POOHEAD189

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

I will stay where you want me to, in chains should it please you - if it is your kink -

@Stormflyx

How did she know?

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic's runic sword cut across the skinless beast's collarbone, causing it to howl and crash into the ground. With a fluid reverse he stabbed through the Chaos hellhound's chest and into the blood soaked earth, killing the last of the enemy's scouts. Behind him, over half of the Count's officers were slain. Johan's throat had been torn out, and Lance's entrails were strewn across the snow, his dead eyes staring into the approaching dawn. They had tried to fight, but the hounds had been supernaturally quick and lithe, and the men's bullets and swords had simply been repelled by the magics of the Hellhound's skinless hides. Only Cyrdic and Skaldi (who's axe must have had Dwarfish runes) among this group had managed to slay them. Luckily, such monstrous scouts were extremely rare.

The Ostlander needed to rouse the full brunt of the army. The trees and the distant mountains still obscured the rising sun, but Cyrdic knew Norscan movements. They came just before dawn, when soldiers were rousing.
"Damn them to hell!" Cyrdic heard in the distance. The Count roared as fiercely as any troll, and past a few copse of trees, Cyrdic saw him mount his fearless Griffon steed, his runefang glowing. "Get the troops moving! We must fight them in the town, Urlic willing."

Skaldi ripped his axe out of a Chaos hellhound and spat on its corpse, the ichor of its blood acidic by nature and eating into the ground wherever a drop hit the snow. "Foul Varfdum!" he cursed in Khazalid, and kicked it for good measure. "Interrupting my gold stories!"

It took close to an hour before the word filtered through the camp that only Cyrdic, the Count Gaussar, and Harald Stout-arm were the only leadership left alive in the ramshackle Imperial forces. Cyrdic called the Greatswords to him as the army began to move, telling them the battle plans he hastily made, instinctual tactics he surmised based on an almost imperceptible intuition only borne out of experience. He already knew the landscape before them. He simply didn't know when they would get there to fight the Norscan army.

The Count did a forced march, moving them out without breakfast and barely enough time to rouse and re-equip. It was by Sigmar's grace they happened to have a force that was experienced enough to don their arms and armor quickly, and within minutes the cavalry sallied forth out of the woods as fast as they could in the deep snow to scout out the enemy's movements. It was not needed... It was just after half of the main force of infantry emerged from the woods that the Norscans revealed themselves.

Krondstat was already in flames, and the barbarous warriors were hacking apart whatever townsfolk remained. Even as Cyrdic watched from the southern column, a screaming woman was thrown off the top of a three story building with her child clutched in her arms. The men of the town were being impaled on spikes, the bases of the spikes had the shapes of crows, eagles, hounds, and snakes, signifying their symbols of Tzeentch, Slaanesh, Khorne, and Nurgle. To Cyrdic's dismay, the hounds were far more common than any.

A great horn was blown from within Kronstat, and as one the northern warriors gathered. A few berserkers wielding double axes were too eager to sate their bloodshed, and charged down the small decline in the snowy ground, undisturbed by the cold and howling for blood. They were gunned down by shot and bolt before they could span the ground, though they died hard. Behind them, Norscan warriors with ritualistic blue tattoos began to grab at their own skins and rip them off, tearing at their outer layer to reveal not blood but fur. Out of their human forms, bristling Wolfish beasts tore through the tops of their necks and revealed themselves in monstrous fury, as tall as Ogres and fiercely lean.

Snarling, they began to lope down the hill with a predatory grace that belied their terrifying strength. They were the true vanguard of the force. Behind them, the muscled, berserker Norscans followed in a wave of fury unmatched by any civilized men. They tried to beat the Skinwalkers to the Imperials, now arrayed in classical formation. Pikes and spears in front, and by Cyrdic's orders they were lowered and ready. Swordsmen and Gunners just behind to fire or surge through any gaps in the pikewall. Crossbowmen at the flanks, along with the cavalry to provide support. At the Center, Cyrdic stood with his Greatswords, with Skaldi at his side, giving a Khazalid warcry.

When the Skinwalkers made it to the lines, many of the beasts were spit upon pikes, while others, too large and strong to be cowed, barreled through the spears with great leaps and hacked apart men with terrible frenzies of armor rending claws, only for they themselves to be hacked apart by the swordsmen. Next, the Norscans, brutes and mutants alike, crashed into shields and pikes with inhuman strength and zeal. At their center was a Norscan champion that stood as tall as a Skinwalker, with horns protruding out of his shoulders.

The Greatswords beside Cyrdic moved in perfect rhythm, their swords going up and down and blocking expertly, hacking off limbs and heads and guarding one another. Cyrdic faced off a mutated Norscan that had made it through the Greatswords, with a face obscured by a helm but a left arm having been corrupted into a brutal hacking weapon of its own, while his right hand held a handaxe. On his breast was the mark of the Changer of Ways.

In eerie silence he swiped at Cyrdic, who sidestepped his arm and blocked the next axe chop with his Norscan shield. The sergeant stabbed forward and then instinctly blocked an arm cut by hacking at the base of the limb, severing it. The Norscan seemed more confused than hurt, and his life ended a moment later when Cyrdic cut him in half with his formidable strength.

"Good killing isn't it?" Skaldi cried. The Dwarf seemed to have a strange frenzy close to the Norscan's, only a bit heartier while not as uncontrollable. Cyrdic usually didn't understand Dwarfs or their ways, but this he could empathise with. Cyrdic had always felt at home on the battlefield, and had an enjoyment of slaying foes that he sometimes found disturbing after the fact. He knew he shouldn't. If Theodric the Chosen's words were to be believed, Khorne had plans for him that Cyrdic shuddered to think about.

As the battle raged on, the Imperial line wavered more than a few times, and the Cavalry engaged with Chaos wardogs at the flanks. But with heroic advances by Cyrdic and his Greatswords, along with the Count and his Griffon tearing apart any resistance, they were at least holding. But the flanking party was late, and Cyrdic felt a worry in his breast that he couldn't shake. Soon, there was a chill up his spine as his fears grew.

"CEERDIK!" he heard from the left. To Cyrdic's relief and surprise, Ivan Petrovich and a few of his hussar riders waded through some of the disorganized Norscan lesser warriors, hacking at them with sweeps of their sabers. "To me!" Cyrdic called, the Greatswords and mercenaries that found themselves with him surged forward, cutting a path toward the riders and letting them through. But as they rode in, Cyrdic realized there were too few of them, and they came from the west, not the North.

"Camilla!" he called over the din of battle as the riders passed. Ivan's face dropped, and he dismounted his horse. "Ceerdik..."

"Camilla!!!" he cried again, and knew she wasn't with them. Ivan placed a hand on Cyrdic's shoulder. The Ostlander turned his sword on Ivan and placed the blade at his throat, his fears and bloodlust having mounted since battle began. "Where is she?" he demanded. Ivan made no move against him, and was in fact a bit disturbed by Cyrdic's wolfish eyes for a moment. "Ve ver found out Ceerdik. She vas taken...I don't noe vere zshe iz."

It took a few moments for Cyrdic to react, and he grabbed Ivan's shirt harder, pressing the blade closer for a few moments until his body was sapped of strength, and an utter horror took over his face. He dropped his runic sword into the snow, and the dozens of bleeding wounds and the lack of sleep suddenly felt like an anvil on his shoulders. "No..." he breathed, shaking his head. Unable to accept that she was gone.

By Ulric, Cyrdic wouldn't let that happen. He would tear apart the entire Norscan army and sail to Norsca itself if he had to.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil decided to save Aiden from more anger and embarrassment so he didn't even look at him as he followed Junebug. "Aye, Captain." He said, his combat shotgun at the ready as the door slipped open and closed behind the two of them. The halls remained as decadent as the previous ones, though Neil could see more functional doors and less flashy and aesthetic decorations the deeper in they moved. Taya directed them forward, and they found themselves in a wider hallway that was dome shaped. The walls curved from the ground into a domed ceiling, making the hall an elongated half circle. Floral arrangements on foyer tables and overhanging tapestries framed the red walkways.

Neil poked his head out, and confirmed the coast was clear at the moment for Junebug. He swept left and she swept right, and they moved out the next Taya spoke.

"Ok, go to the left and continue until you enter a fork in the walkway, and turn right. The forward gate is a blast door and impossible to open unless you used the Highlander's guns. But you can go around it through a series of rooms and another hallway. Past that you can open the blast door and give us a way out." She said.

"Any bad guys?" Neil whispered through the comm.

"I can't tell yet. I don't have full access." She reported, and the clicking of her fast-typing fingers echoed over the comms before she turned off her frequency for the moment. Neil looked at Junebug and shrugged, before they continued forward through the route Taya had informed them of. It looked like she was right about the first few turns, and the blast door. Even this massive slab of Xarconian steel was embroidered with Gold.

"Before we leave," Neil commented. "Let's steal something."

A rough and croaky noise was heard from the left, and it took both Neil and Junebug only a few moments before they were sprinting right. Junebug kicked though the first door they found to hide in, and she yanked Neil inside just as the hostiles were approaching the blast doors. Neil took the smallest peek out of the doorway before closing it slowly and silently. "Hexanagallions." He breathed and rolled his eyes, shrugging as if to say 'what are you gonna do?'

A race of reptilian Xenos, with tall and hulking humanoid bodies, 3 massive fingers and 3 massive toes akin to hooves, along with 4 mandibles. They were some of the more popular mercenaries employed by humans, and were members of one of the few civilizations that could boast about being able to withstand humanity's xenophobic attitudes with force and barbarity. Superb soldiers and disciplined troops nonetheless. Neil should have known that the royal family could afford a handful, along with what he suspected was a small army of guards.

The room they were in looked like a supply room. Unfortunately it had no weaponry or ammo. But dried foodstuffs, nutribars, hypercompact rations and small utility tools were arrayed upon the walls and the desks. With a quick inspection, the cabinets were filled with the same.

Outside, the heavy footfalls of the Hexanagallions grew audible. Their harsh, guttural tongue barked as they closed. Junebug held herself still, gripping her weapon. All was silent within the room, until she heard a crackle. She would turn to see Neil opening a nutribar, and he spotted her giving him an incredulous look. He stopped, not thinking it was that loud but seeing it wasn't worth the risk.

They passed by after what seemed an eternity, and the two breathed easily. Neil sighed, and opened the nutribar fully. "Oh this is so good." He said. As the pilot bit into the bar, he was knocked aside by the door behind him opening, and three human guards in tactical gear walked in swiftly, obviously going to find the disturbance further within the palace wing.

"Why always the door?" he said under his breath.
@Penny

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

The shudder of the Rhino as it halted its momentum made a jutter that reverberated through everyone's body. Herold placed his rebreather on his mouth, and he took a lungful of filtered air. He was tired and angry, but that was ripe spirit for purging heretics and mutants. When the Sororitas announced they would be going after Chaos anomalies, Herold nodded in confirmation.

As the rest of the crew had figured out, he had no problem leaving the vehicle to meet the mutants close quarters. But even the Adeptus Arbites thought it a bit risky to not use the guns from inside the vehicle. There was something about watching bolter rounds cutting apart the enemies of mankind that sat well with him. Still, it was time to move.

He turned on the night vision within his visor, and placed his thumb along the power of his powermaul, ready to spark it to life when they left.

Retaking the Front (40k Astra Militarum Roleplay, Currently Full)

At first, Sax and the rest of the guardsmen merely swayed with the turbulence. He had an easy-going, casual look to him as he'd gone through a dozen drops before. But even on the easy part, many of the other men looked around anxiously or hyperventilated. First timers or PTSD veterans, he guessed.

Then the missile fire, and the lander began to lurch and jerk this way and that. Saxon rode it easily, the commando used to jumping across branches and keeping his balance in wrestling matches against other Catachan fighters. Of course after the third hit and the rumble of their guns, even Sax nearly hit the floor, catching the steel ground with his hand.

When he heard the call to brace for impact, Saxon waited three scant seconds, and then jumped. His long legs and practiced acrobatics served him well. He leaped into the air nearly above men's shoulders. He couldn't time the jump with approximate accuracy, but he jumped high enough to where it mattered little. The iron cage slammed to a stop as he was feet off the ground, and he caught himself on the floor roughly.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Senator Giaus entered the room, in the middle of reciting an oration he was to give soon before he realized that he stared down the barrel of a machine gun. He froze two steps in, gathering his wits to process just what had happened. Behind him four armed men held their weapons at the ready.

"Wait!" Giaus ordered his men, keeping them from unloading into the room. Neil had his gun aimed at Giaus's calm visage. The man wasn't elderly yet, but he was definitely aged, with a well groomed light grey beard and close cropped hair. His blue eyes were sharp and intelligent, and he would appear kindly if not for the circumstances that were transpiring at the moment. Giaus's eyes went to the gorgeous woman on the ground, and then back to Prince Aiden, and then to his companions.

Once the senator realized he was still alive, he began to speak. "I see you're resourceful," he said, and if Neil didn't know better, he could swear there was admiration in his voice. The men behind him wore tactical helms, darkened visors obscuring their faces. Giaus drew himself up, his arms and hands now firmly rested within the arms of his robes. "Come now, what do you hope to accomplish?" He asked. "Dar'mond is the mob. Even if you somehow succeeded here, Prince Aiden would need to convince millions he was innocent."

"I think you should be focusing more on how you're getting out of this mess," Neil said. Taya had already hidden herself behind the couch. "See we tend to shoot first and think strategic politics later, and as of this moment you're not giving us a lot of incentive to hold back."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The longboats slipped into the waterway as silent as death. The brutish crews were masters of sailing, having spent half their lives traversing the waves and taming the seas as their own. Even their landing gave the barest hint of scraping along the sand to announce their arrival, and off the first boat stepped a monster of a man. A hulking Norscan brute, a full head taller than any of the other warriors, with a musculature that looked cut and carved from granite. He was bare chested, immune to the bite of the harsh winter, and in his hands were dual broad-bladed swords. Upon his shoulders were spikes protruding from them, and his eyes were yellow. Ulkjar the Terrible, Manslayer and Beastkiller felt the soft sand beneath him. Even the land itself was weak and easily cowed. No mortal weapon had killed him yet, and after he had devoured the corpse of the Frost Troll, he healed as they did. The Norscan had not been south in many years. He looked forward to drinking the blood of Nordlander men.

Next off the boat was a rather diminutive figure, hidden within a dark cloak, save for his red eyes and a gnarled hand that reached out to grip a staff of Oak, at its top was the perpetually frozen eye of a Chaos giant. Sarhashis hissed like a snake, his every breath a sinister whisper of ancient curses beyond knowledge or reckoning. Truthfully, he hated Ulkjar and all of his kin. But the Lord of Changes had led him to this one. Ulkjar was to be the herald for the end of days, and Sarhashis would see it through. They had already sacrificed two hundred Nordlander captives from the last incursion not a week before, a gift from the vanguard force.

The Daemon Prince of Khorne had promised victory and blood. It was all Ulkjar had needed to hear.

---

Cyrdic chipped the small block of wood with his hunting knife, methodically cutting at its edges as he carved. Beside him, Skaldi was proving he could name over two hundred names for Gold in Khazalid like he did the last time he was in Karak Kadrin. So far he hadn't faltered. He was on his one hundred and sixteenth. Beside the two of them were the officers and higher ranking sergeants of Cyrdic's and the Count's columns. The other two columns, headed by Heinrich von Lebowitz, and Harald the Stout-Arm were east of them.

Cyrdic had rested earlier, but he found he couldn't sleep. His dreams were vivid and filled with untold fears. He didn't know if it was the battle ahead, the fact Camilla was out in the wilderness without his protection, or the Chaos taint he could smell in the air. The past few weeks, the dreaded moon Morrslieb had grown larger every night. Even with the firelight dancing upon them, the sickly green glow of the moon filtered in.

He tried not to think of it. He simply wanted to finish the Dove he was carving. He was hoping to give it to Camilla once this campaign was over, and he thought that Ivan would appreciate the symbolism. The scarred soldier had not carved in years, but he used to before he joined the baron's service in Ostland. He remembered the day his father taught him how to hold the knife to better utilize his technique. He wondered if the old man was still alive.

"Oi, are you even listening?" Skaldi asked the mercenary.

"I'm trying not to," Johan of the Handgunner's said. Cyrdic snorted a small laugh, and then placed the half finished carving down and patted Skaldi on his too-broad shoulders to keep the Dwarf from challenging the man. Truthfully, the entire crew that sat with them were thankful Skaldi was here. That had been the best meal they had all had in weeks. "Of course." Cyrdic said. "How many is that now?"

"Oh, ye've not heard the half of it manling!" Skaldi boasted, grinning. His teeth were a splatter of yellow and white that gleamed out of his thick, brown beard. "But at my count, about a hundred and twenty five."

The men raised their mugs in cheer and grunted, pretending to care so they could humor the Dwarf. He didn't seem to notice their lack of enthusiasm and was just about to continue when Cyrdic placed a hand on him to stop him, telling him to be quiet for a moment. Skaldi was about to protest, but he heard it too a moment later. The other men were considerably confused, and they only saw the scout enter the small clearing only a moment before he emerged from the bushes.

He had a bloodied scalp and he breathed heavily, but the huntsman was very much alive. He stumbled and hit a log, catching himself. Cyrdic helped the man up, taking in his wild eyed gaze. "What? What is it?"

"They've landed." the man breathed, and he hacked into the snow. The white was suddenly flecked with a deep red. "Chaos hounds are on their way. Now!"
@Penny

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

At some point I should play with myself do a post with both Alim and Dax talking. Even I don't know how that would go.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Well it's been a hot minute but a post should be up sometime this week, hopefully on the first half!

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

*cocks gun*