next to the southern end of Cyrodiil. He spent a year bandit hunting in Blackwood, and taking small jobs to guard merchant ships in the southern sea before one day he ended sailing into the Imperial city, where a corrupt noble who's cousin was an outlaw Markus slew saw him arrested under false terms, doomed to hang...

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread