POOHEAD189

Deify

God of War

Blades of the Blood Coast

*whistles*

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Even spirits don't attack without some goal," Cyrdic replied, accepting the cup from his companion and downing it in two huge gulps. There was still just a swig left, but he decided to keep it there for when he wanted to savor it. For the moment he wanted to loosen up a bit. "Or cause. Ulric knows I wish I knew the reason. But even trees make tracks if they walk..."

His handsome face was grim, and he was so lost in thought that it took Camilla nudging him to bring him back to reality. He gave an 'oh' and started the fire with his flint and tinder, igniting the plentiful timber in a blaze of flame. Immediately the room simultaneously brightened and lengthened in shadowed darkness, but it had a welcome warmth to it. His broad shoulders lowered a bit and he relaxed, realizing just how tired he was. Camilla likely was too. He looked at her, dark hair shining in the firelight. Even after all their adventures, he couldn't believe how attractive the dancer was. Shadows danced across her full bosom, and he realized she caught him staring with her sharp eyes.

Initially he felt awkward, but the rough solder just placed a hand on his face and laughed. "Sorry, Cami. I'm just thinking we need a godsdamned vacation," he muttered in his growling baritone, stepping over to the couch and placing himself on it beside the fire. He chose to then finish the brandy, sipping it slowly before he drained the cup, a satisfied sigh escaped his lips. His chin was feeling itchy, he noticed. He would need to shave soon. "When we go tomorrow, I think we'll both need to grab some axes."

His broadsword had been sharpened, the sheathed weapon leaning against the corner of the wall.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil admitted he felt a bit whimsical. Truth be told he was having a lot of fun, and all of it was due to this girl who had popped into his life. Perhaps he should be a bit more careful considering she was a con woman, but that only added to the mystique. He gave her a wink, beaming like a fox. "I'm used to cheating death, but this is kind of new for me." he quipped, and disappeared into the gunnery shop.

They had timed it right when Neil knew Master Gunter was on shift, the man meticulous but predictable in his habits. It was mostly due to Neil's respect for the man that tolerated him (and the fact he wanted to graduate) that kept Neil from stealing from him when he went to lunch half past noon, or used the latrines four times a day unless he had dinner with his ex-wife the night before, which would lead him to use it five times. Those days were interesting, since he tended to mumble to himself twice as much as the average day.

Neil heard the small clinking of his hammer, and the small talk of other students who seemed to be working on a small engine at the corner of the hall. Gunter was at his desk, his right eye encased with a telescopic goggle as he gazed at a strange cylinder with a brass nut on either end. Neil didn't wait or announce himself; he simply walked in and stepped past the students. Most didn't recognize him or realize he had been missing, but a brown haired girl he had once shared a kiss with gasped, whispering, "Neil?"

Neil smirked at her, planting his feet just behind Master Gunter, who had heard the gasp and turned just at the correct moment, for his right eye was filled with the visage of Neil's face.

"Sigmar's fucking hammer!" He sputtered, tearing his goggles off and for once in his life showing enough surprise to be nearly mistaken for fear. Neil just smiled, and the Master shook his head. "This is not possible..."

"Hey so, yeah the lord left me for dead. He also left the rest of the soldiers for dead too. They didn't make it, but I did so...yeah, I kind of feel like I'm owed something..."

Master Gunter was stern and unyielding, but he wasn't stupid. It was fairly hilarious watching the implications dawning on him. This wasn't a matter for grief, but Neil could see the five stages of it in his face. The thief crossed his arms, steeling his resolve. He quite liked the Master, in all honesty. Conning him wasn't something he enjoyed. But he hadn't lied yet, nor would he need to (very much). He was simply glad he had the idea, and when he was making love to Emmaline no doubt. Gods, she was really just sinking her claws in him.

The negotiations were short. Neil was told he would receive his diploma by the end of Black Powder week, and a small sum of gold to keep him from pressing charges on the Guild. He was not planning on it anyway, since it would have cost Gunter his position. But the dean wanted to be careful. By the time he had left the Gunnery School, he was two hundred krowns richer, and due for a diploma within days. Now he needed only to find Emmaline, and once Neil stepped onto the steet, he went south, going where they had agreed to rendezvous; atop the small wall bisecting the river Reik, so they could get to their boat at their leisure.

The Knight's Song

Torm was a strange mixture of dangerous and optimistically nice. Juliette had seen both sides of him, but for now he seemed to have chosen dangerous. Like as not from their very recent encounter with Haukenbrass, but truth be told he mostly wished for peace and quiet while he discussed just exactly what he was going to do with his Cavalier career with this comely and witty minstrel he had been lucky enough to save from eldritch clutches. The God of the Flaming Fist had his ways, he supposed. The oldsters of the establishment could plainly see the symbol of Baelyr emblazoned on his shield. Whilst he was still clearly a knight, his full armor was still very well strapped to Lycurgus. If anyone were to even approach his warhorse, the entire common room would know from the struggle.

"They won't bother us," He said softly, confidently walking past the first three tables, Juliette close behind.

A few of the men looked bold enough to either speak or reach for a pocket, but as soon as Torm placed his hand on the hilt of his longsword, gravity reversed and people inched away as far as possible as he strode by. Juliette glared at them, sticking her tongue out at a few of the bolder, uglier ones. Torm didn't want to seem like a threat to these people. Patronless knights were not too far removed from common folk. They had to find and prove themselves to patrons, do the worst tasks for recognition or coin, or do very well in the tournament circuit. None of those were mead-easy.

The mumblings didn't cease, but the general clamour of the room began to rekindle as they took their seats. Torm planted himself facing the door. His top was a long-sleeved, light green shirt with dark hemlines, with three buttons from his neck to the top of his chest, all unbuttoned. Even in the dim under the roof, it was clear he was well built. One could say what they wanted about Torm, but he had the build of a knight someone could write a song about. His eyes were a dark blue, but somehow they seemed silver-grey in the light.

Immediately Torm called for mead. It wasn't one of the harder alcoholic drinks, but it was sweet and gave a fine buzz if consumed enough. In the bigger cities they might grab some proper vodka, but this was a countryside town.

"Gods spede you" he told the tavernmaid when she delivered, the woman gave him an awkward curtsy and replied back with the same farewell before melting off into the crowd. Torm took a good sip of his drink, savoring the flavor before setting it on the table.

"So... I want to make a partnership," He admitted, all of their small talk and introductions made on the road, previously. He scratched his shock of dark hair, not entirely certain how he would go about doing this. He hadn't propositioned a woman in awhile, and he had never done it for purely business reasons. "What I'm considering is, you serve as my herald and bard. You go where I go, sing songs, vouche for me before lords or those looking for a hired sword, and after I do what needs to be done you get a cut of my coin or a section of whatever gift is granted me, if at all possible."

Blades of the Blood Coast

People got until friday to post! Except Dtron and Pagemaster, as both are quite busy.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Unfortunately that was not good enough for Cyrdic. Which was a strange concept to the man who never questioned orders before he sprung his new lover, and even after that he had remained loyal to any paymaster for as long as was befitting a soldier. But he found he had more cares at the moment with Camilla nearly being skewered on animated tree branches, and she likely did with him. That, and Cyrdic was tired of being torn out of bed from some new threat. Sigmar's balls, he hadn't a decent sleep in weeks.

"My lord, has this ever happened before?" He asked the Graf, clearly his throat so he sounded less grumpy.

"No, it hasn't." The Grafin spoke up, clutching her husband.

It was at that point the Dwarfs made their way up the stairs, twigs and leaves in their beards. They looked none the worse for wear. It was incredible their axes showed not the least signs of blunting, nor the Dwarfs themselves. In fact there was a feral gleam in their eye. As if killing trees was as cathartic to them as settling a grudge against the grobi. Later that night Cyrdic would mention it, and Camilla would reply 'may-be they joost hate sings that are green?'

"Grungni willing, we can go and stop the fuckers if we knew where to go!" Thor declared, realigning his grip on his axe in anticipation. Of course, he never forgot his Dwarfish sensibilities. "That is, if you're willing to pay some more, yeah?"

"If we're to protect you, we need some rest." Cyrdic said, crossing his powerful arms. "The men out there need cohesion, too. We barely stemmed the tide, Fraulien, and there's a lot more trees than men in the Drakwald."

The Graf looked surprised at something, but to what no one could have guessed. He looked to be in his own little world, likely frightened out of his mind. The Grafin told Cyrdic she was going to go out and help the men, and that this manor was theirs to use for sleep if they needed it, in any room that wasn't wrecked or the Lord's and Lady's chambers. Not only that, but finding out what caused this would get them triple pay, and stopping it from ever happening again was a one time payment of a thousand krowns to each.

Camilla and Cyrdic looked at one another, but they needn't say anything.

"Done!" Gunir said.

Blades of the Blood Coast

Yes he does! @Fetzen

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Is there a scheduled date we plan to start?

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Does Grimnir count trees as kills?" Thor asked his companion whilst Gunir continued to chop his axe into a twitching tree. He chopped at it almost redundantly at this point, clearly not hitting a 'vital' area if a dryad could be said to have it. Gunir responded with. "He ESPECIALLY counts trees ye dolt! Trees are friends of Elves after all!" He cackled, and continued his work. Cyrdic knew were it normal battle axes, they would blunt. But Dwarf work axes would stay keen regardless.

Cyrdic stumbled past the two, carrying himself stoicly despite his injuries and tiredness, making his way up the staircase of fallen timber and dead foliage daemons, stepping on them as much as the steps as he ascended. His heavy foot snapped a branch audibly, and he crested and made it to the top of the stairway to see Camilla leaning against the wall. He moved to her and they checked the other for injuries.

The Grafin spat on the once pristine carpeted floor, blood mingled with saliva. He wouldn't have thought it was her blood until he remembered trees didn't bleed. Then again they didn't walk until now, either. Behind him the Dwarfs still grumbled in Khazalid as the Grafin spoke up:

"This axe has been in my husband's family for generations, and now its blunted from woodwork. Ah, Herr Becker and Fraulien de la Trantio, you seem to have been worth the money. You and the stunties over there. You'll all get bonuses for this! No-"

"M'lady, where is your husband?" Cyrdic asked. Camilla's hair bounced as she nodded her agreement to the prudence of the question.

"That is what I would like to find out." The lady said, looking half mad with her torn dress and frizzled hair, not to mention the wild look.