POOHEAD189

Damned to the Depths

Hours later...

---

Her rump was nearly as sore as her head. The flagstones beneath her, while well carved, had a sandpaper-like texture that chafed even through her trousers. The room was dim, but still somehow too bright for her eyes. The only source of light was down the left hall; a single flame flickering in the distance, mocking her with its dancing. Next, she could feel her hands were pins and needles and stretched above her head. Chains tightly bound upon them and keeping them up.

But the truly horrifying feeling, was when she tried to summon her magics. The telltale sign of her senses awakening, the tingling and the euphoria of the magic in the air...gone. It was as if she had been entirely severed from the weave of magic in the universe, and all now had less hope. One who used magic often felt its presence like a second skin, and without it, it was hard to feel the taste of life for a short while. Or so the stories say.

An open door down the hall, as well as a myriad of footsteps announced the arrival of the multitude of scarred men that came to see their latest and most prized catch. At the fore was a large man, with proud shoulders and a gnarled, albeit charming nose. A red cloak cloth wrapped around his head to form a kufiya, and at his waist was a massive shamshir.

"The sorceress...awake I see." he said in broken northern. His eyes drifted up to her arms, and a broad grin stretched across his face. "Your cufflinks work I see. Not that I am surprised. They were made to cage the Djinn. You will find no spark of your witchery here."

The man turned to a shorter, more portly servant in a similar headdress, though he wore tan robes befitting of a master servant or chamberlain.

"Place her in the dancer garb, and bring her to my throne room." he told him. "Make sure she isn't roughed up too much. I like them pretty."

Damned to the Depths

The wind whipping, his fringe moving slightly before his eyes, Markus never lost focus on the western ship. Behind him, the men began to push the cannons up the small rocky paths they had attempted to clear, using carefully tied and well placed ropes and leverage to help guide them up into position. So far there was no activity save the western ship lazily guiding through the channels. Markus made a small grunt. "That's odd." he said, and he handed Calliope the brass telescope.

Calliope gave him a raised eyebrow at his statement, but took the telescope as she was bid.

The ship was a cog, one of the less expensive transport options for merchants and traders to haul cargo and goods across the Sea of Swords. It was slower than almost any other ship save a dingy (though of course it was still far faster than land travel), but it could hold quite a good bit of cargo. The biggest problem with Cogs were that they were only sea worthy to a limited capacity. A cog crossing the entirety of the Sea of Swords was a dangerous proposition, and even if it could be done, it was almost never attempted. Yet here was a cog of northern make, somehow right by the Arad Luin coast. It didn't seem right. He voiced his suspicions aloud to her as she looked.

Behind them, Halvar's roar at the deckhands and the grunts of the work showed they were still at it, though likely making good progress. Markus double checked the trajectory and distance between here and just past the cog, and judged this was as fine a spot as any to place the guns. They were well within range, and their 12 pounders from this height would devastate all but the largest flagships. That and no one would have a good vantage point to fire back at them.

There was something else that tugged at Markus' mind, however. Something off... Some lost detail that made him uneasy, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was this lost detail that Calliope saw through the telescope as the image came into focus. The Cog seemed ordinary enough, with all the furnishings one would expect. The white sails covered most of the deck, keeping much of the crew concealed. But it wasn't the ship or the sails that she noticed, but the waves beneath the Cog.

There were no ripples from the ship's wake.

Swiftly, Calliope cast her magesight, and the entire ship lit up brighter than the sun. The beautiful sorceress nearly dropped the telescope in shock. "Illusion!" she all but screamed, realizing their folly a fraction too late. One of the men's grunts from behind sounded suspiciously painful, and as Markus felt his stomach sink when he opened up his own magesight at the ship, Calliope turned in time to see one of the men near the edge of the drop had been skewered with a falchion, and had been pulled off to fall to his death by a Corsair that had replaced him.

Hard, ragged men of the Blood Axes pulled themselves over the lip of the crevice, having hauled themselves up on hooks silently over the jagged mountainside, behind an outcropping of rocks. "Avast! To arms!" Markus called, unsheathing his sword in a fierce motion and casting a fireball at the nearest group of Blood Axes, incinerating the front two and sending the other two screaming to their deaths. The fire display caught his men's attention, and Halvar and the rest took up what arms they had, though they hadn't expected an engagement and only had belt knives.

The melee was brutal but short, with the new crew members being mostly deckhands and unused to combat. Halvar tossed a few Corsairs over the edge and kept a trio of wicked looking pirates at bay with a waving knife. The center man without a left arm, but the way his right arm coiled and slid through the air with his scimitar showed he was perhaps the deadliest one, grinning terribly. Markus whirled, ducking and dodging and riposting, slaying a striking brown skinned pirate with a well timed thrust. Not five seconds had passed before Calliope felt an immense shock from behind her head. The thick bun of hair on her head likely cushioning the blow just enough to keep her skull from cracking open.

The pirates had surrounded them, the leanest and most wiry of them having climbed from the steeper flank of their position. Without being able to pause and regain her sense, she was grabbed from behind, her hair yanked back and a knife to her throat. She could feel cold steel nipping at her skin, parting it teasingly.

"Drop thay wehpawns!" a voice cried by her ear. The way the world spun and her head ached, it was entirely too loud. She felt his grip on her tighten, and the knife drew blood. "Drop an' we spahe your crew! Refuse and die!!!" There was just enough competence in his crazed voice to beggar some kind of truth, and after only hesitating twice, Markus obliged, his sword clanging to the stone of the mountain. The rest of the surviving men followed suit, and before Calliope's world went black, she would see someone striking Markus from behind with the hilt of their sword.

Into the Shadow

For his part, Roland wished he could have done more to help people like Iseldis could. In his heart of hearts he knew he likely never would be able to, no matter how hard he trained or prayed. But he had come to terms with it years ago, and he did what he could. While his companion healed some of the townsfolk, Roland took aside a few of the men, who seemed eager to see what he had to say. They lead him around the hillock of the town and he told them the best places to dig and collect lumber, so they could make the settlement a bit more defensible. It was lucky Roland and Isledis had come when they did, and they wouldn't always be around.

That night, the feast was in full swing and despite himself, Roland relaxed and enjoyed the food. He waited a bit to get his share, because he recalled as a child that his mom always got onto him for taking more food than he should whenever there was a feast, so he had learned to wait and let others get their share first. Once he sat down (with a chair having been saved for him by Iseldis, though if it was her choice or the villagers, he didn't know), he caught the tail end of the Draugr conversation.

He sat up straighter when he heard the topic, the soldier in him ready to face any challenge. Blackglass...he had never heard of the place before, but if there was more Druagr to slay, he would be for it. Having seen them move earlier, he felt he was more prepared to face them now. Hopefully this time ending their local threat for good. He might have been a bit out of his element in front of all of the villagers, but that was because he had always been the servat...the squire. Never the hero.

He couldn't help but smile when Iseldis spoke. "I'm ready when you are," he told her earnestly. He'd eat heavily, but with his metabolism, he needed the energy. A quick pint and some water with it, and he was a work horse again. He supposed he also didn't feel too full because he'd hardly eaten the entire day beforehand, but hey.

When the feast was finished, the townsfolk they had been speaking to offered their hands to shake. Roland had stood up, preparing to bow, but after a moment decided to give a handshake back with a strong grip. He wasn't serving a Lord, he was helping new friends.

Favourite historical country

I love Britain for it's history, but you go over there now and it's just Chavs and people screamin'

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Ok, so all we need is Morty and we can get going!

Into the Shadow

He felt somewhat awkward as she prepared his seat and handled the townspeople, but that was mostly his fault because she was doing exactly as she should have been. He just didn't want to move too much in case it would alter her healing powers for the wound in some way. Luckily that wasn't the case, and he sat down where he was bid and kept his head still, closing his eyes as she checked and healed the wound. It wasn't too deep, but it would be annoying and unnecessary to lose blood over a simple cut.

"I didn't know that," he admitted, referring to her powers being greater at night. He could barely comprehend how she could summon healing magic like that, much less how she powered herself with the moon. He had heard that members of his order could heal and summon fire at will, but that was far beyond his skills and probably forever would be. "I suppose I should have known it, though. With your order. Is it only if the moon is out, or does it simply get more powerful as the night continues?" he asked curiously.

Once she was done, he opened one eye to check, and then both. It had felt very odd being mended, but once the wound was healed, he felt one hundred percent again. He rubbed his cheek a bit when she asked her question. "No, I've only fought people before." he said. "My late master let me fight with him in two battles before he died. I was lucky to live through those, much less going into a lair of what could be filled with more Draugr but..."

Roland sighed and shrugged. It was their job, and he would see it through with a steadfast determination. "Let's get back on the road," he said, opening the door. "Before we-"

"Thank you!!!" a woman cried, which heralded a multitude of people cheering for them and offering them foodstuffs and places to stay for the night. Roland was effectively tongue tied. He would have refused outright, but he wasn't sure what was best for the both of them at the moment.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

20 minutes later, Neil stepped into the break room by the Cockpit access corridor where the crew usually ate their meals. Normally he would care about how presentable he was when in front of a pretty woman, and this one was more ravishing than almost any he'd seen. More beautiful than any remembered, at least. But he was just happy to have a shower and clean clothes.

His hair was matted and still glistening from the water, and the food and water in front of him he ate greedily. The harem girl sat across from him, her dark hair unkempt but somehow its softness was evident as it curled around her delicate shoulders in a thick, roughly tied stream. He looked up from his meal after a moment to see her looking at him, and he couldn't tell if she was simply watching how piggish he was being or if she was curious about something.

"Sorry," he croaked, and beat on his chest a bit with his fist to clear his throat.

She did the last thing he expected from her usual fearful demeanor. She laughed. "You're a high born gentleman compared to the last pasha. And you saved me, if you don't remember."

"I can't remember much other than sand at the moment." he joked, though there was more of a dry humor to it.

"Well, I am very grateful." she said with a small smile.

Junebug now entered, having changed into more comfortable, casual clothes just as Neil had. Taya was a bit too worn out, and before she even took a shower, she grabbed a few bites to eat and three large jugs of water and escaped into her room. Neil did not know where Saxon was. Probably in the cargo bay.

"So, your highness..." Junebug began.

"I'm just a lady, not a princess." Indra replied sheepishly, looking down. Neil could tell she had only come here because she had no other place to go. Well, she might be up shit creek without a paddle but at least that wasn't an uncommon trait among the crew, so she had good company.

Junebug nodded with good patience, though it was clearly running thin. Her and Neil might be up and about but they were far too tired to be agreeable or conscientious. "So, you say Sven is after you. You do realize that you being here compromises us... not that he doesn't deserve it. That bastard could..." she stopped, and Neil shared a look with her, clearly having though along the lines of what she was thinking.

If they gave him the girl, he would give them enough resources to leave the planet.

The beautiful woman took a moment, but she realized just what they were thinking and almost got out of her chair to run before Junebug's sidearm was trained on her. The woman clutched herself desperately, fear mounting again. "Please!" she gasped. She might not be a princess but she certainly played the part of a damsel. "You don't understand, if you rescue me my father would pay you handsomely! Please!"

"Don't worry, we're not that heartless." the Captain said. "But I can't have you fleeing at the sight of something not going your way."

"We should keep our options open." Neil said casually, and when Indra couldn't tell if he was joking she looked at him in fear as well. He held his hands up, calming her with his next words. "Whoa whoa whoa, don't worry. Look, I didn't save you just to toss you to the wolves again." She visibly relaxed. Neil had to consciously not look at her voluptuous figure when she did so. "But we do need a way off this planet. Can we brainstorm without you thinking we'll fuck you over?"

She nodded, too exacerbated to speak.

"Cool. Now, how far away is Cyclopia?"

"Cylonieka" she corrected him. "Its in a nearby system."

"If we radioed your father, would he be able to send us support?" he asked her, confident that if they were out of range, Neil could go to the city scavenge yard and see if he could upgrade the comm system. To his and Sayeeda's satisfaction, she nodded emphatically. Now Neil really needed to not look at her bouncing body. Thankfully, he was too tired to have the energy to fantasize about anything right now. He'd need a good sleep, or at least he felt like relaxing, but then they could get to work.

And maybe talk about selling her to Sven without her in the room if all else failed, but he'd rather not do that. Hopefully, Junebug wasn't lying and had similar reservations about human trafficking.
@Penny

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@Gardevoiran@IcePezz

I forgive <3 :)

I do need some posties tho!

Into the Shadow

He had dropped his sword and drawn his dagger on pure muscle memory, more of a testament to those he learned from than himself. But it seemed he needn't, because his companion burst into action and ended the threat before it began. He might have been the one to save her earlier, but that move was a work of art in his opinion. He sheathed his dagger as she caught her breath, though his eyes were still on her for a few moments. At least until she grinned at him and he realized he was staring.

"Huh? Oh yeah." he said, smiling at himself as much as her. He reached up and felt the wet blood on his cheek. He'd almost forgotten he'd been cut. "Yes, please." He breathed, pulling himself a chair and taking a seat.

As she went to work he looked at thew Draugr corpses. He now could appreciate what they'd just accomplished, and he couldn't help but grin as well like she had moments ago. It was nothing out of the tales, but it was a battle with the undead. And they had aided distraught villagers. More than anything that was what was important, he reminded himself. As her fingers brushed his cut, he looked away and to his credit, didn't grimace. He knew she'd probably need him to remain still.

As the sounds of battle had faded, they heard a knock on the wall and a muted voice from outside.

"Oi, you lot still alive or wot!?"

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

To any of her troops, and even the brigands that excelled at stealth tactics, Camilla's footfalls would have been undetectable. Her riding boots stepped softly along the moist ground, missing every leaf that might cackle, and barely brushing the passing shrubbery or twigs that swayed in the cool night breeze. Her destination lay at the top of the forested rise, and even as she moved, she drew her sword without a whisper of a sound.

Her next few steps led her to the top of the climb, though she still hid in the leaves of a lowered tree canopy. Camilla's eyes pierced the gloom, but even still she couldn't see anyone. A part of her told herself to step forward again, and she was just about to move before she froze as if struck.

Something tickled her senses. Something was there in the wood, but she had no idea where it could be. A presence permeated the clearing, and what's more, she had the distinct feeling it was because whatever it was allowed it. If she had been the Elf's enemy, she would have been dead before her next heartbeat, and the cold sensation of steel at the base of her spine caused her to squawk, as she used to do with Cyrdic. The very noise constricted her heart at the thought of him.

"You have good instincts." the Elf said, interrupting her grief, and it took her a moment to realize he was not speaking any human tongue. When she turned, he would be gone. Instead, somehow he was now behind her once more. It irked her that he could move so effortlessly, and with a simple leap that spun her thrice through the air, she landed nimbly before him, standing face to face, her blade point near his chest. If he was worried, he gave no sign. "You hold the blade made by my kin across the water. Perhaps you are suitable enough to help save this land."

"What do you want?" she demanded of him, choosing now not to be the time to question how she understood Elven.

"Your pride is wounded." He stated, rather than asked. "Do not fret, even others of my kind cannot track me, save other WayWatchers. I am Aldaerion, and what I want is what you want. To see this land survive the coming threat. You would be the only human that would likely listen to me." He spoke without the haughtiness of the High Elves she had met in Kislev. Either the Elves of Athel Loren were less proud of a race (doubtful), or this one had spent far too long in solitude to retain the habits of his other kin.

"Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what you came to tell me."

He nodded, accepting the simple logic. "The Red Duke rises."

Camilla shook her head, the image of the Ghastly form dispersed within the Fortress of D'Epee fresh in her mind. It was the last thing she remembered before Cyrdic had been lost. "No, we killed him."

"We?" The Elf asked, and at Camilla's grimace, he decided it was best not to broach the subject. "When exactly did you do this?"

"Four full moon's ago." she replied, having the counted the days since her self imposed exile and her campaign to aid the peasants of the land. The Undead attacks had grown ever since she and Beaumont had left the Fortress, harrying villages and killing passing merchants. "We killed his bride, and he was banished by the sorcery that bound them together. I saw his spirit flee."

After a moment of consideration by Aldaerion, the Elf looked at her directly. "You did not kill him." he told her, in no uncertain terms. "You released him."

---

It was a really strange turn of events to Cyrdic's point of view. That the mage would be treated better than the soldier, in Bretonnia of all Sigmar-forsaken places. They had been taken to the castle of the Baron D'Elbiq, which was simply a glorified keep with a small walled community, that overlooked the closest wood and marshland to the northeast, just between it and the Forest of Chalons that covered the horizon.

They had been chained and nearly dragged by the horses, or at least Cyrdic had. Hermman was small enough to be tossed over the back of one like a towel, but Cyrdic's bulk kept him from sharing a steed with another rider so he had to keep up with their trot. To the surprise of the Yeomen, Cyrdic did without complaint, further causing them to fear him for some pagan cursed beast from Athel Lore or the Grey Mountains.

Once they made it to the Baron's Castle, they were both shoved before the Baron, a stately man with a pointed nose and an overbearing mouth, who gaped at Cyrdic. The Knights present had drawn swords, and exclaimed to themselves in their tongue. "Throw this...this thing in the dungeons!" he cried, and Cyrdic was pulled away. Briefly he thought of struggling, particularly after he was kneed in the stomach for simply looking back at Hermman who now stood what looked like a 'trial' before the Baron, but he felt it wouldn't be right.

These were fighting men, doing what they had to with some Herculean son of Ulric they had found poaching in the woods. He had been in the wrong, so he would tough it out and take what they threw at him. What did it matter? The Knight pulling his chains stopped at the furthest jailed door in the lowest dungeon, probably a dozen paces below ground level. Cyrdic spoke up for the first time. "What's to happen to me?" he said in Reikspeil.

"Silencieux, la bête!" he ordered.

"Je suis un... soldat? Comme toi" he said to him, giving the Knight pause. He couldn't read the Cavalier's reaction, as he still bore his helmet. But after a moment, he called for the gailor to open the cell and looked at Cyrdic through his visor. "Par...your honeur?" he asked, indicating Cyrdic's chains. Cyrdic realized what the man was asking, and Cyrdic nodded. Truth be told, he could probably break out of them as soon as he entered the jail, but he wished to gain a measure of trust with the Knight, and once he unlocked his chains, Cyrdic obediently entered the jail cell.

It was somewhat roomy, considering. But there was no cot. Simply a small space to sit, and a bail of hay at the corner. The door closed noisily. "Quand la madam fille arrivera, vous serez jugé." he told the Ostlander, and left him there alone, with no word on Hermman or what his punishment was to be...
@Penny