POOHEAD189

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

@Stormflyx I've only had time to skim her sheet, but she looks awesome as expected. We have not begun our current mission, however I do not know if we do have the room. I can discuss it with @Penny to see if we can handle one more adventurer.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic nearly ran his horse into the ground, his Sword and the Handgun he'd found bouncing along his hip and back. The beast he rode had been faced with warhounds and feet upon feet of snow, and Cyrdic felt guilty that he had to use up the last of its energy to make it to the shoreline where the ocean fed into the Nordland river systems. His companions were right behind him, though Ivan was a bit further behind. Skaldi had sworn he could ride a horse but fell off his steed after two miles, and Ivan had to wheel around and pick him up.

The ground soon lost snow, turning into a harsh and uneven ground filled with rocks as they left the treeline and descended down into the ford. Cyrdic and the others were taken aback at all of the burnt and burning ships, and the lack of Norscans around. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he knew one thing due to all of this mayhem. Camilla had been here. No one else could have caused such destruction by themselves.

Cyrdic laughed at the thought, eyes welling up with moisture. It meant she was kept alive after she was captured, though he saw no sign of her here. "Fan out and search!" He yelled to those catching up to him. They didn't have time to properly reply before he had dismounted and smacked the rump of his horse, sending it galloping away. He had no intention of going back, and the sun would be setting in a few hours. He leaped down the small rise and made it to the lower ground, where the burning hulks of Norscan craft billowed smoke.

Cyrdic cried out for Camilla over and over, hoping to hear a groan or a whisper from somewhere within the ruins of the invasion fleet. The men had found a few intact ships, but there was nothing else. They had simply found no sign of Camilla, which means she had been captured or...

"Manling!" Skaldi called from a few burnt husks over, and with a force of will Cyrdic moved over to the Dwarf only to find him standing on an empty patch of moist sand. The Dwarf pointed at it. "Look here. D'ye see?" He asked, pointing at the ground. Cyrdic shook his head, but he'd learned how cautious and perfectionist Dwarfs were. "No, what?"

"A ship lay here, and it pulled out not hours ago. They had prisoners. You can tell by the grooves of the sand to the left where they were dragged." The Dwarf explained. Cyrdic looked closer, and soon he found he could see what the Dwarf was speaking about. Yet even now, he didn't exactly want to hope. It was not until Sigmar had bestowed a blessing upon them with the sound of a splash from the water. Cyrdic and Skaldi whipped towards the sea and drew their weapons, wondering if a sea beast had wandered too close to shore. But after a moment, there was another splash, and a very human head appeared in the water.

"What in Sigmar's name?" Cyrdic breathed, and waded out into the shallows to help the man ashore, for he was no Norscan. He had the look of a Nordlander, albeit bedraggled and half worked to exhaustion. Cyrdic had to haul him to shore to keep the man from drowning in knee deep water.

The others had heard the commotion and made their way over, trodding across corpses and kindling. They found Cyrdic kneeling over a soaking, prone solderly looking man who gripped Cyrdic's sleeve weakly. Cyrdic shook the man as gently as he could. "What did you say? Stay awake, man!" Cyrdic said, and ordered the Greatswords to get a fire going to keep him alive.

Unfortunately, the man had fallen into unconsciousness. They moved him near the fire and wrapped him in a dry cloak. It would be the two longest hours of Cyrdic's life, waiting for him to awaken. He didn't even know if the soldier would live. The Seas of Claws was a frozen wasteland of water, and was dangerous even without the beasts that lurked beneath.

The group had taken the opportunity to eat and melt snow for water as they waited, and take a small breather. Ivan lamented they had no Vodka, and the other two Kislevites agreed. Skaldi had offered to continue counting Gold, but a look from Cyrdic told him that now was not the time. The Greatswords slumped and rested, having cut through Norscans and mutants all day, their swords difficult to wield even for the strongest of men. Cyrdic would know.

The man coughed when he awoke, drawing everyone's attention. Cyrdic set his water down and walked over, fear and trepidation rising in his chest. "Easy, soldier. How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Better...Ulric thanks you." He said.

"You said you had a message. Tell me what you meant." The scarred Ostlander said, looking at the Nordland man intently. After a few moments, he spoke. "The Norscans...left hours ago. They look to ransom the Count's daughter." Cyrdic echoed the statement, confused.
"The Count has no daughter," Konrad the Greatsword said. "He's delirious."

"What did she look like, the daughter?" Cyrdic pressed. "Dark hair? Beautiful?"

"Aye sir," the survivor said. "Most beautiful lass I've ever seen. Like out of the stories. She burned the ships too..."

Skaldi laughed, and poked Ivan's stomach with his elbow. "Beautiful he says. Men have the weirdest tastes. The lass is too tall, and her hair's all wrong. She doesn't have the meat of a Dwarfish beauty."

Cyrdic felt a chord strike within him from the news, and he nodded his thanks to the man. He turned to the others, every inch the commander he was not hours before. "Olaf, I need you, Otto, and Konrad to find oars. Ivan, you and the boys find foodstruffs from the wreckage and melt more snow. They're less than a day ahead of us and if we hurry, we'll catch them tomorrow. Skaldi, find the most intact ship you can. We leave as soon as we're ready. Go!"

The Norscans were better seaman than any, but they didn't know they were being followed. They wouldn't be hurrying. But Cyrdic would...
@Penny

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

> Alcander sees the tablet is authentic
"It belongs in a museum!"

Warhammer 40k: No Pity, No Remorse, No Fear! - A Black Templars RP

Sergeant

Name: Tiberius of Arianoch

Personal Demeanour: The epitome of zeal and righteous fury, Tiberius is seen as a role model to a few younger initiates. He's a man of action, tactically knowledgeable and ferociously loyal to his chapter and their faith. The call to honor his ancestors and protect the faith of the most Holy Emperor has fueled his determination since his induction into the chapter. He saw this as the next step in his life as soldier, though deep down he found himself wanting. The only way to effectively crusade, and to purge the doubts of his own abilities in his mind, was to lead and perform great deeds. He has a particular distaste for Chaos marines and Orkoids, due to his morals as a loyalist and his previous experience fighting Greenskins on Arianoch. Tiberius tends to be stern yet encouraging to his lessers, and staunchly loyal to those above him. To his peers...he has none, for he is the last Sword Brethren in this column, and is saddened by their many deaths.

Rank/Position: Sword Brethren

Power Armour History: Not much is known of Tiberius' Mark VII Power Armor, save it once belonged to a notable Sword Brethren named Godfrey, who served with distinction and slayed many Eldar and the vile Tyranids in his Crusades of Thetus and Centrati. The armor had been expertly repaired after it had been retrieved from Godfrey's corpse upon the battlefield, 4 Eldar dead around him. Tiberius only hopes he could fill Godfrey's shoes.

Description: Tiberius is fairly standard in his look and attire. Massively muscled yet slim and impossibly quick. When out of his power armor he wears the robes of an acolyte with the black and white tabard of a sword brethren upon his torso to differentiate him. His face looks wise yet handsome, and he sports a well groomed black beard. His hair is similarly colored, mane-like in fashion. His eyes are storm blue.

Skills:

• Close Combat Expert
• Competent Ranged Fighter
• Tactically intelligent
• Leadership skills
• Single Combat Expertise

History: He grew up as a second son of a Duke on the feudal world of Arianoch in the Segmentum Tempestus. Wars and battles for land in the forested world were commonplace, and Knights gained their renown through victories and tournaments. However even a martial world such as Arianoch was not prepared for an Ork WAAAGH.

The Orkoids thundered onto the planet, just another world in need of conquering and looting for the Xenos. But they had a right time fighting these humies, and a crusade was called from Arianoch. The men of the planet had met the Black angels of the Sky before, and these green monsters were similar size but far more evil. Ferocious battles were fought and though the Orks were tough and numerous, the men fought bravely and lost ground with many Orks paying for their lives.

When Tiberius turned 15 he was sent to one of the last great battles with his father and brother, and he squired for his brother during the engagement. Guns and choppas cut through the cavalry, but those men that made it lanced through the Orks and crashed over Gretchin. In the melee, Tiberius' father and brother were killed. Tiberius would have been as well were it not for the Black Angels that descended from the sky and decimated the Ork ranks.

They found the boy fighting bravely, and recruited him into their ranks as a Neophyte. His loss at the hands of the Xenos made him particularly zealous and willing to perform whatever duty was necessary to rise up the ranks. But he found his heart soared at the good news of the Emperor, the God of the Black Templars. He would have dreams of his father, and fighting on distant battlegrounds, to prove his faith and his lineage's strength.

Once he became a battle brother, he served in two Crusades across the Segmentum and Obscurus Tempestus'. A particular battle stood out for him, on a barren world where Chaos Space Marines sought relics of their corrupted ideals. He would remember seeing his young initiate corrupted by magicks and foul words, transformed into a mutant spawn, and forever would he hold a special hatred in his heart for his darker brethren. Darker than even the Black Templars holy armor.

Recently, he became First Sword Brethren and vowed to uphold all of the ideals of his chapter through example and righteous fury.

Equipment and Armament:

• Bohemond's Purity Seal
• Mark VII Power Armor
• Crucifix Power Sword
• Baroque Bolter (with bayonet sword attachment)

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

"Don't worry, Miss Datta. We have maps and routes. My brother pinpointed the general location from his research," he assured her, and then turned to the tracker.

"I appreciate your taking this seriously mister DuBois, however I hired you to guide, not to lead." Baron Cormack said, pointing his cane at the Frenchman. "It is not up to me for what the others in this room do. It is up to them. You might not know, but a few of your peers here have braved wars and conditions you would be quite familiar with, and I daresay by the end of this expedition, you'll face a few things even you don't expect in the jungles." The Baron's last words ended in a rough cough, and soon he was nearly bent over before Alcander took the initiative and came to his aid, keeping him upright.

"But we'd be foolish to not listen to someone experienced in that region, yes?" Alcander reminded the aging Baron, of which he nodded and collected himself. "Yes, of course, of course. It's why I'm hiring him." He chided Alcander, though he patted the archaeologist's hand in thanks, indicating he could take a seat once more. "As for your pay, you will get half upfront. But I assure you it will be immensely more than a usual assignment you would procure on your own. I do not know all of you well, so I do not know if I can trust you with all of the money. However, I know you well enough that you'll earnestly search for the City of Life if you believe it is there. So if you return empty handed, you'll still receive the next half of your payment." With that, he called to his attendant. "Bertram!"

The attendant marched off for a moment towards the back end of the room, grabbing a small crate. "As for your third condition, Mister DuBois, it seems like a condition many of the learned people here share. And allow me to tell you that to recite all of the proof would take hours, but allow me to demonstrate a few pieces of information to you skeptics..."

Bertram placed the crate down, and unlatched it. The butler reached inside with both of his hands, and produced what looked to be a stone tablet with a language on it that Alcander, and perhaps a few others would recognize as Aramaic. Gingerly, he placed the tablet on the table. "This was found by my brother in Israel. I will give you a chance to read it, of course. But it provides a bit of clarity to the old biblical theories of the Garden being connected to the Tigris and the Euphrates. Ay, Alcander?"

The young man was rendered speechless as he read the text, and he gripped the tablet, running his thumb over it to make sure it was an authentic piece. The elder decided to speak for him, knowing Alcander would confirm. "You see, the bible does not state how long the Garden held Adam and Eve. Indeed the Garden did occupy a space very close to the levant...One hundred and seventy five million years ago." A hush fell over the room. "But when the continents split, the rivers and the fertile crescent moved...The Garden did not. Adam and Eve, before their sin, were endless in life from what the tablet says. They built a city, and humanity grew from their origins in Africa."

Alcander shook his head, not out of disagreement but out of disbelief. "Why is this not in the Bloomsbury Museum?" Alcander asked. The Baron gave a chuckle. "You think I would let someone else handle this? I'll donate it as soon as we're done, but that proved invaluable in my research. As did this..."

Bertam then produced what looked to be the skull of a strange turtle, only it was nearly the size of Bertram's chest. With a grunt, he placed it onto the table. "Can anyone tell me," the Baron began, trying to keep a new coughing fit at bay. "-what this is?" He began to cough louder, and Bertram retrieved a drink for him. "It's a Sauropod, or what the locals call "Mokele M'bembe," he said after a moment and a sip of water. "Found in the Congo by an expedition team back in 1907. But as you all know, the beasts we called Dinosaurs died sixty five million years ago."

"So, how old is this?" Alcander asked.

"Fifty years old."

Alcander hesitated, and then inspected the Skull. The Baron did not smirk or grin, but watched on with interest as Alcander performed a small once over of the bones. There was a large hole in the skull between the eyes and the mouth, where the airsacs of the strange and ancient beast would be located, with its nostrils at the top of its skull. "The Bantu City of life reputedly protects itself with beasts of ages long past." The Baron explained, and Alcander finished his inspection. Elle and perhaps Lysandra would be able to vouche for what the archaeologist said next.

"There's no traces of sediment or rock markings. Give or take a year... he's right."

High Casual Rant

I’ve actually called a few GoT games “High Advanced” in the past.

@Ruby

You are doing the lords work.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Manling, you need to get yer wits about ye!" Skaldi declared, shaking Cyrdic with a rough, Dwarfish grip. But the Ostlander couldn't find the will. His mind left the battlefield, even as Ivan called to him that the left flank needed his help. But for the moment, he was gone.

He remembered.

He remembered when they had first met at the Baron's court. He'd been similarly attracted to her lithe, curvaceous form and her beauty as the other men. But he was intrigued by the intelligence in her eyes and the wry smile on her lips. He remembered when his conscience overtook his sense of duty when he smuggled her out, questioning himself the entire way on betraying his liege. He recalled the first few awkward nights they spent in the woods, where he could barely understand her even when she spoke his language. He remembered finding out she had a penchant for getting them into mortal danger, and to his horror he actually looked forward to such danger as long as it was with her. He remembered her at the court of Boris Todbringer, both fighting for their lives and her delight at Cyrdic's speechless expression at her courtly attire. And he recalled when he thought she was dying, and he realized he had fallen in love with her.

He remembered every adventure from then until now, and he decide it would not end this way.

The images had flashed through his mind for only a moment, but it brought back a resolve. His sword had been growling in his consciousness the entire battle, but its howl now filled his senses, and the runic sword glowed visibly. The Ostland sergeant stood to his full height, and gave Skaldi and Ivan a reassuring nod. They both grinned.

"I'm khaming vith you." Ivan said, the loss of his men not keeping him from going back for the little dove. Skaldi spat on the ground and said the same. "Stay close," Cyrdic said. He raised his sword, glowing like a beacon. The closer mutants shuddered.

"Pikeman, lower and advance!" Cyrdic roared Around him, the reserve pikemen advanced and provided a wall of bristling polearms for their allies to retreat behind. Norscans cut down a few swordsmen that tried to flee, but the rest made it and reformed. The Greatswords were thinning in numbers, but they paid for their lives dearly in barbarian souls. Gristle and blood spewing from severed limbs and cuts that opened chest cavities, just as the Greatsword's helms were rent by Norscan axeman.

"Crossbows and Handgunners!" He cried, and the order was echoed across the line. "Reload!" There was almost a lull in the battlefield as Cyrdic counted to 8, the amount of time it took a basic handgunner to reload, before he roared. "Fire!" The air was split with shot and quarrels, hammering into the Chaos line. A few beastmen that had managed to tag along with the raiders was riddled with missiles and killed along with their front line. "Pikemen thrust! Swordsmen! ...Charge! Greatswords with me!"

As the army followed his orders, there was a resurgence in the Imperial army's initiative, and slowly the Chaos advance was ground to a halt and even pushed back slightly. Cyrdic and his Greatswords, fifty men, hacked and cut through the throng of enemies with Ivan and his two Kislevites in tow, along with Skaldi. Within minutes, they burst out of the battle and towards the flanks, where the Imperial pistoliers and knights fought furiously and desperately against enlarged warhounds. Even fifty Greatswords was not a significant force against such beasts, but catching them by surprise and stuck in a melee was a different story.

As the hounds fed upon the corpses of horses and men, they were beheaded and cut apart by the flanking Greatswords that barreled into their midst. Cyrdic dodged a leaping beast and thrust his sword down the throat of another advancing hound. He held his Norscan shield up to block the next one, its claws scraping along the shield as Cyrdic withdrew his sword. His arm muscles tightened, and with immense strength, he shoved the beast back with his shield and then hacked off its front left leg, before cutting at its thick neck thrice to behead it.

The pistols and lances of the cavalry, along with the Greatsword's attack had reduced the warhounds significantly, and the whimpering beasts fled into the woods. Cheers arose at the sight. As Cyrdic cleaned his blade, a Knight rode up to him, recognizing the Ostland mercenary as one of the Commanders the Count had promoted.

"Well fought, herr Cyrdic," he said, sticking his bloodied lance into the ground and raising his helmet. He had a severe look about him, and he sported a muttonchop beard. "My thanks. But the battle is not over yet."

"I'm going to make sure the Longboats are burned." Cyrdic half-lied, breathing heavily and wiping his brow. A change of clothes would be preferable at the moment. Sweat in snow meant death often enough, but the noon sun would be up soon. He hoped it would be enough. "I need you to wheel round and flank the bastards from Kronstad. The army needs a flanking attack. The Greatswords will join you."

"What!?" The Knight balked, wondering if the Count had ordered Cyrdic to relay him such a message or if the man was deserting. No, he couldn't be fleeing. He just saw the Ostlander charge through blasted Norscans and cut down mutated warhounds. If he had wanted to desert, he wouldn't have helped the Cavalry. After a moment to consider, he also realized they did have the perfect opportunity to perform a hammer and anvil strategy maneuver with their Cavalry. "Very well."

"I need two horses." Cyrdic said, as he and Skaldi were without and he intended to make it to the shore with all haste. Ivan and his two friends were now trodding over, sabres slaked with blood.

"Five." Someone corrected, and a Greatsword Cyrdic knew as Olaf stepped forward, flanked by two others named Otto and Konrad. "We go with you." Cyrdic was a bit touched, for the Greatsword must have known what he was getting himself into.

"Done." the Knight said, calling over the steeds. "Sigmar knows we have spares now. So many good men have died today."

---

Ulkjar's twin swords cut men in half and sent them screaming to their false Gods. The Warrior reveled in the bloodshed and butchered whatever man challenged him. But at the edge of his mind, he knew the one he sought was here. And when he saw the sword rise above the battle, he knew it was him. The Sword of Ulric...he remembered it from the visions. The man holding it was one of the two he had been looking for. One of the few his master's sought. The Ostlander would not get away from Ulkjar's sight, even if he rode to the very southern tip of Lustria.
@Penny

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Daro’Vasora & Alim Collab

---

Once Alim had left Raelynn and Jude to their own devices, he decided to take a breather and head to the edge of camp. He needed some fresh air, and the fire ruined his night vision. The dark was swiftly approaching and he still felt he played the role of vanguard and experienced adventurer of their troop. Might as well continue to play the part.

Alim stepped off the rise in the ground and with a few agile steps over a few oddly placed rocks embedded into the ground, he made it to the tree line. However, as soon as he got there he saw the faintest flicker of movement to his left. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw the Khajiit, Daro’Vasora leaning against one of the sparse trees near camp.

“Not feeling sociable?” Alim asked.

“Whatever could have offered that observation?” she replied tersely, her arms crossed tight across her chest. She hadn’t moved from the spot since Rhea had come to speak with her, and she was not ready to laugh or joke or join in the speculation of what on Nirn was going on. Her mind stewed upon so many things, too many things, and the intrusion bothered her.

Still, she realized that she was being unfair. Alim hadn’t done anything to earn her ire, and there were worse things than people checking to see if she was holding up or falling apart. In truth, she didn’t know what the truth of that was yet, either.

“There’s a lot on my mind. I handle things better when I’m on my own.” she replied, her arms sliding forward so her wrists were resting on her knees. “Why are you here, looking for better company?”

“I suppose I was here for the same reason you are.” He admitted, grabbing one of the low branches of the tree he stood next to, simply letting his legs and body unwind as he held himself up by his grip. “Normally I would leave you alone, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I was wondering what part of Elsweyr you were from. I don’t know if I’ve told you but I spent some time there.”

“I’m not.” Daro’Vasora replied, more warily than blunt. “Born and raised in Cyrodiil, even come from a wealthy family. Do you assume all Khajiit come from Elsweyr, or do you just assume everyone fits tidily into their ancestral homelands?” she replied, taking a stick she had whittled down the bark and sliding it between her teeth.

“Well I was raised in High Rock, so not particularly,” he said with a grin. He doubted Daro would be able to tell he had some Breton blood, but even if she could, he still very much resembled a resident of Hammerfell. “I simply thought you’d been there, or at least feel ties to it. I always felt like Hammerfell was home, even if I didn’t visit it until I’d become a man.”

“Wealthy families aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, are they?” He said, more talking to himself. Of course, he knew you were lucky when it came to financial needs. But sometimes there was a lack of care or pragmatic closeness between family and friends.

Daro’Vasora shook her head. “No. Never been there, don’t care to. Deserts have never interested me, nor do tropical diseases. Sure, there’s some interesting ruins that are remarkably well preserved in the North, but getting to them would be quite a bother and the nomads would not take kindly to an outsider plundering their heritage. So if you aren’t of Hammerfell, why dress the part? Cultural appropriation?” she asked, stretching her legs out before her. Her teeth worked their way through the stick.

“Are you insinuating I have issues with my family?” she asked, as if trying to lead Alim into stumbling over himself. If he wanted to pester her, she was going to enjoy herself at the very least.

Alim shrugged, though he gave an easy smile. “I lived there for a time after I left High Rock. I might have been born there, according to what I was told. Thought I’d go back and see where my mother was from. Plus, it was on the way to the center of Tamriel, I’d need to go through it eventually.” He laughed. “It was actually fun, even though I never did find her. But the experiences outweighed the disappointment.”

At her question, he pushed off with his feet and swung under the tree branch he gripped to give him a small amount of air before he let go, landing casually and pointing at Daro’Vasora. “Hey, you said it, not me.” He joked. Though his face sobered enough quickly. “But I suppose we don’t all have the same family, even if they have similar means.”

“You never knew your mother?” The Khajiit asked, blinking slowly. She recalled how comparatively normal her family had been compared to many she had met on the road. She could see how the absence of a mother figure in Alim’s life probably led to his current flamboyant attitude. “So, dysfunctional and absent family with a lot of money. What’s the story behind that? How did you come to be talking with women in the brush instead of, I don’t know, revelling in some lucrative family trade?”

Alim took a moment to respond, opening his mouth and thinking in real time. “A bastard never feels at home, I guess.” He said, crossing his arms. “I acted out as a kid. Then when I grew addicted to it...I suppose I enjoyed taking risks because why stay home when you’re the second rate son? I wanted to succeed and do glorious deeds. I got my wish, in a way. It cost me a few things, and I have a regret or two. But since I left High Rock, it’s been one adventure after another.”

“I could never live with myself as the family clerk. It might be the warrior blood of Hammerfell, or me hearing too many stories of the Knightly Orders of High Rock as a kid. But staying still and safe just never sat well with me.” He grinned at that, as if happy at a joke he had with himself. “And what about you? What led you into the depths of a Dwemer ruin if your home life was fine?”

“Oh, it was fine. Just dreadfully boring. My mother’s a highly positioned member of a count’s court, my father’s a seafaring merchant. Never wanted for anything growing up, never really felt challenged. Like you, I acted out to see what I could get away with. The thrill of doing things I wasn’t supposed to made me feel an excitement I was lacking in my life, and it’s the reason my honourific is Daro… tends to happen when you get caught doing something stupid when you think you’re more clever than you are.” Daro’Vasora explained evenly, her expression unshifting.

“Anyways, long story short, being under house arrest in a castle cleaning chamber pots and dusty shelves let me have access to a rather sizable library full of rather creative tales and tomes about this historical figure and that and some clues where something valuable was still waiting to be found. My father decided to help me channel this sudden passion of mine and sent me to…” she trailed off, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, her hands working in and out of fists as the memories came flooding back. Zegol’s face filled her mind and she fought the urge to have an emotional break in front of this nosy shit that had no concept of privacy.

“Look, I’d rather not get into it. I don’t know you, and for all I know, after we get to Skingrad, I’ll never see you again, so why the sudden interest in someone you’ve barely spared three sentences for before?” Daro’Vasora asked tersely.

The tone gave Alim pause. He hadn’t felt as if he’d been intruding. He’d known a few hard asses in his time, and he supposed he should have figured she would be one. Maybe the Dwemer attack on the city muddled his head more than he first thought, and he couldn’t read people as well at the moment. What he needed was a long sleep.

“I didn’t mean to pry, sorry.” He said, holding his hands up. “I just never made a friend without findin-...ok that’s not true. When I was a sailor I made a few friends without actually talking to them. But as a traveler on land, when there’s nothing to kill but time, why not talk?”

Daro’Vasora shrugged, looking back towards the group, the fire. “I’ve never been one to get attached. People come and go, more often than not, they stab you in the back. If you assume everyone’s an asshole, they can’t let you down.” She replied, sighing. Her eyes met Alim. “I don’t know if I should apologize or not. I just… I lost someone in the city. It’s fresh.” Her teeth bought into the stick and it snapped between her teeth. The Khajiit spat it out, hating the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable. “And Latro’s been on my mind. I invited him to my mentor’s place, they’re gone now.”

Her words sunk in, and Alim nodded. He could empathise, though he had been so busy cheering up Jude and Raelynn that he hadn’t had the time to absorb it. “You know I saved Anifare before the attack even happened,” he recalled, sitting down and gazing inwardly. “I gave her my cloak and I escorted her to the library and then...right after we separated, the Dwemer invaded. I should have stayed with her, but...I haven’t seen her since.” The Redguard twiddled his thumbs. “I didn’t know her that well, but from talking she was a sweet woman. I began to consider her a friend and now she’s...probably dead.”

He sighed and looked up at Daro for a moment, and then looked away again. “I think we all need some time. I’m just a man of action. If I sit still, I dwell.”

She sat in silence for a moment in contemplation. “I know I should feel guilty for surviving, but I don’t. The entire camp, gone. How many in the City? I kept my personal world small, and I form attachments with a few people and look where it gets me. I liked Latro, he’s the reason I escaped the Falmer. He was willing to give his life to save me and… I don’t know if I ever felt that. I saw him searching for a lute in the marketplace, so I took him home to give him one of mine. I never found out how he liked it.” Daro’Vasora sighed, wrapping her arms protectively about her waist. “I suppose it is a similar thing for you and Anifare. You walk a lonesome path for so long, you never realize how much you actually crave companionship. I’d like to think they’d survived, or escaped, but I know better than to hold onto hope.”

“As do I” Alim breathed, and a short silence grew between them. It was a hard fact of life than companions died along the way. There had only been a few occasions Alim had thought one dead and found out otherwise. Usually, it was the opposite…

“Then again,” he said, and gestured between the two of them. “Hope is sometimes founded on truth. You and me? We’re proof of the contrary when it comes to a lack of hope. I’ve survived a few things some didn’t believe I would. I have a feeling you’re the same. Not to mention the Dwemer attack. That will probably make it into the history books.”

He clapped his hands on his knees and let out a long breath, before hopping up. “It’s up to us to make sure those history books are Imperial.”

“It will, and some day, someone just like me will be plundering the ruins and catacombs of those who had fallen eras before and selling off their history for a few coins. History is cyclical; the actors change, but it rhymes enough that things like this aren’t that surprising. The Atmorans destroying the Snow Elves, the Reman Dynasty overthrowing what seemed like eternal elven rule, the Aldmeri Dominion rising up to prey on a weakened Mede Empire. None of this will matter before long, something else will rise to rule formerly Imperial lands, and maybe it will be the Dwemer.” Daro’Vasora noted with a scowl.

“They just never tell you that when you’re living history, it hurts and tears you apart in ways you never knew you could feel. The Dwemer may or may not make their presence last, but I’m going to make them hurt. I don’t know how, but I will find a way to tear into their weaknesses and pay them back for what they did to me and the very few people I care for. It’s a good thing I’ve spent a consider amount of time studying them; their toys might have changed, but I’m willing to bet they haven’t. They will remember me when I’m done, either as victors or their vanquished, and it will be a scar that will never heal.” Daro’Vasora was animated, almost livid; her hands were tightly wound fists and there was a fire in her eyes, the raw emotions of the day coming through.

The mixed breed spellsword wasn’t often angry. In fact he was easy going through most situations. Wars happen. Famines and plagues occur. People are born and pass away...usually he did his best not to let it bother him unless something harmed one of his friends. But he had to admit that was exactly what had happened here today. And all of those innocents…

Alim held his hand out to clasp Daro’Vasora’s arm, and he gave a nod. He held no jest or mirth in his eyes, only confirmation. “We’ll make them pay.”

“Yeah.” She agreed, not knowing what to make of Alim. “So, is there any food left? Hard to plot an insurrection on an empty stomach.”

The spellsword rolled his eyes, and produced a biscuit out of belt, indicating he stole an extra one. “As far as the others know, no.” He handed it to her.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@Mortarion Would you like to do a small collab with me so we can get this moving? I'd do a post now, but at the end of the day we need your character's permission for all of the suggestions.

Also I feel like @BCTheEntity character would do well in a classical Athenian assembly.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

I'm loving all of these posts guy! (Am reading up on them now)