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Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

You peeps will get an update this weekend!

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

"Hello there!" Someone suddenly appeared Gustav's left. It was Janne Swiftsong, one of the Swiftsong twins and editor of the Gazette branch in Skyrim. That meant...

"You are bold one, Gustav!" Jens Swiftsong practically jumped in from the right.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@IcePezz *hugs* I miss you

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

Alright, gonna finish up some reading here then give a Dax POV

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

They rode for another two hours, slowing every so often. Ali suggested they make a few detours and run off the trails, and after the first hour they completely headed southeast regardless of where the trail led. Ali knew the trodden footpath would end soon sooner or later, it was better to fool their pursuers now. Assuming they were pursuing them, or if it was just a random band of...things. He didn't even know what they were until Mave confirmed his worst fear. They were trollocs. Beasts from the blight that preyed on children.

"The Myrrdraal had to have scouts!" Mave called to Ali.

"Do you think they were simply patrolling and didn't know who we were?"

"We will need to hope." she replied, and they pressed further into the large cedars and oaks as the trees soon began to tower over them like mountains, and a low mist began to spread through the hilly region. As his fear of the Trollocs dissipated, Ali gained a new fear as they traveled further within and they slowed their horses. It had begun to be difficult to see where they rode if they kept up a swift pace, and once the excitement was done, they found themselves in the Forest of Shadows.

The Great Blackwood, some called it. A primeval, impenetrable forest that no one entered, save for crazed lunatics like those bloody hunters of the horn. It was said that there was vast treasures to be found in the deep of this dark, claustrophobic wood. But many came back empty handed, and those that didn't, didn't come back at all. "We'll need to travel east after tomorrow," Ali said, far too loudly for his liking. The forest held a weight to it, and though he knew great birds lived here, he imagined they were too high up to make much noise on the forest floor. Here would only be great beasts and large game, other than perhaps the occasional fox or raccoon.

"Why?" Mave asked as they cantered into a small clearing near a copse of tightly gathered trees, their roots so gnarled and interwoven, it was hard to tell which root was to which tree. This seemed as good of a spot as any to halt for the night. Dismounting, Ali took the bow and led his horse over to the tree to tie its reins. "Because south of here, between us and Ghealdan, is a river that is uncrossable. Or so the peddlers say when they visit. The water is too deep and rough."

He helped her tend to the mule, and they began to gather sticks up to make a fire. Luckily, they were in a small, enclosed space in the woods. Whatever was out there, be it more trollocs or other creatures, they would be hard to spot even with a fire. "Where are you going?" Mave asked him, As Ali strung his new bow.

"I'll grab us some dinner like I promised. A man has to keep his word." He replied simply.

Though it was true, it was a clear indication of the typical obdurate Two Rivers thinking. Single minded until the very end. Mave shook her head. "We have food. You shouldn't go out alone." she said.

"We need to keep our rations for later, and someone needs to watch the horses. I'll be back soon, I promise." He replied, and off he went into the treeline.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil grabbed the rifle and his pack and stepped over the ledge, sliding down the incline of the thatched roof and making it to the clay caked storm drain that had not been in use for probably decades. His feet hit the drain, and surely enough the thing broke on its hinges, sending it whipping down like a vine. One that Neil promptly grabbed and was flung down in, letting go at the closest point to the ground, catching himself heavily on his feet.

Men and woman screamed, at least a dozen stream past him every few seconds going any which way they could to get away from the sudden carnage of the armed convoy. One man on a turret was strafing the crowd with lasbolts, and though Neil couldn't see his face behind his fabric enwrapped lower face, he had the feeling the insurgent had a sick sense of amusement ending the lives of the civilians as they scattered before him. It was on instinct, as Neil didn't have time to look down the scope of his rifle while he approached, but he didn't need to. It was a lucky shot, blowing the turret man's left shoulder clean off and leaving a hole the size of a fist. His left arm drooped, flinging helplessly as he began to scream in terror. Neil ignored him and slid over the hood of the AirV to make it to the entrance.

Inside was hardly better, as small arms of the slug and laser variety discharged among the constricting dust cloud. He knew it was crazy, even for him, but he didn't slow as he walked in. Likely the men didn't expect an enemy from behind, so figures in his peripheral vision simply didn't look at him. It made his job easier, and he waded through the smog, looking for any harem girl that might be simply killing a mercenary, because that would likely be Junebug.

The first girl he found was unfortunately dead, a hole through her neck and a large puddle of blood still pumping out of her jugular. The girl after that was more fortunate, though still very much in danger. A mercenary had her on her knees as he aimed his submachine gun at her. Neil quickly brought his rifle to bear, hip firing into him from only three paces away. The exit wound could fit Neil's head, and he fell into a heap of meat and bone. The fleshy shrapnel that covered the screaming woman would likely scar her for awhile, but at least she was alive. Neil hauled her to her feet and sent her running with a slap to her ass.

It was a maelstrom, and more than once did Neil need to duck. But as the smog cleared and the combatants lessened, he found exactly what he was looking for. In the distance, a tall silhouette stood motionless. Anyone would have thought him a statue if not for the flowing beard. That, and he did not move an inch, even in the middle of the fighting. This was why Sven frightened Neil as much as Saxon, at times. In his own way, he was even more alien than the Xenos.

The pilot felt better when he put the barrel of his 50. caliber slugthrower a meter away from Sven's chest. He cleared his throat to get the cyborg's attention. After a moment of Sven finishing whatever processing he had been attempting, he turned to Neil slowly. His facial expression still as neutral and cold as ever. As if he felt he shouldn't be surprised, Sven let out an "Ah, it's you." to the pilot, turning his whole body and looking at Neil as if he didn't have a gun trained on him. Then again, Neil even this gun could terminate Sven outright. But he wouldn't be functioning properly, at least.

"Why is it that every time I find you on a world, if you're not extorting, you're making a hostile take over?" Neil remarked tiredly. "Or do you just want in on the girls?"

"I've taken away such base desires." Sven said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. His eyes flicked to the right. "You on the other hand..."

Neil glanced where he was indicating, and a peculiarly dressed Sayeeda stood over the corpse of a gunman, her back turned. Sven kept talking. "Don't worry, now that you're here I will rein my men in." he continued. "I know better than to try and combat you. You're too unpredictable, even for my calculations."

"And because we're friends?" Neil asked hopefully. Sven didn't answer. Neil decided to break the silence by making a crowd whistle that drew Junebug's attention. "Well, now that we're not trying to kill each other anymore, tell me this. Did you know we were here when this all began?"

"No."

"Help us find something and we'll leave. We just need the Pasha."

"To kill?"

"To talk."

Sven grunted, and stood rigidly. He reached up with his left hand to touch a pressure point on the base of his neck, and with an audible click, Sven's left eyeball slowly exited his socket on three metal hinges. Neil stuck his tongue out in disgust as the eye suddenly grew a metal exoskeleton behind the iris, and eight metallic mandibles erupted from its base. Gingerly, Sven grabbed the eye in his hand, yanking it off the support hinges and letting it drop on the ground. It scuttled away like a spider.

"I will search every corner of the compound."
@Penny

Damned to the Depths

Markus was not as well versed in political maneuverings as Calliope, particularly in the court of Dalib Sahara on the Corsair Coast. He could only really trust the Sultan, or better, follow the Sultan's orders so as not to anger a man who could call for his execution at any time. But when he saw that his presence on the right hand throne was seen as a problem by the subtle facial twitches of the prince, he had to keep his displeasure of being used from appearing on his face. He hoped the new garb he wore wasn't what a Prince would normally wear so as not to add insult to injury.

He was glad for the change of clothes though, and if the Sultan did not want them returned he was certain he could sell it hundreds of coin royals. His mane of black hair had been cut and styled, wavier and clipped shorter in the back to give him a less unkempt, more adventurous look to him. Much like the nobleborn swordsman he had been. He wore a royal purple kaftan with golden hemlins, that hugged his masculine shoulders and flowed down nearly to his ankles. His tan top beneath, as well as his loose fitting pants was made of seraser, likely the most expensive type of silk in the Arad Luin, and all of the northland. Luckily it didn't feel too dainty, not that he would go sailing in it.

Markus debated on whether he should rise or not at that moment, but after a moment he dispelled the notion as the Prince was now going over to sit at the Sultan's left hand. That, however, left Calliope standing there before the Sultan, awkwardly. Though she didn't show it. She had a presence that commanded respect and appeal in any situation. Still, the nuance of her standing while all others sat wasn't lost on Markus, and he figured he would solve the situation and aid her by gracefully lifting on the throne, as if this was what he had been bid all along, and hold his hand out to Calliope as he presented the chair to her.

"I thank you, wise Sultan." Markus said, using his most heroic voice. The echoes on the marbled walls certainly aided him in this endeavor. "For this great honor to sit at your right hand. But it would be a disservice to not award the true savior of your son with this esteemed seat, if you would so allow it." He ended the small speech with a bent knee, and when the Sultan, who was clearly uncomfortable with a woman in a position of power at all, hesitantly acquiesced, Calliope strode forward confidently and took Markus's hand and seat.

The Sultan then clapped, and slowly the heavy doors of the throne room opened as Satraps and Pashas entered the room, along with a retinue of fearocious and fomidable guards wearing helms that had the likeness of jackals. Their breastplates were bronze scale armor that clinked lightly as they moved in unison. "So, Captain Flintbrook and Lady Calliope, will you regale me of the tale on how you saved my son?" The Sultan began.

"They were blackguards, your highness." Calliope said with a dramatic flair, all eyes on her as she began to recount what had happened. Markus did well to keep his eye out on the crowd, but even he did not foresee a beautiful woman with olive colored skin walk up to him and take his hand from behind. He turned, about to grab the concealed dagger that was in his boot, when he saw her give a slight bow as she kissed his hand. She wore a fashionable dress of golden silk, overlapped by a garment of interwoven fabrics the color of red and orange like the setting sun that hugged her hip like a sarong, only it tightly wrapped around her snug belt. Her earrings were two suns that hung beside her healthy, flushed cheeks. The woman's hair was dark and made of long curlsm and atop her head was a crown.

"My prince," she said, her eyes filled with pleasure. "It does me well that you are safe."

Markus' eyes widened and Achmed sputtered in clear outrage. The Captain opened his mouth to speak, before large hands drapped gently across the woman's shoulders. "No my Princess Melissenos, Prince Achmed sits at the left hand of the great Sultan. This is but a skilled Sailor and personal friend." As quickly as her eyes were bright, they became dull just as swiftly until they landed on Achmed, which she hurried over to speak to. The man that had directed her was a large and fat man, black bearded with the skin of dried leather, though he hid it in robes of satin and an illustrious hat. He had a brooch of the Sidewinder Serpent upon his chest that tied his light cloak to his back.

"Ah, my Vizier. How good of you to appear. On time as usual."
@Penny

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

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth