POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Drip...

Drip...

First Amal felt the aching in his limbs. Next his head began to throb as he tried to move it. The Arbyan groaned and at last opened his eyes. There was a cough across the room and a small wail closer to him. He felt the chamber was both dark and yet too bright at the same time, understanding it was likely a side effect of him being clobbered on the head. Squinting, he saw the room was filled with men, and even some women, chained to the walls and bound by the feet. Above Amal on the opposite wall was a small opening that shined in the sunlight the soft sloshing of the sea as the ship sailed.

He felt wet on his feet and buttocks. At first he feared he wet himself but it turned out the entire floor was soaked with fetid seawater. When his mind caught up with him, he looked around for Emmaline, but to no avail. He felt a bit too weak to try and pick his way out of the manacles that held him, but he wasn't certain he could even if he was at full vitality. His fingers feeling about the lock told him it was an alien device that was much different than the ones in Araby.

"Satrap Ahar? By Sigmar is that you?"

Amal blinked and turned from where the familiar voice came from. As he lived and breathed, he never thought he'd see Sir Brenly the Empire man again. Amal's jaw dropped, and he had to keep himself from laughing triumphantly! The old codger was drenched and sickly looking, but he was alive. Chained just as Amal was, four prisoners down. His mustache was so drooped, he had the look of a downtrodden schnauzer.

"Sir Brenly? How..." Amal tried to find the right words. "How long have you been on this ship?"

"Since the sinking of the El Calgador, I'm afraid. Or a day past that. I was floating for awhile..." He said, and Amal was shaking his head. This old man had lived through the storm, the sea, and on a ship of torturous Dark Elves for near 10 days. Another drop of water splashed along Amal's head, causing him to look above him past a myriad of hooks with strange parchments hanging upon it. The Dark Elves likely kept the 'cargo' hold in disrepair just to mess with their captives. "It does my heart well to see you alive."

"Did anyone else live from the storm?" Amal asked him. All of the other prisoners were asleep or two driven by fear to speak, looking between Brenly and Amal with horror in their eyes. Amal was about to find out why.

"Yes, my lord." The old knight replied drearily. "Captain Diego and a few of the lads were afloat with me and ended up on the ship. They were in here same as us until the dark ones thought they might have a bit of sport. They..." Sir Brenly trembled, just after Amal had the theory that nothing could daunt the old man. "They did unspeakable things to them, my boy. Unspeakable. I almost wouldn't have been able to believe it myself even after seeing it, had they not left a reminder."

Amal's brow furrowed, confused. He saw Sir Brenly looking up at the center of the ceiling, Amal following his gaze until he spotted the hooks again. They looked like a crude chandelier with parchments hanging on the hooks. Parchments about headsized, with five holes in them and some protrusions. Amal blinked again and looked hard at the one nearest to him. The thief had seen many things in his life, but he felt a chill run down his spine when he realized what he was looking at.

He was looking straight at Captain Diego's shorn off face.

"We're heading north now, I believe." Sir Brenly said. "And once we reach the Black Ark they speak of...there will be no escape."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The Dark Elf was by far the best swordsman he had ever fought. Not that he had a lot of dueling experience himself, but he imagined wielding a blade for decades if not centuries made one very familiar with it. The Elf sneered mockingly, his hair tied in a bun to keep it out of his eyes. It took all of Amal's agility and cunning to keep the corsair's sword at bay, and good fortune along with Emmaline in all of her glory saved his life as the Dark Elf fell onto the deck without a sound.

Amal grabbed Emmaline's hand and turned, at the corner of his vision he saw the Captain get gutted, crimson colored entrails spilling along the wooden deck. "Come on!" He yelled, pulling her with him desperately. Amal knew the carpet was their only option of getting out of there as Emmaline said. Unfortunately for them, they only took 3 steps towards the stairway leading belowdecks before a net fell upon them. Emmaline screamed in distress and Amal reached for his blade to cut them out, but he found the net followed his arm and gave him limited range of motion.

To his horror, it clung to their skin like a spider web. A mad cackling erupted behind them as the two were suddenly yanked off their feet to hit the floor of the deck hard. Amal tried twist and keep Emmaline's fall from being as rough, but he couldn't move and they both found heavy bruises on their bodies. Beyond Emmaline he saw the last sailors being mercilessly slaughtered as the rest were cornered by net throwers. At first the Arabyan wanted to rip out of the strange net and loudly proclaim he would never be enslaved again. But he knew how best to act when it came to these sorts, elf or man.

"Emmaline," he said to her in a hushed tone as they began to get dragged. He didn't know if they were going to be put together or be apart. He didn't know where they were being taken. The thief only knew they had precious few moments before... "Emmaline, listen to me! Don't fight them. We'll get out of this. I promise." He said. "Do what they say and you'll live. I will get us out!" Dark Elven voices spoke beyond their vision in their strange, alien tongue. Some of them might speak Riekspiel or even Arabyan, but likely only the more educated ones and the slave drivers themselves, not these riff-raff. They knew only to capture and butcher whoever they came across.

"Look at me, Em...Look at me!" He cried hoarsly as he felt the feet of their captors approaching. He couldn't hold her hand but he tried to reach for her anyway. His fingers could only likely scrape the floorboard. Seconds before they were knocked out, his eyes met hers.

"I love you."
@Penny

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Ali wasn't certain if Mave was trying to trick these men or if she truly was impressed. The large ex-soldier wasn't quite as tall as Ali, but he was likely heavier than the farmboy by half. He wondered for a moment if he was jealous as Mave and the man leaned in to each other, but one look at the women glaring at Mave and he knew he didn't quite feel how they looked.

"Well we trust you," Mave said sweetly. "What is it, good sir? I love fireside tales."

The apparently Murandian Guardsman smiled and whispered to her and Ali, cupping his mouth with one hand to keep the other women from reading his lips which only enraged them further. It gave Ali flashbacks to Emonds Field where'd joke with some of his friends and the girls he'd been speaking to seemed to get annoyed. It was like a slap in the face.

"You heard of the Damona Mountains ay? Up north of here." He said, placing a hand on Ali's shoulder as he spoke. "Jagged mountains near impassable to...well pass. I've heard tell of some strange and unique treasures up that way. Best to ware where you trek up there. Most places not on the main path end up in dead ends or sheer drops."

"Oh we simply must go!" Mave exclaimed to Ali with bright eyes, and even though he knew it was an act it had him blushing. Her eyes whipped from Ali to Darius. "Sir, do you know anyone who would come with us? If we can't find the horn, we need something for the dowry so we could finally be wed. And well, we're kind of thirsting for adventure..."

"You two seem to be the type," He laughed, and waved over two other Hunters who had been trying to garner the women's attention with little success. There was a tall, lanky man with a topknot and one eye covered in a patch. A borderlander it seemed. The way he moved, Ali would not wish to catch himself fighting this one knife to knife. The other man was Altaran, with dark eyes and curly black hair. He seemed cheerful and full of jest. Somehow Ali still found him somewhat intimidating and he couldn't quite figure out why.

"This here is Tanil and Deslan. No two finer hunters of the horn will you find this side of the westerlands. So lads, feel like trekking up to the mountains for a spot?"

The Worst Writing Advice

Exactly as it says in the tin. What is the worst writing advice you've ever been given? Honorable mention to the worst writing advice you've seen given to anyone.

Go.

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

Wait, he gelded himself and has the left overs in a jar in the basement?!

@Penny

Look, we all have to make sacrifices...

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

Airports were much like the River Styx in Edgar's experience. Filthy, heavily guarded, and surprisingly wet in places you didn't expect. Luckily the group had arrived just in time to not have to take their seats anywhere save the plane itself. Other than his lamenting of getting an Egg McGriddle at the McDonalds, he was content with those turn of events. The wizard also managed to board before his fellows on coach after playing the age card and acting particularly decrepit.

The elder remembered when human flight had been invented. He'd been a merely a century old when it happened, and it always intrigued him how the primitive midgard men could innovate with their gadgets and gizmos. Truth be told he enjoyed airline flights, even the ones in coach. It gave him valuable reading time and he enjoyed looking out the window if he garnered the chance to. It made him feel like a god gazing down at the lower realms.

"Dr. Pepper please, oh and might I have some pretzels and nuts?" He asked the stewardess weakly, feigning further fragility. The stewardess was an attractive woman that had just come from first class. If he was a younger man he'd be intrigued, but he'd long ago dispensed with desires of the flesh to further his studies. He recalled that long ago day, holding the knife of Heimdall as he carved out a portion of his biological human needs such as companionship.

Oh if he ever missed it, he still had it in a jar within his basement. But so far, he quite enjoyed having far more simple and rustic tastes. A warm hearth, a good book, perhaps a nice snack, and the pursuit of absolute immortality. The very basics.
"Thank you, dear." He croaked when she complied with an almost sad smile to him. His beaten up and worn coat helped his downtrodden image. He sipped his drink gingerly, thinking as she walked away at how he would likely still outlive her if she made it to 90. Breathing out through his large nose, he could now focus on important matters as he absent-mindedly supped and crunched on his food. He would read later, but for now he had different things to ponder and he required the utmost concentration. Even the portly man next to him gruffing and inhaling two donuts couldn't deter his focus as he mumbled an invocation, one that had him traveling away from his current form.

His mind and soul fled his earthly, corporeal form and the scene of the plane changed as if a wave or gust of dark blue energy phased reality into something else. Edgar Stormrahfen was standing upon a stone in the nether realm, still crunching on nuts and sipping a Dr. Pepper as he lifted his eyes to where the sky would be. Instead of the stars or clouds, there were leaves and branches and beasts and falling water. Across the vast expanse of the dead world, he saw Yggdrasil in the distance...ever out of his reach.

summary

Edgar is too good for most things, save tasty treats and absolute power. He ponders on the plane.

Damned to the Depths

From Rogues to Riches: A Black-Hearted Tale

Soundtrack

Some say when the world was young, the sun cursed the land's people for their sins and boiled it alive, so now the Ra'sheeks seek repentance every day to Hayashim for forgiveness. Others say the God of Beasts, Vargul, fought Baelyr the Just and remade the land like the splitting of a skull, creating the Sundered Sea and draining the water from the eastern lands to fill it with desert. Others still say that the Evergod plunged the land with unrelenting heat to keep men from venturing further in to give credence to the heathen gods that dwelt there.

All seemed plausible to Markus, who had seen enough black magic in his lifetime to not rule out any superstition, no matter how fantastical. Much of it had come from his beautiful companion as of late, who sat upon a relatively flattened stone above the wave of sand, seemingly bored out of her mind as the thieves in front of them argued and roughed one another up. Markus was a patient man, but they had limited supplies and if the fools hadn't figured out how to open the door to the vast rock before, he was going to take control. Better he than the sorceress stripping their flesh from their bones with a spell.

Calliope had advised him to let Hayikk the bandit and his crew of miscreants feel in charge on this illicit expedition of theirs. It was two days after Markus had killed the Prince which led to their trek through the desert, and three days under the thrall of the now-dead Sultan before that. Five days away from their crew and the sea. If Markus hadn't managed to speak to Sketti during their captivity, he would have been concerned the Weather Witch crew would be dead. But they had taken refuge back at the Bloodaxe hideout and awaited the signal to return to pick the Captain and his First Mate up.

Hayikk and his men had helped the two pirates escape in exchange for a share in the treasure of the map. Of course they both knew Hayikk would likely order their death once the treasure was found. But they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Now, after long last the group of criminals had found the massive crag menacing the landscape above the dunes of sand, just before the sun had set. The heights above, around a dozen or so meters, led to an outcropping that gave them some shade as the sun truly began to disappear beyond the horizon. All was grey and blue now, and the runic gateway lay shut before them.

Upon the door were six sigils etched upon six 'circles' of stone that looked almost moveable, though it would take a strong man to realign them. Upon them were the images of two crows, a wolf, a shepherd, a lamb, and a serpent.

"Perhaps the serpent would be taken away by the birds, yes?" A sleazy rogue said, his greased mustache crusted from his spittle. He rubbed his hands together and glanced Calliope's way, not being the only one who gave lustful glances in her direction. Markus felt sorry for them. "Move the crow to the left and the center. Crows see all, they must be in the center!"

"Idiot!" Hayikk spat. He was a short man with a stout stomach, who's only saving grace was that he had a large mouth and happened to be slightly less dim-witted than his fellows. He slapped his subordinate. "The man and the serpent must come first, like the story of Achem and the Balishdir!"

"The gates cannot be thick, why not bash them open?" The most thuggish of them said, his arms nearly as thick as Markus' waist. If any of them should live to join the crew, Markus would choose him. The man might be a fucking idiot, but he could certainly pull a rope and haul a barrel when told to.

"They're made of stone, fool. Perhaps if we bash your head into it, it'll open!" Their leader cried. The last two thieves pushed at the doors to no avail.

"Need some help?" The Blademage asked, smirking. Hayikk snapped a glare at him, his ugly mouth looked like the back-end of a bloated puffer fish. "Unless you think you could do better, stay quiet friend. More than one man has lost his tongue mocking me."

As the crew delved back into arguing, Markus motioned for Calliope to come closer. The two of them had on a new set of clothes. Markus was befitted in a rich merchant's attire when he had been an 'honored guest', though he'd stolen some scale armor and a sand colored cloak to help him better fend from the weather or attacking beasts. The outfit was actually handsome on him, as it accentuated his shoulders and gave him a crisp style. Calliope wore abyssal black pantaloons and a crop top, though she sported her fiery sarong and kept a cloak for herself. At first she felt it was good to leave the harem veil she had been given, but with the sand billowing across the landscape, she had kept it. It brought the added benefit of hiding her lips when she was chanting a spell.

Once the sorceress leaned over, Markus whispered to her. At first they had tried to force the door open but Calliope had announced it was magically sealed. After having sat here for around an hour, Markus had figured it out. She began to chant for but a brief moment, motioning a rhythmic gesture with her fingers. The men jumped back as the stones began to turn and move with a rumbling certainty.

By order, the pattern went Crow, Wolf, Lamb, Shepherd, Serpent, and Crow. It was an old Aradian adage of the order of nature. The Crow follows the Wolf, who hunts the Lamb, who is guarded by the Shepherd, who watches for the Serpent, who is devoured by the Crow. It was supposed to symbolize the one who waits for the opportunity to strike will find reward, whether it is the dead wolf, lamb, man, or serpent. The crow feasts. An apt story, seeing as Markus and Calliope were very much like the two crows awaiting their 'friends' to move forward.

The stones struck home with a finality. Markus lifted himself off the small rock and gazed at the door expectantly. The others looked very perplexed, and one man pissed himself scared when the ground began to shake around them and sand poured from above like a running drain. Beyond the grains of falling sand, the door was now open, leading into the dark below. A strange sound came from the gaping maw of the rock as the air escaped it, like a beast growling with ill intent.

Post a random fact about yourself.

I learned some of Tolkien's Elvish (Quenyan) because I'd speak to my ex in it when we were being lovey.

Tales of Tamriel

Dax had ever been aloof and dangerous, but he did glance at Kris and followed her insistent pressing. He placed the bowl of broth to what one might consider 'lips' and he began to drink. Great gulps of air, liquid, and meat were swallowed every few seconds. It seemed very much like an alligator opening its throat. By the end of the guzzling, he finally picked up the spoon to stick it in his mouth, loosening some chunks caught in his moderately sharp teeth.

"Yesss, I do feel better." He admitted, and placed the bowl and spoon down. Elga and what few patrons she had in the common room had been watching, but the show was over. He had the bread in a far more mannish fashion, biting off small swathes of the wheat roll and chewing with his mouth thankfully closed. The hunter's tail twitched lightly in small joy at his belly being filled. "I often am not fond of most Landstrider cuisine, but this did it for me. I had forgotten how long it had been since we had eaten."

"And where do you two come from?" A Nord asked, leaning on the back of his chair. He was an older man with a greying bushy beard and even bushier eyebrows. There were two bronze braids that framed his hearty facial hair.

Daixanos raised his gaze up to the man and waiting a few moments before saying. "Darkwater Crossing."

It was the only place in Skyrim he knew of that had a reputation for having some Argonian settlers, though he was certain he'd meet some more eventually. The Nord looked to Kris and met her gaze for a moment, and then he shrugged and decided it was none of his business. If Dax could smile as a man would, he likely would have. Many people thought the Nords isoloationist and hard to get along with, with some even accusing them of racism. Though in Dax's experience, all peoples had those problems.

The Nords were much like the Argonians in many ways. Distrustful of outsiders because they have been persecuted in the past by invaders and interlopers. Tough people in a harsh land. He might not like any of them, nor they him. But they had his respect if nothing else.

"How long is the storm supposed to last?" an Imperial asked down past the first firepit. Dax would like to know too, even with a full belly he felt somewhat annoyed at the snow piling up outside.
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

"Maybe you folk are just spending more time down here than up there, but it was somewhat plain to see." Neil said, flicking a spinning top that one of the youngsters had presented him. The child laughed with glee and clapped his hands, watching the top as if mesmerized. It spun in a blur on Neil's finger.

"Don't you dare insult our bravery!" Javier shouted, stomping forward threateningly. Neil nearly dropped the top at the sudden outburst, but he didn't seem perturbed or offended. Taya had seemed to have gotten somewhat cozy, albeit shyly, with the older boy at the table. As long as she didn't expect to steal him onto their ship, she could cast wayward glances all she wanted. Though both she and the boy shrank back when Javier yelled.

"I'm not insulting anybody. Just saying you've been down here a lot, right?" Neil asked, bumping the top up to spin midair before he caught it. The dexterous pilot knelt down and handed it to the boy. "I think it's smart you folk are down here, what with the kids. It's sort of why I don't want kids. Keeps me from doing fun shit like blowing stuff up and going on vacation." Javier still looked rightly pissed off, but Neil paid him no mind. "Anyway, can you tell us about who's controlling the Spiders?"

Junebug raised an eyebrow at that, curious herself. Javier's angered seemed to have disippated and he swallowed uneasily, suddenly nervous at the prospect of speaking about it. Magdalena spoke up instead. "His name is Ungol," She said, brow furrowed. She tugged at her braid absently. "I've only see him once from far off. He's half machine...and he's huge. He has six steel legs like-"

"Like a Spider." Neil finished.

"Spiders have eight legs." Junebug corrected him.

"Look, I know. But he has two arms as well, right?"

"They can't say I'm with you for your brains," She muttered teasingly. If Neil wasn't in front of the children and their parents he would have tackled her then and there. He just crossed his arms and mumbled to himself, and she ruffled his mane of hair. Magdalenda cleared her throat to draw attention, though it wasn't their attention. She gestured to multiple stacks of bowls, and one by one her kids got up and went to help serve the table.

"Please, sit. It's not often we have guests. Particularly ones who save our skins." The middle aged woman bade them, and returned to filling the bowls with a ladle. Javier for all his bluster didn't help. He just sat at the table with the guests, looking tired and put off by anything and everything. Neil guessed he was one of those men who did very little but worried over much and considered it 'working'.

"So where can we find Ungol?" Junebug asked as she was given her bowl. The question was met with abject silence. She didn't notice it until she had a spoonful of broth in her mouth. "What? We just met the Scorpion's leader."
@Penny