POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"'You got the leader, I got the rest' remember?" Cyrdic replied, referring to a quip they had made earlier on their strategy.

The Ostlander felt the chill in the air now that the battle had waned, made all the more evident by the steam rising from his lips. He slung his shield back over his shoulder as he approached them at the crest of the small rise that ringed the camp. Producing an old stained rag, he ran it over the blade of his sword to give it a once over. He merely wanted to put it back in its scabbard, he would worry about a proper cleaning later. The muscled imperial felt the wound in his leg like ice, but judging by the lack of warm sensation from any real amount of blood, it was mostly superficial.

"Besides, we're not getting paid extra for headcounts." Cyrdic reasoned. It was a simple merc job with an objective in mind. Not a hunt for bounties. With that he checked Camilla with a quick look on if she was harmed. She did the same with him, though she was a bit more confident in how she did so, circling him and finding the spot in his leg, muttering in Tilean, likely at how foolhardy Cyrdic was. Gunir didn't notice any of it at all.

"Don't remind me." The Dwarf chuckled. "Twenty Krowns each for lifting the siege. I can barely buy a twelve mug of Bugman's for that!"

"Well, human beer's cheaper." Cyrdic said simply, and both he and the Dwarf grinned and gave a laugh. Referring to a massive rant Gunir had made when they had first met, detailing all the vices manling drink had along with its one virtue. Of course Gunir had a point, that was ridiculously low for fighting a battle that was five to one. But with forty krowns between him and Camilla, they could feed themselves for weeks provided they didn't throw caution to the wind with their earnings. Even considering the inflated food prices in a starving town.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Fritz fell to the dirt of the camp, a musket ball having punched through his chest. The body fell limp right in front of Johan who cried out and dropped his porridge in fright. The lads about him began to scramble, calling for arms and running about trying to discern where the shots were being fired from. Some aimed at smoke in the trees thinking it gunsmoke, only to find it was the nightly mist creeping in from the drakwald around them. A second shot was fired and Johan felt wet, warm liquid coating his head as Oskar fell to the dirt. The bandit got to his feet, men shouldering past him with sabers and backswords. What men had blackpowder weaponry fired in vague directions into the forest wherever they imagined movement. The night was filled with moonlight from above, casting an eerie glow on the structured, military style camp they had hobbled together.

A strong, scarred bandit with a baskethilted broadsword strode by him as the shouting continued. One of the sergeants by the look of him. Johan passed by the man and blinked when he saw Gunter dead on the ground in front of him, blood pouring from a stab to the abdomen below his cuirass. The dead man's stare chilled him to the bone. More shots rang out and a cry was heard close by. Johan, focusing on Gunter backed up fearfully. He continued until he tripped himself up on another body. The bandit fell onto his ass hard, and he noticed the corpse had been Frankfurt, only he had been killed by another sword wound. By the rankness he had shitted himself. Johan began to feel a very mortal chill run down his spine, and he let out a very frightful squeal when he felt the hair grabbed at the top of his head. It was the last air that would escape his lips, as Cyrdic sliced open his throat with the edge of his broadsword.

Thank the Wolf and the Hammer Cyrdic hadn't taken the Graff's suggestion and brought more men. Cocking his pistol, he turned toward the center of camp and aimed at the confused mass. His weapon cracked a discharge and the pistol bullet hit a breastplate. The steel was of impressive make and the pistol ball didn't penetrate, but it ricocheted and struck the fellow next to it in the skull, killing him wordlessly.

"You!" One outlaws cried when he saw Cyrdic firing. He didn't get his sidesword up in time to keep his head. Cyrdic snarled, blood in the air as near half of the outlaws now lay dead or dying in the cold dirt. Another man leaped forward and met Cyrdic steel for steel, braver than his confused comrades. As Cyrdic fought, he felt an elation the likes of which he could only feel in battle, or when Camilla had rained kisses on him when he had been injured not four days past. He hadn't had the courage to bring it up again, which showed how well adjusted he was when slaughtering these men seemed an easier prospect. Not that he enjoyed it. In fact, this was likely one of his least favorite jobs taken. He didn't mind killing men who wanted him dead, but he had a problem with killing men of the empire who had done him no personal wrong, even thieves and outlaws.

Had Cyrdic come with six musketeers like originally planned, they would have drawn far too much attention to a certain area and more blood would have doubtlessly been spilled. But Cyrdic had the look of an ex-military bandit himself, mostly because he was almost exactly that, except trade in bandit for merc. All he had to do was cause confusion, then walk in alone as if he were one of them and butcher any loose ones until the mass of them fled. Only now three of them had gotten wise to his strategy, but the others decided to run towards the road where they knew their captain had gone. Cyrdic felt sorry for those men, having to deal with Camilla and the Dwarf. The Ostlander would have let them flee or even live if they had surrendered.

Cyrdic backstepped as he blocked a blow with his baskethilt, stepping by a tent so the structure could guard his left flank. He fought furiously against two men with sabers, Cyrdic managing to nick the helmetless one across the forehead, keeping the moment of his blade to smack aside the next leading saber. He rush forward and shouldered the man to fall over a pile of firewood, turning his body in time for the large norscan shield he had on his back to block the next cut. Cyrdic felt another blade cut at his leg, but he didn't hesitate to impale the man he'd thrown down, now leaping over the cooling body and holding his sword out to keep the other two at bay.

In the moonlight, Cyrdic looked like walking vengeance. Even after the cut at his leg, he stood poised and ready, free arm now slung within his norscan shield and bringing it to bear.

The last two bandits decided they wished to live, the older one patting the younger on the shoulder to indicate they back away, sabers out and eyes peeled as they stepped out of camp and disappeared into the drakwald. Cyrdic sighed, wincing from the pain of the cut but hear a brief period of battle to the east. He hurried, knowing Camilla and their stout companion were mopping up the last of them.
@Penny

Greetings! Candy Cane Service!

Those of you who've sent me candy canes please come forward.

@Xandrya

this^

Damned to the Depths

10 days later...

"Or we'll make ye dance the hempin jig! Now get out of here afore we get the cat o' nine tales!" One of their new recruits, Harkspin, warned the representative. The flummoxed gentlemen climbed down jacob's ladder, and Markus was impressed the landlubber even made it back onto the longboat from the shaky rope ladder. The two sailors of Brangdenbar sat at the rowboat, beginning to row their oars before the delegate had fully gotten to his seat. Markus smirked at the fleeing men, chin atop his crossed arms, resting on the balustrade of the Weather Witch. Calliope stood beside him, both looking darkly composed, and yet as devilishly fierce as the rumors of them had began to say.

They sat perched at the mouth of Brangdenbar's Bay, all twelve of their eight pounders, along with four of their ballistae aimed toward the city and its docked ships. Too far off to hit anything, but close enough to cripple any ship that tried to move out of the docks before it could fully turn to engage them. The smoke not four hundred paces to the southwest was evidence of that. A foolhardy captain and his crew had attempted to sally forth and deal with the 'pirate scum' and was met with cannon fire and flaming bolts. Calliope had utterly engulfed the fledgling novice the boat had as its 'wizard' in no time. Markus had not even thought to call for swords, crossbows, or pistols. They had barely set sail before their doom had been thrust upon them.

The crew of the Weather Witch would do whatever it took to get their crew members back. The Captain admitted he felt personally responsible for their abduction. Jim, Sketti,, Halvar, and Jax had been taken after the four had bore witness to a particularly drunken night at shore whilst Markus and Calliope had delved into the Aradian ruins of the desert. As soon as the swordmage and the dark sorceress had returned to the ship with their booty, they had been informed of the arrest, and had followed the caravel Quicksilver day and night past the city of Basilos, through the sea gates and into the central sea. Now they lay in a cove forty miles south of Gallowsgate, a large city famed for its 'pirate killers,' where hanging buccaneers was a pastime. Though Markus knew the ignominious city actually loved pirates, as long as the freebooters gave a cut to the state and the nobles that called it home. Brangdenbar was a more conventional settlement, with a governor and a small communal navy. Large enough to pose a problem on the open sea but small enough to keep quarantined in the bay as long as the Weather Witch kept the strong point.

"Where are they going!?" Grimey asked, bouncing up to reach the two's ears. "You barely said two words to them captain! How the hell do you expect to get them back?"

"We'll run out of food soon." Sron uttered gutturaly from behind them, smelling the air as if in search for any stowaways or unwary new crewmembers to feast on. He was single minded, even dimwitted at times. But when it came to food, he was like a second quartermaster, keeping accurate records. "Only another weeks worth of grub, and we can't safely make port that quickly, right?"

"I've calculated everything." Markus said fastidiously, confident in his plan. He pushed himself up, planting his hands on the thick oak railing and watched the town, keen eyes placed on it in search of any sort of movement. " I asked them for an outrageous sum of money along with our friends. They won't ever accept the terms, but it'll give us some time. Time enough for tonight at least." His words were filled with hidden meaning, and he felt the eyes of his first mate on him. "It seems we picked an auspicious night to arrive. Did you know it's the Founding Day of Brangdenbar? Even with a pirate threat like us, local gentry from around the countryside will be gathered in the governor's palace to celebrate and pledge their loyalty to him, as they do every year."

"Which means the prison won't be guarded as heavily?" Grimey asked, the small lass perplexed as to what Markus meant. The Captain grinned, causing Grimey to shrink black and blush at the same time.

"It means that my first mate and I will go in and say hello once the sun lowers and we make it to shore. Once we do, we find out where our mates are held, free them...and then we kidnap half the nobles this side of Basilos." One of the newer crewmates gasped, dropping a broom. Quickly he floundered and grabbed it up, beginning to sweep again. Markus didn't skip a beat. "Once we do, we'll repeat my terms. Give us an outrageous sum of money and provision, or we'll hang a noble every hour past sunrise tomorrow."

2020 Highlights?

I managed to finish a novel and a novella, and edited/revised both. That and I've learned more about the publishing industry. Other than that and working on other parts of my career, I think the highlight of 2020 is being able to say I've never gotten COVID-19 or harmed in anyway. Luckier than most

Greetings! Candy Cane Service!

@Gunther It was me

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal might not like the way Albrecht treated Emmaline at first, but after a moment he realized the aging wizard reminded Amal of a lot of people he knew in Araby, with similar scavenging attitudes towards money. He supposed the Empire wasn't too different from his homeland in some regards.

"Shrew?" Amal echoed, wondering what the fellow meant. Albrecth's dramatic demeanor left when he began to chuckle at Amal's confusion.

"Well, I'm very glad you arrived apropos so you could regain your supposed earnings from me," Emmaline said, clasping her hands together and planting a smile on her face. "but if there is nothing else, would you leave me and my lover to enjoy our dinner? It's hard to eat with the smell of dead rat in the air, you understand."

"You will make quite the harridan one day, my dear." Albrecht marveled, still grinning at the prospect of receiving a ridiculous amount of cash within 48 hours, no matter what insults are thrown his way. "I will leave you to it then. I plan on meeting you right back here. Try not to get kicked out in the meantime, eh? If I have to look for you, that will be added down in interest."

8 minutes later

Despite the proclamation that they would need to eat, they had already had a quick bite just before Albrecht had scuttled in. Now with the door locked and the two in their room, Amal started the small fireplace up. It wasn't as cold as Albion was, but he still very much felt the northern crispness in the air. Amal watched the fire grow to life, and he backed himself up to sit on the comfortable chair set in the bedroom.

"The way I see it, we have three choices, Em." The bandit remarked, leaning forward, long arms resting on his knees. "We could take the money we'll get from selling our items and pay him. We could kill him and run. Or we can take a third option."

"Don't be coy," She said, not having sat down yet.

"We could steal the Prince's seal, sell it, and implicate Albrecht in the theft."
@Penny

The Blackwood

Valerie Richardson blinked, surprised at the Skayleigh. Most humans, particularly non-fighters would be cowed or intimidated by the half giant's intimidating glare and manner. But she seemed to made of sterner stuff than that, which would make sense. The valley they were in was peaceful, but they were still in the Blackwood after all.

"You seem to misunderstand me. Seeing as you're not human, I'll give you another chance to try that again." She said, hands on her hips. "We don't have a room, which is why our cook and my boss made sure I didn't offer one. You get the barn, or you can keep walking until you find another place to sleep. Do you understand or is there a way I can make it more clear, because I hope I can make your stay as pleasant as possible." She spoke through gritted teeth. The responsible but tired woman had been replaced with someone who was not going to take any further shit from someone that day.

The next day...

Arden had slept well, despite the distant howls of wolves to the east. His tall, lean form was tougher than most soft humans, so he barely felt any discomfort from the hay once the blanket was put over it, and the food was provided helped ease his mood. Valerie had showed him to where the barn lay, but the blankets and the food that were provided to him was by a small boy named Leder. He barely said much of anything, though he seemed wide eyed and curious on the strange tall newcomer.

This morning, Leder had opened the barn door and brought him his food by setting it down on a crate. It was fresh bread and ham, with fresh squeezed orange juice. Not knowing if Arden was asleep or awake, he didn't say anything to the Skayleig. He did seem to contradict his carefulness when he took a poster of parchment paper and began hammering it onto the front door of the barn. Quite loudly, one would notice. On it were two missing men, with a reward for fifty gold royals each for finding them alive, and 30 royals each for finding their bodies. Last seen north of the hamlet.
@Fetzen

---

"Are you mad!? You're siding with such a witch!?" The fat man blathered, and it became clear he was on some sort of alcoholic beverage or narcotic. "Sir, you are out of your min-"

The next thing Torsten and his companion's knew, the man had been knocked out by a kick to the head from the woman. It wasn't a particularly savage one, and once she was done she made no further moves to harm him. The slim woman seemed to just be glad that was over with. No danger seemed to be creeping up on them from behind or beyond, so at the moment it was safe to just focus on their present situation, which was a woman and an unconscious card cheater.

"I just had to shut him up. Believe me, carrying him will be a lot easier than listening to him if we are to make it back to Oakhollow." She said, tying her coinpurse on her leather belt. On it, Torsten would see a basilard dagger strapped to it at her hip. "That is why you came this way, right? Oakhollow's the only real settlement this side of the Blackwood, after all. Or are you hunters? Big game is very prized in the inner Kingdom of Andred, I hear. I'm a newcomer myself from the Northern Marches."

Pulling at her vest and fixing it, she blew a fringe of hair out of her eyes and approached the three men, holding a hand out to shake for any that would grab it. "I am Alanya, daughter of Burgrave Rochestor. If you're going to Oakhollow, I'll follow. Otherwise this seems to be hello and goodbye."
@Gunther

The Blackwood

Gonna update more people tomorrow/the next day!

If you were a D&D Character what would your alignment be and why?

Neutral Good, with a pinch of Chaotic Neutral