POOHEAD189

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"On our 6!"

The OSV's were not terribly fast, built by the Imperium for reliability rather than speed or armor. Top speed on a flat surface with enough time, they could reach up to about 125 KPH, and that was without passengers or ordinance. The body is constructed from lightweight and rust-resistant aluminum, instead of conventional steel, at least in it's most common variant. Small caliber rounds from autoguns and the occasional lasbolt or three wouldn't take the vehicle out of action. You'd really need to hit it in the right spot with a bolt pistol or high powered rifle to damage it. However, they were pretty much just moving targets for Orks with their heavy armor and high caliber guns.

"Jumpers!"

"Where did they come from!?"

Zeb should have expected this, his lasgun raising with his head as the drivers nearly lost formation from the surprise flanking. Behind them, heavily armored wartrukks had erupted out of a gulley, ork boys screaming to their twin gods and guns firing sporadically. Men cursed or cried out to the Emperor, but to their credit they recovered well, Zeb ordering them to fire even as ork stormboyz clinging to the grills of the wartrukks screamed and leaped, their jump packs roaring to life just as gravity was about to take them, flinging them towards the convoy of OSV's. A few orks flew into the distance, unable to take proper control of their equipment, but a few managed to land in the midst of the trucks. A stormboy landed in front of the left wing of the convoy and was hit full on by one of the vehicles, cracking the windshield and breaking the bumper, knocking the ork flat. A testament to its species, it was still alive until the third truck ran it over.

Zeb had the misfortune of his stormboy landing atop the hood of his OSV, the xenos' choppa nearly decapitating him with a vicious swing. Zeb blocked with his lasgun, the choppa biting into the butt of the weapon and knocking it out of his hands, flinging Zeb back into his seat. He kept his wits about him and reached for the backseat, taking out an autopistol. Normally it wouldn't be very effective against a hulking Xenos like an Ork, but seven rounds fired in quick succession to the face was enough to take it out, breaking its goggles in spurts of blood and sending it falling off the truck. Zeb just managed to grab his lasgun from the choppa before it fell onto the road.

Relatively small rounds (for orks) erupted from the forward machine guns from the three ork wartrukks behind them, biting into the back armor of the OSV's. Heavy stubbers burst into life, roaring like carnodons. One man to Zeb's left lost his head, the shrapnel from his skull killing the man beside him, the bone fragments slicing into his neck. Another OSV was hit by a stormboy, the ork landing in the midst of the men and cracking open the driver's skull with its cleaver. The truck veered, hitting another OSV and nearly running it off the road, but it kept its course and instead the ork one suddenly spun to the right, flying into a ditch that threw the ork and the men out at terrible speed.

Zeb's lasgun cracked, firing at full auto at the orks in the wartrukks, one of the vehicles nearly punctured like swiss cheese and another with a blown wheel. Shotguns roared, slugs slamming into the orks, taking off chunks of their meaty shoulders. The next minute was naught but a furious exchange of shells and lasers, until there were only eight OSVs left, and the last wartrukk was dismantled, its tires blown out and the orks pitching childish fits.

Zeb wiped the sweat from his brow, a dozen men or more under his command were now dead. He gave a quick prayer to the Emperor to guide their souls, about to shoulder his lasgun when the call came over the vox that a shuttle had been spotted ahead, and lasguns were being fired from within. The only shuttle that could be out here as far as he knew was Katia's, but even if it wasn't, they had a duty to help.

"A hundred greenskins are assaulting their fortified position, sergeant."

"Hit them hard from behind, now!" Zeb ordered, and the heavy stubbers were hastily reloaded as the OSVs moved into position to hit the Orks in a lightning strike they wouldn't soon forget.

Maverick Malediction

Had Neil been present during the duel, he would have cheered her on and whooped without shame. Perhaps he could have even helped. Most men wouldn't have had the courage or audacity, but Neil Edwards was certainly an exception. Instead, however, he found himself upstairs and about to lose his life to a massive cleaver-like blade swinging via a pendulum. The thief was given a fright, not that he didn't expect a trap, but he didn't think the entire bloody library was rigged! Neil leaped forward, the blade shearing off the back half of his loose noble's vest, giving it the look of having its back half bitten by an overly huge canine.

"Fuck! Already!?" He said to fate, who was a cruel mistress. He tore off the vest, leaving himself with the top fit for a fashionable duelist or barista in certain circles. He hated wearing anything gaudy but jewelry he had freshly stolen, but when he turned to see the trap he had narrowly avoided, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished blade. Neil took the moment to fix his hair and puff up his chest, noting he cut quite the figure. "Look at you, you handsome rapscallion."

The fortress shook, something massive occurring elsewhere. Reverberating rumbles sprang up from the stairway, along with distant cries he thought might be screams. The shaking caught him off guard, Neil falling onto the carpeted floor on his ass. A small swiveling sound drew his attention upwards, and with a cry of alarm he rolled as a stone pillar shot from one of the sectioned bit of stone above, smashing into the ground a mere hand from where he had been. The wind from the stone had filled his nostrils with dust, and as it raised back up, the floor began to roil and crumble. The rogue found his foot was sliding into a forming hole, and he scrambled away as quickly as possible, bypassing a bookshelf, noticing almost too late the pressure plate his knee had pressed upon.

Spikes as long as Neil's forearm were unsheathed on the edge of the bookshelf, the great piece of furniture swinging towards Neil's position. Luckily, Neil was still crawling, merely getting pummeled by the flying books and cedar frame, pushing him perilously close to the massive gaping maw that had formed from the previous trap of stone. To Neil's surprise and utter bewilderment, the hole was glowing, an impossibly bright pit of liquid metal belching steam that could permanently burn a man's flesh from his bones. Neil's head was nearly over the lip of the hole, and without bothering to glance around, he grabbed one of the spikes from the swinging bookshelf and let it drag him across the floor, away from the traps.

"Why are wizard's like this?" He asked the lonely room of death traps. "Why can't they just be fucking normal?"

He felt a small rug burn on his ass, but it was better than being skewered so he just let his weight get dragged, and found himself about halfway through the room. In fact, he could see a small, secondary room at the back of the great chamber of knowledge. And within was a dias, with a book bound in black leather? He thought that's what it was, at least. "Good," he said aloud, picking himself up and dusting the bits of debris off himself. Gingerly, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the item Calliope had gifted him. In the palm of his hand was a perfectly smooth orb, entirely black save for the silver thread in the shape of a serpent slithering across its surface. He didn't entirely know what he was supposed to do with it, but it looked pretty, if nothing else.

The sound of steel on steel drew his attention, and from the wall across the expanse of the right wing of the library, there was an opening he hadn't seen before. Three footmen stood there, swords at the ready and eyes blazing fanatically. "You! What do you do here!?" The front one asked. He had a square jaw Neil was certain could carve granite. The other two stepped beside him, a lanky one and a more hefty man, all bedecked in the finest steel breastplates and open faced helms.

"I was just looking for the bathroom."

"Magister Therman told us to check this room for an intruder. Do you insult our intelligence or his?" The man growled, taking a step forward. His eyes darted from Neil to the ground, and the thief realized they weren't invulnerable to the traps. They had them memorized! He watched their eyes intently, trying to judge where they looked to ascertain the best way to proceed. The fatter one stayed in the back, a bit more wary than the other two as they inched their way towards Neil. That is, until halfway across the expanse of carpet, the man with the sword offered his hand and lowered the blade in his other. "Bring yourself in quietly, and we will forgive you for your transgressions against our master. Perhaps we'll throw you into the atrium portal and send you somewhere where you might live comfortably?"

"Look, no offense but your master is a big asshole," Neil remarked with a grin, now on the balls of his feet. He could surmise a few of the hotspots to avoid now, and though he didn't know everything, the guards here actually were a benefit.

"You dare!?" He cried.

"We must kill him," the lanky one said, hatred in his eyes.

"Ok ok, I take it back. I shouldn't say he's an asshole. You're right, I'm sorry. All I meant was, Magister Therman has shady, closed door dealings with men of ill repute across the city at late hours doing unspeakable things." Neil admitted, holding his hands out as if to assuage them. They looked confused at that statement, not understanding the bait. Another smile bloomed on Neil's face a moment later when he added: "Just like your fucking girlfriends."

"THAT'S IT KNAVE!" The fat one roared as the other two brandished their swords with murderous intent. Somewhat older than the front two, the bearded man barreled forward, evidently stepping where no traps lay. "No one insults my Hilda and lives!"

Neil then did all of the wrong things. Stepping wherever they didn't want him to step, bouncing off the wall with a kick and landing at different locations of the carpet and beside desks, before leaping back as swiftly as he could to the relative island of safety beside the killer bookshelf. What followed could most readily be described as a bloodbath. Mines that shot spikes flew up and punctured throats. A draconic statue erupted flames from its maw across the carpet, singing the fabric and immolating the front guard, but the worst came last. The lanky footman had somehow gotten out of it with but a flesh wound, making it to Neil and swinging at him. Neil ducked, the sword biting into the cedar as it stuck fast. Kicking out, Neil sent the whispy fellow stumbled backwards, his feet tripping over a small cord, now broken from the man's weight.

A small vial fell from above, turning end over end until it hit the ground with a quiet, almost majestic shattering of glass. At first, Neil only witnessed a bit of black oil seeping out of the vial. The only thing he felt off was that the oil moved as if it had a mind of its own, stretching to two meters and forming a weird, oval shape. The guard sat up, a few feet from the newly formed hole. He eyed it warily, clearing his throat so he could chuckle.

"You thought you got me," He taunted Neil. The thief was about to admit that wasn't a very good trap, until tentacles the size of Neil's torso burst out of the hole with impossible speed, slithering over the helpless guard, who could only squeak in panic before he was enveloped. Neil shuddering, even seeing one of the tentacles violating the man in every hole that could be found. Wherever the hole led to, it wasn't the material plane of existence.

Neil walked forward, stepping where he thought he should and making sure not to get his dirtied from the corpses or feet wet from the blood.

"Unsummon," Neil said, holding out the small black sphere in the direction of the eldritch abomination. He saw in rapt amazement as the tentacles shuddered as if fighting the command, then sliding back into the darkness from whence it came, dragging the body of the guard with it. The 'oil' that had formed now lessened until it was no more, and Neil looked at the ball in his hand. How had that worked? And how did he know to do that? It was Calliope's doing, likely. Best to just count himself lucky and continue on. The next dozen feet were slow, but it seemed the room had been spent of traps. Neil breathed a sigh of relief once he entered the small room, not seeing any hints of mechanical triggers now that he could look up close. Slowly, he pressed his foot on the dias and then backed up.

Nothing.

He stepped back on, pocketing the orb and then grabbing the book. It was completely unremarkable, except for the spine of the tome that stung to look at, etching of blood in an unknowable language wreathed upon its surface. He gave a tired breath, sighing. That had been too close too many times. He was just thinking of how pleased Calliope and he would be once they left, money and the book in their grasp.

That was when the keep shook, and not the shuddering of earlier. Neil felt like a god had grabbed the stone, and was slowly crushing it to death...

---

Minutes later...

"Hey babe. Babe wake up!" Neil smacked Calliope's face as hard as he dared, which wasn't that hard truth be told. But it would have woken her up if she could, and it looked she was out cold. "Come on, wake up you dark, scary, gorgeous murderer!... dammit!"

Masonry crumbled and people screamed as the ground undulated from some unknown force. Some people in the bower were still under the influence of whatever dreamed narcotics they consumed, lost in ecstasy, but most understood their plight and ran for what they perceived were the exits. Neil had the distinct feeling the guests weren't going to make it. He groaned in annoyance and swept her up in his arms, the book firmly nestled within his shirt. He started for the doors, running after two noble ladies into an archway, until Neil was nearly thrown to the side and the stone cracked, crumbling atop the women, their screams muffled until they were no more.

"Ok, think. Think, what-" And then it dawned on him. "... portal, got it."

Neil ran back towards the stairway, dust and light debris hitting his head. He didn't know why he was blocking most of it from hitting Calliope. She had used him quite a bit, after all. That was you volunteering too, idiot, he thought. "True, plus she's really hot." He said to himself as he leaped up the stairs two to three steps at a time. An Atrium would be at the top floorm right? He wasn't great with terms of architecture, but it was there or nowhere. He passed by an older butler with the neck of a turkey that hustled down the stairs, fear in his eyes.

Neil's breathing was labored once he got to the fifth floor. He didn't know how much further it was, and though Calliope wasn't heavy, carrying any adult up the stairs was taxing, particularly after all of the normal acrobatics. Another floor...another... The fortress was now growling and teetering, some of the hallways Neil passed were already falling into the abyss. He wheezed and stumbled, holding Calliope tight and getting back up, using another burst of energy to make it to the top of the keep. He wanted to talk to Calliope or make a quip, but he hadn't the breath. He couldn't even gasp when he saw the portal itself.

The atrium was huge, shattered glass lay on the marble floor and potted plants and beakers of alchemical variants were scattered and fallen. A chair was on fire from one of the vials spilled contents. But it was the center of the room, where an archway made of brass and swirling with energies beyond Neil's comprehension loomed. Beside it was a stone, connected via some sort of silvery seam that met both the archway, the stone, and the ground. Neil didn't have time to tinker with it, as parts of the central floor were now giving way. He went into a dead sprint, Calliope bouncing in his arms as he ran, stumbling nearly into nothingness before one last, great, leap.

The two flew into the archway, and reality spun as they were sent hurtling through time and space. To where? Neil knew not, his chest boiling and his eyes feeling like they were about to be plucked out of his sockets. He screamed, but there was no sound. He could see nothing, but existence was in his sight. And then he and Calliope were falling, and he felt sunlight on his skin, and distantly he saw mountains and forests, and the fire from dozens of chimneys, and the two hit a snowbank with a loud crunch. Neil didn't know where they were...but it was cold.

New around here

Late comment, but welcome! @Spider

Maverick Malediction

Neil had never been much of a dancer by practice, but he had a good rhythm and a quick mind for coordination. They stepped together in relative harmony, Neil glancing around every so often, if not for his curiosity than to not be too distracted by being in such close proximity with his partner in crime. He was not one to be nervous around women, but an assassin sorceress made him just a smidge on edge. Still, he was smoother than anyone else would have been, considering.

Neil shifted his weight and pivoted his foot, lifting Calliope's arm over her head. She took the cue and spun, before falling into his arms, the scoundrel capturing her dramatically. "Noted," he whispered, and then blinked in surprise when he felt her hand slid into his pants. No, wishful thinking. She had placed some small ornament in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow.

"For the magical traps, in case you need it," She winked.

"It's as good as yours." Neil pulled her back up, and they continued with the gingerly spinning dance the others around them had simultaneously begun to perform. The room was such a strange juxtaposition of aristocratic order and heretical obscenities, which meant he was entirely out of his element considering he wasn't a sadist or a rich man. They glided past another couple, both dancers veiled in masks the likeness of leering animals. Abruptly the spinning stopped as the music softened before quickening pace again. Neil's left foot went back as Calliope's right stepped forward, both suddenly sidestepping to Neil's right, hands together and moving right continuously for six paces.

Now the two were at the edge of the dance floor, and they broke apart like a crashing wave. Calliope spun and fixed her hair as if she had just stepped out of the bar-room, meanwhile Neil continued his sidestep for another few steps until he bounded up a stone stairway that led deeper into the keep. It was entirely probable they would never see each other again, he mused. One of them could die and the other would have to flee, and a betting man would count on Neil's demise in that scenario.

"If I killed myself and died permanently a few days later because of the same woman, I'll only be able to blame myself," He breathed, quietly but casually making his way up the steps. The stone must have been magically wrought, He thought. It was too smooth for human laborers. To his horror, a serving woman met him at the top of the first flight, but made sure to avoid eye contact and act as if she wasn't even there. She merely walked passed him after giving him a sideways glance, not deigning to question him. You learned at a young age that if you acted like you were meant to be somewhere, only rarely would people question it.

The second flight of stairs fed into an elaborately furnished long gallery, busts of ancient men and regal lords framed the walkway next to tropical plants that swayed lightly. Neil hesitated for a moment, eyeing any traps he might find, before realizing they wouldn't be set so close to the festivities. He walked down the hall, trying not to make sounds but not being overly concerned. As far as any distant listener would know, he was a watchmen or a maid. The long gallery looked rather ostentatious, almost to the point of being gaudy. It would be a good guess to say Therman wished to imitate the higher arch-dukes, though the portrait of a demon erupting from a child's ribcage in a maelstrom of blood on the gallery wall was a unique bit of flair.

Neil turned and continued down the corridor, impatiently looking for the library. He hoped the books were separated by title or else he'd have a bad time. Every door he passed was locked or ajar, and a few were mysteriously gone as if paved over with mortar and stone. The doors that he could poke his head into were empty bedrooms or offices, and he passed by a large and immensely embroidered dining room that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries.

The next floor was much the same, though he could swear he heard a crying child somewhere within. He wasn't going to fall for that.

The fifth floor was where he knew the book would be, because the very archway that fed from the stairway led into a grand library, filled with tomes and scrolls spilling off the shelves. Floating lights kept the floor in perpetual illumination, with cushioned, leather backed chairs dotting the carpeted landscape. Every bookshelf was at least thrice the height of a man, and as thick as a castle's walls. Neil couldn't shake the feeling this might be the most dangerous room in the keep, and when he stepped onto the floor, an incessant whirring sound erupted from the left, betraying the approach of a swinging axe that would slice him twain.

Cinnabar Forever! (RCN)

It took two more jumps to get to Delta-3-7. Kaiden had a cold sweat for the entire trip, or at least that's how he would remember the journey. It was absolutely miraculous that Herculaneum had gone under attack while they were gone, much less were in Alliance hands before they had even returned. Kaiden had heard strange rumors about jumpspace, where time became disjointed and unreliable, and though he knew it wasn't the case, he certainly felt like the prelude to the war and its first offensive had past him by below his notice.

"Bushman, Harwen, go help lower the sails." Kaiden ordered. Higgs would have done so but he was busy on the aft. The Vickie wasn't nearly as poor off as the K-21 Kaiden had given Sabatine, but twenty odd crew still gave everyone a bit more work on their hands. They gave curt salutes and hustled out of the bridge to the main deck.

"Are we absolutely, crystal clear, that K-21 is clear for us?" Kaiden asked, his gaze swiveling to Howarth with a stern countenance. Nothing was Howarth's fault, but Kaiden felt either sick or angry at anything in his vision. "How's the Vickie?"

"Yes Captain. All signals clear! We were a bit slow on the uptake with a few kinks on the engine, but Colby and Randals got it fixed before the second jump. We'll sail in smoothly from here on." He explained just when the K-21 made visibility.

---

"Sir, might I suggest-"

"No, you may not." Kaiden warned Tilda, and the woman blanched at the uninhibitedly threatening look he gave her. His eyes lingered for a few moment, in no mood to flirt or be questioned with. The blonde woman closed her mouth and nodded, turning about face and walking away. Kaiden closed the door behind him.

Delta-3-7 was an old mining outpost, quietly commandeered by the Republic a score of years previously and reorganized into an outpost for military applications due to the increasing mobilization of the government. The Bureau of Ordinance had nestled itself there snugly. Once the Vickie and K-21 had arrived, the RCS Whitehall, a refitted sloop, had been at dock for repairs. Kaiden had hailed the Captain, a one Timothy Rachet personally, to his relief finding the ship had been dealt a damn bad one by a few scattered asteroids. Captain Rachet had little news to provide the Vickie, instead desperately asking Kaiden for a briefing. In true military fashion, Kaiden kept it short but grim, and then told Rachet he would contact him later once he reconvened with his officers.

"You do a hell of a good job," Kaiden said to Sabatine, who had been waiting in the room for his arrival. The lunar facility had seen a flurry of activity in recent months, but there was still plenty of room for Republic personnel. He didn't trust the skittering agents from the Bureau of Ordinance lurking around every corner, however. The organization did good work and he would normally be keen to speak to a representative, but there seemed to be little oversight at Delta-3-7. His grandfather once told him, 'every spoke in the wheel is important, but a wandering spoke means a broken wheel.' Kaiden took a breath, crossing his arms. "That being said, how the hell did they move that fast?"

Hello everyone

Welcome!

A New Person

@Aristocles
Pming sounds great! I am also going to work on my search thread today, so that might be something to wait for as well.

@POOHEAD189

Thank you so much! Fantasy is pretty awesome, isn't it?

@NoChill

Extremely 8)

Cinnabar Forever! (RCN)

"Micha won't have any pull soon," He said grimly. He didn't want to throw the conversation away from the snark they both so enjoyed, but it was something he still couldn't quite come to terms with. Granted, his life was still very strange to him, and he hadn't really stopped to consider it. The military runaway of a high noble family found himself usurping his superior, launching the first shots in an extrasystem war, crawling on the ground in an enemy ship with his ex-girlfriend who happened to be his second.

At her request, he gave a "Yeah, sure" and went to the door, preparing to open it with his crowbar in case there were any problems with the inner latch, but something up there smiled on them, and it slid open without a problem. Sabatine marched out of the hatch, and Kaiden placed his hands around the console she carried. "Let me."

"I've got it," she insisted, not irritably, but he could tell she wasn't going to take no for an answer unless it was explicitly said to be an order.

"You are probably the only one that could pull this shit with me," He told her, shaking his head in his suit. The air-tight suit hardly budged with any movement except the wide movement of their arms or the broad strides of their legs, but it was surprisingly how much one could glean from the tone of your voice. "I'll keep watch."

"Well since we're being less formal, I let you get away with more than your fair share before we worked together. Old Baile-"

"We will not talk about that," He said, but it wasn't so much as forbidding as embarrassment. Sabatine laughed, and Kaiden couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly, even if he didn't want anyone in a hundred kilometers to hear that story. It involved Kaiden getting blind drunk and skinny dipping in the pool of a Rear Admiral nicknamed Old Bailey. Sabatine had done some fancy maneuvering that night to save Kaiden's ass from a scandal. She had always said he had sufficiently paid her back by sweet talking a few aides to help get her in the right places to get the ears of the right supervisors, and there had been that midshipman Kaiden had ostracized that had tried to get her thrown out when she had rejected his advances. But still, she hadn't done anything that could get her shunned by her family or peers, unless one counted some vulgar remarks and a few bar fights.

"I'll let you off the hook this time," She remarked wryly.

They couldn't continue the conversation by virtue of reaching the cargo chamber where the alliance crew had been found. Now there was just Higgs waiting for them, giving a salute. Even the medical supplies had been gathered up. Quick work, Kaiden noted. He gave them a "everyone is off the ship" with a bosun's surety.

"They better be, because we're not coming back." Kaiden replied, and the three climbed back about the RCS Vicount.

A New Person

Hey hey~! I am NoChill, but feel free to call me Chill or Chilly or really whatever else you can come up with. I have been writing for a very long time. It's been about 18 years of writing on and off and I consider myself to be a very literate roleplayer. That being said, I don't want to scare anyone away. I am a detail oriented writer myself, but I just love using my OCs and weaving tales with other people. I promise I am not critical of my partners, at least not in the picky kind of way. I am particularly fond of the Fantasy genre and I prefer to make up plots with my partners that are based around our OCs so that we can ensure that we are both happy and equally engaged in the roleplay.

I hope to find some good partners here that I can write with. I'm very excited to jump in here.

@NoChill

Love the name and the energy, welcome! Also fantasy rules.

Maverick Malediction

Neil had leaped like a cat, grabbing the lip of the hole and hoping to the gods it didn't break further. If it had, there was no guarantee he wouldn't tumble into the trapdoor hole a meter or two behind them. Luckily, he found purchase and hauled himself up. Far from the muscular hero, Neil had the lithe strength of a unscrupulous knave and it served him well. Once he was up in the cellar, and it was indeed a cellar, he glanced around and held his breath.

The wine cellar had racks upon racks of dark bottles of prime vintage, dimly lit by torches on the walls far from any glass or the neatly piled barrels on the south end. Little ferns were arrayed along the walkways, giving the room a tropical, coastal quality that was given a stylish finish with finely wrought paintings of warm colors. Neil wanted to whistle appreciatively, but he kept himself quiet. As he turned, his heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he saw movement, but to his relief he saw it was a small rat, the rodent scuttling across the floor with a chitter, disappearing into a hole in the stone.

Neil placed a hand on his chest and exhaled, still on his ass on the stone floor. Accompanying the silence, he could hear laughter and the low thrum of discussion. Not a meeting or a singular conversation, but a crowd. Now that he had a moment, he noticed much of the wine was missing from the racks around him.

Calliope cleared her throat impatiently, the sound oddly echoing from the tomb below. Neil grimaced and crawled over to the collapsed floor, whispering an apology to her and holding his hand out for her to take. She took it, and he lifted her up, helping to pull her onto the floor. For a sorceress with class, she didn't complain about getting dirty. He guessed murder and skulduggery made her a bit less nitpicky on a bit of dirt on her clothes. In the low light, her hair was as black as the abyss. Neil noticed a small gesture of her hand, a stiletto locked in her fingers as she looked around with a sharp, hawkish gaze that nothing could escape from.

"What now?" Neil whispered.

Footsteps. They didn't come from outside of the room, either. They were from across the chamber. Damn, had someone heard? Calliope peered down the walkway of the racks that framed their location, and ordered Neil to hide. He hesitated for a brief moment, unsure of what she was going to do, but he did it with only a facetious "as you wish, your grace" and hopped behind some of the casks and an iron distillery. Too late, Neil realized, there were two sets of footsteps and not one. But Calliope hadn't fled, or even cast a spell to hide herself or the hole. She tugged at a string on her bodice and flitted with her hair a bit, and to Neil's amazement she transformed from profession to salacious with but a few touches.

"Need that bloody book," Calliope whispered under her breath. Neil thought the comment it curious, completely out of the loop as to what Inganok or Kor Kalen’s Workings was.

Two Therman guards turned the corner, their tabards the gaudy brown and red of the lord's house. Conical helmets with opened visors donned their heads, and they brandished wicked billhooks more suitable for gutting horses than fighting would-be thieves, not that they wouldn't be an effective weapon if push came to shove. The men looked as if they had expected something, but not her. The taller one hefted his weapon in an attempt to intimidate, but the other pushed the weapon down, staring. Looking back, Neil saw Calliope lounging like a call girl, her body faced towards Neil as she downed a bottle of Balcet champagne like it was a draught of rum. Seemingly noticing the men, the woman pushed off the barrel she she had rested along, the movement granting the guards a good look at the bounce of her chest, Calliope's top having been gently lowered to give a hint of what lay beneath. She had worn practical trousers for the job, but they hugged her strong legs more prominently than early, which Neil couldn't begin to guess if this was magically done or not. He hadn't seen or heard a spell. The woman's dark hair was lightly tousled, giving it an appealing, disheveled look.

Despite this performance, there was something off about her. Calliope was stunning, but there was a quality about her that screamed danger. Watching her work was like seeing the sinuous movements of an intricately patterned viper, or a venomous, multi-colored spider traipsing along a web. Enchanting, but raptorial. Neil had been intimidated since the beginning, the difference was, Neil was very self aware he was a daredevil in life and romantic interests. These guards weren't crazy like the thief, they were merely ignorant, which made him feel a modicum of pity for them.

"My lady, what are you doing back here?" The shorter one asked cautiously.

"Did you cause this floor to cave in?" The other demanded.

"What, that?" Calliope glanced at the hole in the old mortar and stone, as if this was the first time she had ever noticed it. She turned back to them with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you want to ask about some old, rotten floor? What are your names, hmm?"

"Grant."
"Jon."

They spoke in unison, and then looked at one another with jealousy. But it was when they looked at one another's eyes that they took hold of their wits for a brief moment. Perhaps it was seeing their partner there in full guardsmen regalia. Neil could see Calliope sauntering around the hole to get closer to them, a knife carefully concealed behind her hand. Perhaps using magic here might be dangerous, or 'loud' to other mages? Or perhaps her only quick, quiet spells could kill one and not two? Idly, he thought of the possibility she simply liked the feel of stabbing better. Who knew with assassins?

"Answer the question, my lady. Lord Therman's stash is not just for anyone. There's plenty of drink in the grand hall." Grant, the short one, began. His mustache wriggled like a caterpillar as she chewed on what had to be tobacco.

"Is lord Therman there?" She asked, her interest piqued.

"No," Jon spoke up quickly, subconsciously hoping to garner her approval. "He should return soon though, if you'd like to be escorted."

"She will be escorted when she has answered our question." Grant told him sternly. "She does not even look as if she was at the party."

"Well if she's underdressed, then I really need to change," Neil said, having crept up behind the two. He had a stabbing dagger, but he didn't want to draw blood where it could be found. Nor could he reliably knock them out. Instead, he opting for a third option. The men leaped in surprise, but couldn't turn fast enough. Neil promptly shouldered them when they were off-balance, using determination and a swift trip to send them both careening into the hole. Yells rose up for a mere second, but the two clanged together and fell heavily and ferociously into the gloom. Only Neil had expected to hear groaning, or an end to the yelling. It was only getting more faint. Neil crept to the edge of the hole and squinted, seeing the last glint of their armor as they fell into the trap the undead minotaur had fallen into. Their screams still echoed as the moments crept on, and Neil bared his teeth to show he felt he made an 'oopsie.'

"I'm not used to being the distraction, but good job. Less messy this way," Calliope applauded him with a casual air, taking another drink of the bottle. Neil didn't feel like correcting her, so he took the compliment.

"Hey, how come you don't get all seductive with me?" He asked. She tossed him the wine bottle in a daring, uncaring throw. Neil caught it easily with one hand, looking at her questioningly.

"You haven't earned it," She said, fixing her hair. "Yet."

A haughty laugh drifted into the storage area, followed by a giggle. Calliope and Neil glanced at the direction of the source in unison, then back at one another. The sorceress moved like a panther, gliding to her feet and sinking into the shadows as Neil knelt and peeked through one of the racks, glad half the rack was empty from whatever get-together was happening. He couldn't see the corridor that fed into the main hall or ballroom, but it gave him visibility of the northern side of the chamber. In stumbled a servant woman, a tight bodice hugging her curves like a glove. She was playfully grabbed by a man who was clearly an aristocrat, wearing an expensive vest with wings that accentuated the shoulders, and a belt of brass and gold, supported by stylish dark trousers.

Guardsmen Grant and Jon's yells had drifted to nothingness, but there was still the matter of the hole and needing to hide, right? If there was a party, this was going to keep happening until they killed everyone or were discovered, unless Calliope had a plan. In Neil's vision, the woman tip toed down one of the walkways, the man chasing after her in a way that looked so unbecoming of a noble aristocrat, it made the thief cringe. He saw the belt fly into view, clattering to the ground. Neil turned to the right, expecting to see the two lovebirds skittering across any second. To his surprise, he saw Calliope there. He turned around and then back to her, bewildered on how she had teleported!

"Where did you go, my little sweet?" A heavily accented voice called. Neil couldn't tell if it was Vrettonian or Dre Costan, or one of the smaller provinces with peculiar speech and even stranger dishes. The serving wench bounded into view, her smile broad and suggestive, and her eyes far from innocent.

And then she was gone.

Neil blinked, stared, and then rubbed his eyes. He didn't know what he just saw. The woman passed by Calliope, and then both were just...gone. Neil felt his breathing falter for a moment. He knew full well he wasn't on the menu, and in fact had killed himself during one attempt and survived another from her, but he felt both unsettled and intimidated.

What a woman.

"Madam, are you here?" The man called, still chuckling wryly. He was next into the walkway, and instead of the shapely woman, he saw Neil, dirty and somewhat smelling like a sewer. The two stared at one another like two dogs across a fence, alert and frozen. Neil pursed his lips when he saw the man go from surprise to pain, an unseen force tightening around his throat. Neil knew because he literally saw his throat shrinking, the noble's face turning blue. Red veins appeared in his eyes, and with a quick unceremonious snap, he fell to the ground dead. Neil looked around, and then slowly walked over to him. To his left, Calliope walked out of another walkway. Or...he thought it was her. She did not look like herself, or the wench that had been plucked out of existence.

"Change into his clothes. We don't have much time." She said.