POOHEAD189

Blades of the Blood Coast

Everyone has a week to reply. This will be the last round of posts before we get to some good action, so make it count! Whether it is that night or the next morning, depends on you guys and my rolls.

@Greenie I know you couldn't make a post this round, but try to this next time if you can!

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

The past few days had been relatively uneventful; at least for Kayden himself. Some sword practice here and there, a fair amount of sleep, a team meeting or two. Veronica and he seemed to have come to a small understanding, thankfully. They had not suffered through a grueling argument or fight in a week, which was a first. Perhaps their talk, along with Kayden venting some frustrations with the boys™ helped ease his mind. He was glad he could break bread with Jorah and Auberon, if only for a short moment. Kayden was all for friendly rivalries, but they were all in the same gilded cage. Unfortunately the gaoler had let a rabid beast into the cage, by the looks of it.

Kayden had gathered a rumor of something strange going on, but he paid it little mind, thinking it a normal whisper after Luin and the other ominous news from afar they had heard. He was confident enough in his own skills and those of his peers that nothing was truly dangerous in the walls of Garreg Mach, but the Archbishop's words and Michail's stern visage showed him he'd made a wrong assumption. This Captain Kalliope certainly had thei-

_"Wow," he whispered when he saw her. His well-formed jaw went slack for a few moments until his mind caught up with himself and he cleared his throat quietly. He had known of Captain Kalliope, but he'd yet to see her until just today and Goddess she was attractive. He immediately knew he would go and speak to her, because he was a reckless fool like that. But that would be later. For now, the room erupted into a buzz of commotion and his team was just beside him. He crossed his arms and turned on the wooden aisle, glancing at the others, which of course included Rudolph and Veronica.

"This looks problematic. I'm sure you'll follow the protocol. Rudolph, you might be safer than the rest of us for obvious reasons, but don't take any unnecessary risks, regardless. Veronica, don't let your head get to you, and before you say anything I'll be sure to do the same. And uh..." He faced forward, statuesque and clearly attempting to seem as if he were some grim commander. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin. "I'll go speak to this Captain Kalliope for um, more information. Guard schedules and what not. It's only responsible."

He glanced at the other team leaders, gauging their reactions and doing his best not to gauge the reactions of his own teammates. Truth be told, beyond his libido and rivalries with the others, he truly was a bit worried. Garreg Mach was well protected, but it held the future of the three lands all in one juicy spot. Anarchists and raiders would gain more than they ever could hope for if they torched the place down with the students inside it.

Blades of the Blood Coast

Varone's fate seemed to stray upon the edge of a blade. Like the great city of Basilos to the east, the pomp and glory of this 'Diamond of The Coast' was just loud enough to draw eyes away from the still-bleeding wound beneath its ostentatious cloak. Whether the return of the Sultana could herald in a new age, or the Senator-Lords of the Golden Book were already in the process of healing their fair Varone remained to be seen. The fall of a city so great and prosperous was not unknown to the north, particularly after the Wars of Brutality. As for now, it seemed it was in all of their best interests to vote on how these recently released cutthroats could have a bed at night and food in their bellies, and so they did.

"I am for the beer too. I want no part in political struggles, and this one became a mess since last I was here," Raddek told them, crossing his arms as he sat back. A few of the patrons had now left the inn, as it was moving past early afternoon and those that stayed were either on drinking binges or wished for a pleasant place to converse rather than a noonday meal. At the corner of the room, a small band of three minstrels had begun to play, now that there was less laughter and yelling to make their presence redundant. It was a soothing, homey rendition of an older, northern tune. Raddek cleared his throat and glanced Lorcan's way. "The 'Dark Auction' is a..." he seemed to be trying to find the right words. "I'm not a criminal-" he cursed, remembering they all got shipped here because they were exiled by the law. "Ok I might be, but I'm not a thief. The 'Dark Auction' is an underground market for stolen goods. Most other people would know more than I do, but it's a large organization made up of many smaller organizations that steal and then trade, and they have a lot of smugglers working for them. If we could find a contact, we might be able to get a smuggler to help us ship in some ale. But that's only one option. We could find a smuggler or gang not affiliated with it, or find someone reputable, though that's looking more unlikely." He ended his thought with a sigh, taking a swig of his flagon.

The card players shoved their chairs back, the sound of the legs were audible as they scraped over the tile. The frequent victor, who appeared to be a layman sailor, squeezed by Migi and Jaina on his way out of the tavern as the Captain and the other seadogs walked out in a rough mass to leave, passing Raddek and Lorcan. Raddek notably kept himself quiet as they walked by. Once they filtered out, Raddek placed his flagon done and watched the door. "So I'll tell Jonathan we're going after the alcohol. Fuck his sympathies for the queen. I'll get the room keys once we do, and when we get them, we've got three days to get him something or we'll need to start paying."

---

Concurrently, Emmaline had sashayed her way behind the bar door, back through the swinging door where Beren had entered. The kitchen had an iron boiler, a relic of a past age when Gnomes had yet to be slaughtered en masse and Dwarves traded with men more freely. The device was on and generating heat, but it was likely just barely the hottest thing in the room. The kitchen was a fair size with a built-in drain on the floor and cupboards galore, and four doors. Two leading to the common room, one leading into a backhall, and another one that fed into a small business room. The muscled youth rapped on the last room with his knuckles twice, the heavy crate set by the door. He seemed to be singing something under his breath, but stopped when he noticed Emmaline in the room, looking at him.

"Uh, hi," he said, looking at her with chocolate eyes and then glancing around the room. His confusion was likely justified. "Are you...a new girl here?"

Before she was able to respond, the door opened. A man in business attire, contrasting the stained apron he wore over it stepped out. He had two chins that were scraggly with coarse facial hair and a tired disposition. He was most likely the fellow Raddek had come back there to meet. "You're saving us by a few days, boy. I'll be sure to compensate you. I-" He stopped, his words dying when he noticed Emmaline. The muscled man she had followed idly pointed her way.

"She new?"

"She doesn't bloody work here. She came in early. Hey girl! You can't be back here." He warned, making no moves but clearly used to being listened to. He gestured to Emmaline. "Get her out of here, Beren. Thanks for the stock."

As the door closed, Beren gave a sarcastic. "Oh of course," before turning to regard the buxom blonde that had followed curiously. He approached her, hesitating with what to do. He lifted his arms to grab her, but lowered them immediately and paused, clearly having no real idea how to move a woman politely. He had an embarrassed smile. "Here, let me show you out. We can't really be back here?"

---

Meanwhile, Faeril stood in the midst of the crowd with the apparently suicidal boy and his request of death. Faeril examined him, and long years in schemes of skullduggery told him that the boy wasn't lying, nor did he think it a trap. However, there was something odd about the lad. He spoke someone monotonously, but was also very clearly stressed. He seemed devoid of hope, but reluctant. Perhaps it was merely the common fear of death most have, or perhaps he was in some weird situation he did not let on. As it were, he reached into his pocket and fished out five gold royals and held it up for Faeril to see.

"To save my brother's life, sir. I can't tell you more than that." he explained, and then looked around. "Could you promise to make it quick, sir Dwarf? I don't want to hurt."

Reyvadin, on the other hand, had a more elucidating experience, though it was an expensive prospect, it seemed. The exiled noble had a few options, having found a vendor that did business with the smith, selling the wares while the smith made them. Of course, smiths did not merely make spears. They made the spear heads and had an assistant find the ash, yew, or oak trees to make the hafts, as the same with any weapon. Amongst the piles were various melee weapons and arrows, fresh from the fletcher. But there were sixteen spears available, and four types of varying quality.

There were simple spears, with oak hafts and iron leaf heads. They looked roughly two and a half meters in length, made for any guardsmen or soldiers in need of a good thrusting weapon. Next were partisans, with three prong heads. Slightly shorter but slightly more robust, reinforced with bronze at its sides. Pikes stood near twice as long as the partisans, with heads made of iron. Finally, the winged spears. A soldier's weapon, with steel leaf heads that could perhaps cut as well as thrust if used particularly well.

The spears and pikes were four lordling silvers, the winged spears were six lordlings, and the partisans were seven in total. Though haggling might be allowed were one smooth enough.

A mustachioed Vrettonian stood, mumbling in his native tongue as he spoke accented Andredian to the customers, as that and Dre-Costan were the common tongue in these parts.

Star Wars: Shattered Galaxy

I won't give a hard yes, but maybe.

The Hyborian Chronicles: Of Sword and Sorcery

The Shemite thief was many things, but not a fool.

There was something ephemeral about what was transpiring; some darkness he could only feel in his soul, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. Had he been a man who's sense outweighed his curiosity, he might have fled. But that was not Amal Ibn-Hakeem, jackal of the sands. The scents of jasmine and myrrh wafted up the stone stairway, showcasing the pythoness was performing some rite or ritual. Her echoing words, whispers in a harsh tongue. She sounded as if her statement was both a command and an abasement of herself. The knife clutched in his hand, his arm bent to throw even before he saw her dancing there in the sacred pool. He might have seen the ripples beneath her, but her dancing was mesmerizing. The cutthroat felt a very mannish stirring within him, a warmth spreading from just below his belt as he watched her.

He forcibly tore his gaze away to scan the rest of the cavern, spying the statues of gold. The ever pragmatic thief went from desiring her to thinking of slitting her throat before she could halt him from stealing the jewels mounted on the carvings. Lapis and lazulis, garnets and rubies, diamonds and emeralds that glittered like the stars, blinking in and out of existence as the lights began to flicker from what foul magic she was enacting. Amal had made a point to keep away from the dark powers, but this was a scene he couldn't leave empty handed.

He made no sound as he stepped down the last steps and stalked across the stone floor behind the writhing seductress. He moved seven steps to hide behind a small dias that raised the carved stone floor. Certain he was no longer in her line of sight, the approached a small bronze statue of a dog-headed man, likely placed here as a war trophy from the old conquests of Xarame, and he used his knife to dig at its agate eyes, attempting to pry them out silently through the priestess's litany. The water sloshed for but a moment, halting his progress and causing him to look over his shoulder. He waited, and his patience was greeted by another, similar sound. The strong young man crept to the edge of his hiding spot, peering out to view what was transpiring.

"Dagon and Ashtoreth," he breathed, calling upon his shemite gods to protect him.

The Hyborian Chronicles: Of Sword and Sorcery

Amal cleaned the blood from his knife, idly wiping out the imperfections on the Nemedian steel. The bright moon glinted off its polish, brightening the darkness of his shemic eyes. Truthfully he had not wished to kill the temple-servant, a boy no older than eleven. But the youth had spotted him among the spires and Amal had been younger than he when he had killed his first. Had he the right mind, he would have run and told someone of the thief's whereabouts. Now he but basked upon the temple roof, perched upon the battlements as he gazed into the structure from above.

The temple girls were supple of limb and gifted in ways men only dreamed, so he contented himself with watching them lounge and titter. A few gave prayers and litanies to Ishtar, which seemed fitting with all the death in Xarame surrounding their pretty little temple. He had heard the northerners of Cimmeria worshipped no Gods, and only paid the barest of homage to one. Grom, that was his name. A barbarian god who gave no shits to who spoke of him was amusing. Perhaps he would go there one day.

Amal's musings were interrupted when someone else entered the temple. Briefly he wondered if they were guards having discovered the body of the boy, but no. This was a Stygian; a woman at that. She made the other women look like silly girls in comparison. There was sly maliciousness in her eyes that enchanted him as much as the Jewel of Khemi. There was an air of gravity to her presence. Something he couldn't pinpoint but it intrigued him. He watched with bated breath as she dismissed the others from the grounds, opening up a portal to underneath the superstructure of the temple. He watched her saunter within, hips swaying like the head of a cobra.

Like a panther he sprung from the heights, landing on the ground in a roll. Some of the women had yet to even exit the door, but their backs were turned. None saw the theif silently pad into the maw of the stone behind the Stygian woman, following her to see what treasures she may seek within...

The Knight's Song

Torm gave a a single bark of a laugh, crossing his sinewy arms, amused at Juliette's statement. He was no hulking brute, but it was clear he was strong and knightly in countenance. And unlike Haukenbrass and most knights one encountered, he was young, with but a few cuts and scars and he could count his military battles on one hand.

"I would like a lance, a lord, and some land, but we'll get none unless we gather some coin or favor, and we only get that if we work together." He reasoned, smiling as if thinking of a private joke. It had the look of a grinning wolf. He reached for the flagon of barley mead, downing his fill. Knights had to be mindful of health and diet, particularly if they were active like Torm, but he could allow himself some mead. He was forging an alliance, after all. He placed the flagon on the wooden table and held his hand out as if to arm wrestle, though that was clearly not the goal.

"Do we have a deal?"

---

Three Days Hence...

The two moved southwest, deciding it was best to travel closer to Andred City in order to find potential patrons. North led to Nordenmark and the barren wilderness of the Marches, where many terrors lay but few people to bear witness. East was of similar status, though petty kingdoms and duchies had risen over the last few centuries, under the sway of Andred but technically not under direct rulership, meaning there was little prestige if Torm wished to be a knight of the realm. And so that meant either south to the greater kingdom, or west towards Vrettonia, Andred's ancient rival and frequent belligerent. They chose to meet a middle ground, moving towards Anderlon and the Capital of the realm. Whilst there was little upheaval and conflict save for assassinations and inner struggles, coin was far more frequent. The theory was they might get lucky, and it seemed that their idea had paid off, at least in a middling fashion.

A day before leaving Gossenland behind and hitting a small portion of Eisenland, Torm and Juliette had cantered into a hamlet amongst the hills before the great road, snuggled within the bosom of Blakiven Forest, and as soon as Torm was helping Juliette off the horse, they had been ushered into the surprisingly spacious and well built house of the village master.

"You see, sir. It seems Galena hath shown her mercy this day." The portly man fellow said, his neckbeard a hodgepodge of brown and grey. He wore a gambeson and a doublet, which was sensible armor for someone who could not afford iron. But it must have been dire or worrisome indeed if he just wore it day to day. "We have little coin to pay a knight of the southern realm, and we dare not ask for aid from our northern lords lest we be subject to their attention and taxes."

"We need to eat, Master Llewyn, and the Iron Wolf of Kradismarc does not work for free, though his heart and goals are pure." Juliette declared with flair. Torm kept his mouth shut, having discussed protocol with his new minstrel. He would speak if she took a step too far, but other than that it was her job to sell him. "We would not see your folk starve, but there must be something you have for us? And what of your ills, you've spoken of it not at all."

"Of course, of course we pay. Six silver lordlings and twelve copper commons, a-and once you slay what attacks us, you'll get a gold royal." He assured them, sweating from the day. Torm had seen Llewyn and his men, most no more than boys stacking up palisades around their town, creatively named Foresmere. "We will give you two cooked chickens to eat for your stay here."

Torm and Juliette shared looks, Juliette opening and closing her mouth. It sounded like a bargain, but it implied if the task took longer than three nights, they would have to pay for more food. Torm shrugged, understanding. The people of Foresmere couldn't be too careful with letting a knight stay too long, lest he take advantage and squeeze them for more than his fair share. Torm spoke before his bard could agree.

"What has happened?" Torm gazed at the man, betraying his curiosity and pity for whatever plight ailed them.

"Death, sir. It...It started as slaughtered chickens. We had thought a jackwolves had gotten to them, or foxes. But Lark Faldon's boy went missing after a few days, and then the Moldie girls were taken. We found one of the lasses a mile into the wood. We only knew it was her from her garb her ma' had sewn just a week prior. It weren't no jackwolf or proper wolf, or even a bear if I had to guess. Whatever beast killed them, it then went after one of the men, Old Flann O'harron. He barely escaped with his life, but he couldn't get a good look at it. Dark n' all when it went after him. He was badly cut. Nearly died anyway."

"Anything else?" Torm asked, his face deathly calm.

"Aye," the man swallowed, clearing his throat. "They say when it attacks, it laughs."

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

His alarm emitted an odious beeping, and he knew if he didn't turn it off, it would continue for twenty minutes. Even Manny didn't have the patience and overt laziness to wait that out, and so he opened his eyes slightly, gazing around his cramped apartment without moving a muscle. Years spent hunting things most people didn't believe in gave one a healthy paranoia. Anything sifting through a room wouldn't have been able to tell he was awake. The detective had learned never to groan or even breathe differently once he awoke. It had freaked out more than one woman, he recalled with a snort of amusement.

As soon as he had moved here, he knew it would be a bit less roomy than his last place. Apartment sizes were often larger with numbers, and they got progressively smaller the more reliant on letters they were. Apartment A's were usually shitty basement apartments, private restroom optional. When he was sure that no one was in here with him, he leaped out of the bed.

He scratched his unkempt hair and finally let himself groan, using his free hand to turn the TV on. His big toe touched the power button to his retro Xbox 360, and suddenly it zoomed onto the screen. He clicked 3 buttons, and his playlist came on. His music, loud and full of drums and bass, suddenly popped up, and he headed towards the bathroom, passing by one of his noir posters. His shower was quick, and luckily it didn't seem to be full of iron tasting water this time. Must be his birthday.

He put on his pants, and buttoned up his shirt before he took a look outside. Two white males working. He recognized them from his daily scope outs. Not hard to figure out. One seemed to have a significant other, the lankier one. He had the distinct feeling the lankier one was a cultist of some sort. The sulphur in the dumpster he frequented was a fair clue, as was the 'new age' books of wiccan spells he'd seen through the window. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd check later, but for now, business called.

He put his effects in his pockets. He checked to see his pistol was full, and placed it into easy reach on his person, grip poking into the small of his back from within his shirt. His switch blade was in his sock. "Time to start trouble." he said to himself, opening the door and sliding out. He needed food, and decided he'd go out and get some early breakfast before heading to work.

He walked into the office with an egg and cheese bagel, and some orange juice in a cup. Paid to be healthy in his line of work, he told himself. He didn't speak to anyone he passed, just waving to whoever noticed him before he entered his office, breathing a sigh of relief once he sat down, retrieving his copy of 'A Thousand Horrors' and turning to page 769 to golems. Word had it a stone statue twenty miles up the road had killed a janitor. He wondered just how possible that was.

It paid to be nosy too.

Blades of the Blood Coast

@Pagemaster@DrRtron Are your schedules clearing up?

I will wait until this weekend to give an update to everyone, and after that everyone will have a week to post. So unless something extenuating occurs within the next two weeks, I think that should be enough time!

Also OOC update: Since Lauder is gone and two people are currently indisposed, I will allow someone to make a second character if there is a volunteer.

Phasers and Fortune: A Sci Fi RP (Shu & Poo)

Raddek smiled at Vashti's manner, though his smile couldn't be seen encased in his helm. Rather he made sure to walk ahead of her so any snake-like beasts that made their way through the brush would be scared off or discovered by him first. He knew the foliage nor beasts were poisonous for the most part, considering most people who dropped weren't immediately killed and a few teams had come back. Less than half was still enough to bring back stories, and Raddek was certain they could at least make the trek to the ruins. He stayed alert, however, and kept his weapon trained on any large tree or object he could see as he had promised.

"Nearly there?..." He asked, his voice slightly automated from his modular box. "We've been walking a little over half an hour, and the ruins are twelve miles away from landfall...so nope."

They walked another two hours, the system's sun in the sky nearly motionless was a good sign, but even with the temperature regulators in their armor, it was getting hot. Soon they had to begin moving uphill, the tree line growing thinner, though the trees themselves stayed as thick and tall as ever. A small monkey-like creature with leather-like plates scampered past them, and it was after they looked up from it that they saw the rusted, half demolished utility buildings peaking over the rockcrete walls. Raddek saw the area was overgrown, but it has staved off most save the most ambitious plant-life. Briefly he wanted to try and blast through the wall, but he realized the gate was close by.

"I'm glad the intel was right," he said to her deadpan, moving southward around the bend in military fashion, weapon up and eyes peeled until they found the gate; torn off its hinges. Judging by the state of it, it happened years ago. Raddek whispered for her to scan left, and he walked in, turning right. There was a dome of glassteel, dented but unbroken. Likely a place for someone to garden and keep a steady food supply. Beyond that, a larger building that swept both left and right, half of it destroyed and the other half relatively intact save for the gaping holes at its fore.

"We made it," He said. "Fucking sweet."