POOHEAD189

Maverick Malediction

Dobrogost trudged across the wall, booted feet crunching the snow underneath. His cheeks were frigid, standard issue protection was an open faced helm with a simple nose guard, and his mouth needed to be uncovered so they could shout to one another over the blowing wind. It was a cold night, this night. Something was in the air other than the snow, but he could not begin to guess it. Vaguely, he could see the flickering flame of a torch a few paces ahead of him, desperately trying to stay alive as the snow fell.

He passed by Pyotr, a soldier that had enlisted around the time Dobrogost had entered the watch. They gave the salute and a "Sve chisto" to indicate they had seen nothing of note, and the two continued on their way across the wall. Another twenty minutes and Dobrogost could enter a guardhouse and warm his hands by a fire. Snow flecked his brown beard and his lips cracked painfully. Hopefully they had some hot cafea to sooth himself. Another month and they would be in what Banian's considered spring.

"Vino aici! Aici!"

"Idi syuda! Nuragk!"

Dobrogost turned, and squinted as he gazed into the night. At first he saw nothing in the gloom, but moments later, fellow watchmen ran into his sight like aberrations. They sprinted, carrying leaf-bladed spears and hustling past him. A solder he recognized as Oleg, one of the men about ten years his senior, ushered him to follow.

"What is happening?" He asked in their mother tongue.

"The dead," Oleg stated grimly, giving Dobrogost a mere glance before he marched to join the others. Dobrogost followed, grabbing at the arming sword he had at his hip, taking three yanks to pull it out. The frost had made the blade stick. It's why he preferred the axe, but they had insisted on swords. He had even gotten a hand-me-down straight blade rather than the sabers the veterans used. Eight years under the Boyar and he still felt like a newcomer.

He followed the others, hard men all. They had congregated at the archway above gate, and when Dobrogost pressed through to see what they were gazing at, he gasped.

A cloaked man stood there, his robe untouched by the flowing wind around him. Behind were figures. Multitudes of dark figures, lankily swaying and moaning like the dreaded dead of the recent scourges past the mountain passes. But those he could handle. It was the herald itself that gave him pause. The cloaked man did not speak himself. No, rather he held a spear, and upon it was the head of a young man. A decapitated head, blood dribbling down its open neck.

The head began to speak.

"You have in your quaint little town a woman. A woman in black, though I know she was brought into town naked as the day she was born. She had hair as dark as her soul and eyes that could cut through your heart. You must go and fetch her, and give her to me!" The head cried, and cackled at some hidden joke only it could comprehend. "Bring her, or suffer this town to burn in the flames of the hells from whence I came! Go forth now, for I lack the patience of my great master."

The men almost tripped over themselves to go and fetch what was likely a half a dozen women, though a few that had been on the roster earlier that day knew just who the bodiless head meant. A supposed boyina who was also a suspected witch. Luckily, the woman herself had done the talking at the gate that day. They did not recognize her beau's voice, even if it was dramatically shrill and muffled by the rough weather.

Neil waved his head around like a standard. He was having fun with it.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I gave my trademark reserved smile, glad Lazarus could show up and knock Emmaline down a peg. Not that I felt she needed it desperately, but if Emmaline and I were cozying up, it was beneficial to her training to have a third party with little emotion to manipulate and no libido to capitalize on. I simply sat down and watched them go a few more rounds. The blonde psyker was not born for the blade or fist, I could already tell by her movements. Even with months of training, it wouldn't be her forte. But she could learn to defend herself well enough, given time. I also had to give her credit:

She was creative.

She also had Lazarus when she threw her sword in what turned out to be an illusion, only for an imaginary Emmaline to catch it from behind and attempt to strike. Lazarus nearly fell for it, but he caught her real frontal assault before she could land a blow home, and subsequently handled her to the ground with his extra limbs.

She got up when I told Lazarus to get off her, blowing her fringe of blonde locks outs of her face and sticking her tongue out at the tech-priest when he addressed me.

"Shall I continue with the lesson, Hadrian?" He asked in binary, something I only had a rudimentary knowledge of. He added something snarky I couldn't catch.

"No, are relieved." I told him, and got off my ass to walk over onto the mat. I placed my hands on my hips, and she looked less than enthusiastic to continue. I grinned. "Don't worry, one more thing and then we can relax. I need to show you something even more important than how to punch or duel."

"Maybe we should have started with that." She huffed.

"I wanted to get the easy stuff out of the way," I quipped, my smile halting her before she gave a complaint at the prospect of something even more difficult. I raised my finger in the manner of a teacher. "The most important thing to learn in self defense is balance and grappling. But I won't show you any fancy techniques. That will be for the trip home. Right now, you merely need to know the basics. And the fundamental rule of grappling is balance, as stated. Keep your feet planted and uproot their stance in turn. It's easier than you think. For instance..."

I grabbed her shoulders firmly but with only marginal strength. "If someone grabs at you, you have two options, depending. If they pull you, you need to push. If they push, you need to pull. You're lighter than almost any combatant you're going to face, despite Lazarus's opinion on the subject."

"I never stated her mass was-" Lazarus began from across the room.

"-Which means you won't be able to brute force it, so you need to go with the flow of your assailants movements. Be like water. Hit vital areas. If I am pushing you from my position, pivot and turn-" I moved her into the correct position to show her my meaning. "Left leg out. Good. Adjust your hips, good. And then let me continue with my momentum while you control it. Understand?"

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

The little drone buzzed over to Dirk, flashing lights that indicated he was the travel agent. Dirk was not 'in the know' but he could tell there was a joke happening. He waved the little thing away, the drone lazily floating back to its master.

The beach was littered with abandoned towels and umbrellas, with the occasional limb and blood splotch. Beyond it was a rise in the sand that served as a small wall before one could make it to the facilities. They had traveled about ten miles, and if memory served, they were at the central communications island. Which unfortunately was not devoid of hotel goers. Dirk said as much to Jocasta, though she seemed to have anticipated most of it.

"So they will make sure none of this gets out to the authorities," she reasoned. "I've seen this movie before."

"They're dumber than movie villains," Dirk said, pressing a finger to a button behind his front visor, looking for heat signatures. He could vaguely tell there were people within the hotel and the facility behind, but he needed to get closer for a better read. If they were smart, they would have heat-cloaking tech, but they did not seem to be a group with a lot of brain cells. "All of the hotel's many feeds are fed here, yes. But it's also sent to a satellite in orbit, and it's triggered if there's no update with the correct code guarding the facility within six hours, calling in security forces from a base on one of the two moons."

"Not that fail-safes like that are uncommon, but how do you know that?" Jocasta asked, wringing some of the water out of her white dress to make it a bit less translucent.

"Because my first time on this planet, the security forces were called on me because I triggered the alarm by taking in the man on duty to halt it."

Maverick Malediction

It was all strangely but inexorably erotic, her little display. She was the naked one and he still felt embarrassed for the very noticeable stirring below the belt, which yet again led him to wonder what was wrong with him. She had parted his soul from his body and now he could make dopplergangers and he was focused on her presentation of this very eldritch power. Once he was back in the room with the sorceress, he got ahold of himself and took a look at the bowl.

Lifting the shard she had indicated, he gripped it and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else but another five Calliopes. Instead, something bright and shiny shimmered before him. At a focused look, it was a pile of treasure, but it faded out of the room like a mirage on the desert sands.

"Not like that, little thief." She snickered, pulling on trousers and rummaging through the closet, casting glances his way with her enchantingly dark eyes. They made him forget the 'little' comment, which he took offense to because he was about half again her weight and nearly a head taller. "You can duplicate things nearer to your bulk, but you'll stretch your soul out if you try and create a mountain. There are limits to the spell."

Neil gripped his chest at the mention of 'stretching his soul' like it was a worn shoe. "Well you might have told me that before." Neil deadpanned, but went at it again. He concentrated like he was trying to pick a lock, and slowly a figure shimmered into existence. He could feel it come alive, even though it wasn't technically alive...right? He knew enough about magic to theorize this wasn't regular illusion magic, and yet it served the same purpose. He guessed it didn't matter, he would leave what it was to the philosophers or the resident witch he had taken up with.

A second Neil stood in front of him, like a mirror. But it scratched its...his head when his arms were not performing the same task. Wow, he was hot though. By this point, Calliope was donning a black fur coat. She looked in the mirror and fixed her hair, before her reflection caught his gaze.

"Go, we're running out of nighttime! Just duplicate yourself, and take that robe there. It looks scraggly enough."

"Are you going to tell me what exactly-" One of the Neil's said, and she cut him off.

"Climb the walls, make it out to the front of the gate, and..."

After she explained the plan, Neil felt it was a simple but devious one, which were his favorites. He simply needed to make sure he wasn't pin-cushioned with crossbow bolts. It wouldn't do to get himself killed trying to win her favor, at least to himself. How far she cared about him was hard to gauge, though the sensual display earlier showed the woman had some interest. He gave her a dramatic bow, and skulked away like he had a limp and a hump in his back.

"Yesss mistresss..." He rasped in a scraggly voice of a low mutant. The other Neil made a beat with his mouth, humming gothic tunes as the first one dragged himself out of the door.

Once they were in the hall, the two Neil's looked at one another for a second, and then agreed to move to the north hall for a quick exit.

"Think this'll work?" Neil 1 asked Neil 2.

"Even if it doesn't, it'll be fun."

"Or deadly."

"Then again, that's part of the fun." Neil 2 reminded him as they walked to the window. "Still, I feel like we're owed a dinner and at least first base after this."

"We? You're going back in my soul when this is done."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"I don't like attacking the trees in the dark." Cyrdic said, stepping over a mound of snow that likely hid a large root or rock. Camilla danced through the snow like an elf, and he was amazed as always by how energetic and graceful she was. The Ostlander wasn't a blunt instrument like many would think, but he could never dream of being that light footed. It was one of the many things that endeared himself to her.

However, her next leap ended up with her falling into a snow pit that buried the woman up to her hips, Camilla letting out an 'oomf! Porca miseria! " cursing in her native tongue. The woman grabbing a root and scrambling out of the cold pit. Cyrdic lent a hand and she took it, and thanked him with a smile that would send many men's hearts aflame.

"Why not, we'll have fire." Gunnir said. He and Thor waded through the snow like oxen plowing a field. They had a preternatural ability to sense where the ground could swallow them up, and so they never seemed to just disappear. Cyrdic tried to follow their lead as best he could. Cyrdic also had to admit they were right. If they had fire, they could see and burn whatever they needed to, but also this was a mission to solve the crisis, not cause it to explode into all-out war.

"I've been in this empire for a few years now. I still am not used to snow." She admitted. "If only we could melt it all away."

"It's hard to get used to. Being tall helps." Cyrdic said with a smirk. The Dwarfs looked at him like he made a bad joke, but Camilla looked thoughtful. With only a moment's consideration, she leaped up like a coiled spring, her hands grabbing a branch, and she shifted her hips to swing her lower self and land squarely atop Cyrdic's broad shoulders. Her legs dangled against his pectorals and she steadied herself by holding onto his hair, of which had grown out from lack of care the last few weeks.

"You are right, love. I feel much better." She said, satisfied.

Cyrdic looked up at her skeptically, but realized he couldn't deny her this and sighed with a smile, trudging through the snow as the group continued forward.

"I guess we can rest soon." Cyrdic conceded to the Dwarfs. They had a gleam in their eyes he had seen before. They wouldn't take no for an answer. Camilla seemed far more happy up there, even humming a catchy tune with her lovely voice, though every now and then she would sneeze or he would hear 'ptu!' as she spat out a leaf that had caught in her face.

"Follow us, we know the way." Thor replied, and when he hacked a bramble down in front of him, he grinned. They could see the hills in the distance, past another copse of gods forsaken trees.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

Even through his armor, Dirk could hear the whistling of the wind as the gale tried to creep in through the hyper-steel fiber of his suit's seams. He crawled unsteadily onto the bow of the ship as the fallen man tried to collect himself, his face obscured in a helmet with a not too dissimilar shape to Dirks, though the armor was of lower quality. All Dirk had to do was move his front foot away from a swiping blade and then kick the man's arm that supported him staying upright. He hit the deck with a 'bonk' and Dirk's next kick sent him unceremoniously off the ship as the craft bounced along the waves.

Another man landed, however, this time more gracefully. He hit the bow with a stomp of his feet and immediately the two squared up, Dirk and the mercenary, this one unhelmed with short, dark hair whipping in the wind, traded blows before Jocasta's eyes. The impacts of their punches were somewhat muted to each combatant from their protection, and Dirk upped the ante by pulling out his xarconian basilard, a blade just short of two feet with a high-durability steel that could pierce certain materials more effectively than normal high-carbon steel and even lasbolts.

A smaller blade shot out of his opponent's wrist mount, smaller but thrumming with power. It was an electro-blade, with a small particle accelerator that helped the dagger-like protrusion pierce all but tank armor. Dirk cursed. Half of these guys were amatuers with basic weapons and the others had better equipment than even high-tier hunter.

Dirk stabbed at him, aiming for under his armpit. He turned his shoulder and took it on a pauldron, shoving his left forward. Had Dirk not caught the wrist, it would have cut him in the spleen. Dirk heabutted him, his helm (and head) proving stronger, sending the man staggering back. The merc caught himself and swiped, cutting a small seam across Dirk's breastplate, and then stabbed again. Dirk sidestepped, grabbed the arm with both hands and pulled it down as his knee shot up. He didn't break through the plating, but it broke the man's arm. He screamed inside his helmet, but Dirk didn't give him a chance to readjust himself. He stabbed under his breastplate, the merc giving a feeble grab for the arm, but he was too weak and too slow. Blood began to pool along the prow, and as the merc fell to his knees, Dirk took his blade and shoved it under his chin, ending the man's life.

Lasbolts shots every few moments, either glancing off the prow or more rarely clipping Dirk. One shot, just after he finished the jumper off, hit him square in the chest and nearly sent him falling off the bow.

"Guess it can't be helped." Dirk grunted, grabbing the railing of the ship's nose and locking on to the other boat with his visor. Green circles appeared before his vision, and they flashed red as it pinpointed the object. After sheathing the knife, he raised his pressed his thumb four times under his palm and gave the word. A small explosion shot out of his wrist like a kinetically launched projectile, before a small engine roared from its back and it rocketed towards the boat that stayed with them.

In the distance, an explosion the size of a truck erupted from the ship. It wasn't decimated, but it was hard to tell if everyone on it was dead or not.

"Why didn't you use that before!?" Jocasta asked, yelling over the spray of the sea.

"Those things are damned expensive." He said calmly, climbing back over to her side.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

In the morning, we awoke in delightful bliss and spent another hour enjoying ourselves before we slid out of bed, dressing for the day. Emmaline borrowed some of my clothes from when I was a bit younger, and it suited her slimmer form. Over breakfast we conversed on our time on Moldar and the funny intricacies of the crew on the Caledonia, joking to one another and smiling far too much for two people just days away from fighting the forces of chaos. Even after our passionate night, we were taken with one another. In fact the night had enhanced it, and we were still so new to one another it felt fresh with possibilities. I knew we were walking down a potentially dangerous path of fraternization, but at the moment my worries had fled as we ate together and shared another kiss.

I let her go until lunch, as I needed to organize my documents and see Urien on matters of landing on Danubis, not to mention of if we were still on schedule to arrive within less than two days. Where Emmaline went, I did not know. But she was set to rendezvous with me at the shooting range at the Caledonia's "noon" time for training.

Once we found one another, I had her do an hour of target practice. Despite her victory over me during our wager, I decided not to trust her to blow into the ear of a chaos cultist and felt she needed to learn the ins and outs of the various firearms present. Luckily, she did not harm her shoulder as we both acknowledged she could use the scattergun well enough.

After lunch, we took an hour walking around the ship and spoke to the astropath Caiphon for a brief interval before we arrived at the gym, full of food but with time to digest. We both went into the locker room, changing into our attire. We both wore appropriate sparring trousers, and as I donned a tight shirt that hugged my broad chest, Emmaline donned a workout top that exposed her midriff but kept herself wrapped for whatever exercise we were about to endure.

"Close combat training." I told her by way of a more professional introduction. "I don't know what we'll see once we reach Danubis, and it's very likely we will not merely be fighting just men. If you are unarmed and come face to face with some horror, it's better for you to run if your psychic skills are ineffective. However, if a man assaults you or attempts to grab you, this training should come in use. You won't learn everything before we get there. We'll perfect your firearms and close combat training on our way to Pacitus, but for now here is a crash course."

I showed her where to plant her feet, how to square her shoulders, and the proper way to throw a punch. To pivot your back foot and twist your hip and shoulder toward your target as you launch your fist, the fist itself closing all four fingers and your thumb locking over the end of your middle finger to avoid as much injury as possible. I stepped back and let her square up to the punching bag, crossing my arms.

"Try it a few times."

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Footsteps along planks battered their eardrums as the requisitioned suicide crew were heading over to their assigned salvos. Shouts and orders were flying about them and maintenance crewmen cleared the areas and calibrated the torpedoes to maximum efficiency. Grimri only knew a modicum of the technicalities of such an action. He recalled and old greybeard named Halki Lasercut who would ramble about the process in how one made a torpedo into a boarding torpedo, and the ritual before they were deployed, but it was usually at the end of the night when Grimri was dead drunk. He knew they had uranium tips and specialized hulls, but that was about all he could garner from his days back at the mines.

He had his weapons strapped and ready. His shotgun racked and loaded, his axe-spade, and his combat knife, as well as his nail-driver auto-pistol. He strode beside his comrades, somehow keeping up with them despite his stubby legs. He supposed the milling throng of workers running back and forth kept them from sprinting to the pods. What's more, there was something in the air. A tension only blood could sate. He had been in many engagements like this, but he had never boarded a chaos vessel before.

Once Grimri found the torpedo slots and saw the silos, he recalled just how vast they were. Nothing shorter than fifteen meters shot at ludicrous speeds could puncture a battleship's hull, and these were even bigger by his estimation. He saw a mechanic placing in last minute preparations, unhooking a pipe attachment and moving out of the way for the Squat to step forward. There was a compartment in the hull of the missile, like the mouth of a cartoonish fish. He looked at his comrades once more, making certain none of them had cold feet now that they were here.

He climbed in and crossed his arms, a grim visage on his face as the hatch slowly shut.

Stumbled back in...it's been years

Welcome back!

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt felt strangely nervous, which wasn't usual for him. Perhaps in a life or death situation, but here he was a bit taken with the idea of seeing Silke again after a few days of contemplation. He felt wholly inadequate of her attentions, even if it wasn't her affections. Something about watching the aristocracy in the palace made him wonder how he could ever been that, much less the idea version of that. True, she was coming to teach him, but the learning curve was steep. He knew there were many pompous nobles, but the good ones were well-versed in matters of war, finance, and culture.

He knew none of those, and it usually took years to master any one of those subjects.

Now, the Palace Guards who were off-duty were now going back on their rounds, and the tower itself was guarded by all save the watchmen who were stationed at its front. The inner chambers of the tower itself were largely made for business and meetings, when not populated by guardsmen or the unlikely event the palace was under siege. The battlements had siege batteries and sconces for arrows built into the stone, but within were well furnished, comfortable rooms with smoothed, laminated desks and cushioned chairs. Book filled cabinets lined the walls and the carpets were soft.

There was even two bedrooms for guests in the southwing of the spire, though they were used maybe once a year, if that. Only every few months did a maid come by to clean them and keep the dust from settling in too thickly. The beds looked very comfortable though. He wondered how many guards had fallen asleep on one drunk, or if that was even allowed amongst fellows.

Galt awaited Silke in the central meeting chamber, a circular room with an equally curvaceous table lined with seats and a central area cordoned off for someone who would volunteer to speak to an assembly of accountants or dignitaries. He did not sit at the great table, but a soft, high backed chair in one of the corners next to a small table with a flower pot and two cups of tea, still steaming for when she arrived.

Galt wore a fashionable jerkin, and rolled up sleeves exposing his toned arms. His hair was as dark as ever, as were his eyes. He had a thoughtful expression on his face until he heard footsteps that drew him out of his reverie and brought a sly look on his face, though his smile was genuine. When he saw Silke, he said "I didn't what to bring exactly so I sort of did not bring anything. Though I have a quill and parchment on the table just there."