POOHEAD189

The Blackwood

@Luminosity Awesome :)
You can likely gleam a lot about the world if you roll during convos too, if you were ever curious.

The Blackwood

Romero, you roll in almost every post and I want to say I appreciate you

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal smiled back, not being able to argue with that logic. "I guess we should eat. I could also use a good bottle of arak." Then he stopped, realizing the probably did not serve that here. It didn't matter, he'd drink what she did. In all the taverns north of Sartosia, he generally followed Emmaline's lead when it came to cuisine and drinks (at least if they were unstolen goods). Amal then smoothed his thick head of hair and approached Emmaline.

"But before we go down, I wasn't kidding or trying to get you into bed." He informed her, helping her take her coat off. "Not yet anyway. A beautiful woman always draws a bit too much attention, and your hair lights up like the midday sun."

"Unless she's worked as a turtle dove." She replied.

"What?"

"It's a lowtown term." She explained, fixing her hair. They both knew if they wanted to go back down they needed to have unburdened themselves of some of their belongings and dress more casual yet with a presentable air, lest the customers see them go into their room and come back out with no change in their demeanor. They would wonder why the two went up there in the first place. "For girls who act as maids, find a nice house, and rob them blind."

Amal had taken off his cloak and jacket as well, looking much closer to the thief she had first gotten to know back in Araby with a simple shirt and loose fitting trousers. Of course he wasn't barefoot now, nor was his shirt open to see his chest and abdomen, but close enough.

"Well my little turtle dove, let us, um...ascend?"

"Descend." She corrected patiently.

"That, yes."
@Penny

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

Kayden was in an absolutely boorish mood. Mostly for his lunch being postponed unexpectedly. The Prince had nearly gone and found food anyway, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from the students and faculty much less his father. The man was impatient at the best of times, and doing anything that reflected poorly on him was a quick way to get on his true bad side. Kayden knew the hunger would pass over time, and indeed it did as he strode into the room, now more intrigued than anything at the curious collection of teachers and students that had been gathered here. He took his seat near his fellows, hoping the future princess wouldn't arrive. Even if she did, he'd ignore it for the moment, curious on the meeting itself.

With the proclamation it was made for diplomatic reasons, Kayden found himself not entirely surprised. Though the faculties manner was pretty amusing, in it's way. He wondered if they acted in such a way to make the students think they were harmless. All but Tomai, who really looked like he did not give a shit. Eyeing the tracher's manner, he couldn't help but notice Kaira was fairly cute. She looked around his age too, though she looked somewhat stodgy, even stiff, albeit in a droll way. It was plain to see who Euphemia was based on Jorah's description, and Michial looked like an older, bigger clone of Auberon, which explained why the stick in his ass didn't effect him as much. There was far more room.

The students that ascended to introduce themselves did so in the way he expected, at least when it came to the ones he had met previously. He could tell he was going to get along with Jorah quite well, and he thought Kellen was a nice lad. He'd met people like Auberon and Lienna a thousand times before, but he admitted they each had a quality that made them stand out. Auberon with his earnest drive and Lienna with her blatant honesty. Even being as imperious as any noble, she wasn't trying to shit on anyone as she held a poise of gloriousness.

Raimund however. He didn't know if he would enjoy his company or want to run him through with his sword before the month was over. Only time would tell.

Once it was his turn, he cleared his throat and slid out of his chair with a powerful grace. As much as he had hated the constant lessons on etiquette, they helped when presenting in front of a crowd of his peers. He gave a calm, easy smile to the professors and turned, looking at his fellow students as if he already had won some contest none of them knew they had been participating in.

"Hello everyone. As some of you might know, I am Prince Kayden Von Hresvelg, son of his Imperial Majesty of the Adrestian Empire." He paused for a beat, having had met a few who had not believe him before. He didn't say it to make them feel inferior, but it would have come up at some point. "I also have the honor of bearing the Crest of Seiros. As for my likes well..." His tone changed to a far more nonchalant air, speaking to friends now rather than an audience. "I like dueling and board games. Hawking is fun-" He pointed at Raimund. "Dancing and drinks too. Hopefully there's time for all of that down the line this year, and with some of you fine folk too. Thank you for allowing me to introduce myself."

With that, he bowed like a soldier rather than held his head high like a prince. A contradictory man, as ever.

The Black Prophecy

Would a brutal and morally grey/neutral character be acceptable?

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

A small, vicious lizard known as a shriketongue darted under the nearest rock as it sensed the approaching object. Dozens upon hundreds of miles in all directions, there was nothing but cracked earth and sunbaked desert, married by the ubiquitous rock formation erupting out of the ground. On the horizon one could see mountains and even they had little in the way of green. The only life that seemed unaffected were the beasts wrought of radiation or those with millions of years of evolution in surviving climes like this. The repulsorcraft gave only a hint of passing as it sped across the landscape, rocketing at half mach 1. Craters made from bombs of wars past were strewn along the landscape, so large they were easily avoided by the operator of the vehicle, unaffected by the w-force encased in his armor.

The pilot sat far aft over the repulsorlift engine of the VEC and controlled the diminutive vehicle with a set of handlebars and rear-set foot pegs with foot-controlled yaw and pitch controls. The array sensor before him had a HUD showcasing two miles of geographical sonar in all directions around him, with indicators for heat, boost, coolant, and turbine pressure beside it. Twin lascannons were mounted at its front, and the stern had a small payload of pressure-detonators that could dismember a light combat tank. It helped him get to where he was going, but it lacked the style of his last piece of hardware. The VEC lifted a meter in the air and closed on a large rock in two hundred feet, flying over it harmlessly and leaving it in a shower of dust that perpetually followed his path of trajectory.

Dirk Crimson caught a reading on the array, announcing the concentration of constructs followed by relatively cool bodies in the unrelenting sun. Immediately he began to slow the VEC, traveling a mile in about fifteen seconds clean and now moving at 1/3rd of his original speed to make the last mile until he arrived center street of a sand covered settlement. The buildings were made of sandstone or grafted steel from fallen crafts, and humans in cloaks hurried into the hovels they called homes. Various vehicles were grounded or parked beside a large cantina, or down the street at what was probably a repair shop, or maybe an inn. Many places in the past sold themselves as a 'melting pot' to welcome all new comers and bring in trade and talent, but Crimson had seen enough of them to know variety tended to mean lack of order, drawing the worst dregs from every location to a single place to find a fortune. With his arrival, they had finally brought the worst to the table.

He dismounted his VEC, grounding it beside one of the boxy Parsec Land Cruisers. He took out the signature key and slid it back onto his necklace he kept behind his cuirass. Only his fingerprint would be able to use the key to unlock the VEC unless someone took the time to get inside of it and manually override his signature, which would take far longer than it would for him to finish his job. A Grogyn with its three buck-teeth tentacles sputtered a sonorous warbling, threw its three fingered hands into the air at the sight of the Bounty Hunter, loping away with its coat flapping in the wind. Crimson paid the humanoid no mind, not expecting it to tell anyone or any sort of law enforcement of his arrival. That sort of force didn't exist in the Euron-Wastes.

The conical entrance of the Cantina slid open, Crimson stepping in to the relatively low-lit establishment. Shapely human women danced on a stage far right of his position as a seedy looking man with an admittedly authentic voice sang a hard but melodic litany with the backdrop consisting of unsyncopated rhythms and a steady drum beat. The cantina itself seemed lively, with species of all kinds mingling and chortling in their native tongues whilst a death knell rang out, Crimson turning to see a business deal turned wrong as a man was taken by the arms by two thugs, begging for a second chance before he was stabbed by a xenos overboss. No one lifted a finger or aided him. An android servant popped up from behind the bar counter, lanking its way out of the counter and gesticulated to the xenos, giving off various beeps of binary. The xenos waved him away and the Android did what it had been told to do, dragging the corpse out of the booth and past Dirk Crimson, into the desert sands to be picked at by the buzzards.

The Bounty Hunter didn't care. He wasn't here for that Xenos, nor the man. Hands calmly resting atop the holsters of his twin DX-15's, he stepped down into the cantina's pit, calmly striding past the crowd who either wisely parted or didn't notice his advance. Small booths littered the walls while four stairs led into what looked like a VIP area in another chamber of the establishment. The thought was compartmentalized in his head before he made it to the counter. An eight armed Bargonian filled out orders and cleaned a plate, its bulbous nose hung loosely and its four black eyes sparkled in the light of the hydro-lanterns.

"ARK number 6. Who is that?" Dirk Crimson asked him pointedly.

The Bargonian stopped its five tasks, all four eyes now focused on the newcomer. "Who's asking?" It croaked, throat inflating to accommodate the human tongue.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

There were three types of taverns throughout the Old World. Ones that were so safe that no one fought. Those where fighting was so common no one batted an eye. And those where no one fought, because the environment was too dangerous to warrant it. Any scuffle would turn too brutal for any establishment to handle. Amal could see this was the latter as clear as day. That was likely why he spotted no bouncer. He would have spotted even a disguised one. The wood was stark and well laminated, with only one board he guessed had an old bloodstain, likely from a quick kill a long time ago. All this he gathered in a matter of a moment from a glance, keeping his hands on the hilts of his daggers, both framing his trim hips.

"Several days?" The lady innkeeper mused as she chewed on some form of tobacco, placing the cup on the desk with a soft 'clack'. "Rich enough for that, are you?"

She openly appraised Amal and continually gazed back at Emmaline, though whether because she was attracted to Amal or because she could see two rogues a mile away, it wasn't clear. Without further conjecture, she spat out the substance in her mouth and nodded, taking out a sheet of cloth parchment and produced a quill pin from behind the counter, marking it with a swift and sloppy movement of her hand. Emmaline payed her with two gold crowns and five silver schillings, by Amal's keen eye. The barwoman slid the paper to them as a mark of temporary ownership.

"The room is upstairs to the left. Breakfast and dinner are discounted to residents here, even to foreigners." She specified.

"Am I not just special?" Amal asked, though Emmaline was already pushing him towards the stairway.

Half of the hardened mercenaries and toughs in the common room were playing some form of cards or dice in various forms of unscrupulous wagers. The others spoke in tight knit groups, speaking with the occasional chuckle or threat, lacking the boisterous nature of a lot of establishments. Only one man was drunk in any real capacity, almost leaning back in his chair a bit too far, nearly bumping into Amal. The Arabyan caught him, causing the entire table to halt their conversation he caught a few sentences of, and glare at the dark man. Amal made no move to engage them, he simply pushed the man back into place as the fellow chortled, sputtering a thanks. Amal and Emmaline made it to the stairs, stepping up two steps at a time until they were on the second floor.

That was when they began to hurry to their room, Emmaline fumbling for the key, cursing and then dropping it onto the floor in that order. Amal caught it before it hit the ground, grinning. They made it inside a moment later and shut the door. Amal locked the door, his dark hair now disheveled.

"You've got good ears." They both said at the same time.

The room was spacious for such a small establishment, with a moderately sized bed with linen sheets, and a window that overlooked a portion of the bay. There was only a small fireplace, used for heating the room rather than being something to lounge besides. That coupled with a desk and three chairs, and two oil lamps that Emmaline began to light. The gold lust was mounting in Amal. "You know there's no way they would let us join their little plan. We'd need to sabatoge theirs."

"Without them seeing us." Emmaline replied.

"In broad moonlight." Amal concluded, placing a hand to his finely shaped chin and openly roving his eyes over Emmaline. "You'll need to be a bit less beautiful, you might stand out." Not deigning to comment on the fact that he was an Arabyan in Altdorf.