POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal wasn't entirely certain what Emmaline expected to happen; If she would appear in a puff of smoke or there would suddenly be an explosion on the opposite end of the ship. She hadn't told him to wait around either, so once he set Sir Brenly free he helped him up and made his way to the door. The old former knight rubbed his wrists and grumbled and bebothered. He might have once been a great soldier but the last decade or two spent in wealth had him mumbling at most things, from being free of Dark Elf chains to if he had gotten his supper a minute later than expected.

Amal found the elven steel door and attempted to open it, but it was locked. He cursed, knowing he would need to use the special key and knowing after that there would be no fooling any Dark Elves that attempted to come in, as there would be no lock to lock.

"Once we're out of this room, there's no turning back." Amal told the old man, who wiped his hands on his stained trousers and looked completely finished with this place.

"Let's go." He announced, and Amal found himself not question Sir Brenly anymore. He said it with such surety, he felt like what they were doing was going to work. The thief knelt down and pressed the key to the doorlock, and watched in awe as the iron fell away like black sand into the puddles of water below. Once that was accomplished, Amal grabbed the door handle and turned it slowly, not making a sound. He opened the door but a crack and peered through to see a far nicer and far drier corridor of the ship. There was no elf in sight. Just the flickering light of the lightning coming through other windows that were likely closed and sealed.

Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped through. His wet shoe crunched on the floor, puddles of water spreading on his feet. He didn't care, nor did Sir Brenly as the elder stepped out.

"Hey!" A voice rang from within. Amal spun to see a man with wild mad eyes staring at them. The thief knew immediately what he was doing. He wanted to get the approval of his masters by outing the escapees. "HEY! HELP! THEY'RE ESCAPING!!" Amal just grinned, knowing over the storm the man's plan had been flawed. Not only that, but he simply closed the door and muted the yelling to even them.

"Traitor," Brenly spat.

"Agreed." Amal said, not hesitating to begin looking in each opened door and wondering if he dared to open any of the closed ones. The ship was low in the sea but long as sloops often were. There was perhaps only one or two floors to traverse belowdecks. There was a cargo room filled with stacks of boxes and what looked like an eerily adorned messhall with malevolent iron carvings placed on the walls, showing screaming visages and torture scenes like they were things to emulate. Amal shuddered to think what would happen if they didn't get out of here soon.

A shadow was cast on the walls behind them as they reached the stairs, making the northern and southern men coiled to spring on whoever it was, only to see it was Emmaline stepping down from the high top of the stairway in nothing but a silk garment. Amal's eyes widened. Not only at the sight of her, but her bruises and cuts. "Emmaline!" He said as loud as he dared, rushing to her. One hand feeling her wrists and the other cupping her cheek, he shook his head. "I told you to comply with them..." He breathed, but was so relieved to see her he kissed her passionately in the middle of the hall.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal blinked, aghast. He took the strange runic knife and the advice, though it took all of his willpower to not free himself then and there to go and find Emmaline. He glanced at Sir Brenly, the old codger staring in shock at Amal and the snake, and for good reason. The others in the slavehold seemed to pay very little mind except for one or two, and they looked more curious than alarmed or animated in any real fashion. They'd likely given up on freedom days ago.

"Sir Brenly, I've a confession to make." Amal said in riekspeil as the storm roared over them, wetting the floor ever more with gentle streams of water ebbing down onto the bilge. Amal was used to lying to people all the time. In fact he found it quite charming that Emmaline had made a living off of it, as problematic as some might likely think on his tastes. But when it came to truly honorable aquaintences or even friends, he did feel just a small twinge of guilt lying.

"I'm not a Satrap. I'm just a lowly thief, named Amal. The Princess is aboard this ship, but she is not a princess. She's a sorceress and my girlfriend. I'm sorry to have lied to you, but we needed passage on the El Cargador. I don't know you too well, but you're a more honest man than I'll likely be." He said, having no trouble admitting it. Being a scoundrel was just too much fun, though sometimes he did feel envious of those people with impeccable codes of honor. "Emmaline and I are leaving this ship. Can I count on you to join us?"

The portly gentleman glared at Amal with judgemental eyes, weighing him for a moment. The Arabyan kept quiet as the man just looked at him, before Sir Brenly broke the silence.

"My boy, you could be Vlad Von Carstein and I'd still leave this hellhole with you." He said.

Amal smiled broadly as the storm buffeted winds hard against the hull. He looked to the small opening and realized with the sloshes of water pouring in that it was time. Amal slowly placed the knife's strange steel along the strange Elvish manacles that held him fast, and to his amazement the medal began to erode. It was a strange feeling as some parts of the iron wore off and others held strong stubbornly for a few seconds before they too dissolved.

"Allah be merciful," He muttered as he reached for his wrists and felt along them, making sure he wasn't cut too badly. The lack of blood flow was all pins and needles, but it was better than not feeling anything at all.

"Bloody brilliant..." Sir Brenly breathed, and Amal crept his way over to the older man to help him with his shackles.
@Penny

Deify

Goddess of Using Art Icons

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Goddess of Indecisive Spelling :P

The Worst Writing Advice

"You can't write that kind of story/character" is my favorite.

Fuck you, I'm going to write what I want to write, loser.

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God of old friendships

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God of Danny Phantoms

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God of Fun Status posts

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The rules are simple. Imagine this is an ancient setting where you proclaim someone is a minor god. Whoever posts above you, you say they are "The God of X" based on what you know about them. If you don't know them at all, judge based on their avatar/sig/username.

For example, if Mahz posted above me I'd call him the "God of the Guild" since he made the site, or "God of Mexican Vacations" since he's been on one for 3 years.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The day turned to night, and still Amal had seen hide nor hair of any Dark Elf. Soon he wondered if he would starve, but seeing as Sir Brenly was still alive, they likely fed and watered the prisoners on certain days. To his dismay, he discovered his feet were bound not by shackles but by the very stuff the net had been made out of. Either they had smaller versions of the strange item or they cut all of the net off of him save the trappings on his ankles and feet.

Off and on he found himself nodding off every so often, the world going from grey to darkness as the sun set. Unfortunately for his sleep, the ship had turned in the night and mannslieb shined through the upper window, spilling eerie light onto Amal's form, as if he and the two prisoners next to him were on a soft spotlight. He had tried for hours and hours to unlock the shackles to him with one of the many concealed pins he kept on himself. He felt he almost had it, but once he could feel the first mechanism springing, he realized he didn't know where he'd go from there. Better to wait until the Dark Elves are under the impression that no one had the will to escape, and then do his best to find Emmaline and if he could, help Sir Brenly escape as well.

As he closed his eyes once again, he found he noticed a small flickering on the light that shined in. He paid it no mind and did his best to fall back asleep, away from the aches of his current situation. It wasn't until he felt something small tickle his arm that his eyes flew open and he turned to see Emmaline's snake!

"What are you doing here(!)?" He whispered as loudly as he dared. The Cobra simply looked up at him, cocking its head to the side in an almost dog-like fashion. He didn't understand what was happening, but he could cry if he wasn't worried over being further dehydrated. Emmaline was alive and that was all that mattered. Perhaps if they could somehow find the carpet and whatever else Emmaline had, items no doubt stores somewhere in the ship, they could bust out of here.

"Look, go and tell Emmaline I'm thinking of a plan, ok?" He asked the snake, but instead of nodding it slithered over to his hands and flicked it tongue once more. Amal halted his thoughts.

"Why're...wait...are you wanting to unlock my shackles?" He asked, but instead the snake gently grasped the small iron lockpick in his hands. It was strange, but he wasn't going to argue. It poked the lightly woven chainmail he had on underneath his nearly torn tunic. Amal tried to look, not quite understanding what it wanted. "The lockpick? I need that." He argued quietly. It pocked his chainmail again with it, and tried to pry a bit of it off of him with its fangs. Realization dawned on him, remembering Emmaline's magical expertise.

"Just use the lockpick, it's iron." He told it, but the snake insistently yanked at the chain at his torso. "Ok ok..." He opened his hand to take back the iron lockpick. The snake dropped it in his hand and he began to carve a bit of the small steel rings off at the weakpoints, more unwounding them than cutting persay. Chainmail, as most things, could be unbound if you knew how. Silently the familiar grabbed a small 'chain' of rings and moved over to his lap and gave a bow to him, very formally. The snake had better manners than he did, he thought.

"Tell her I'll be ready when she is..." He told the snake, but it gave no indication it heard him.

It turned and made its way across the small pond in the center of the brig and slithered up and out the window once more, gone from his eyes. He slumped, knowing he couldn't possibly sleep after that.
@Penny