POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"HARLOT! RELEASE THE CROWN OR RELEASE YOUR LIFE!"

The voice tore through from another veil of reality to spew out of the King's dried skull-cave, echoing in Emmaline's mind so loudly even Amal heard the psychic aftershock. It jerked its other limb upwards, seemingly attempting to shake off an advanced and overdue case of rigor mortis. Clearly it did not need to breathe, but a ghastly flow of air emanated from its throat nonetheless as its head twitched from the golden assault the snake bite had gifted it. Amal stepped in the things way before it fully got to its feet, Emmaline clearly it's target.

"I don't think you'll need the crown." He said in Riekspeil, grinning a grin that would make Ranald proud. "Or whatever is in the chest. We'll take it off of your hands. What do the dead care?"

The Wightking swiped at him savagely. It was as if his hand was at his side one moment and across the small chamber in the next, but amazingly Amal had ducked. The thing wasn't angered, and it merely attacked again. It was hardly larger than a normal skeleton, but there was a magic weight behind it that told Amal whatever it hit would be sent flying. Despite his agility, the thing pushed Amal back into the right wall, slamming its fists into the rock and leaving terrifying indentions. Amal dodged and slid, and as the Wightking continued to attack the wall began to crumble. The rock cracked and the integrity of the structure deteriorated, giving Amal cause to smirk. Small beams of light shot through the holes.

"Thank you for the way out." The thief mocked, but it was one mock too much. It's next punch hit the wall and was dodged perfectly, but without pulling back, its fist shot through the rock again and hit Amal in the side, sending him flying into the next wall. The thief barely caught himself before his head cracked against the stone surface, and the Wightking strode past him towards Emmaline, blue witchfire eyes fixed upon her and the crown. Amal saw it approaching her, and he found a new strength in his weakened limbs and pushed off the wall. He tackled the Wightking to the ground in a hopeless, impossible contest of grappling strength.

"Use your magic, Em!" He cried, desperately holding onto the thing's wrists as its inhuman, inexorable strength threatened to dislodge or harm Amal.
@Penny

Greetings! Candy Cane Service!

Ok hold on...I need these people who are giving me Candy Canes to tell me who they are so I can give back the love because they're all so sweet.

The Sinful Stars

Orion's attempts at exploring the estate's grounds didn't amount to much. He had eyes on him wherever he went, and decided after a few minutes outside of their 'quarters' that he would stick with his companions. Orion stepped in to see Filenia having disappeared. Annika was in meditation, and he gave a curious glance at Ragnar who shrugged his burly shoulders, the Vuldrok going back to picking his teeth in peace. The thief, Christopher, looked out at the villa's gardens, seemingly lost in thought. Orion decided Filenia's whereabouts were none of his business, and he strode within again, stripping off his armor and placing it beside the door of the bathing area.

"What are you doing?" Ragnar asked.

"Getting clean."

"Pfah! You're soft folk." He derided as Orion stepped in and closed the door, ignoring the brute.

Orion had not relaxed within a hot shower in months, and the grime and tension of hard fought battles washed away from his muscled body, the hair treatment scented of lavender. He didn't really consider appearance or cleanliness as something nearly as important as impeccable character, and he wasn't a stranger of a lack of hygiene. But Knights were trained in courtly etiquette as well as combat, and he would make a good impression. Hands running through his veritable mane, he marveled at how long his hair had gotten ever since he left the Baron's service and teamed up with Annika.

Stepping out, he dried off with the towel and slid on his trousers, buckling them up and and clearing his throat as he thought of where they still needed to go to. They needed a ship and a few weeks and they would be at Nowhere. Maybe even in a matter of days in the right shipping lane. Tonight, he was just looking for some rest and food. Orion exited the restroom, unclad from the waist up, his hair still wetted lightly.

"Can you help me with my armor?" Orion asked, clearly referring to Annika despite Ragnar getting up. One look at the Vuldrok's caked fingers had Orion glaring.

"Not you."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal methodically checked the spring mechanisms of the lock with the tip of his dagger, the thief being familiar with over a dozen different types of locks over his tenure in the trade city of Al-Hiekk. Unfortunately, there was almost nothing that gave away this lock and Amal couldn't grasp how to manipulate it. The third skeleton was disintegrated by Emmaline's magic, but it was clear she wouldn't be able to hold them all day and night.

"Abn eahira!" Amal cursed, knowing he could get into whatever tomb or vault this was if he had the time and wasn't worried on himself and, more important, Emmaline. He felt along the wall for a minuscule crease or a slight indention that betrayed a way in. Still, nothing. It hurt his pride, but he tried something desperate. Reaching into his sack, he pulled out the key to his inevitable release, shoving the cylinder into the hole and giving a sigh of jubilant satisfaction when it opened the chamber. The figures on the door suddenly unlatched and pulled back from an unseen power source. The central stone spun twice before the two slabs detached and the door swung open.

Old, stale air that was almost suffocating to breathe in flowed out, buffeting Amal and causing his mane to billow a bit. Emmaline's mystical trap had decimated six of the undead so far, but the golden bands were thinning visibly. Amal tugged at Emmaline's shoulder, grabbing her attention from her magic. The doors behind him began grinding again, and he realized to his shock they were closing again. Well, they had the key so it was best to capitalize on it.

"Em!" He called, sweeping her off her feet. She squeaked and clung to him as her magic dissipated, and four skeletons reached at them with bony hands, fingers sharpened like knives. Emmaline was yanked out of their reach by Amal. "This is my treasure." He quipped, and leaped into the closing of the doors. One skeleton was apparently full of vibrant energy as it elbowed past the others and attempted to pass through the door. Amal kicked it back as it lurched through the closing entryway, for it to stumble back into the doors and be slowly crunched into dust as the doors closed shut upon it.

The lights were blotted out by thick darkness, until Emmaline alited her serpent's staff once more, emitting a pale golden light in the darkness.

The room was in far better condition than the corridor outside, though cobwebs and a few normal spiderwebs clung to the walls. Three archaic and ornate statues in the center of the room of old northern kings, framing the central throne in the middle of the small vault of a decayed skeleton with a crown of jewels and a red robe, covered in golden chains. Beside him, a large chest was closed, though the wood had rotted.
@Penny

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

What's the Halfling situation

@BangoSkank

nonexistent

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The torrent of rain and the thunder was a distant backdrop, and had it been closer to night, one might have actually found it soothing. Amal did too, even if his senses were keen enough to know that this wasn't an ordinary underground tunnel. No hidden tunnels ever seemed to be, in his experience. He looked at his love, somehow resplendent even with soaked hair and muck splattered. The Arbyan tapped his nose.

"Smell that?" He asked, and he took in a huge whiff to make sure he wasn't misconstruing the air. It was both cold and thick, with the only fresh air coming from behind them and above, and it was sparse. Before them a few dozen feet away, there was another opening from above. Likely someone else had fallen here under similar circumstances at some point, or perhaps the hill had simply caved in a bit. "The air is both old and new, which means this place is very old. Something keeps it hidden. Your northern lands are so bountiful, it's a wonder no one has come by here and pried open anything, as many tombs are vacant even among the dunes in Araby. Which means something here keeps them out..." In the shadow, his skin looked even darker. A sculpted stygian figure with glittering eyes of mischief. "Follow me."

"Aren't you the one that tends to look for danger?" She asked as they took a few steps.

Amal chuckled and spun, his face very close to hers. "Yes, but there's always profit in it. I thought that was how you liked your danger."

The two of them grinned like jackals, and their faces drew nearer as if they were to begin kissing. They were, unfortunately, rudely interrupted by a skeletal hand piercing a patch of earth on the wall; one of the small sections devoid of stone. The flesh stripped bare, it shot between them and caused Emmaline to squawk again. Amal's eyes widened, but he caught the hand. Emmaline scowled and raised her staff, whacking the limb clean off. It fell limp as if whatever power had enacted its animation was clipped from the source, though the dirt still seemed to move a bit as the skeleton still lay trapped within.

"So there's a few dead men." Amal shrugged, a decidedly different view of the undead that most Imperial citizens would have. Likely most Arabyans too, but Amal was quite familiar with such curses in tombs.

He would eat his words as the sound of the storm was drown out by rock grinding along rock, and loud claps of stone slabs hitting the stone floor. Slowly, undead skeletons and zombies ahead of them began to reach out from the walls where they had been lain. Amal showed his teeth in a 'that's not good' fashion. He grabbed Emmaline's hand, pulling her forward to run past the slow moving monstrosities before they could get on their feet.

@Penny

Current Mood in One Gif

Same but I'm the guy

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal was enjoying himself immensely with Emmaline's witchcraft. Back in Araby, sorcery had always been tolerated, though like everything else it was used to inflict people's wills over others, not that he could blame them. With Emmaline, it was always a pleasure to experience. Though it could lead to some problems. For instance, Amal and Emmaline had gotten so caught up in fleeing their pursuers, they eventually lost their way and the very road itself. Their hunters had long since lost their patience and gave up, and now the two of them found themselves in a small wooded area off the road. The two hardly noticed the subtle changes in the weather and wind, and as their laughter faded, they felt a small sudden shock to their shoulders as droplets began to fall from the sky.

"Oh..." She said, biting her lip. "Oopsie."

Lightning shattered the sky as the two of them stumbled out of the woods, their horses whinnying. Amal had a distinct feeling it wasn't from the wind and rain, however. His black hair soaked and matted to his face, he saw they were now facing a myriad of hills and low declines that served as pathways. The forest behind them was so light it didn't serve for shelter, but whatever these hills were might provide somewhere they could hold up.

"We need to go back!" Emmaline yelled over the increasing storm.

"No! These hills are hollow!" Amal said with surety, having robbed enough tombs and entered enough hidden caverns and sanctuaries to see the hidden signs of possible habitation.

As if the gods themselves had sought to curse them, a lightning bolt crashed into the ground not a dozen feet before them. Emmaline and Amal cried out in surprise, and even Amal couldn't keep control of his steed. The mares bolted out from under them, charging up one of the hills and bucking wildly, sending the two adventurer's into the air. Amal was dexterous enough to reach out, grabbing Emmaline as she flew through the air before they hit the grass of the hill, only to fall through the very hill and into the darkness, where travelers of middenland dare not dwell.

Within the bosoms of the Howling Hills.
@Penny

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

.

Old RPer would like to get back into the game! All RP partners welcome!

Welcome back! Glad to have you