POOHEAD189

Sails and Spells

Malcador had never been so afraid to be surrounded by pretty women.

Granted, he had never been surrounded by women that were weighing whether or not they wanted to kill him, so it was understandable. He gave a guilty smile and kept his hands where they could see them. Hair matted by the water, he slowly moved a bit out of his eyes so he could see them better. The Captain was daunting, and there was a pretty pale woman that watched him like a hawk. He couldn't defeat them all, but maybe if he swam away he could do something to bar their passage. It wasn't a good, long-term plan, however.

"I'm the resident mage of the Seawalker. I uh, see you've gotten acquainted with the rest of the crew." Malcador deadpanned, curling his lip in nervous disgust at the blood lapping in the water. He cleared his throat and fixed his hair a bit more, whipping his head for a moment. "Well, you see, other than my winning personality and good looks, I also happen to know exactly where some treasure is if you'd like to be escorted. Though you'll need to be a good swimmer, admittedly."

He looked at them with uncertainty, and gave a small wave to the boatswain who twiddled with her knife. "If you're interested, all I ask is that you spare my life. That sounds pretty easy, right? Just...not killing me? Yeah?"

Shiny new member. :)

@WitchyWoman A pleasure to meet you!

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

When she accepted, I didn't quite know where it would lead. But the Amalthians believe the Emperor works in mysterious ways, and perhaps he does at that. Had we left then and there, my life would perhaps be far different. But I do not think in idle 'what-ifs' so I will continue.

She took my hand, and we began a slow dance routine we had performed in front of the others before the servitors inside began to play a different tune. It was a weird juxtaposition of both festive and romantic, with a slow albeit energetic beat accompanied by an acoustic guitar and a guest singer that sang in a language I can't quite remember. But our dancing inevitably changed, the two of us stepping apart in unison and giving extravagant bows, before we did a step by step dance that had us shaking ourselves and moving side to side, the movements keeping a smile on our faces. I had learned the dance before under cover, but where Emmaline had become a practitioner that rivaled me, I could not know.

I found I wanted to find out.

Minutes passed, and she gyrated herself and then spun. It gave a silhouette look to her sparkling black dress, her ponytail whipping me in the face as if she were trying to playfully throw me off, her jewelry bouncing and clinking together. I caught her raised hand and had my other on her lower back, at the ready. She stepped back and I forward, and I felt much like a schoolboy as she gave a laugh like angelic clinging bells. A few more passes, and finally she spun one last time and fell back into my arms, and the music slowed to a stop as we looked to one another beside the balustrade there on Moldar, under the light of the moon.

We had only known one another, what? A fortnight? Dammit, I didn't care.

My heart thudding in my ears, I leaned in and kissed her.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Marching, Markus could handle. He had done it much the last decade, and he would likely march until a blade cut his life short one day. As it were, he did not mind being paid to do it. And so he and the lady Lannister had made great haste to the tourney, with a new companion in tow. A hulk of a lad with a dumb expression and a willingness to please. Could be worse, Markus knew. Could be one of Celena's cousins. Truth be told, he had never liked Lannisters. From his admittedly short exposure to them over the years, they had always seemed too golden for his liking. Undeniably arrogant with nothing to back it up save money, and something about the way they spoke made him feel like he was covered in sword oil.

Celena was an exception, however. A pleasant surprise to the sellsword. She was an outcast just as he was, and though she had the same money as other Lannisters, she had deigned to give him a bit of it which helped his opinion of her immensely. So far it had been a relatively easy job as well. A lot of walking, a lot of standing in front of doors while she made secret deals, a lot of drinking, even sometimes together. He found he enjoyed her presence, which was the last thing he had expected. They hadn't bandied many words, but Markus had never been one for long conversations unless he was with an old friend or lover, and Celena was neither. But a business relationship suited them, he thought.

Now they found themselves in Summerhall of all places, at the tourney grounds where plump lords and simpering courtiers watched as the more daring of their lot shed money and paid in blood. Markus had not yet decided on his bet for the jousting, but once their tents were set up and he had grabbed a good night's rest, he'd find a drink and some beef and get to that. As it were, the sellsword groaned in bed, and thanked the seven Celena had provided him one. The bloody Red Keep was certainly new to him, but a bed being provided on road was something he could get used to. Sliding out from under the covers, he passed the snoring Dunc and opened the flap, letting the daylight of the early morn filter in as he stepped over behind a tree, dropping his trousers.

Markus was a rugged, well built and lean man with a stubble and a mane of dark hair that caught a few maidens eyes, but he never really had a penchant for dressing up or capitalizing on it. He relieved himself beside the tree and sighed contentedly. As his luck demanded, a courtier galloped by on a mare, likely carrying an unimportant message but treating it with the importance of a royal death. He dropped his jaw when he saw Markus's bare front, his face betraying his thoughts of telling him to be decent or to simply leave and gossip of it later.

"Jealousy does not become you," Markus grumbled wryly, and with a huff the fellow in red livery galloped away contemptuously. Yawning, the mercenary pulled his trousers up and went into the tent to gather his normal apparel and weapon, strapping it all on with practiced efficiency. They weren't hauling anything, so Dunc's position needn't be amended. Rather, Markus didn't want to wake the boy up, glad to pretend the tent was private for the moment. A scant minute passed, and he stepped out into the world, the lumbering beast he had been when arousing had been replaced with a panther-like grace as he strode towards Celena's tent, intent on finding out the schedule for the day.

Rather than step in, however, he merely took his position at the front of her quarters. The paymaster would come out when she was ready, and even if it would be a pretty sight, he had no intention of drawing her ire by walking into her tent while she was indecent. He also found he respected her too much for that, as well. Instead, he gazed wolfishly out at the tourney grounds and the myriad of retainers hustling past them as if their lives depended on it. Considering all of the pompous charlatans and their delicate tempers, some of them just might have their lives threatened by the end of the day.

My Hider

Markus wakes up, makes a spectacle of himself, and then stands ready for Celena's orders.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The gardens below cascaded in various smaller fountains, the hedges carved into varying geometric shapes and designs between walls of foliage that guarded the perimeter before reaching the wall of the outer Banquet Hall's designated area. I had found a few napkins and wiped what blood I could from my cuts, swabbing a bit of alcohol and pressing them to the wounds with a mere grunt. Once I was done, I looked a bit more disheveled but still confident and ready to work. I replayed the earlier scene over in my head, wondering if I had let anything slip or if I had not yet considered something.

Emmaline's hand on my wrist brought me back to reality. At her comment, I replied in a like manner.

Not in the way I had imagined, but it served its purpose, I agreed. Did you garner any leads or information?

I think if I asked it, we could be invited to the Ignatius estate.

I smiled at that, glad of a job well done on both of our ends. Motioning for her to remain here, I walked back into the Banquet hall and procured two glasses of red dammassine and brought them back to my partner in seconds, handing it to her gently. She took it, but her fingers brushed my cut and I winced.

Don't worry about it. I've gotten worse than this. I told her, and held my glass out to her so she could toast with me. I hoped she was not reading my mind at that point. All of the excitement of the evening and our jobs relatively maintained, I could focus on other things like how radiant she looked in the moonlight.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I felt somewhat emboldened by Emmaline's compliment. I was no outcast to subterfuge and high class gatherings, but they always irked me unless I felt they were worth it. If this didn't yield positive results, I would likely be in a sour mood. However, Emmaline brightened my outlook. Perhaps this needn't be such a dull affair after all, and we stepped in and were greeted with the fanfare I had come to suspect. We danced for a small amount of time, admittedly to show off a bit whilst simultaneously trying to dissuade the proposals either of us were likely to receive. I was bitterly disappointed in that estimation, and my face went blank for a moment as we were mobbed.

Before I knew it, the bodacious psyker and I had been separated and barraged with suitors and mistresses. Some of the fair women that flocked to me were very obviously married and looking for better prospects, whilst others were attempting to appear as untarnished virgins ready to be claimed. I had never been to Fenris, but talk spoke of a ferocious beast there called the 'kraken' with dozens of limbs that tore you to pieces. So for the first time in my life, I could say the sentence "I feel like a wolf brother initiate on a raft." At least twenty hands tugged at me or waved in my direction. I swear I was pinched thrice, and someone had the audacity to smack my bottom. I had to make sure no one accidentally grabbed at my power sword, and I had to keep myself from using it on the mob.

I leaped out of there at the soonest sign of a weak breach in the wall of dresses, hopping back and landing beside three gentlemen in mercantile livery, the closest one sported a mutton chop beard I could never hope to achieve in my lifetime. Holding my hands out as the pursuers followed my wake, they stopped and watched me like terran deer.

"Only a few at a time, ladies. I am but one man, after all," I assured them in my best sycophantic tone, the timber of my voice smoothing out to a princely hum that would have caused my skin to crawl if I heard it from any other mouth. They filtered in hurriedly but with a tad more control, fanning themselves and fluttering their lashes, a few of them squeezing their chests together in casual ways for my eye to catch. My smile was wide and silky, but my eyes were watching the exits and the outliers of the party. To the north, a keen-eyed man stood alone and watched as two officers spoke at a table meters away. To the east, two servants traded a slip of paper for some unknown purpose. At my right were three men who did not know what to do as they stood beside me, watching with interest or jealously, it was hard to tell. They spoke politely enough. The mutton-chop man had no chance to introduce himself, but I had overheard he was Haldemir, and I recalled the name in the logs in my dossier. Haldemir, a house that transported fuel across Moldar and to its two satellite moons. Their wealth having risen two centuries ago to great merit.

As the women approached and spoke to me, I gave them varying degrees of greeting and unctuous compliments of their virtue and beauty. It allowed Emmaline to get what information she could while I distracted any jealous women that might take umbrage with her presence. As the time passed, however, I grew bored of the affair, though I did my best to hide it. Twirling a goblet of dammassine red in my hand, I muddled through the trenches of small talk with less and less fervor.

"What is a fine man like you doing at such a humble planet?" A raven haired woman of middling years inquired, her ball gown blue and squeezing out the best she had to offer.

"The food, my dear."

"Tonight, my husband goes on a business trip to Tildarmae. Would you deign to escort me back on this lonely night?" A redhead with green eyes to match her envy asked of me. She fluttered her lashes with enthusiasm.

"I can call you a groundcar, my lady."

"We haven't been properly introduced. I am Vidalia of Galmieux. Let's dance, and we can grant one another a massage in my private lounge after." A smokey voiced vixen offered as if she were granting me an honorable home of office.

"I'm sure you have an ointment for that."

As the mistresses were quelled, the queue was mercifully disrupted at its halfway point, though by an unlikely savior. A younger man, perhaps my age, perhaps a year or two my junior, approached me with a withering glare. I could not imagine what I had done beyond speaking amicably to the women and the portly gentlemen beside me who chuckled and traded jokes as they slowly got drunk. The party was also quite large, the women around me likely a fifth of the crop of ladies that still danced and gallivanted about.

"Let it be known I mark this insult sir," the mustachioed young man announced, standing over most of the women by a head.

"To what insult are you referring to, old boy?" I queried honestly, chuckling as if he had given me a rousing good rib at the bellboy's expense. He held me in his gaze and waded through the gaggle of women, squaring up to my position. He pointed at the crowd.

"That was my sister you just rebuked, sir." He said, and for the life of me I blinked and did my best to not truly laugh with incredulity. I succeeded, thank the Emperor, but truthfully this was a queer man. I dare not ask the prudent question of 'which one' so I tried a different approach.

"My apologies. She is a lovely woman, but I am only on Maldor for business and short term pleasure. I am certain your sister deserves a man of commitment and faith befitting that of your noble house." I commented, and the barest flicker of my eye to the right caught Emmaline speaking to a tall, ominous fellow. Noted. When I looked back a micro-second later, the man seemed undecided on something, ascertaining whether my apology was in good faith or just plain good enough.

"Perhaps she intimidated you," He said at long last. "But you are correct, sir. A fellow such as yourself should stick to quick women like the bint you walked in-."

I backhanded the man. Hard. He staggered back and nearly knocked a short, perfumed woman over, and once he straightened he seemed as surprised as I felt. Inquisitor Kronus had always taught me to value the honor and well-being of those of my team, and even in cover it was hard of me to let go of those teachings. There was something else in me that felt particularly vindicated of the slap when I realized the acid comment was directed to Emmaline, but I didn't explore that bit. Rather, we both looked at one another. I let some of my anger show so as not to give off the cool reserve of my office.

"You go too far, sir." I warned tempestuously. "Speaking of the Lady Von Morganstern in such a disagreeable manner is unbecoming of a gentleman. Perhaps my comment on your house was unwarranted. On Jupiter, this would not inherit."

"How dare you, you insufferable popinjay!" He accused angrily. I wondered if he had ever looked into a mirror. The mark of my hand-print was now growing bright red on his cheek. With a quick movement, he reached for the elaborately hilted sword at his belt. Women squealed and the men beside me backed away, save for stout-hearted Haldemir, who watched with rapt interest. The man held the point less than a foot from my neck, but I did not flinch. "You are a knave sir, Sol system or no. I challenge you to a duel of honor."

"Here? Now?" I asked curiously.

"How very bohemian," My portly companion of circumstance huffed.

"I concur, my good Haldemir." I said. This young man must have been spurned recently. Only an idiot or someone who had something desperate to prove would cause such a fiasco in public, particularly with a man from the Jovian clans. I looked at him flippantly. "I have nothing to gain from this. I did not dishonor you nor your sister, sir. You dishonored the lady Von Morganstern and I merely responded in a fashion honor demanded. Is this the manner of Moldar? To jump on any slight?"

A few of the older men with grey streaks in their beards and wizened faces nodded in agreement to my assertion. The young fop knew I was right, but he had a choice. Back down and apologize, or go with his pride and win the duel. Losing was not an option to him, for if he did so he would be both dishonored and emasculated in front of every suitable woman (and male) peer he knew. I saw a gleam in his eye, and I knew he would choose the stupid decision.

"Nothing to gain? Well if honor is not enough for you, sir. Then ask of what you wish for, sir, and I will grant it."

"I haven't a sword," I confessed, and at his look to my belt, I shook my head. "This is an ornamental weapon," I lied. "I would not dare mar its blade."

"Fetch us a sword!" The fellow cried to his servants, who rushed out to fulfill the task, pushing aside other servants and apologizing profusely to the dancers. He grinned at my direction. "Now you will name your price. It will not matter, as you will not win against the swordplay of Jacoby Bowlingcock."

I burst out laughing. This time I did break character, but it was so unexpected I did not truly prepare myself for such a challenge. Perhaps it did my cover well. An experienced Inquisitor would have given the name due diligence, but I felt Bowlingcock was the epitome of poor names. Hell, I still do to this day. He, however, did not feel the same way. His entire face grew red, causing my mark to disappear as the rest of his profile matched.

"I-I apologi-" I began half-heartedly.

"Save it!" He cried, waving the sword menacingly. "If I am to win this duel, I will speak of your adept however I like."

"No," I said, sobering up. "That I cannot allow. But if you win, my date and I will leave this planet tonight without a fuss and pay a sum equal to the food of this party to you and your family for honor tarnished."

"Very good, and if you win?"

"You will grant me a title of land here on Moldar, in the capital of Gralinmakke." I demanded icily.

That surprised everyone in our vicinity, who now watched in fascination. Jocoby blinked, clearly thinking it odd. It was, admittedly. But for my investigation I could either garner a favor from one of the lords on the council, or use the right of nobility in the capital to join the council. If this idiot was going to keep me from doing the former, I'll get it with the ladder. He asked me varying questions such as 'Jupiter not good enough for you' but I ignored him. Instead, I focused on the sword that was presented to me by the servant that brought it. A cursory glance showed me it was a fine weapon. A pallasch cut-and-thrust sword, straight bladed and double fullered. The hilt was of the basket style, but not covered in leather or restrictive, rather all of the bars flow into the knucklebow and converge on one point at the butt of the sword to give the hand breathing room to maneuver. If I had to guess, the blade itself was thirty five inches in length.

I could not tell if this was an unusual affair or not. Half the party continued on as if nothing was happening, and the music even kept playing. Some people were so into their drinks that they did not look my way, and Emmaline had begun dancing with the villainous looking man to the right. I admired her dedication. I hopped my antics were not harming her information gathering. At the southern end of the Grand Banquet Hall, a place was cordoned off for the two of us and the half of the party that was there chattered and whispered and gathered around in a wall of flesh. I unbuckled my belt, and handed my power sword, force staff, and jacket and cloak with my auto-gun to Lord Haldemir. It was a good gamble, as after the duel he gave them all back in pristine condition.

"First blood drawn from the torso," Jacoby called. "And we have an agreement. Your payment and departure, or your land!"

"Good man," I said, and could not hide a smile. Jacoby seemed confident, but Inquisitor Kronus had shown me various style of blade fighting, and I had practiced with him thrice weekly for ten years. Power Swords were like any blade, just more effective on the modern battlefield. They required the same training and care.

"Sister, tell us when to begin," Jacoby called, and I saw a woman step out of the crowd. I was fairly certain she was one of the ones who had pinched me. Her hair was blonde, but it hadn't quite the rich luster of my companion, and truth be told I don't even remember speaking to her. She raised a hand, gave her brother a knowing look, and then a disapproving one my way, and counted to four before dropping her hand and shouting "Begin!"

Time seemed to slow.

I am sure you know this, but sword duels are not like what you hear in the stories. They are quick, bloody, and unceremonious. Skill is not the only factor in a duel. It has to do with your health, your strength, your mood, even what you last ate. And a bit of luck on the side. However, if you keep your wits about you, skill can decide a match swiftly.

Jocoby swiped at my blade, and I blocked with the strong of my sword and riposted with a perfect thrust. He leaped back and swiped at me, a blur of steel crossed my vision as I pressed the attack, cutting the shoulder of his undershirt and ruining it. He hacked at my center, blades clashing loudly. To his credit, he regrouped quickly and stabbed at me quicker than I would have thought. With a deft movement of my blade and sacrificing the cuffs on my left wrist, I knocked the blade aside and cut him across the torso with a slash that was less shallow than I had anticipated. With a quick gesture, I knocked the sword out of his hand with the flat of my blade and let him sink to his knees, defeated. He idly gestured around the bleeding wound, breathing in heavy disbelief.

Flippantly, I wiped the sweat from my brow and walked over to the Lord Haldemir, who handed me my coat. As I was bleeding from my left arm and apparently from a small cut under my eye, I wasn't going to put my coat back on. But I strapped my belt and power sword onto my hip and collected my things, making idle talk with Haldemir.

"Have you been to Venus, sir Deckard?" Haldemir asked quizzically.

"Ah! The finest parties on Venus. The wine is to die for." I replied. "You might find good business there."

"Truly?"

After another few minutes and with assurances from Jacoby's father they would honor the agreement, I made my way to the northern balcony and leaned on the balustrade, awaiting Emmaline.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"My delectable partner is countess and adept of the Administratum Emmaline von Morganstern, and I am the humble Jovian Elite and Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard," I introduced myself with pride and surety, raising my head to look down on the man. "From Jupiter of the Sol System."

Needless to say we were accommodated quite admirably. I think the proclamation and the badge of rank I revealed was surprising even to Emmaline, though she held it together well. Some might say I was aiming a bit high in my cover, but it made sense once one thought of it. Firstly, I was actually somewhat familiar with the most holy Sol System. Saturn is the headquarters for the Ordo Malleus, and I had visited one of the colonies of Jupiter on an earlier trip with Inquisitor Kronus. The moons were incredibly rich in resources and manufacture, and the orbital colonies were unfathomably wealthy and extravagant. Some even said they rivaled Terra and the colonies of Venus in profligacy, and anyone born upon a planet in the system of humanity's birthplace was given high respect. Jupiter and the Jovian Clans were responsible for the creation of much of the Imperial Fleet along with the forges of mars, Jupiter in particular specializing in the warp drives and gellar fields in all imperial ships. Any son of the clan that was not an administrator of manufacturing was to be an officer in the navy that rose quickly with little merit. I wanted the clout and the reputation to be the talk of the relatively minor planet of Moldar, and Emmaline would be my noble-born liaison and date, and an adept of the administratum. This would have the caveat of people being wary around us, though we would always have that problem being newcomers, but it would also open many doors without my having to show my Inquisitorial seal. The rest I could wring out of someone if I saw the need arise.

In the midst of the Superior Duke Hostas's hurrying, his manservants aiding him in collecting all manner of apparel and finery, Emmaline drew me aside behind one of the curtains. She seemed perturbed about something and glanced over her shoulder before she gave me a very firm tone of voice.

"Why in Emperor's balls did you tell them my real name?" She demanded. A reasonable question. We had only known one another for a short time, even if we were swiftly growing closer, which unnerved me more than I cared to admit. But this was the first time she had come to near scolding in my direction, as she was likely still a bit wary of my Inquisitorial rank, as all sensible people should be. Perhaps she felt I had done it because I considered her expendable? It would explain the ire but she read me wrong if she felt that the case. I looked at her squarely in the eyes.

"There is a slim but very real chance that the men I am chasing know an Inquisitor has followed them, and there is a secondary chance of them knowing it is Hadrian Drakos. If I were to use my true name, we would get nowhere or worse. You, on the other hand, are unknown to them. And in the event of my cover being blown, they will logically assume..."

"...that Emmaline Von Morganstern is an alias as well..." She reasoned, catching on quickly. The blonde woman nodded after a moment, satisfied with the answer. I did not say it, but it also served so there would be no confusion in the heat of the moment. I had prepared the role of Blasius Deckard for over a year for just such an occasion. Emmaline, though resourceful, was new to this life. Best not to take chances so early on. She regarded me steadily. "You still should have told me, beforehand."

"I hadn't expected the question, but true, I should have. I simply did not want you to worry on it until necessary. You seemed to have a lot of fun when we were out and about."

"I did," she conceded, twirling a bit of her golden hair with a finger as she glanced out of the curtains. I watched her as she considered her next question. "So tell me, Blasius Deckard of Jupiter, what exactly are we attending this party for? I thought Inquisitors skulk and raid and burn with flame."

I smirked for a brief moment. It was a sardonic expression, as I knew the reputation of my peers, and it was certainly warranted.

"We have three tiers of objectives on this planet. The first tier is finding Bahometus and his cabal, and finding out who, what, and where Balal Ignatius is, as well as finding the tomb of Xenos our artifact unlocks, or if it's even on Moldar. The second tier of objectives will aid in that, which this gathering is for. Tonight we must either get invited to the Council Meeting of Gralinmakke, which should be easy enough with our stations established. Or, we must get invited to one of the Councilor's estates, Ignatius preferably, but any will help in our investigations. And at this particular gathering, we need to socialize and garner any intelligence we couldn't gain from a datasheet."

"And the third tier of objectives?"

"Skulk and raid and burn with flames." I said grimly. Before she could respond with her trademark witticisms, the curtains opened. We both turned to the good Duke Hostas, who clapped his hands together and looked apprehensive.

"My apologies, but some of our threads and more extravagant accessories are in our sister store a few kilometers away. What time will the party be?" He asked, worried for his reputation. I smiled easily in response.

"Two hours, no rush."

"And where is it held?"

"Nothing very special. It's in the Grand Banquet Lounge for the annual Kaldorae Ascension celebration."

The Superior Duke's jaw dropped so far, I thought he would stub his toe. Swiftly, he ushered us both into the room and made tactical decisions a general of the battlefleet would be jealous of. Clothes flew and men scattered, and before both Emmaline and I knew it, we were momentarily separated. On the Superior Duke's dime, Emmaline was granted a private groundcar and veritably shoved to the other location, as the clothing that was needed was for her outfit. I was accommodated at the current location, measured, weighed, and outfitted expertly. In less than an hour, I was dressed and sent to the Grand Banquet Lounge just south of the Capital's central government building. It looked like a miniature palace, with elaborate fountains of figures that, if I were to hazard a guess, were semi-mythical renditions of the primarchs spitting water out in a stone effigy of a battle between one another. Every few moments a different area of the fountain behind the scultures flowed with water that flew in a cascade of shapes. The sun had risen low, but the lights of the city put starlight to shame. Great Stone figures of a native Moldarian beast called a Sarcinex framed the twenty steps from the grand walkway to the Banquet Hall itself. Ground cars and aircars pulled up by the dozens, and hundreds if not thousands of onlookers stood behind the line of the fountains and took pictures or gazed the party's way as they meandered down the road.

Stepping out of my groundcar, I fixed my suit and stood tall. The outfit was superficially martial in nature, accentuating my strong shoulders and showing off my admittedly fake medals on my left pectoral. A banner of red and black clasped my form from my left shoulder to the right waist. My belt was brass and well tanned leather with imperial designs inlaid with gold thread. My boots were black and polished, and my outfit was a dark navy, befitting the naval colors, and draped across my upper torso, reaching my upper arms and trailing behind me was a cape of crimson. In my back, holstered behind my cape was my auto-gun. At my hip was my power sword, and in my hands was my force staff. The auto-gun hidden, the power sword looking very much like an antique sword of rank, and my force staff merely a fashionable walking stick for this occasion. No one here would recognize any of them, save traitors, and when they did I would see it.

I have been called dashing on several occasions, when I attempted to be. An old associate of mine had even called me such when I was my usual stern self. It served me well when I needed it to, and tonight I would utilize it for all it was worth.

As I made my way up the stairs, admiring the artistry in the stonework of the vaguely reptilian-canid Sarcinex's, I got a glimpse of the party through the vast open doors. Men and women of high birth mingled under warm, brilliant light as servants moved with practiced certainty and grace to bring them what manner of drink and food they desired. I took a deep breath, but before I continued, I heard a familiar voice.

"Not going in without me, are you?"

I turned and beheld Emmaline, striding up the stairs in a way that accentuated the movement of her hips. I am not ashamed to admit my jaw dropped further than Hostas's ever could. Her thick hair bound into a silky ponytail, held in place with a tiara of bronze with a ruby at its center, she wore a sparkling black dress so dark it put deep space to shame. It hugged her body with gusto, moderately cut to show enough of her bosom to distract but not so far as to be considered a floozy by any of the more prudish in the crowd. Her wrists and earrings were golden hoops, and hanging from her neck was a necklace of gold thread with a sapphire sign of terra at its precipice, hanging just beyond the cusp of her considerable chest.

"Wouldn't think of it," I said, reining myself in. Now wasn't the time for staring. I offered her my arm to take. "We'll go in together. But if we ever get separated and can't find one another, meet me at the northern balcony."

"Nervous?" She asked jokingly.

"Do I look, ok?" I responded, as if the question could only mean my attire.

Sails and Spells

Malcador surfaced, taking in lungfuls of air as he did so. Even with his water-breathing incantation, it didn't feel natural breathing underwater. Air was far more accommodating to the human body regardless of magic. Ironically, as soon as he had found fresh air, the glittering sight took his breath away. Before his eyes was a mound of gold and jewels, scattered amongst the hard rocks of the inner cavern. Small beams of light shot into the sanctum from holes in the rock from years of erosion.

The water had cleared his sinuses at least, and he felt somewhat refreshed after the seasickness. He swore he wasn't as bad as he used to be, but long trips at sea were not his forte. Funny enough, it seemed swimming helped him out in an odd way. He put his feet on the stone in the shallow area and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He had another few minutes of water breathing, and though he was loathe to leave the treasure, he knew he needed to get back to the fellows waiting outside.

He delved back into the murk, making his way through the tunnel with what little light filtered in. It was just about twelve meters once one was fully submersed, and when Malcador made it to the other side, he was murk had congregated at the top of the pond above. Curious, he continued upwards, surfacing and expelling a breath, coughing up water. He was greeted by the screams of the last of his crew, getting impaled and cut into pieces by what looked to be a motley crew of women.

The murk on the surface turned out to be blood, it seemed. Malcador splashed some away and tried to brainstorm on what to do now. He could go back under, but they would just follow him. No spell he had could destroy them all, and even if it could, was he supposed to sail and entire ship back by himself? Realizing there was little he could do, he cleared his throat and looked at the women sheepishly. He raised his hands out of the water to show he was unarmed and said:

"I can lead you to the booty, ladies." In a quiet voice. Luckily for him, people told him he could charm himself out of a death trap. Hopefully, they were not lying.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Truth be told, he didn't exactly know how to answer her question, or how to speak to the Duke properly except for a few platitudes the older man would have enjoyed regardless, considering his fondness for the newly anointed count. Galt wasn't stupid, by any means. His greatest ambition here was to eat food fit for nobility, speak with a few pretty ladies, and make it out with his reward in tact so he could retire and sleep as long as any contented man. Granted, so far so good on the first two counts. Still, he wasn't going to admit that, entirely.

"A wise man would say rising from squalor to count was a leap most couldn't accomplish. Desiring more would be toying with fire," He remarked with a wry look that brought giggles to most women. He knew it wouldn't be a miracle-worker on her. Silke seemed far too sharp and in control for that. But she did seem curious on him beyond a marriage proposal, which admittedly made him curious of her. He took a long drink from his cup as he considered, before she continued with an explanation on why a few eyes cast his way were not entirely welcoming.

"My peers in the slums were often jealous of me, too. I suppose I just have that charm," He joked, but he couldn't hide the irony in his smile. He leaned in to whisper, and while he wasn't severe, he had lost his jovial nature. "I know you've never wanted for food or survival, and I am very new here. But rich or poor, someone always wants what you have." Galt lifted his left hand, and with a deft flick of his hand, a coin appeared betwixt his finger as if he had plucked it out of the very air. "A month ago, if I showed this to the wrong people and left myself vulnerable, my body would be found in the sewers weeks later. Thank you for the advice, but the ruthlessness of others is something I can certainly understand."

The coin slid back within his hand, and it was gone from her sight as if it had never been. He pulled his face back and softened his visage. He did not want to scare her off. She truly was very cute. And on that note, he said into his cup. "As for my ambitions, if you would like to speak privately tonight, you may join me when there are no others to get angry. Just an invitation to speak, nothing more."

"What say you, lad?" Valdemar asked, obviously curious on what Galt and Silke had been speaking about. "Why do you whisper?"

"Oh, the lady was just asking me about what happened when we first met," Galt laughed, and Valdemar's eyes widened and he gave a smile, raising his cup. The King did as well, clearly interested. Galt continued. "I didn't want to make the topic of discussion, so I shared a few whispers of the exploit."

"Like a hero from the legends! Valdemar lauded, giving his grand laugh. "Oh, tell it to his majesty, I'm sure he would love to hear it. Sire, you'll get a kick out of it, I promise! He comes gallivanting out of nowhere, sword swinging! Oh, but you should say it. My apologies, lad."

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