POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"We need to move," Amal whispered, taking his hand off of her mouth once he knew she wouldn't make a sound. The woman got to her feet, and even at the insistence of Amal, the carpet stayed coiled and barely moving. The rogue sighed. "Magic...how I am so getting tired of it!" and lifted the carpet up to plot along his shoulder. At once they fled down further into the wadi, and as Emmaline glanced back she would see the same skeletal riders from her dreams, to her horror.

At the lead was a great being, mummified and made of skin like dried leather, with a headdress that looked very much like the overseer they had escaped from the night before, only made of bronze and ivory. Inside his pupils, pale light shined. It only made his visage, with his perpetually gaping maw more terrifying. He rode not a horse, but drove a chariot of what looked to be gilded iron. Amal saw them as well and hoped beyond hope they had not yet been spotted.

Fleeing across the grass, Amal found three ways they could go. Forward out of the oasis, two the left into a dyke, or into the right archway of a ruin. He halted, and after turning left he suddenly decided right, yanking Emmaline toward the archway. Unfortunately, their hands slipped, slick with nervous sweat and the woman stumbled onto the grass. Amal turned to try and help her, but the Skeletal riders had made it into the wadi, and Emmaline quickly rolled down into the dyke. Amal quietly slipped into the archway as the hoof beats grew audible.

Damn, he thought as he sunk into the gloom of the arches shadows, watching the figures from without halting at the behest of their great leader. The horses, thin patches of skin hanging off their thick bones, stamped like live ones, though they made no noise and didn't even look at the water as if to drink. The riders seemed slightly animated as well, staying still as if they were bid to rather than being lifeless and completely without sentience.

The only one that truly moved was the leader, who let go of the reins of his horse and gazed to and fro, the brightness of his eyes growing exponentially as he searched for something Amal could not know. He passed by Amal's hiding space, and turned toward the dyke. A raspy hissing breath escaped what was once lips, and Amal's eyes widened when he knew the thing sensed Emmaline in some form or fashion.

In all of his long years as a thief, he had risked his life often. But risking certain death? He had never been one to lay his life on the line, and by Allah he did not know why his muscles were suddenly in motion. He pinched himself, and even the carpet on his shoulder perked up as if it sensed something palpable occurring. It was just when the leading aberration was about to step off his chariot and look into the dyke did the daring thief step out of the shadows.

"Hello my friends."

The entire contingent of Skeletons turned to look at him, including the great figure. Even though their expressions didn't change, he could almost fancy they were taken aback by such an entrance. Amal casually leaning beside the wall, arms crossed and a glint in his eye. "So...I took a wrong turn at Martek. Do any of you know how I may make it back home?"

"Izsh ranak mahak nul," a voice whispered from the leader's open mouth, and his eyes flared brilliantly. Somehow, Amal knew something had nearly happened, but his ring blazed instead. Not one to pass up being insufferable, Amal shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"'Ant last eurusi. 'Ayn althaeban!" he croaked, and that took the bluster out of Amal. Even Emmaline understood it. It translated into "You are not my bride. Where is the serpent?" Almost before the thief could register the significance of the statement, the skeletons on the horses threw spears and loosed arrows. It was just as much luck as instinct when Amal leaped to the side, a spear striking the ground just at his feet as the arrows bounced off the stones.

Amal tore the spear out of the ground, feeling its gnarled wood, still surprisingly strong. "'Iinah abn awaa, walays althueban aldhy yjb 'an tahtama bih!" the cutthroat said. "It is the Jackal, not the serpent you must concern yourself with!" He finished the sentence by savagely throwing the spear at the leader, hoping to end this here and now. His aim was true and the bronze head flew straight at his chest. However, Amal felt very foolish when the mummy grabbed the shaft out of the air before it struck, as if he had merely tossed it to him.

Amal chose this moment to flee further into the Wadi.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The lack of alarms was certainly odd, but perhaps this facility wasn't as well run and equipped as Gredorius had them believe. Neil didn't doubt he'd be the overly cautious type. Taking out his high powered revolver, he volunteered to enter the breach first. He recalled some poem from ancient Terra with a similar line, but he couldn't be bothered trying to remember. He dropped down, and found himself in what he believed was a restricted access hall, even for the paramilitary members of the facility.

On the top end of the walls, pipes as thick as his torso ran along it and various warnings symbols were plastered along the wall every so often. It was dim, and the few hanging lamps there were shaking and flickering on and off gave Neil a very foreboding feeling. He hadn't felt this crept out since the Xenonids, and the very thought of one of them crawling along his body had him shuddering a bit. He steeled himself and held up his gun, at the ready.

"Coast is clear." He told them, and Junebug followed as lithely as he would have expected. Saxon grabbed a hold of the bent steel, and lowered himself in with barely a creak. The corridor was far too small for the Hex to be comfortable, and he slouched even more than he usually did. The Hex shifted, bumping Junebug none too gently. He didn't seem to notice, gazing about. Neil had noticed the Hexa giving her less respect recently, and he wondered if the Alien realized Neil and Junebug were (at least hopefully and if they survived their current social problems) together. He mused if this would be a problem in the future, and he really hoped not.

"Move," Junebug said, and all three of them headed down the corridor, knowing one was as good as the other. Right now their best bet was getting into a lower floor and trying to reach any type of central command they could. Unfortunately, Saxon's awkward height had him stomping a bit more than he intended, and two mercenaries reached the corner before them and lifted their weapons, aiming down their sights even as they yelled "Freeze!"

Even before Neil could truly appreciate their black armor and impressive armaments, a knife flew past his head and struck the front one in the neck. The merc with the knife in him fell into the one behind him, sending him to the floor before he could fire. Neil knew they needed to kill him fast, and he didn't want to risk a bullet. Suddenly, Junebug would see Neil's face warp in confusion as he was lifted up by the scruff of his collar and thrown down the corridor by Saxon.

He flew four meters, keeping his wits about him enough to kick the merc just as he was lifting his gun to shoot him out of the air. His foot connected with the man's head, knocking him out cold before Neil placed his hands against the wall to stop his momentum. Of course stopping all of it was futile, and he crumpled to the floor like a sack of defused flashbangs. Saxon chortled, or at least it sounded like it as he stepped forward.

"Good work. You're useful for something." He said, and Neil sat up, dazed, thinking if they were anywhere else he would have shot him.

"One of these days, you fucking Lizard." the Pilot groaned, and sat up, making sure his back and neck were fine. As stood up shakily, he managed to get a look down the next hall. There were doors lined up along the hall, with small windows allowing them to peer into each chamber.
@Penny

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

No worries! Thank you for the interest!

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

When the bandits want to take Johanns goods but they find an abrasive Dwarf in the back.

Hider

@Dusty Aye! I'm cool with whatever

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@shylarah I'm hoping as long as people can post hopefully twice a week, we should be great. Post length? Ay least three moderately sized paragraphs, I think would be good.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

I can tell we're all going to get along famously.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

The wagon bumped along the forest road loudly. The wheels obviously somewhat off the axle, even with the multitude of rocks and shrubs along the supposedly well trodden path. Johann, the young manling at the fore, guided his mule along by the reins as he hummed to himself comfortingly. What sun that managed to penetrated through the thick canopy of the Reikwald was blocked by the lad's wide brimmed hat he'd procured from a farmer back in Merxhelm.

Fortune had it, he'd picked up a companion as well. A Dwarf of the World's Edge Mountains, by Sigmar. Young Johann had never been that far east before. He'd been to the capital once with his father, but that was by river barge. Today he made his monthly, two day journey to Schartenfeld, glad to have someone along to help with the unloading of his goods and to keep an eye for any wolves that might be lurking in the gloom. Behind him he heard a dark tune being sung in a voice like rolling stone, and he halted his humming to listen to the Dwarf.

Through the Badlands green and grim,
Past Iron Peak upon the rim,
Lost Karak Zorn called to my kin,
To slay the horrors from within!

Burundi paused and shoved some jerky in his mouth, chewing gingerly. His short legs hanging off the back of the Wagon, he could smell the tightly packed onions and beets even through his mouth, but he paid it no heed. You smelled many rancid things in his line of work, and he appreciated the ride. Not that he needed it for himself, mind. A Dwarf could travel just as fast as a cavalryman over long enough distances, due to the fact that he hardly ever needed to rest. But he had whatever salvageable material he could gather from his wrecked shop, and he intended to set up shop again at this Schartenfeld.

"What are you singing, master stuntie?" The lad asked, whipping the reins of the grumpy old mule. At the name, Burundi had the same look as the beast. He merely grumbled it away though. He was a young Dwarf, but in the empire he felt as old as the ancestors. Burundi swallowed the jerky and answered hoarsely.

"I sing of something my grandfather told me." He said, gaze lost in the endless woods around them. He had the look of a particularly melancholic bulldog. A well dressed bulldog, though. "Of a city called Karak Zorn, before my time. Before your mannish God Sigmar's time even!" He held his hands in the air, imagining the majesty of what it must have looked like, before the glumness returned to his eyes. "But it was lost..."

"My family has had to move a few times too. What happened to it?" Johann asked.

"Daemons." Burundi replied, and the mule bucked from Johann yanking on the reins in surprise. The wagon banked a bit to the left perilously close to the brush. Burundi's fat hand grabbed at his things to keep them locked in the wagon, along with the supplies the young one had brought. Burundi had never fought the ruinous powers himself, but this boy lacked even an Elf's courage he wagered. Still, he meant well which is more than the Dwarf could say about most men he'd met. "You trying to kill us both, Umgi!?"

"D-Daemons!? You'll find none of them around here, no sir my good Dwarf. They aren't real anyway, right? I mean Sigmar is, but...well I suppose they must be too, right?" The panic and surprise in his voice was subsiding, but he stilled seemed as if the conversation would bring doom upon them. "Why do you keep calling my Umgi? What's that mean anyway?"

"It means man. And you call me Burundi or Master Dwarf, understand Umgi?"

"Brunde, got it. Hey Brunde, you ever use that axe spear you have back there before?" The boy asked, glancing back past his wide brimmed hat to look at the poleaxe laying beside the Dwarf. It gleamed in the sunlight, and Johann knew it would sell for a pretty penny at the market. He thought his father had called weapons like it a Halberd. He hoped the Dwarf didn't think him stupid for asking about it. Burundi shook his head, but only because of the name once more.

"Aye, once or twice recently. It's a poleaxe, Umgi."

"Not a Halberd?"

Even though he wasn't looking, Burundi set both of his fists up parallel as if he was holding the haft of a long weapon. "Halberds are longer and thinner. It's not a halberd. Now, how long until we're in town?"

"Few more hours. There's just a...oh hammer..."

The Dwarf raised his bushy brows as the wagon slowed to an inevitable halt, and his keen ears picked up the crunching of gravel as footsteps approached. Burundi turned and saw Johann with his hands up, his complexion even more white than usual. Judging by the continual steps, there were three of them. They didn't move like beastmen or orcs, but the deliberate pace of men considering violence. Luckily, Burundi was too short to be seen without looking over the wooden walls of the wagon.

"Oi, boy. You heard there's a road tax here, eh?" A voice called. There was a snide surety in his tone.

"No there isn't. I come through here every month of spring and summer."

"Well there is now!" The voice was suddenly without patience, as if the mere act of questioning him had him on edge. Another man spoke up. "Smells like onions. You hauling onions boy? Give us a few sacks and we'll let you keep on going. Don't want to disappoint us, do you boy?"

The three highwaymen approached, short, stabbing blades out. Johann felt they looked like a mixture of murderers and snake oil salesmen, and he didn't know which was worse. The mule driver wanted to let them know there was a Dwarf back there, but he felt too nervous to speak once he saw the blades. Sigmar, he hoped Burundi ran away in the confusion. He swallowed, and slowly built up the courage to nod. "Y-e-yes yes. Take uh, whatever you want."

"Now there's a good one." The lead bandit said, placing his hands on the railing of the wagon to take a peek of the goods. "You might make it in this world, after all."

The other two bandits suddenly had the sight of seeing their companion's chin being rune through by a spike from a powerful thrust, his body immediately going limp. Johann's eyes widened like saucers, and he along with the brigands saw the Dwarf rise up by stepping on an onion bag and pushing the dead man's flesh off his haft, sending him tumbling into the dirt. They two, surprised as much as their friend's death as seeing an armed Dwarf, began to back away.

Once Burundi pulled out his hunting crossbow, they began to full on sprint. Johann ducked, even if though he clearly wasn't in Burundi's way. The Dwarf sighted down his Quarreler for a moment, and loosed the bolt. It hit one of the fleeing men in the small of his back, and he fell with a cry. Johann covered his eyes, but peeking through his hands he saw Burundi hop off the wagon and approached the downed man, dragging him crying back to the wagon.

"You think they'll be offering rewards for this one?" Burundi asked.

Within three hours, as the boy sent by Gunulf announced his arrival to the village, Burundi and Johann hobbled in on the umgak wagon, dragging a scarred man toward the center of town.

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Hokagae no worries! Thank you for letting me know

Damned to the Depths

Meanwhile above the clamor of the battle, Markus and Mahal viciously dueled above the precipice. The Chief of the Blood Axes swiping his blade before him, causing the Weather Witches captain to thrust himself back out of the blade's range, striking his Cutlass with his own from behind, the blade's momentum pinning it against the wooden railing. Markus stepped forward and stuck the foreleg of Mahal with his heel merely seconds before Mahal punched Markus in the face.

Gods the man was powerful. One punch had Markus' head spinning. He snarled and caught himself before he stumbled, barely deflecting the next stab by thrusting his blade from up under the Chief's sword to drive it skyward, locking the blades for a moment. Markus pressed his free hand against the blade in a half-swording manuever and pushed them against Mahal's shoulder, yanking his sword down to make a draw-cut. Blood spurted as he hit a nerve near the pectoral, splashing Markus in the eye and blinding him temporarily. Mahal cried out in a way he would never admit to with his crew memebers, and he headbutted Markus, striking his sword hand as he yanked his own sword away. It was with the flat of his blade, but it managed to disarm the Captain and send him reeling.

On instinct, Markus flung himself on the ground to dodge the follow up attack he knew was coming. Mostly blinded and without a sword, he knew he was in trouble.

Realistically, Markus knew he was the better swordsman. But he was unused to the Cutlass, and he could barely feel the presence of his Backsword somewhere below. Wiping his forearm against his eyes did a bit to help his vision, but not by much. Once he could get a good look at Mahal, he saw the chief looked wild and unruly, his shirt torn and blood matting his chest from the cut Markus had given him. He was still armed and as combat ready as ever, however, eyes balefully glaring at Markus.

"My people once owned these waters." Mahal said, stepping forward menacingly. He saw there was little Markus could do but back away, so he took his time. "Back before the Sultanate and the Dark Wars. When we found a trespasser who had nothing to grant us, we would imprison them and ransom them. If no one paid, we cooked them and served them as a feast to the Gods." A hideous laughter escaped his parched lips as he stepped over a line of rope. "Tonight, I feast on your corpse, welp! It is good the Vizier brought such a fine feast to me!"

Markus squinted and took one more step back, his foot bumping into a corpse of one of the corsair's Calliope had killed. The Vizier information he would use soon, but for now he needed to focus. He looked down and saw a small knife in the dead man's hand. Without hesitation, he picked it up and held it before him defensively. Mahal drew himself up, eyeing the blade that seemed only a quarter of his Cutlass's length. "Do you insult me with such a thing? Die with what honor you might have."

"I will," Markus replied, stoic. He turned and grabbed one of the ropes hanging over the side of the precipice. "Once it's my time. How will you die, I wonder?" The words were lost on Mahal as Markus cut the rope, and only at the last second did the look of confusion and terror appear on his face as the rope under him suddenly coiled about his ankle and yanked him off the ground to slam into the wall.

Above the fighting below, Sketti would brain a Blood Axe Corsair with his steel arm stump before halting and seeing the eponymous Blood Axe flag unfurling above them along the wall. The flag was massive, at least 50 feet in width and thrice as long. At first the Blood Axes cheered at the sight, seeing it as a victory for them. But suddenly two figures materialized out of the cavern above the flag. One of them, Mahal, upside down and dazed. The other was Markus, who dragged him along by his hair.

Utter silence followed, and Markus cut the man down to hit the floor at his own feet and not the hundred or so odd feet below. Mahal seemed barely conscious enough to stir, but Markus roughly pulled him up to his knees at the very edge. "You have a choice!" the Swordmage cried, his voice echoing across the chambers to reach every ear, even Calliope below. He seemed both terrible and mighty at this moment, and as dangerous as a mad wolf. "Lay down your weapons and surrender, or this will be your fate!"

In one, horrible moment to the crew of the Blood Axes, they saw as their Chief and Captain was slit like a cake down the center of his chest, opening his bronzed skin and revealing his still beating innards with three quick cuts. Markus tossed the bloodied knife below, and just as Mahal was falling backwards, Markus reached into his chest cavity to grab the man's lungs, holding him up. He pulled them through his ribs, and then yanked them end over end to flap behind his shoulder like a pair of wings.

"By Alfrikr, a Blood Eagle." Halvar gasped, knowing the grisly death as an invention by his own barbaric people.

Blood poured off the edge, and after a few moments, the devilish Captain kicked Mahal's back and sent his corpse tumbling into the depths of the hidden bay.
@Penny