POOHEAD189

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Fool Boys and Firm Bosoms

The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long passed, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings or endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

To some, this new new brought sewn crops and a bountiful harvest, and the nearing of Bel Tine. Most of the folk in the Two Rivers celebrated the occasion with festivals, and with the hope of Gleemen coming to entertain the masses, or peddlars arriving in their extravagant caravans to bring news of the wider world; Of Kings and Princes, of the fabled Aes Sedai and bloody wars fought at the edge of the world. But such folk tales were seen as just that. Tales of entertainment.

To young Alidrin Baldyr, it was simply the time to travel to Taren's Ferry. Though that was a celebration in and of itself, truth be told. His da and his three sisters at home would begin working the small farm they owned, tilling the fields as his youngest sibling, his brother Rodin, would start to learn the art of sewing as their late mother had once done for extra money. Ali could not wait to be out of the house and traveling on his own.

In reality, he was old enough to find a wife and start a farm for himself. His 23rd birthday had passed this winter. But his da needed help on the farm, and he hadn't the heart to simply leave his four siblings until they were of age, no matter how much he wished to explore the wider world. He did not like to admit it, but the Gleemen's tales of far off conflicts and intrigue of courts, located in immaculately large Palaces that boggled the mind fascinated him. The greatest excitement Ali ever had was hunting the hair or the wolf, or practicing staff fighting with his da and friends. Or gambling.

It was the latter reason he visited Taren's Ferry this day. It was his job to bring in news from the outside world, and to ask when the merchants would arrive to ply their wares so his father could sell the wool and cotton that made the Two Rivers so famous. He crossed the Taren River with his walking staff, over the bridge and into the populated community of cobble streets and one inn. To most outsiders it was a quaint place. But to Ali it was the largest city he had ever been in.

Dusk had fallen, and most of the colorful people would be in their homes or the Inn, though he had seen the occasional watchmen out and about. Dark tales had been circulating through the region of nameless fears. Old enemies of the light that had penetrated so far into the Westlands that even Taren's Ferry was not to be entered or left in the dead of night. "Here, boy!" an elderly beggar said, his beard nearly drooping to his twig-like legs, smiling and holding out his decrepid hand to reveal two necklaces made of copper. "A good price I will sell them to you, eh? For a pretty lady?"

A good copper necklace would be a dowry worth his hide back at the Two Rivers, but this elder likely wished to rob him blind. Ali was not stupid. Plus he reminded him of old Olger back home, thinking Ali just another boy that needed to be kicked. "You smell like a goat," was all Ali said, and he strode past him, his walking stick hammering into the cobblestones as a warning with every step until he made it into the Inn.

As all buildings, the Inn was raised on redstone foundations, in case there was flooding from the Mountains of Mist. The wood was well cut oak, and the Innkeeper, Boldin Hightower, was an old friend of Ali's. The young men stepped into the warmth and the song, a conservatively dressed girl standing on a chair at the back of the room, singing a song of the love of an adventurous Coyote and the Beautiful Eagle that watched over him.

The stout men of Taren's Ferry filled the tables, though the occasional traveler or stranger mingled with them. It was not yet new spring however, and no one from anywhere else as far or farther than Whitebridge would show up here until then, or not at all. Inside the tables were round and stable, with plenty of room for drinks and games of chance to be played. A pretty serving girl fluttered her lashes at Ali as he stepped in, and he blushed, smiling back but growing a bit too shy to say anything.

It has always been his problem, his lack of experience with women. 'They could steal your heart as well as your purse and you get three guesses as to which they'll hold dear,' his uncle Montel used to say when he was very young. With dark locks of wavy hair that neared his shoulders and an athletic body, he was not unused to the attentions of girls, but only when he traveled, and whenever that occurred he was out of his element.

Well, just as well he wasn't here for that. The gaming table called to him, where he could win crowns and rumors aplenty, something the tall youth always managed to do when he made it here. His eyes glimmered at the sight of rolling dice, and if any were looking at him they would see their true color. At a cursory glance, most thought Ali had eyes as brown as the earth. But in the light, the truth would be revealed to show a maroon hue.

"Alright, boys." Ali said to a few other young men, some he recognized and some he didn't, setting down with them and unloading his pack onto the floor. "Grin, no cheating now. This year you'll not weasel your way out of paying me what's due."

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil's complete confusion on the strange meeting between Sayeeda and Canek was interrupted by the contingent of dervishes that waded across the endless expanse of sand without a word. It was only the fact that Neil had been holding his breath that he could hear them coming. Immediately, he steeled himself and did not move an inch, many years playing the role of thief had trained him that people noticed things with their peripherals more than anything. He could be standing 7 feet from them, and if he did not move and fit in only moderately well with the environment, they would be none the wiser.

Initially Neil thought the newcomers were reinforcements. A small army coming to bolster the army that Canek commanded. But their movements, or the ones that Neil could see out of the corner of his eye, were those of the hunter, not the trusted ally. Gideon be damned, he wished he had brought grenades. His eyes began scanning the surroundings he could work with. The pilot lay atop one of the many boulders that framed the entrance of the base. To his right were more of the same. Crags and boulders jutting out of the rising landscape. Behind him were the dunes of sand, and to his left and front, the base.

The nomads seemed to nearing the completion of their preparations, cocking rifles and fanning out in skirmish formation, the heavy weapons now forming at the center for maximum impact on the unsuspecting base. Neil almost didnt move, but he couldn't leave Sayeeda here. "The things I do for this woman," he breathed, his eyes closed to steel himself for what he was about to go. "Gideon protect me..."

He spun, grabbing his heavy caliber pistol and cocking it in one smooth action, hitting one of the cloaked assassin's in the chest. One who specifically held a rocket launcher. Neil didn't stop, firing into the man until his fourth bullet hit home where he intended it to, and the ordinance loaded within the launcher exploded, igniting the dying man before shattering and sending fire and shrapnel into half a dozen of his fellows.

Neil didn't hesitate, spinning and yanking himself over the crest of the boulder he was on to free fall over a dozen feet into the entrance of the base, tucking in a roll to negate most of the pressure but feeling as if he'd been kicked by Junebug after he made it to his feet. "Get down!" he told them, grabbing Junebug's arm and leaping to the side. Ever quick, Junebug rolled with him and hunkered down at the flank of the rocks as the bullets and lasbolts began to fly.

"Thanks" She told him, and he handed her the plasma gun he had found. "How did you get here?"

"Sven helped. We need to get the hell out of here. C'mon, behind these crates." He whispered, leading her to run in a crouch further within the base as the projectiles were unloaded at the two forces. A small aircar exploded from a launched grenade. He grabbed the hoverboard from his back and held it. "I can get us both out on this if you hold on."

"You have to be kidding me."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The servant girls tugged Camilla out of the room, her face made of stone as she was dragged out. Cyrdic felt for her, and he could understand that both she and the servants would have a very long night in turning her into a proper lady. Well, that isn't entirely accurate. She knew how to be a proper lady better than those born in wealth. She just chose the fierce life, which was one of the myriad of reasons why Cyrdic had fallen for her. That and her penchant for getting into trouble. It was a shame that all they saw was a pretty face.

Still, as regretful as he was to her being left out. He admitted that the others might now speak unhindered with the lady out of the room. To them, war was the province of men. Cyrdic used to agree until he'd met Camilla. Melisende had already glided away, her eyes lingering on Beaumont as she exited. Cyrdic turned to the Knights who were now discussing matters of bedchambers, trying to see who had the honor of gaining the most valiant place amid the line of bedroom succession, or so Cyrdic thought sardonically.

"Forgive me for interrupting." The Ostlander said amid their talks. Sir Beaumont was interrupted midsentence, and the Baron was happy to halt him, though he did give Cyrdic a look of speculation. He was not used to such manners either. Cyrdic gave another stiff bow. "I must seem a brute, I am not accustomed to your manners, my Lord." he said. At D'Epee's wave to continue, he did just that. "But what is this quest sir Beaumont has mentioned. One that sounds like you know personally?"

The room was stone silent, and he briefly wondered if he had offended them greatly. He did his best not to reach for his weapon, closing his fists and facing the Baron squarely, ignoring the looks from Guy and Beaumont. Outside, lightning rumbled across the countryside, illuminating the inner chamber with the silhouettes of the imposing statues of elderly knights outside. The Baron gave a smile that was devoid of mirth. "The inner Castle of Chateau D'Epee is cursed by a presence that can only be destroyed with the sword."

---

The expensive livery and the heraldry of this Sigmar forsaken place almost distracted Cyrdic from the clear martial quality of the impressive fortress. Despite the clear danger presented in even staying here, he had to admit he was intrigued at the quality of the architecture and the honor that must have led men to defend these walls. He stood now in the Long Gallery, having been to the rooms to see Camilla was not finished being tended to yet. He'd taken a bath as well, having a similar problem with the servant girls, those these women more oggled him than tended to him, particularly in the bath. He'd had to chase them out, almost.

Now he stood in a vast corridor filled with paintings of heroism and piety, and busts of the most famous knights of the realm of Aquitaine. This place and these Knights reminded him of one of Camilla and his early adventures, when they were trapped in a fortification with insane Templars and beset outside by the forces of Chaos and a mad Dragon. He hoped history did not repeat itself.

A dancing flame at the end of the hall appeared in his peripheral vision, and when the Knight turned to enter the Gallery, he gasped at the sudden yellow in Cyrdic's eyes, for in a split second he looked more beast than man, with his jagged brown hair that raised at the thought of someone intruding. On second look, Cyrdic seemed a normal man once more. A muscled and powerful man who had clearly seen combat, but normal.

The Ostlander recognized the Knight as Reynald.

"Why do you not sleep?" Reynald asked, eyeing Cyrdic suspiciously. The Knight was resplendent in an orange red tabard that complimented his red mane and goatee. "My Lord." Cyrdic smiled at the fellow warrior. He might be too proper for Cyrdic's liking, but he seemed a decent sort.

"My lady was not in the room, so I decided to give a bearing on the Castle." Cyrdic explained. "I hope my line of questioning did not offend earlier."

"You did not offend. The discussion of a Quest is very delicate. Though truth be told, the Baron hires any adventurer who wishes to save his Castle for him."

"Hire?" Cyrdic echoed. "What ails the Castle? He would not say."

Reynald gave a smile. "And he will never say. It has been ten years since any has come back alive from the inner keeps. And fifteen since any have come back sane. The last being the Baron himself, and he will not say what he saw in those horrible halls." He explained, giving Cyrdic much to consider. "If you wish to join Beaumont's quest, I am sure the Baron would pay you if you succeed and he does not. But you have a lady to look after, it would not do to bring her into harm's way..."

Cyrdic grinned ironically. If only the man knew. Even if she couldn't take care of herself, which she could, she would likely end up in trouble anyway. It was apart of her charm.

When Cyrdic made it back to the room near dawn, he saw Camilla sitting on the chair in a huff, wearing a very bright and guady dress and looking as miserable as she ever had. He wouldn't tell her this, but red complimented her despite the ridiculous poofiness of the gown. Camilla muttered something in Tilean, and he had learned enough to understand its translation was "Not a word." He closed the door behind him, and had a cake on a plate for her. "I have news." he told her, and pulled up a chair to tell her of what he found out.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Ah, Nephew." the Old Baron said. "I was wondering why I had a chill this night."

Considering this was merely the gatehouse of Chataeu D'Epee, they had walked many paces in order to make it to the Great Chamber they now stood within. The immaculate carpet of blue and gold, sewn meticuliously with images of flying Hyppogriphs and Flower petals shimmering from the heavens was matched by the elaborately vaulted ceiling, mirrored by suits of armor holding finely crafted halberds. The moon paled eerily through the stained glass windows.

The old Baron sat in his chair of fine oak and red velvet pillows, with an well bred warhound laying at his feet. Behind him was a roaring fireplace, with a stone overmantel that housed various trophies of art and battle. The glowing, wicked mace of a slain Orc Warchief was trophied right beside a lovely flower of unknown like that sat gently atop a Tilean Vase of expensive design. Cyrdic had thought the image of the vast Porte-cochère and the impressive long gallery was dramatic, but this room seemed to be right out of a playwrite's dreams.

The Baron himself held a nobility to his daunting grey eyes, with a well groomed goatee and a physique that, while now frail, belied a grace and musculature of a former knight and someone whom even now, you mustn't underestimate. His Knights flanked him to his right and left, with his loyal hound's head perked up and attentative. Camilla smiled at the dog. The Ostlander would never know, but the loyal canine reminded her of Cyrdic.

"Did you tell your trollop of a mother my demands?" he asked in his native tongue, somehow making even a petty insult into a grave threat with but a look. Beaumont did his best not to scowl, though the effort was wasted. His Knights stood behind him, hands close to their swords in case of quick violence. "Judging by your look, I gather not. Why do you come to my domain so armed, and who might these newcomers be? Speak boy."

"Ware your tongue, Uncle." Beaumont replied in rough Reikspiel, to better honor his guests. "I do not come as an enemy, nor do I seek refuge for my own safety, but those of my guests. Shipwrecked along the coastline. This is Contessa Camilla del La Trantio and Cydric Becker, the Graf of Estabrook. We came upon them being waylaid by common casseurs of the coastline. And I come to take your challenge, to inherit Chateau D'Epee and gain the favor of the Lady by right of quest."

"Tu n'as pas les hommes ni la force!" Guy gasped, appalled at the proclamation, though he silenced himself with a wave of quiet from the Baron, who seemed perfectly composed. He studied Beaumont for a moment, considering in his grey eyes. "I see. We shall discuss your trial and that of your men tomorrow. As of now, we must adhere to our guests." For the first time, he gazed at Camilla and Cyrdic, an almost grandfatherly smile reaching his face. "These are dark times, and it pains me to here of such news from nobility even not of our fair land."

"Red Duke, be cursed!" a Knight exclaimed, raising a gauntleted fist as if attempting to summon the very Lady herself to him for her aid. The Baron nodded in agreement, and his hound gave a forlorn howl that echoed across the curved vaulted ceiling and drifted into the antechamber behind them. Baron D'Epee patted his loyal hound on the head. "Indeed, Reynald." he said, and then spoke to Cyrdic and Camilla. "Lady Bless you, my esteemed guests. We shall provide rooms and bath for the two of you."

"We are...beholden to one another, my lord." Camilla said, her delicate hand slipping into Cyrdic's large fist. To say that Beaumont was shocked was an understatement. The Baron nodded and smiled at the Knight's clear discomfort. "Room, then."
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil had made his way out of the smaller alleyways of the city easily enough, traversing through the crowds with a few requisitioned items. He wished it was sunny so he could place on these archaic sunglasses, but alas he'd have to wait until later. That wasn't the important part at the moment anyway.

Neil vaulted over a small sandstone wall, one of the few that stood between him and the open desert. Briefly as he made his way through what he presumed to be people's backyards and private areas, he wondered if he should care that a few of the locals might possibly see a foreign young man trying to make it to the reputably dangerous desert as fast as he could, but he realized he didn't really care. On the last patch of wall he heard an indecipherable call that had to be someone complaining that he was on their property. He paid that no mind as well and simply made it to the sands.

"Ok, haven't done this in awhile." he said, placing the hoverboard on the ground and stepping onto it, aligning his feet just right to fit into the placement grooves. "Alright, now I just need to..." He turned the power on, revving the engine up to 350 pounds of anti-grav pressure upon the sand, and stood up as the board began to hover. He immediately realized he was about to fall backwards and slam into the sand, but the nimble pilot caught himself.

"Yeah that's right bitch." he said, stroking his ego by shit talking an inanimate object that he needed far more than it needed him.

A subtle adjustment of the position of his hips and knees, and the board began to move forward as if riding a wave of air, picking up speed exponentially as Neil leaned forward, hands out and flat to keep himself balanced. If this was an enclosed area, he would be more careful, but the only thing he needed to watch out for here was the rolling dunes that were on the horizon. The ground was relatively flat, and it only took him a short amount of time to pick up the trail of the aircar.

Minutes later, he found large collection of boulders that reached into the sky like a primitive sky scraper or mound, though judging by the way the earth curved inward, there must have been an entrance that led underground. He couldn't see the ripples of sand from the aircar's wake any longer either. "This must be the place." he said, leaning down to shut off the hoverboard. He felt weighted once more, though with a 180* maneuver he spun and landed deftly.

The last thing he expected to see when he peeked in from the dark of the night was Junebug speaking to the one who kidnapped her, unbound. That...made no sense. A part of him wanted to step out now and start firing, but he held himself in check. His curiosity always getting the better of him.
@Penny

Damned to the Depths

Markus had shimmied his way up the mainmast, hanging off the left side, clinging to the web of ropes and surveying the battle they would engage in within mere minutes. There was an ease about how he took the situation that both unnerved and encouraged the men scrambling below. He wore a grin that by all accounts shouldn't be there, but Calliope would be able to see his eyes. He looked almost lustful, though unlike the base desire of sex that often supersede the mind, he was was sharp as a razor's edge.

"Sketti! Load the payload!" Markus ordered. Sketti repeated him and drove on Sron and Halvar to lift the miniature barrel into the Seige Ballista, hauling it on as gently as they could and cranking the coiled ropes back to realign and set ready the weapon once more. Sketti's smile was almost as mad as Markus', and when the payload was loaded he whipped the two burly crew members to head to the middeck. "Off with ye, ye dogs!"

Halvar looked at the canine-like Sron, and then at himself. The Norgardian not used to such terms. "I'm not a dog."

The two hustled over to the main rope on the stern as Markus directed from above with his sword, ordering them to stay there and await his call. The crew was beyond nervous. It was in the air of the ship, palpable as the sea around them. They were miles from shore and about to engage in six to one odds, and their Captain seemed to pay it little mind. "Hold!" he cried to them, keeping everyone at their stations.

Calliope gazed up at Markus, looking at him like he was mad. Recalling he was some vagabond she had met in the dungeons! On the crow's nest, Jax the Elf, normally jovial and carefree, looked a few paces below him at the Captain. "Orders, Captain?" he asked shakily. He wielded a longbow made of Caelic yew, laminated with various bits of the blessed trees that twirled around in overlapping colors of brown and tan.

"The second ship at the portbow." Markus said to him, quiet enough to where only he and whoever bothered to listen could hear. "You find the Captain and kill him."

"Aye sir!"

"Captain!?" Phil called from below. Sketti and Markus were of a like mind here, both holding for the opportune moment. Likewise the enemy ships would be curious as to their next move, perhaps even contemplating the Weathered Witch was surrendering. Only the crashing waves and the distant shouts on the other ships were audible as Markus and Sketti held the crew for a few more paces...

"Fire!" Markus ordered, Sketti following suit and releasing the payload on the Ballista. The Dwarves were famous for their nightvision, even more than Elves, but even if he couldn't see any particular person, all he needed to do was hit the leading ship. The powerful cables of the weapon snapped forward and the projectile was launched, sailing through the air and impacing on the aft of the front ship. Markus, without the aid of a railing to block the wind, could feel the heat on his face when the payload exploded into flames and engulfed the ship. It was as if Satan himself had turned the sea on fire.

"Starboard!" Markus ordered. "Pull!"

Sron and Halvar pulled on the rope with all of their might, and the Weathered Witch began to turn to the right, bypassing the ship that now was encumbered with flames and bodies. The payload was not designed to defeat a crew or destroy a ship, but leave it so badly charred they would be put out of a fight. Now their aft side was covered by a burning vessel, and their starboard had an enemy only a dozen paces away.

"Fire the guns!"

"Give them hell!"

The broadside from both were defeaning, tearing chunks into the ships as the powder smoke billowed and overran the top of the deck as certainly as the fire did on the flame-occupied Galley. Markus' crew might not be well trained, but the guns from the keep had bolstered their arsenal enough to make the difference. They tore through the enemy's hull and shattered their resolve in two volleys. Even the aft mast was broken by a well aimed cannon ball, and whoever occupied the decks above the gun deck would have been hard pressed to survive. The Weathered Witch slowly passed them, until a Thunderbolt from another ship ripped into the ship, blasting Sketti and sending the Dwarf flying back into the mast, unconscious.


If any other of the crew had been hit, they would be dead. But Dwarves are resilient to magic, Perhaps Calliope could cripple the wizard, and then maybe they could make for open water...but Markus doubted it.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic didn't respond, his amusement evident enough. The next few hours were ridden in relative silence, save the occasional Bretonnian Knight muttering and cursing the ghastly roads they trod, or telling a joke that was doubtless at the newcomer's expense, bandit or Camilla and Cyrdic. Sir Beaumont handled his horse expertly, riding a touch fast compared to Cyrdic and clearly trying to draw Camilla forward as he spoke to her.

The Roan Cyrdic rode seemed to be agitated and unruly to the touch, and doubtless a few of the lesser squires unused to seeing a horse act in such a fashion believed it to be the horse's fault. Truly Cyrdic had gotten better over the few years he had been riding with Camilla, but he still was no Knight, and there was something deeper about him that the horse instinctually feared. A suspicion the animal had from thousands of years of fleeing the great wolves of the forest.

As they crested a hill, the moonlight basked the well tilled fields and groomed forests with an eerie glow, giving even the light a chilling effect on the landscape. Though what was the most notable thing was a great fortress that stood vigil overlook the lands on the horizon. Cyrdic had seen many fortifications, and had distinguished himself on the walls of Praag not months before. But even the northern city paled in comparison to this fortification.

"Chateau D'Epee," Beaumont declared as they rumbled closer. Cyrdic would hear Camilla gasp at the sight of the walls. It truly looked a monument to the engineering expertise of man. Even in the Empire, where technology had exceeded Brettonian innovation (or lack their of) for the past two centuries, men would gaze at the defensive structure in wonder and awe. There must have been six great keeps towering over the landscape within the defenses. Banners of gold and blue fluttered in the light breeze of the night along the parapets, the sigil portraying a noble a Hyppogriph's claw. "Is it not magnificent?"

"Truly, Marquisse." Camilla replied. "There must be thousands of your noble subjects located within."

The Knight was quiet for a moment, and Cyrdic could guess why. The banners that hung above the walls were posted along merely one of the gatehouses and keeps. The rest of the citadel was barren and devoid of any heraldry or livery. Whatever had happened, the place had but an echo of its former strength. Cyrdic had to guess Camilla had noticed the same, feigning ignorance to embarrass the haughty Knight. By Ulric and Sigmar, Cyrdic loved her.

They made it to the gates, a distant cry of Bretonnian from above led the massive iron portcullis to raise at just the moment the Knights would be able to ride in without halting or ducking. The bridge they galloped upon led them into the courtyard of the central gatehouse, even now an impregnable defensive position with multilayered walls and overlapping towers that could be covered by varying degrees of fire, with more murderholes than Cyrdic could count. He briefly wondered if the Dwarfs had aided the men of Bretonnia long ago, much like they had in the Empire.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The night would have been stygian if not for the crescent moon hanging above the battered shores. The light was a small comfort, and only served to reflect the glow off of Cyrdic's bestial eyes, one of the main aspects about him that betrayed his otherwise peasant looks, though it was Beaumont's way of ignoring the man's rough handsomeness and striking musculature. The Knight could not get a good read on him, and he found it equally as impossible to ascertain the motives of the voluptuous beauty that had cut down the bandits like a she-witch of the Forest of Loren! Even through the broken shale and ragged rocks, they had fought like daemons and received naught but a scratch.

"My Marquisse Cariveau! What shall we do with these dogs?" a rakish knight asked, his sword at the throat of one of the Shipwreckers, clearly delighting in the man's fear and unease at the point of a sword being so close to his throat. Beaumont did not take his eyes off of the two newcomers they had come to rescue, shouting something in Bretonnian that clearly disappointed the Knights. A young squire trod out from behind the wall of steel that the Knight's presented, and he began binding every bandits hand with rope, concentrating on his work at the task as if his very future depended on it. Cyrdic imagined it likely did.

"So, monsieur and mademoiselle. I am Beaumont Cariveau, third son of Armand d'Aquitaine and cousin to Baron D'Epee of Chateau D'Epee. We have many questions for you, but it is not here that they will be asked. If you would accompany us to the Castle, you may be washed and fed." he said, his eyes lingering on Camilla for a moment longer than Cyrdic cared for, before whistling loudly. The Knight performed the trick even with his guantlet on, placing the steel fingers into his mouth and calling for his steed; a beautiful white Destrier that leaped through the brush as effortlessly as Camilla when she danced.

"Two minutes in Bretonnia and I already wish to leave." Cyrdic whispered, his woflish eyes boring into the Knight that had spoken to them. Despite the bloodied combat and Camilla's state of being covered in sea water and sand, her lush lips curved into a smile. She went about cleaning her Elven sword, though her large lover knew it was just for show. Blood seemed to disappear on her enchanted blade as if it cleansed itself.

Cyrdic knew very little of Bretonnia provinces. To an Empire man, the entire country was filled with stuck up snobs that jousted rather than fed their common folk, and common folk too cowardly and whipped to fight or even wish for a better life. He could ascertain only as much as one might hear in a tavern after a round of drinks, likely jokes at the foreign land's expense. He had heard informed knowledge of the place as a boy, but he couldn't quite bring the information to bear at the moment.

"Salut mon seigneur," Camilla replied to the Knight, sheathing her blade. "We would be honored to accept the Baron's hospitality." Once again, Cyrdic was amazed at her talent for languages and accents. The best he could do was a rough Kislevite, and even then it was best he not talk or else toss the dice and see if the one he spoke to was stupid enough to fall for it. "There might be more men washed ashore from the crash, Marquisse. Would you search for them?"

The man seemed very unused to taking requests, displeasure clear on his face at the woman speaking out of turn. "We have little time. The night grows late and we have hours to ride. There's no telling if there are D'Elbiq and Du Maisne fiends hiding in wait even now, or more of these wretches." He replied, mounting his stallion and inclining his head toward the captured bandits. The men looked utterly miserable, being tied to the saddles of the Knight's contingent of draft horses. "Tomorrow, we will send squires back this way to comb the beaches. I assume that is satisfactory to you, mademoiselle...?"

It was clear he was awaiting an introduction from the two of them.
@Penny

Damned to the Depths

As Markus walked into his cabin, he set his backsword down and glanced behind him, making sure the door was locked. Slowly, he reached into his coat and slid his callused hand into the coat pocket, to reveal a large, curious looking egg he had taken from WyvernWatch. Several books on spells were lain across his desk, along with other tomes that were simply of topics he fancied. But at the top of the stack was a book of dangerous wildlife. Whatever was within this, he would find it out.

Grabbing a tattered cloak that had been gathered from the keep to be used in the winter months, he rolled it up and placed it within his top desk drawer, and then set the egg within. Whatever hatched out of it, he would be its master.

---

Markus had stayed below decks with the crew this day, playing a round of cards with the lads in the hold. He did his best to appear cordial to them, and to be charismatic as well as dangerous to them. The fact was, he was quite charismatic even without trying, but he would never realize it. But by the time darkness has settled on the horizon, he even had the tripplettes smiling. Bill had a metal hook on his hand, courtesy of Sketti's craftsmanship. Only one of the myriad of items that Sketti had made with the raw materials from Wyvernwatch nearly two fortnight's ago.

"I fold." Sketti said, grumbling into his straw colored beard and laying his cards on the ground. It wasn't like him to quit, but he didnt want to lose anymore of his gadgets, which Markus had made a killing on the past few hours. Halvar and Phill remained in the game, the two men veritably glaring at their cards and suspiciously looking at one another, as well as their Captain, who grinned. The glint was in his eyes, the same competitive glint he got when blood was about to be spilled.

"Two mermaidens and a skull kraken." Halvar said, laying his cards down. Phill tossed his cards away, already defeated by the hand. His two brothers patted his shoulders, giving him a drink to cheer him up. Markus sucked in a large breath, shaking his head. "I'm afraid all I have is Straum and two Skull Krakens." he said. Sketti burst into a git of laughter while Halvar roared to the Gods on why they had forsaken him. As Markus, Halvar, and Phil began hashing out the details on what they owed the Captain, Jim ran into the room, nearly slipping over the cards.

"Sails sir!" he declared, eyes wide. "Two of them!"

"Colors?" Markus asked.

"B-Black flags with red axes."

The lower deck was silent, until Markus roared. "Beat to Quarters!" as he reached for his sword. Halvar grabbed his Axe and Corsica used her long legs to make it to her hammock where her sword was kept. Sketti yelled out what Markus had just ordered, his stout voice echoing through the lower halls of the Weathered Witch. There was an intense bustle as they rushed to gather their equipment. "Sir, are we really about to fight?" Jim asked Markus.

It was still odd the lad called him sir. Markus was less than 10 years his senior. He supposed that was still some time, and he was the Captain. "Aye, they're Blood Reavers." Markus said. "Even if they weren't after us, they'll attack anyone not of their fleet." He'd fought them once before as a privateer. There were many vicious corsairs near the Corsair Strait and the Arad Luin. This was one of the larger groups of pirates.

Calliope appeared before Markus and Jim as they crested the stairs to the poop deck, as if she was apart of the very night itself. Jim yelped and blushed at her sudden arrival. Markus gave a smile that showed his teeth at the boy's reaction. "When we make port next, we'll find you a girl." Markus joked, pushing the boy's shoulder.

"They've a mage on one of their ships." Calliope said, eyebrow raised at their exchange.

"Which one?"

"Right on, on the Starboard bow." She replied.

Markus walked passed her, and they followed in his wake as he made his way to the gun deck within the other staircase. "That's the one we'll board. We'll gun the other one down. Jax!" he called up.

"Three clicks Capt'n and closing at 9 knots!"

"Sketti!" he yelled into the stairway. As he began barking orders, Calliope would notice Sron at the headbow, taking a tarp off of a large item the size of a feast table. Bestial hands tore the cloth away to reveal a seige ballista raised on a small dias to give it extra elevation, and to allow it to turn 60 degrees. One of Sketti's new toys, where one could place special ammunition on it to fire from ahead.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

As Neil had rounded the house in his mad search to get in, he was lucky enough to see them exited above his level still carrying a limp Junebug. One looked to be a local and the others... He didn't care, he just needed to rescue her. At that thought he stopped, realizing how different this was. Usually she wasn't the one that ever needed rescuing. It was weird. But everyone was vulnerable once or twice in their lives.

Neil followed behind the men like a shadow, always too far behind to get in a shot that he couldn't make sure wouldn't hit Sayeeda. His adrenaline was pumping from his earlier confession and now this warped scenario he was certain the Gods had conjured up just to mess with him further. He vaulted a sandstone fence and entered the garden where the men placed Sayeeda into a readied aircar. "Oh fuck, no no no!" he said to himself, silently as he could.

As the vehicle sped away, Neil nearly took a shot at the vehicle. But he realized it would give away the fact someone was planning on chasing them. He simply prayed she was kept alive. "Taya" he breathed into the comm. There was slight static until her tired voice appeared. "Hmmmwhat?" Neil expected that he might have woken her. He didn't have time to apologize at the moment. "Taya I-..." he stopped.

"Scan the city. I need you to tell me where Sven is."

"Scan? How do I do that?"

"You go into the cockpit and pull the third lever on the left, and then a set of commands will pick up on the display. Choose the third option, and then turn on the sublight engines for a minute. You'll see energy signatures on the radar. Understand?" he asked her. He could hear her shuffling in the background, moving to the cockpit. "Yeah, I got you. Where's Junebug?"

"She's sleeping." Neil said, and he made a ridiculious gesture and then pressed his fingers into his face, trying to convince himself that he did the right thing by not completely lying to her. He knew the Highlander didn't fly well at the moment and wouldn't be able to get to her, and he couldn't bear to look at that 4 faced Xenos at the moment. But if Sven could be located, he would know all of the dives in the town already, or would be able to at least tell Neil where he could get an aircar. He was so very glad he had installed the energy tracker into the Highlander. Any cyborg that matched Sven's signature would be found in moments.

"...Uh, it shows there's something in subsector 14 on the radar."

Neil breathed a sigh of relief. "Ok good, that's less than half a click from here. Thank you Taya."

"Nothing, everything is fine." Neil said quickly and turned the comm off. He stuffed the comm into his pocket so he wouldn't hear anything else in case she called back. There was no need to worry her when Neil had every intention of finding these fuckers and making them pay, after making sure Junebug was safe. Honestly, he felt worse for the guys who took her. Likely they'd be dead and she would be armed by the time he found them.

Still, he wasn't about to take chances and vaulted out of the garden area and into the streets, running through the alleys and streetways, trying to find the building or area where Sven was. "Come on, you're not that hard to lose" Neil said, vividly remembering the man's otherworldly height and wild, nordic hair and beard. Neil went with his instincts and stuck to the alleyways, and he was rewarded for his efforts when he found the cyborg after fifteen minutes of frantic search.

"Ew," were the first words out of his mouth, rather than the "I need help" because as he turned the corner, he found the cold man working upon someone's opened skull, the corpse or body...Neil could not begin to know if the man was alive, was upon a rundown, dark chair that was hyked up to its tallest measurement at the base of the chair. Sven did not even look Neil's way, simply grabbing another cruel-looking tool out of his jacket. "What do you want?" Sven asked.

"Who is that?"

"A customer."

Neil shuddered a second time, then realized he didn't have much more time to dwaddle. "I need an aircar or a hoverbike. Anything mechanical even, but Junebug's been taken. I need one now." Sven lightly placed a small, purified motherboard chip into the man's skull, the tiny pincers along its bottom sparking with electricity.

"The building behind me." Sven said, gravelly voice as unnerving as ever, even with good news. "The second floor, there is transportation for you." He began to hammer something into the local man's inner skull with surgical precision, and the body's limbs jerked at every knock. Neil had to wonder what he was doing to the man, and just what kind of transportation could be above the ground floor.

Neil backed up and began to ready himself to leap up there, until he stopped. "Oh, don't tell anyone I told you she's in trouble, ok?"

Sven looked at him for the first time. "Do I look like I care?"

"...good point." Neil replied, before eyeing the wall and sprinting at it, pressing his right foot to it and kicking off to the mirroring wall, kicking off once more to grabbing the bottom part of the upper window. He was lucky this town was rundown or he'd have to break a window. Inside looked to be a native, 3rd world office where there was a scattered selection of more advanced equipment mingling with lesser items local to the planet.

Beside the plasma pistol, there was his transportation on the dirt smudged desk. He picked up the item. A flat piece of hardened plasteel with a miniaturized motor beneath it, and gravel-like protrusions to give traction to the rider's feet. Well, it was better than nothing.

"I have not flown in a hoverboard in years."
@Penny