POOHEAD189

Let's Talk: The Discord Discussion

I still prefer skype.

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

Hmmm perhaps. Would we simply continue the IC?

Post a random fact about yourself.

@HaleyTheRandom@Liv
Pull ups are very important. I used to not be able to do one. It really helps your upper body strength.

I do 20 every night now for a warm up for when I work out after work. Also random fact: I'll be making fitness videos soon on a new youtube channel.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Ali finished skinning the first coney, tearing the fur off with a few choice tugs and placing the small bit of meat it provided on the spit, and methodically he got to work on the next one. "You know, you still don't need to accompany me..." He began, following the logic that if he was pursued, then she was. She stopped him in a his tracks with a glare, and he held his hands up in defeat. "Sorry, sorry." he said.

"Wool headed oaf." she muttered.

He was silent after that, merely fixing dinner for them. She watched him as he worked, and he could tell she was simply watching his technique on how to prepare the dinner, should the need arise in the future. She was smart like that. He would have never imagined she might also simply be admiring his arms. Luckily, rabbits were quick to cook, and he handed the first one to her, placing another stick he had carved into a spit on the fire once more, turning his slowly as she nibbled on her dinner.

"It's a bit stringy, but good for you. Make sure you eat half of the other, even if you aren't hungry for it." he explained. "Coneys are so lean, if you don't eat an abundance of them, the energy it takes to digest them is more than they give you for eating them. Eat the onions too. You always need something else with a cooked coney."

She thanked him, and he took it warmly. Though there was an awkward pause between them for a moment, after they had realized they had both been staring. "So um..." he cleared his throat. "What...else might be after me? Us?" he asked. It was a simple question, but what with the one power not being a myth, nor fades or trollocs, he wanted to make sure the trees wouldn't see him as an adversary, or spirits floated about looking for his soul.

The idea made his skin crawl, or it would have if he hadn't already had goosebumps after having walked back into the clearing. He wondered if that was something she was doing with the one power, or something she simply could do to him by being herself. Probably both.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

"You got it." Neil said into the comm, having seen where Junebug was a moment before through a haze of the dust that still clung to the air like a fog from all the gunfire. He told Sven to tell his men to lower their weapons. Sven nodded, and with a gesture of his hands, the mercenaries dropped their guns, or at least pointed their barrels to the floor.

"Which one will she be?" one of the mercs asked.

"Probably the one armed like you." Neil replied offhandedly, then he blinked. "Whoa, wait, what does it matter? You are not shooting any of the women here."

Junebug stepped out, hefting her assault rifle and wearing next to nothing. Neil's jaw dropped at the sight. She looked like she was a model for a Stahlkrieg advertisement. He headed over to her, 50. cal sniper rifle in his right hand as if it wouldn't break his arm trying to fire it offhandedly. He wasn't stupid (all the time). He took out the firing pin after Sven had ordered his men to stand down. More because he knew how Sven worked. Anything to lower the calculations of "statistical betrayal" was a boon.

"Well that could have been less messy." Neil remarked.

"Where's the fun in that?" Junebug said with a smirk, and she reloaded her Stalhkrieg weapon as if she'd owned it for years. "But really, it was lucky you found Sven when you did. Good eye." she said. Neil shrugged, but before he could speak, Sven remarked. "Found him." with a certainty Neil was all too familiar with.

"Second floor, fourth room of the left." The cyborg said, reciting the exact information that his eye was likely feeding him through a complex code even Neil probably couldn't begin to understand. "One hundred and ninety five centimeters in height. Barred from the inside. He holds a slave girl in chains with a gun on her." Out of the dust, the eye clawed across the landscape and scrambled up Sven's tall body back into his socket.

"This one is on you." Sven said. "You have five minutes."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The door closing shut behind them sent echoes through the catacomb-like halls of the inner fortress. The darkness foreboding, even for ones who had been blessed (or cursed) with such senses as Camilla and Cyrdic. They found themselves within a baroque antechamber, chairs both standing upright and overthrown by something in a mad frenzy from the past were covered in thick dust. Cyrdic should have asked when the last man had braved this venture.

"Why are we here again?" he whispered to Camilla. Even in such a low volume, he felt it was far too loud.

Camilla looked at him in shock. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet!" she remarked as loudly as she dared.

"I just feel we could use a vacation." He said with a wink.

She smiled. "Every vacation we have ends up in something like this." she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. They shared a look, and then a longing kiss. They had not had much alone time for quite awhile, and a deserted fortress with an unspeakable evil was about as good of a locked door as they would get. Cyrdic pressed forward a bit, and despite herself Camilla lifted her legs to wrap around his waist as they embraced, before the Tilean's rump would bump against the table.

The wood was so old it cracked after merely swaying, falling into a broken heap and knocking into an old cupboard, which then toppled in a comical aftershock that caused both of them to let go of one another, their swords out and heads sobered up almost immediately. Cyrdic blinked, holding his head. Seconds passed them by, and he wondered if their sudden embrace was because of some chaos influence, or they were getting far too comfortable facing evils of the ancient world. He dearly hoped it was the former.

"Let's move." he told her. She nodded, pointing left. "Thees way."

The two stalked as silently as they could, as swiftly as they could away from the noise they had just caused, going through long abandoned galleries that held paintings that had been created probably centuries ago. Dim sunlight beamed in through stained glass windows, and the air was thick and stuffy, making Cyrdic cover his sensitive nose up with the bottom of his shirt. Briefly he looked behind him as they all but ran, and there was no pursuit by...whatever lurked within.

He looked back ahead and nearly barrled into Camilla, who had halted and held her hand for him to do the same. "Do you hear it?" she breathed. The big man calmed, and steadied his breathing as he began to listen. At first there was nothing. Nothing he could discern in the depths of the haunted place. But then there was a slight tapping. A pattering in the distance, and then creaks. Something heavy approached.

Something with claws that scraped the floors.

Camilla grabbed Cyrdic's shirt to pull him into another passage way, but he was already moving with her as they made it into one of the many middle foyer's of the inner citadel, crouching behind a small strip of wall as whatever had been approaching had now stepped into the hall they had just fled from.

There was an unnerving stench that suddenly filled Cyrdic's nose, even penetrating his shirt. But it was no ordinary smell. Nothing a living creature could bring. He could smell death, and foul magic that threatened to cause him to gag audibly. He held himself in check, barely.
@Penny

Damned to the Depths

Markus turned to her slowly, doing his best not to smirk. To his credit, he kept his composure well, though his eyes held a weight to them as they looked into Calliope's directly. "Of course, my lady." he said, his voice going even deeper and more honeyed than his usual charismatic tone, handing her the treat. She smiled through her teeth and bit into it happily. Markus hadn't the patience for this as she had.

Still, he knew how to play along when he needed to.

"Once she came into my service, we were unstoppable. She's truly a delight." Markus said to the Sultan, trying to keep an air of both modesty and the boastfulness of a seasoned sailor. "The sea is fickle, and my men and I can ride the waves as skillfully as any! But she has brought blessings upon our ship, such as meeting with you, excellency." The Captain knelt before the Sultan, who beamed at the statement. Achmed was livid, but he remained silent. The Sultan engaged further.

"Such as fighting against six ships of the Blood Axes and living..." he said, grooming his magnificently white beard as he contemplated the possibilities. The Vizier approached, and Markus could imagine a dagger being summoned at but an instant with a flicker of his hand. A small scuff on the man's boot was yellowed from what most would have believed to be dried sand. Markus recognized it as Curenstone, an ingredient that is favored by less than reputable alchemists.

"Indeed..." he said, contemplatively. He strode forward, and his long robes gave him the look of something that slithered along the ground, eyeing Calliope and Markus hungrily, Calliope a bit more so. Though if it was her former position as tyrant or simple lust, Markus could not tell. "Your highness, I am certain that your 'guests' have not dined. Shall I prepare quarters for them and bring them dinner? I am certain they are tired after a heroic journey."

"Wise council, my trusted Vizier." He replied, clapping his hands together. A dozen exotic guards hustled into the area before the Satraps, who watched with interest, at least those that were not mingling with one another. The Sultan ordered his men. "Escort the Captain and the Lady Calliope to the eastern wing."

"Father," Achmed said. "I shall accompany them."

"No! You must stay my son. You need to entertain your bride to be." he replied with a laugh. Everyone was silent save for one man. A younger pasha from the remote regions who wore modest clothing and second rate jewelry, who sought favor from the Sultan by laughing heartily along with him. As he guffawed, all eyes turned to the younger man.

The Sultan's face went from amused to grave. "You dare laugh in my presence?" he seethed, as guards seized the young man, who struggled in vain.

As Markus and Calliope were escorted into their villa, they would hear the familiar sound of steel on bone, and the agonized scream of a man who could not hold his merriment.
@Penny

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Beren was pleased that his efforts to cheer Aeryn up were working, at least for the moment. He might be a natural warrior and a fine leader, but he had his silly moments, and for all intents and purposes, he still had plenty of youth left in him. With only a slight wobble, he hopped off the raised pole with yet another impressive push from his left hand, spinning and landing on his feet. He probably should have stretched a bit because he felt slightly sore, but not in any serious way.

"Thank you, thank you!" he declared, giving a facetious bow to the two.

He might have continued with an encore, if not for the very odd premonition of Settione suddenly causing the priest to shudder and speak a portent of doom for all to hear. Beren blinked, confused as to the man's suddenly strange behavior until he realized the seriousness of what he was claiming. He had seen such religious fervor before in priests. His father was a priest of Eruvar after all. Coincidentally, it was then that Geradin strode out of the Tavern, chewing on some jerky, though his face was concerned.

"I sense i-..." he noticed Settione shaking and placed his hands on the priest's shoulder and arm, the shaking suddenly halting abruptly. "I sense it too."

It was at that moment, that a patrolman trotted up to the group. "Sirs. Madam. Sirs and Madam...there's someone at the entrance to town."

---

Calanon inclined his head. He gave his opinion, but he was a ranger first and foremost. He had traveled into danger countless times, and he would do so again. What was another horror of the forest deeps, after all? He hopped atop Brogach as if he had hopped over a root rather than made a near seven foot verticle leap, stroking his truest friends mane. "Let's continue then." he told them, and led the way for the group.

Argon took along a chunk of the Mantiraus flank, gnawing on it happily. Though it was particularly stringy and rough to the jaw. Even cooked, most creatures and humanoids would have found it distasteful. But Argon had survived on worse, and he was simply happy he had something to chew on as they walked.

The ground was still upturned by long roots and ubiquitous plantlife, and as ever, thick with trees. But as they continued, the path began to grow somewhat wider, the soil growing less rich. Until they suddenly found themselves at the edge of the treeline, at least for a mile or so. Instead of a forest, there was a rocky crag filled with boulders. The earth was barren rock, some of it lifting high into the air, and paths of the rock was almost cut into the stone. Perhaps the paths had been dry riverbeds, or perhaps they had been cut by residents long dead.

However, the most curious thing was two tall statues, stately and stoic looking statues that looked like bald, giant men, standing 15 feet tall. Two of them that framed the entrance of the rock hewn road that lead deeper into this new area.
@Mortarion@Gardevoiran@BCTheEntity@Fetzen@Stormflyx@The Fated Fallen

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@IcePezz There might be no waiting. Some people have wanted to join in the past but as we haven't spoken in awhile...