POOHEAD189

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

A damn shame, but not entirely unexpected. Good RPing with you again as always Poo!

@Kassarock

And you as well, my old friend

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

So it seems the RP has unfortunately stagnated. I think unless there is overwhelming desire to not within the week, I'll shut it down. If that happens, thanks to everyone who gave posts! They were all wonderful.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal was cold as well. He never knew he could be so cold, in fact! The wind cut at his skin, and he mentally steeled himself as he continued his climb, trying to keep himself from falling to his death. His vest rippled in the wind, exposing his browned, muscled torso. Amal's cloak having long since been ripped away from the tumultuous flight. His left hand reached up and tightly gripped a one of the rocks that burgeoned from the wall he found himself scaling.

Amal had leaped from the Wyvern's tail as it had swooped down to land, banging his knee but otherwise making it out with just a few scrapes. He had spent some time resting his legs as he hung over the precipice, and after a few minutes of waiting, he realized nothing was broken. He could handle a few bruises, and so he had pressed on until the point of exhaustion, only managing to haul himself up onto a platform with the last bit of his strength, groaning in the wind.

He blinked, gazing at the next wall he had to traverse to reach where the beast had landed with Emmaline. Had it wanted to eat her, it already would have like as not, but that didn't mean he didn't have cause to hurry. Whatever was happening, it was not good for her. It was just when he began to get up again on his small ledge that something ruffled in his pack, poking around before bursting out in a maelstrom of movement. Amal's eyes popped open wide before he realized it was the magic carpet!

"Oh, look who's awake!" Amal exclaimed sarcastically, though he couldn't help but laugh. The carpet caught the wind and swung around to land just beside its master, looking around with its top half, and Amal wondered if it truly saw things through such means or if it anthropomorphized itself for Amal's benefit, or perhaps its maker simply created it to act in such a way? Amal found he didn't care. He liked the carpet. He pointed upwards, leaning in to whisper to his friend. "Emmaline is up there. Can you get us up to, quietly?"

The carpet curled itself backwards as if it looked upwards, and then turned back to Amal. Its twisted, giving itself a curvaceous form to Amal's vision, its tassels shaped to look like two pigtails as it sauntered across the stone. Amal nodded, crossing his arms and legs as they discussed matters. "Yes, that Emmaline! I know you've been asleep for awhile, but you carried her ass across an ocean."

Maverick Malediction

"So nothing major then?" Neil quipped with his easy smile. Despite impending death, he didn't seem too concerned or nervous. Perhaps the old adage of candles burning half as long blaze twice as bright, but then again Neil didn't take such things to heart. He had spent much of his youth listening to older, learned men talk when he wasn't out with his friends, absorbing knowledge like a sponge, without having the proper life experience to give him clarity. It made much of his life a 'fill in the blank' experience. The longer he lived, the more the knowledge he had was connected like lines to dots. Meanwhile, he did his best to bullshit his way through the rest of it.

"You know, I'm not really in 'the know' with magic, but I'm assuming you don't mean necromancy and...the whole, becoming a skeleton thing. That sort of problem has plagued people for years, right?" He asked.

"I think you'll find I'm quite ambitious," She retorted, a dark twinkle in her eye. The sorceress raised an eyebrow, indicating Neil answer her question.

"My big plans?" He asked, pondering her question. It was something he often asked himself. Neil wasn't a long term planner or schemer, at least not in the traditional sense. When he put his mind to plots, he did fairly well if he was honest, but as for his goals? Women did like goal oriented men, after all. He couldn't just say nothing. "Well I find the establishment of the world to be pretty corrupt and ineffectual in retaining order or providing fairness to anyone, so I suppose my main goal would be to topple the established order and have an enjoyable time doing it. But I don't entirely know how to conceptualize that, you know? You-" He gestured toward her with his hand. "-have a deadliness about you that I couldn't match, so amassing as much money by nefarious means is generally my goal. I'm pretty good at it too, considering they hired you to kill me."

Neil turned from her and looked at the setting sun, the barest sliver of red light receding past the buildings across the deep river that cut through the city. Neil knew it was time. He felt it in his gut, even if it was going to be a bit dodgy. At least he could appreciate the little things, like the setting sun. Most people didn't stop to garner what they could out of life, he found.

"But I find I like to live moment to moment." He said, and then sighed. He changed his demeanor to show a hint of regret and trepidation, shaking his head and reaching into his jacket to take out the poison Hargond had slipped into his pocket. He could tell she tensed, but when she saw he had a small vial, there was less immediate cause for concern, at least to her own well being. He gave her a smug grin, heroically pushing off his fear of mortality to go out with style. "Speaking of which, this was actually a nicer date than I had anticipated. Usually, when it comes to men, your dick lies to you. But mine told the gods' honest truth this time. It's too bad death has to get in the way."

With that, he placed the vial to his lips and downed the tyroxanide like a shot, right before her eyes. Whether she knew what it was or wasn't, he didn't know, so he decided to give her a small explanation. He cleared his throat as the pungent aroma wafted out of the bottle. He placed it on the table with a 'clack.' Breathing in through his nose, he mentally prepared himself, and then laughed at his own fear. "So, to save you the trouble, I just drank some poison. Now, I know what you're thinking. How can you trust me to know it was poison? You'll have to get your hands dirty yourself, even if it has to be in front of all these people. But don't worry, just play along, and you'll have no blood on your hands and I'll be dead."

Neil tentatively grabbed the steak knife, and only when he held the knife was it evident he was shaking lightly. His eyes locked with the blade, and he gave a long sigh one final time. "You know, I've used knives to get my way a few times in my life. This is the first time they're betraying that trust." He lamented, and then he slit his wrist, giving a small yelp as the blade sank deep into his skin. Neil shuddered, swallowing and trying not to make a scene. Oddly, his eyes met the gaze of one of the waiters who happened to look over, and when Neil realized he didn't understand what was happening, Neil sliced his other wrist without breaking eye contact.

The waiter dropped his plate, shattering a full course meal for a gathering of local merchants and gasped, before giving a horrified, primal screaming. Neil closed his eyes at this point, leaning on his forearms as the blood began to seep out of his veins and onto his trousers, dribbling on the floor. He really hoped he wasn't making a mistake, and his life began to flash before his eyes. Playing in his aunt's garden, doing uncouth things with his friends, listening to his father speak to he and his sisters, and seeing his grandfather on his own deathbed.

"It hurts," was all he could say, opening his eyes to look at Calliope one final time, and it was his final words. He closed his eyes again and slumped against the table, fading into the cold oblivion of death.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal sat down on the bed, pressing down on it with his rump to get a feel for how much give it had. The bed wasn't bad for a hovel like Arkendorf, and it was big enough to squeeze two people in it. At least it would not be the ground. For some reason, the mornings in the north brought moisture to the land. A blessing, but an annoyance when one sleeps on the ground. Emmaline was about to sit down on his lap, but he held a hand up.

"One second, I need to take a piss." He said, and when she snorted he grinned and stood up, giving her a kiss. "Romantic, I know."

Once through the door, Amal walked out 'back' if one could call it that, though another building was so close to it, the grass between them seemed almost sad from lack of sunlight except at the highest point of noon. He cleared his throat and lowered the front of his trousers, relieving himself.

Meanwhile, Myrtle strode into the room and informed Emmaline the porridge was ready, and the blonde followed the older, portly woman into the den where she set down a steaming bowl of porridge, the aroma wafting a hint of basil and a pungent spice. The matronly woman sat down across from Emmaline and poured herself a drink as Emmaline began to eat, some juice sliding along her cheek after shoveling a few spoonfuls into her mouth. The broth was tasty and the meat chunky, but something was a bit off. Had they put a certain type of oil in it? Emmaline dabbed her cheek with an offered cloth.

"Sorry," she said, used to eating as she liked around Amal. For how ruthless he could be to the average imperial, he had many virtues in her eyes, one of those being his complete lack of judgement and expectations. Emmaline tried to swallow to clear her throat, but something still lingered in her esophagus. She grabbed her throat and took a sip of water, though it didn't really help in her endevour to clear her throat. She wasn't suffocating, but it seemed to be runoff of something within her sliding back up to the surface.

"I don't think this agrees with me," she tried to say, but it didn't quite come out except through a watery rasp. At the sound of her own voice and the mixture of both pity and relief on Myrtles face, the cogs in Emmaline's head began to spin, and it was only when Myrtle said "I'm sorry dear, but it's the only way" that she decided to make a run for it. But her 'host' was quick on her feet, blokcing her way. Or was Emmaline slower than usual? She felt sluggish.

Tired of this and wanting to find a way to Amal, Emmaline casted a spell based on memory, whispering the incantation to try and summon some sort of arcane aid, but it did not serve her as intended, causing her hands to glow and the silverware on the table to shoot off into different directions as if a child threw them. Myrtle Gertel's jaw dropped, letting out a breath of surprise.

"A sorceress!?" She said in astonishment. "Even better! He will be giddy at someone else who can perform witchcraft!"

It was the last noise Emmaline heard other than the droning in her head, as the woman slumped onto the ground and fell in an awkward position on the floor, her vision fading to black.

Back outside, Amal felt much better. In fact, he had a spur of the moment decision to try his lock picking skills. He hadn't practiced in quite awhile, and fumbled with a small iron tool he kept with the door opposite their current, temporary residence. He gently bit his tongue as he worked it, and the lock 'clacked' open in four strokes. The handsome arabyan raised a smug eyebrow and opened the door, swinging it open and closed a few times before shutting it, casually placing his tool back in the pocket of his trousers. "Still the devil," he breathed, recalling back in his youth when a cobbler had watched him pick the lock of the local jeweler's chest from across the street, shouting at the 'devilish' young man. A better compliment, he had never received.

Suddenly, Amal heard a crack that broke into a roar, as if the sound had ripped from some unknown realm of reality. His smile gone and now standing on the balls of his feet, an onlooker wouldn't have noticed just how he had drawn his knife, gripping it in his strong finger. One moment it was not visible and the next, he wielded it like a fang. Glancing back and forth, his thick mane of black hair wavered from a new breeze, moving against the wind he had felt not an hour ago. Another sound belched forth, closer this time, and with a heavy thump Amal knew something had landed at the front of the house.

Creeping swiftly, the rogue made it to the corner of the house and peered out of its back toward the main road, and his bewildered eyes were met with a ruddy scaled, leviathan monstrosity of perhaps thirteen meters in length. It was not a dragon in his estimation, but it was the next horrible thing down the line of horrible things. In its red eyes was a cunning and anger that unnerved him, but surprisingly, it did not lash out at any of the villagers. At least the few that had not fled into their homes. Amal believed they were stupid for the merest second until he saw the way they carried themselves, and he realized this was a planned affair. Gelf was with the men, some younger, some his age. He did not have time to get a bad feeling, for the very next sight he saw was Emmaline, unconscious or worse, being carried over toward the thing like she was a pig on a spit.

Amal moved without hesitation, crouched and making his way silently past the wall of the house and into the beast's blindspot, though he did not have time to be stealthy for very long. The men set down his love before the thing and backed away, the draconic thing lowering its snout to her prone form. Amal's dagger flew true, whipping end over end to cut into the beast's throat. It flinched and cried out a terrible shriek, sending everyone to their knees in pain, including Amal. It whipped its serpentine head toward the theif and growled, its neck too thick and long to be slit in one cut. Like a snake, it struck at Amal with its maw. Amal, on his hands and knees, pushed off the ground with the help of his curled toes, sending him flying to the side. The thing took the opportunity to rear its head back and step forward, placing Emmaline's form in its clawed foot as it began to spread its wings.

"No!" Amal roared, dust whipping into the air as he scrambled toward the thing. It was all he could do to grab onto the barbs of its tail before the next updraft lifted them up into the air, flinging them from the ground in gut-dropping moments.

Meesa Free

Hi! I freed you

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"Refugees, are you? Well you've come to the wrong place." The peddler informed them the next morning.

The cool air of the night lingered, but the sun's rays began to peak over the distant mountains to mingle amongst the trees. Particularly hairy hogs snorted and walked about, rutting in the mud beside the road that led into the town of what they discovered was called Akendorf. An 'imperial-like' settlement of free men and women who wanted to find their own way out of the Empire's taxes and dogmatic traditions. Emmaline rode atop the stallion, draped in their cloth blanket whilst a cloaked Amal guided the mount by its reins, having walked up the road from a mile back. Mostly to appear a bit less intimidating than an armed and dangerous arabyan thief and what they might consider of Emmaline as 'stolen goods.'

"We will not stay long. We only seek food and shelter for the night, and we'll keep moving." Amal assured him. The bearded, older fellow gave a huff of a laugh, as if what Amal had said was utterly ridiculous.

"There's not much room. But even if you've found some-" His mouth was clamped shut by a portly woman Amal imagined was his wife. She had scurried over not a moment before and shut her husband up, pulling him back a step to whisper in his ear. Whatever she was saying, it was urgent. He listened, and then looked at the two newcomers before pulling back and nodding. "Actually, yes. We have an extra bed at our house. We do need to be a bit more accomodating to folk, herr...?"

"Ababwa," Amal remarked, crossing his arms. He didn't fully understand what was happening, but as long as there was a bed in it for them, he would not complain. "My wife and I have been traveling for many days. Would you happen to have something to drink? Something strong would be good."

"Strong!" The man laughed, drawing the gazes of nearby villagers. The town of Akendorf wasn't large. Barely a step above a hamlet, with maybe a thousand villagers or less, if Amal had to guess. It was a strange oddity amongst northern settlements. Unless you were at a bedouin camp on the caravan lanes, no settlement had less than twenty thousand people, for water sources were far too scarce. If there was water, there were men and many of them. A dog had walked over curiously but then bounded off at the peddler's laugh. "We have some strong drink, yes, my new friend. Would you tell us of your journey when we ate? We would like to hear news of the south."

"We came from the north, we're going south."

"O-oh, of right. Well, tell us that too! Dear, come help his wife off the horse. We can stable your beast."

"Thanks." Amal said quizzically. He didn't know what he had done to deserve such hospitality, but he would take it.

Maverick Malediction

Neil listened intently, his chin on his hand, elbow on the edge of the table. In some places it was considered poor manners, but from where he grew up it signified curiosity. He hadn't even touched his whiskey yet, though consciously he was waiting on food before he started downing any drinks. Midway through her conversation, Neil ordered the steak and mashed potatoes ladled with imported oil he heard was quite good, then they returned to their discussion and he simply watched her again. It bothered him how she could be dangerously sexy and yet adorable at the same time, and it bothered him more than he thought that way when she was planning on executing him. Well, he had a plan for that, but it was the thought that counts. He was taken out of his googly eyes when the food arrived, and she asked her question.

"That's fascinating. I bet you get the same rush I do when I'm..." He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, doing what I shouldn't be doing. Guess that's a character flaw of mine."

He took the knife and fork and began to cut the steak. Wisely, he hadn't brought a weapon in case she scanned him somehow, but the restaurant kindly provided their own weaponry, even if was a last resort. If this darkly beautiful sorceress wanted to kill him, he was going to make it difficult in more ways than one. He gestured toward her with the knife. "Going right to the big questions? You're up front, I like that," he said, popping a small slice of steak in his mouth. "Oh, I like the steak too." He added as an after thought.

He ate another slice and then washed it down with alcohol, enjoying the tingling tastes that sparked in his mouth. The thief wiped his mouth with one of the cloths provided, very happy with the meal. "You know, I was going to save that until the end of the dinner because it was going to be what convinced you to not kill me, but I can tell you the crux of it to get you interested," He remarked with a grin and a wink. Beside them, a ship slowly floated up the deep river that bisected Kalx'Molaris. On its hull, reaching from the depths, were huge scratch marks only something like a kraken or sea dragon could make.

"So you likely know I was a mule for them. I did well, I think. I'm pretty good at getting in and out of places and situations, so it was the dream job, for a bit. I guess they thought I was a bit too good, and a little less than trustworthy." He mused, sipping his drink. "Well, once they decided to get rid of me, I got wind of it and took the last job they thought owed to them. But instead of delivering the letter, I looked at the contents inside, memorized it, and then burned the package." He began to twirl the knife betwixt his fingers, not threateningly, but in a playful manner. "My mistake was not knowing how I would let them know I was the only thing left alive that knew the location of what they wanted. And as you've probably guessed it, I will instead extend an offer of partnership to you."

Neil smiled, pleased with himself. Even if he died, it would be interesting. He leaned forward and gave her a surreptitious whisper in return. "But before you know what the package is or accept the terms, let's just have some fun."

The dark haired scoundrel cleared his throat and sat back, holding his glass up to be refilled. "I find the possibility of death spices things up, particularly on a date. Besides, I'm still curious. Let's say you finish up your favor with the syndicate, are you going to stay in the assassin business or try something else? Not to be stereotypical, but stories always talk about goodly wizards becoming scholars or advisors, and bad ones usurping kings. Have any lofty ambitions beside wiping my handsome face off the face of the world?"

Maverick Malediction

Neil blinked, though he did well to keep his composure, as well as to keep his eyes solely on hers and not exploring her body beyond a cursory glance at her dress. Neil knew the way to impress a woman and to help receive not only her interest, but her respect, was not to oggle. And it was odd to him to make sure he didn't do that here, because this woman was preparing to kill him in cold blood after they had dinner. Still, he had seen his fair share of beautiful women in his life, but she took the cake. Even looking into her eyes, he was getting lost in an abyss. For some reason he imagined screams of terror cut off by the sounds of guillotines as he looked into her eyes, but he thought they were pretty enough to ignore the potential hallucinations for now.

"I figured it was your style," He said with a soft grin. "It's my style too. I do think-"

Neil was cut off as rough hands grabbed him from behind, a look of confusion marring his face for the briefest moment before he was spun around, the hands now gripping his coat at the front seams, almost lifting Neil off the ground. Neil himself wasn't weak or short, but the man that held him was huge. He stood head and shoulders taller than Neil, which meant Calliope likely only reached his chest. His brown hair was closely cropped, and his eyes looked made of iron. He wore a brigandine that fit him like a snug vest. He was a jymen, one of the demi-men with giant's blood. Pariahs of society, most worked as soldiers, bodyguards, or bouncers. There was a chill that escaped his lips when he breathed, as if his anatomy was inverse to that of normal men.

Neil didn't even take his hands out of his pockets.

"Oh wow, I thought you were dead." Neil remarked, surprise evident in his voice. He was fully composed and unblinking, but he was still held off the ground by his coat. It could easily go wrong for him, at least by appearances.

"You first," The jymen said with vengeance dripping off his lips, his voice deep and foreboding. The half-man's cauliflower nose bulged when he spoke, evidently having been broken and reset at least six times. Neil could account himself as one of those times, he remembered. The thief smiled, showing his teeth as if he were speaking to an old friend. "You have been gone for most of the month. You better have a good explanation for this, Edwards."

"Look, I told you I had your money. I still have a week left to pay, right?" He reasoned, banking on a jymen's tendency to single-minded focus. They weren't paragons of virtue, but they honored contracts and agreements. It gave them a reputation for loyalty. As it stood though, Neil felt a small uneasiness. Not from the giant threatening him, but from something else. He didn't know if his date was growing impatient, or if she felt threatened, but he could only imagine that if she got pissed off, it might spell the end for the jymen, and Neil wanted a nice dinner, not a bloodbath. He had to appreciate the irony of his executioner saving him from another one, however. "Listen Hargond, I disappeared because I got arrested, and now I'm out. You'll get your money at the right time, I'm sorry I haven't caught up in awhile." The words sank in, and Neil saw the moving parts behind his eyes. "Look, I'd love to chat, but I have a lady friend to entertain. We'll talk about this later, ok?"

The jymen's eyes flicked to Calliope, and then back to Neil. The thief finally took his hands out of his pockets and raised them up to ease the large man, and slowly he was put back down on his feet. "Cool, now, we'll meet at the right place in a week-"

"Do not be late," Hargond warned, glowering one last time before turning his back on the couple, fading into the gloom of the coming evening.

Neil fixed his collar and smoothed his hair. "Sorry about that. Did a job with a few lads and only two of us made it. That was the other one." He said, and held his arm out for her to take. Once she did, Neil led the way into the bistro, the warmth radiating off the torches. Neil took out his coinpurse, stacked with royals, and placed it on the counter. "That outta buy us the evening, right?"

The Maître d' looked flummoxed, grabbing the coinpurse and stammering if Neil was certain, before counting out the coins. Neil didn't bother to wait past the fifth gold royal, giving Calliope and wink and escorting her to one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river. The table was oaken, with two cushioned chairs opposite one another, set beside a backdrop of the fading sun. He pulled her chair out for her before taking his seat. "You know, don't take this the wrong way, but you're the most metal woman I've ever met and I barely know you. So how about I ask you a question, and you ask me one, yeah?"

Multiple server approached, eager to get the order of whatever Neil and his lady friend would have. Their boss had likely spoken to them personally to wait on the two hand and foot, and once the two of them got their drinks, Neil asked her. "How did a dark sorceress become an assassin for hire?"