POOHEAD189

The Blackwood

The Iron Star remained bustling with patrons, though as the time moved on a bit there were a few men and women who had regained their feet and headed off before the night crowd showed up. The 'business' transaction that Cillian was attempting to overhear didn't quite catch his ear, but he could see their manner and clearly knew bits of information were being passed. If he chose to remain there and do or say nothing, whatever opportunity might be there would pass. But of course, opportunities abounded in Greybridge, and he could check on his companion at the moment who seemed to be deep in conversation with a certain Dwarf.

The Dwarf in question had either a bit too much (which was saying something for his stout kind) or he simply didn't care to scrutinize too much. Perhaps he was depressed? But he believed Sylvaine, and it was clear from the way he raised his head from his frothing mug, curiosity evident under his bushy brows.

Of course, once Sylvaine mentioned coin, he had a sudden look of skepticism and distrusts, but it wasn't overt. It was obvious he would at least think about the proposal, and he did just that, stroking his thick beard as he considered. "Couple o' silver..." He groaned quietly and looked at his drink again. He was thinking that he could be giving them a few silver to fail or run off while he could instead use it to buy more drinks.

Luckily, his Dwarven sense of clan and duty overrode his Dwarven love of ale. He suddenly spoke up. "Fine. Four silver coins, and ye get me cousin back in the week. If ye don't, yer to find me here at midday and pay me back. If I never see ye again, it won't turn out good for ye. We Dwarves have a long memory and a short temper, understand?" It was clearly a threat, but at the end of his speech, it was clear he dare not hope they would find his cousin again, lest he feel even more depressed at the prospect of failure.

He handed Sylvaine four silver Lordlings just as the Skayleigh got up from the booth that Cillian was watching, making her way past his table. Her mace lightly bumped the tableside.
@Duck@Romero

The Blackwood

I will reply to people either tonight, or the next night. Though I can't promise I'll get to everyone for another night or two!

Edit: Was hella busy but Tuesday updates for sure!

In Good Order (Sci Fi Anabasis)

Brasidas saw troops filing in still, checking the clock every so often. He sat atop a horizontally laid power node for the armored hovercavalry driven by the Hippeis. A few of the special unit were in the midst of a drinking contest, two of them in an arm wrestling match that looked to be the best nine out of seventeen. They were useful in their capacity, though they weren't the bedrock of the contingent like the hoplites. He glanced at the wider crowd again, scanning it subtly. He didn't care if any of the unaffiliated men missed the meeting, but the officers had a duty to be within the dome during the broadcast, and Brasidas wanted to make sure all of the hoplites under his command were present. None had disappointed him, as of yet. The men were talking among themselves, and out of the crowd strode Brasidas' two subordinates and friends.

Ajax the Mycenaen was a huge bear of a man, though he lacked the winter fat of that ancient terran creature. He was so large, bits of his armor were simply pieced apart outer armor of the minotaur personnel mechs men could drive as powered combat suits. It made him a bigger target, but it was almost as if he wore a double layer of the hoplon shield across his shoulders and torso. Anything but a point blank explosion from a medusa-mine or an anti-vehicle streaker missile would hardly have him give notice.

The other was Kelomenes, a man from the planet Thessaly in the Aeolian system. He was slighter in build than the other two, but an expert scout sniper and melee combatant, and he was useful to have during downtime when they played cards for money. Brasidas (and Ajax when he wasn't on the receiving end) would always bet on Kelomenes and get their money's worth. Either Apollo had his eye on him, or he had some implant in his head that could detect lying and the barest glance of an eye. Brasidas expected it was likely both.

"How long will the commute be?" Kelomenes asked, scratching his scalp, just under his closely cropped black hair.

"A few weeks to a few months, depending on the transport available." Brasidas answered. "We don't know if we're getting the same ride back as we had here."

"Doesn't matter. We were paid enough to last us a good few years." Ajax grunted through his beard, smiling.

The light went out suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Merely a moment later their eyes adjusted to the dimness, and the image of the inside of a lavish pavillion displayed atop the lectern. The very lighting of the room illuminated the chamber the Hellenes had gathered in. The lectern holograms were so lifelike, some of the men from lesser civilized worlds swore it was a pocket dimension they could look within, for they claimed they could feel the very heat of a fire lit within the image.

Many people called the Spartans brutish and dimwitted folk, but even the lowest of them wouldn't have considered something so outlandish.

Within the feed, they saw their four generals standing amid their chosen guard, at the ready to greet the Great King, who seemed to be about to make his appearance. Clearchus wore his spartan lamilar cuirass, red cloak splayed behind him; the only aspect of his clothing showing his rank as an officer. The ambitious Proxenus of Boetia stood across the carpet from him, flanked by three of his hoplites. With them were two generals Brasidas knew very little about. Menon and Cleanor, the latter he knew hailed from Arcadia.

"Do you think they could squeeze a few more coins out of the King for being good sports?" Kelomenes asked. Brasidas couldn't tell if he was joking.

The men began to murmur again, and Brasidas turned back to the hologram to see Artaxerxes the II enter the room, flanked by royal 'applebearers' the Hellenes nicknamed them. Everyone else knew them as the Immortals. Their faces were masked by high tech and visored helms, whereas Artaxerxes II was unclad on his head. He had a long beard, carefully woven as if he were a pharaoh of old, and resplendent robes. Golden bands, some encrusted with jewels hung upon every limb and extremity one could see on his clothed form. He walked like one who expected all to serve him, and rather than bow to the generals presented, he passed them by as if he had yet to notice them and take a seat on his throne.

"Now," He said. "Let us begin."
@Penny

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅 & 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉

Harun was tense when he was given a talking to by the servant, hoping beyond hope he wasn't discovered. The tongue lashing wasn't something he couldn't handle, however. He had been treated like dirt most of his life. At least the servant spoke to him, rather than walking past him as if he were a stray dog or a dangerous thug. Harun was not a thug. People just needed to look past the stealing and the violence once in awhile.

"Yes, of course." He replied to the order, though his biggest instinct at that moment was to kick the servant and then punch the Kedihve straight in the face. The stately man seemed perturbed at something, a manner which Harun believed he kept on him perpetually. Harun hated noblemen, and wiping that look off of his face would be a dream come true. But he knew it would be a death sentence for him, and just as importantly, it might compromise Lakshmi. He didn't really know her, but she hadn't betrayed him yet, so he wouldn't betray her.

Harun approached, clutching the fan in his strong hands and making his way over to the man. He didn't kneel, even though he felt it was right. He simply knew the man wouldn't be fanned completely, so he stood at a distance and fanned the man, keeping his face neutral. He could feel the lamp in his baggy trousers poking into his leg.

He glanced Lakshmi's way every once in awhile, surprised the woman who felt so powerful and dominating recruiting him was acting like an obedient pet, neutral in manner and emotion. Harun then began to wonder, when would he be told not to fan, and did servants get bathroom breaks? What if they really needed to go? Fuck, he was overthinking this.

No More Gods

Tentatively interested

The Blackwood

Personality updated. I also tweaked her skills super slightly (removed intuition, upped appraisal). Good to drop in the Characters tab?

@Tortoise

Yes! Go ahead and switch her over. You'll need to wait a bit before I can add her in, however.

In Good Order (Sci Fi Anabasis)

Named Characters

Clearchus - General
Proxenus -General
Menon - General
Cleanor the Arcadian - General

Xemeratus - Soldier from Beotia System, broken ribs
Xyclophius - Soldier from Platea

Cyrus - Deceased usurper and paymaster
Artaxerxes II - King of System

In Good Order (Sci Fi Anabasis)

Year: 4010 AD
Quadrant: Eastern
System: Achaemenid
Planet: Babylon 0412

Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back...

---

Xemaratus knew how to punch. His fist hit Brasidas' ribs hard, taking the wind out of him. But the Laconian was patient, knowing the Beotian was getting desperate. His jaw had been loosened, and Brasidas had weathered his worst hits. Now Xemeratus felt as Brasidas did, that the next few seconds would decide their fight. Brasidas feinted right, watching a split moment later when Xemeratus spun with a powerful kick. Had Brasidas caught it, he knew Xemeratus was good enough to use his other leg to kick whilst he caught himself on the ground. Instead, Brasidas did what all good Spartans did, and he simply stepped in and kicked Xemeratus's other foot the opposite direction, causing the spun to stall and fall short. Xemeratus landed just a glancing blow, and as he fell he took Brasidas' knee into his stomach, full force. The Hellenes around them beat their knees and pumped their fists, hooting and roaring. Xemeratus was thrown two strides by the blow to land outside the mat, stunned and likely with a broken rib or three.

Xyclophius tossed a towel to Brasidas, who caught it without skipping a beat and rubbed it on his sweat glistened face, feeling the dryness in his throat. The time to relax was soon at an end, when the alarm went off. It made the sound of a trumpet blaring, bringing brunt abruptness to ones ears that was hard to ignore. Not that anyone would ignore such a summons, as it announced the time when the generals were meeting with Artaxerxes II, the Overlord of the System they now found themselves in. As the men went to go into the great chamber, Brasidas went to clothe himself.

He passed into the 'locker room,' though it was merely an area of the barracks with their belongings placed in stasis boxes to keep everything undisturbed and without dust. He certainly wished he was in a more fortified building, the material of the base collapsible, made of a high tech nano-polymer of olympus steel. Very good for portability, with a semi-resistance to small arms fire and a stable structure. But not a true barracks or place to rest when not on campaign, even for a Spartan. They lived simply, but on Laconia, there were still walls and orbital defenses. Here they were packed together and exposed.

He slid his gear on, knowing that whenever the generals brooked the peace, they were going to be moving out. He preferred to be ready, and did all but grab his weapon or place his helm on, hustling to the great chamber where the meeting was to be broadcast on a live feet. Making his way down two corridors, he found himself amid the crowd that had just watched him defeat Xemeratus, all now muttering among one another and drinking watered down Ouzo.

Upon the center of the room was a dais, and a lectern that held a large receptor for what was a hologram, where any and all the soldiers would be able to see a clear audio and picture of what was occurring in that room from a 360 degree angle. Screens were used for singular tablets personally, but each column of the ten thousand Hellenes was gifted a lectern, originally to be used to receive their thanks and congratulation from their paymaster Cyrus, but he was slain not days ago. Now all they could hope for was a cordial agreement with an honorable king.

The Knight's Song

Torm Draufkrieg of Kademaer

Sex: Male

Age: 25

Appearance: Torm cuts a fine knightly figure, with a robust width of shoulder, strong arms and a commanding, chiseled face. His hair and look in his eyes give him a wolfish appearance, but there's a nobleness to his blue orbs. When he speaks, people feel compelled to listen, whether they be friend or foe. Sir Draufkrieg is moderately tall (6'1), large enough to be fearsome on the battlefield and carry his arms and armor on foot and horseback effectively. His hands are noticeably powerful and marred, and his hair is a rich brown, like autumn leaves in the sunlight as well as shadowed tree bark when indoors. Torm's complexion is ruddy but fair, with a permanent 5 o'clock shadow shading his chin and upper lip.

History: Born the son of a Blacksmith, Torm was taken in as a page from age 9 by the Lord of Kademaer, though he frequently visited his father until the fellow's untimely death when Torm was 16. He was trained and given his equipment, fully a knight with three battles under his belt when he was 21. At this point, the count of Kademaer arranged for him to be married to a noble lady, whom he entered a tournament for to win in her honor. Unfortunately, not only did he get first prize taken from him in the grand melee, but he found his steed's saddle had been tampered with and he was unhorsed in the joust fairly early. It was revealed the lady he was to wed had eloped with an earl and had sabotaged his equipment to see to it he would be found unworthy of her. Unfortunately, this had the side effect of making him an undesirable knight to his leige who had already come under harsh times with the war in Vrettonia, so he was cast out with naught but his horse and weaponry. He has been traveling for 2 years now, killing what monsters he could and keeping what towns he can safe in exchange for trifle prestige and food/bedding for the night.

Goal:To gain wealth, glory, prestige, and perhaps a lordship. Though what he truly wants is to simply be remembered as a good knight who performed good deeds.