POOHEAD189

Blades of the Blood Coast

Let it be said Jaina is quite small though

Blades of the Blood Coast

@Penny@Lauder Since you've been slightly inactive, I'll add 24 hours to posting time. Just try to make one by friday!

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

Zebulon was realizing just why Guardsmen were not permitted to speak as he spat the mud out of his mouth. Blood mingled with the watered dirt he now crouched in, cursing his luck that it had rained just before they'd left. Katiya slid down the hillock in a far more graceful fashion, as her subordinate guardsman had pitched forward right in front of her, the brush hiding the sudden drop off that fed into a gulley. Zeb had managed to make the fall into a controlled roll, but that didn't help him when he hit the small mud pond at the very bottom.

The Governess's forces were spread thin, on constant alert picking off any mutant or rioter that made it past the 'picket' line of ruined buildings and piled corpses that bisected the capital city. Zeb hadn't expected a lot of help, but he had been hoping for a chimera escort or a few muscled arbites in carapace armor. Instead, Katiya had volunteered herself and Zeb without hesitation. He wouldn't miss it, because deep down he was proud to be one of the emperor's finest. But fuck, he hadn't planned on a suicide mission!

Fortunately the Governess had let them restock from her guards personal armory. The Corporal had found an Accatran Pattern, Mark XI Combat Shotgun stowed away in a box, having been saved for the old twice replaced arbites commander who never claimed it. It could fire a variety of slugs, and Zeb had been greedy in gathering ammunition for the weapon. He had also recharged his laspack, grabbed four grenades, an incendiary demolition charge, and did well to don some Judge Pattern Carapace armor. Little good that all did him at the moment, as they still had another two miles to trek before they got in sight of the communications facility.

Strangely, he found he was embarrassed that he had tripped and tumbled down the hill, even if Katiya was the only one around. He had shaken off the suspicion she was going to execute him for sneezing too loudly like some commissars. He guessed he respected the woman, and he hoped she shared the sentiment with him. With his luck with women, he doubted it. The thought made him smile, reminding him of how his friend Frakon would joke with him over a glass of beer back home. He missed him.

The two climbed up the other slope quietly, finding a small path made by some native beast to reduce the sound of their boots and pick up the pace. The mountains of Pavonis were gorgeous to look at, but they were a bitch to climb. The 'small hill' the facility was perched upon was small, but only compared to the peaks that rose above it. The moon had dipped behind them less than an hour ago, but the system's sun wasn't yet peeking across the horizon. They had time to make it up without it showing itself if they hurried.

Soon they found an access road for maintenance and military use. Needless to say, the two of them scrambled across as quickly as possible and took the more difficult path. Their attack, if it was even needed at all since the base could still be abandoned, would rely on audacity and surprise. They couldn't just waltz in through the front door. Even a Governess or a Commissar wasn't that bullheaded, much to Zeb's relief.

City of Thieves

Galt peered through the enchanted lens, sweeping his gaze across the walkways that circumvented the manor, reviewing any chokepoints where any men-at-arms might hem them in if they were discovered. He found four areas, two by the gardens and two by each 'wall' if they could be called such. There was a 'barrier' barely as tall as a man, mostly for show and to keep out the riff-raff and common loiterer. The foot traffic did little to ease his mind as well, though it would not be too difficult to make it through the crowd. Their exit was another matter.

"Agreed," He said, doing his best to count every guardsmen he could see within twenty meters of the manor. So far there were thirty two in all, though doubtless some of them weren't in the particular employ of this Count Dimascu, but they had to be cautious and expect the worst. Thieves often had the reputation of holding a devil-may-care attitude, and while it was true in most cases, that did not mean they were not thorough, prepared, and above all careful. What was the point of paying dues if you weren't alive to enjoy your extra bit of freedom?

He moved the spy glass to the windows, viewing a well furnished hall with expensive ferns. The desk was being dusted by maid. The next hall was empty, save for a great painting of who had to be Count Dimascu in stately garb; wherever someone looked, the eyes seemed to follow like any painting facing forward.

"I say we go in tomorrow night an hour after sunset." He said, wholly aware at how gung-ho and insane the idea sounded. Any thief would wait until at least midnight, when the guards were the only ones awake within the grounds. He didn't look at her, but he still explained his reasoning just in case. "If we can get in there, grab it, and leave without being seen, then they'll be less likely to raise an alarm. Files the lord would have seen earlier that day suddenly missing would seem more like he simply misplaced them, and any door we leave open or footsteps heard could be attributed to any number of servants. Plus, even if a thief is suspected, they'll suspect amateurs rather than guild-rats."

He placed the lens back in her hands, raising his brows to see what she thought.

City of Thieves

They had agreed to meet on the adjoining building away from the guildhouse twenty minutes later to discuss their plans for the job. Galt had chosen that time to gather every item and tool he would need to bring with him. They might have the time to pull the job off tonight, but likely not. Surveillance was imperative, so they could at least scope the place out; checking patrol movements, side doors, the manner of brick or stone the manor consisted of.

He got to the roof early, his lower face swathed in dark cloth to match the rest of him. He set his pack down, taking out the parts to his collapseable crossbow, along with twenty bolts. Six normal broadheads for lethal use, and fourteen 'Stone Biter' bolts, specifically designed to peirce soft stone like brick or sandstone. Next to it was three climbing daggers, a length of sharkskin, some civilian clothes along with a false sling for disguise and weapon concealment, something he would likely use tonight, a housebreaker's harness, catstink, a glass cutter, limewood strips, and two ordinary daggers.

There was more, of course, but he wasn't going to insult her by providing lockpicks, oil, or acid to her. She would have all of that, and if she didn't, she was the type not to need it. Either way it was redundant.

He decided to wait for her, overlooking the city and taking out a pipe to light. Galt lowered his mask, his face the purest representation of cunning wiles. The knave lit his pipe, expelling the flame instantly and inhaling the tobacco. He manuevered his throat subtly, exhaling a smoke ring into the moonlit night air just before he began to softly sing.

A Caelman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair,
And one could tell by the way he walked that he'd drunk more than his share,
He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet,
Then he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street,

Ring-ding diddle-diddle-addie-oh ring die-diddly I oh-ho!
He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street

Around that time two young and lovely girls just happened by
And one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye
See yon sleeping Caelman both strong and handsome built
I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt

Ring-ding diddle-diddle-addie-oh ring die-diddly I oh-ho!
I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt-

It was a bawdy, suggestive song. The rest told the tale of the women tying a bow around the man's cock to show they had seen it, and he wakes up and asks his 'lad' what he won first prize for. Truth be told, Galt had a lovely singing voice. The song almost lost its raunchiness the way he softly performed into the darkness.

Blades of the Blood Coast

Ok, everyone who hasn't posted has 48 hours from now to post, even if it's to post you won't make it. Except for Page, because they have DMed me. The clock begins... now.

City of Thieves

Galt sobered up, recognizing the man from a guild meeting four years previously. Even back then, his reputation had preceded him.

Both thieves leaned on the table, intent to listen to the veteran.

"This job has a time limit." He said crypticly. "A one day time limit. You see, one of our camels got sent to gaol, or taken to where he thought was gaol before he was dumped right here. He was taken care of, but before that he told us about why he was arrested." Shipwreck said, shrugging like it mattered little. Galt hid a grimace. Camels in Nox-Khalas were what they called 'mules' in the northern cities. People who found small time employment at thieves guilds and were essentially contractor couriers; usually lowlifes or men in debt. The open secret was that while a camel or mule believed otherwise, everyone knew they were never meant to make it into the guild, and that they would all eventually be killed for knowing even the slightest information on where the guild liked some of its goods dropped of, or knowing certain clients. In the last twenty years, Galt only knew of three camels out of tens of thousands that were deemed worthy of being allowed into an organization. The rest became corpses, just like his father.

"Seems he apparently stumbled on something the Count Dimascu out of Movgod didn't want known. Poor fool didn't even find out what it was, but just being close enough to the clerk's office was enough, so we did a little digging and found out about some papers that had been delivered just the other day, lord's eyes only. Papers you're going to get for us." Joe concluded.

With a wave of his hand, the witchsand shifted in its entirety, erecting itself into the layout of a large fortified manor. Galt didn't know if he recognized the place, but no doubt it would be easy to find if he was right on his guess of location. He was intensely jealous around guilders that could perform magic. He could make a loaded wand work sure enough, but even the lightest dwemor was a bit too much for him, no matter how much he liked trying. He believed he made a pen float once, if that counted.

"A snatch and grab in the Old City?" Galt asked professionally.

"That's right boy," Joe smiled. "You've been here longer than most at your rank, so I know you know where to look. And that might make you think you're better than this one-" He said, indicating Kashvi. "-But you're not. You were born here, boy. But she was chosen, and that's no small thing. You've both been chosen for this because you're good at what you do, and you haven't started a rivalry yet. Do us a favor and don't start any petty vendettas until you're off the assignment. So, any questions, ladies?"

Blades of the Blood Coast

City of Thieves

Some Guilds were clever enough to have fronts. Other Guilds were able to remain hidden in various locations. Most Thieves Guilds hid in plain sight. The Guild of the Seven Crows was no exception. What appeared to be an abandoned complex or storage area, with the windows boarded shut and the 'doors' perpetually locked was actually a cunningly placed guildhouse in the middle of the mercantile district of the city. One could only get in either from the sewage tunnels or the roof, or a few secret passageways in three key alleys.

Galt waltzed down the well furnished corridor, always able to see the riches a successful thief or guild master might one day obtain, but always out of his reach. Various doors were archways into large, sybaritic rooms with canopied beds and cushioned couches. Most of them owned by the highest ranking or most successful of thieves. The Master even had his own harem, though a few of the women were likely members of the silent sorority and could likely give Galt a run for his money in a fight if their own guild leader gave the word. Likely the Old Crow knew it as well, but there was a web of espionage there Galt wasn't about to question or delve too deeply into.

As he turned into the next corridor, just outside the planning room, a familiar face halted him. Galt had nearly bumped into the thug.

"If it isn't Jack Prick-Finger," Korlam the Rough scoffed, sporting his vest of knives and his weaponized breath. He and Galt had been at odds ever since they had met nearly a decade ago; always trying to one-up one another. Galt had gotten the better of him a thousand times over, but he never forgot or forgave the two times Korlam had bested him. One was in front of a girl he had fancied, and the other indirectly caused him to lose part of his finger. Korlam grinned. "I saw that lass you're meeting with. Hope you don't slow her down. We both know you aint cut out for stealing."

Galt smirked, flipping a knife he had slipped off of Korlam's jacket, much to his rival's annoyance. He continued to flip it casually. "I don't know about that. I can steal your heart easy enough. And not in the romantic, symbolic way. I'm meaning the bloody, murderous way."

"Is that so?" Korlam responded, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Maybe we can take each other up on that offer."

"Later," Galt agreed, as violence in Guild halls were strictly prohibited. He tossed the knife back at Korlam, not caring how he was going to catch it. To his credit, he plucked the knife out of the air with ease, albeit slightly less gracefully than Galt would have. It didn't matter, Galt had moved past him as he caught it, using it as a distraction to make it into the planner room. As he closed the door behind him, he locked it with the three anti-pick locks in place, and spun to lean on the door to survey his 'partner.'

"Ah," he said, recognizing the girl's face from vague recollections, having never pinpointed her face with the name Kashvi. He reached into his black jacket and pulled out their orders. He had tried to read through them earlier, but they required a magical activation key from this very room, which would then unlock the witchsand and it's movements. He offered her the papers since she was just beside the table. "Ready for a bit of fun?"

City of Thieves

Not everyone in the Thieves Guilds were thieves.

Enforcers, Conmen, Camels, Sailors, Bookkeepers, Tax Collectors, Assassins... even some Wizards called a Thieves Guild their home. Each played their part, keeping the cogs turning discreetly and on time to keep the law from overlooking their bribes, or the civilians to overlook their fear, so that the guild could continue to remain profitable and safe. To the city, even one such as Nox-Khalas, all criminals were thieves. It was complete horseshit, of course.

A thief was a criminal or rogue who stole what was not theirs, not through coercion or force, but right out from under someone's nose. It took skill to be a thief. It took wits to remain a thief. It took unquestioned loyalty to rise the ranks. And it took unquestioned results to be valued. Low grade thieves volunteered by the dozens, thinking because they nabbed a few lemons from the market or could sneak through their childhood home without creaking the floorboards, they were ready to be a thief. Most didn't make the cut, and more thieves were caught in their first month than every other job in the guild combined. The guilds were thieves guilds, because nearly everyone who was hung from such organizations were petty thieves, and there were always more upstart recruits.

Galt wasn't one to boast, unless he was joking. And he did joke a lot, so perhaps he was one to boast. But he knew he had been one of the lucky ones. Lucky not only in surviving the trials, but in being able to keep his life after he had turned his back on the guild once before. Something he didn't really talk about unless he was forced to, or someone had some very good leverage on him. Luckily for him, the person he now spoke to was already privvy to most of his life story, at least the bits that were possible to learn.

Sorlaka Vespers sat in her plush chair, amber eyes weighing the coin Galt had just produced for her from a profitable jaunt around town. Some cobbler with a bottle in his hand had sang danced all night long at Oakhollow. making fast friends with the singer of the evening, a young one named Blackrunner. He had introduced Galt to all of his friends, their fat purses bulging and their mouths expunging fumes of alcohol that nearly got him drunk as well. He truly didn't know if they would wake up tomorrow and blame him for their stolen gold. Those lads had been fun, and a few of them had some very good looking daughters and wives.

Sorlaka's daughter was good looking too, though Sorlaka was not so easily manipulated or drunk to let him get near her. She hadn't risen to the rank of Lieutenant in the Guild for being gullible, and he truly wished she stopped riding him so hard on every little bit of gold he brought. It was the woman's mission in life was to tease him until he screwed up again. Her thin lips curled in a smile as she nodded slowly, as if pained to accept such money.

"Excellent Galt, and this time I will not penalize you for taking from one of our own."

"I don't do that, and you know that. I always check for the Raven Sigil if I'm not sure."

"Like last time?"

He tried not to sigh. "Yes, like last time. Now might I go? The night still has some life in it."

"You may, but not where you want to go. Because I have another job for you, boy. Oh, stop that look. I'm helping you, believe it or not. Do this and you're in good with the Old Crow." She said, dropping the sack of coins in her left drawer. He would have bet all of the money he hadn't given her that those drawers subtly switched from within when pushed closed. "Do you know one called Kashvi? Likely not well, but you both seem to be some of our most trusted courtiers. There are some papers that need to be displaced from a certain office, and I would like them to get lost all the way to my desk."

Galt raised an eyebrow, half intrigued and half worried. He knew 'trusted' meant 'expendable.' "Where do I go and meet her?"

"You both have the planning room. Get there as quickly as possible. Dawdling might serve you ill, and you can use all of the luck you have."