POOHEAD189

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

Khaz Modan Dwarves

Name: The Ironforge Dwarves of Khaz Modan.

Held Territories: Khaz Modan and all its holdings.

Other Assets:
The Great Forge: The largest and most powerful forge in Azeroth, where the most legendary items can be crafted by the skilled hands of the Dwarves.

War Machines: Notable tinkerers like their Gnomish cousins, the Dwarves make guns, steam tanks, mortars, gyrocopters, and much more.

Legions of Dwarf Warriors: The Dwarves are a war-like people, purpose built for labor and warfare. Even the Orcs begrudgingly admire their strength and toughness. With axe, shield, and armor, the Ironforge Dwarves are terrible to behold on the battlefield.

Goals and Motivations: To restore the old Alliance, the help the humans retake Lordaeron, to get vengeance on Arthas for the death of Muradin, and to retake Gnomeragon. More inwardly, to rekindle the old powers of the Dwarves from their past.

Recent History (at least since PoD, if canon): The history of the Dwarves is long and storied, the oldest records going back two thousand years. However, one could perhaps argue the most recent conflicts are the most prevalent. No other time in Khaz Modan's long annals had it ever been conquered, even if only on the surface level, and yet the immense Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer managed to hold most of the unoccupied land the Ironforge Dwarves held.

Once Khaz Modan was retaken and Grim Batol was purged of the Orc and Dragon menace, the Dwarves began to reforge their Kingdom. Over the next few years, the Dwarves rebuilt their strength, and by the time of the Third Great War, the Dwarves sent their aid to Lordaeron, and had already send colonists to Norththrend for expansion and colonization. A new cultural goal had developed, prompting not just forging and warfare buit excavation and archaeology of the Dwarves storied history.

Following the Scourge's invasion, the Dwarves lost contact with their colony in Northrend and Muradin Bronzebeard, the King's brother, presumed dead. The Dwarves sent to Lordaeron were also decimated as the human population was, and a Trogg invasion of Gnomeragon has ravaged their close cousins, the Gnomes. Magni Bronzebeard and his coincil have risen in wrath, and the last four years Khaz Modan has been mobilizing for vengeance and war.

Key Players: Magni Bronzebeard (King), Brann Bronzebeard (Explorer/King's Brother) High Priest Gheradin (Priest), Thargas Anvilmar (Senator/Warrior), Khargos Gildenhalls (Senator/Merchant), Brawner Mountainrunner (Scout Captain).

King Magni

Name: Magni Bronzebeard, High Thane of Ironforge and King of Khaz Modan

Faction (if applicable): Ironforge Dwarves

Rank/Role: King/High Thane

Appearance: A heavily muscled and large dwarf, clad in a resplendent crimson cape and a magically enchanted and gilded, masterfully crafted plate armor. True to the name of his clan, his beard is reddish brown and thick, cuffed with gold and styled immaculately. Wearing a crown of gold with a red diamond at its center, his blue eyes are steeled and his hands generally grasp his two, huge, runic hammers imbued with various blessings and runes of buffing and damage.

Personality: Magni is charismatic and a fine, albeit spur-of-the-moment orator, he has a strong will and powerful opinions. He cares deeply for his people and the honor of his clan, and tries his best to balance his cares between them. He has worn the kingly mask so many years, he only really shows his dry wit and doubts in rare instances in private.

Biography (at least since PoD, if canon): Having been King of Khaz Modan since the Second War, where he led his dwarven fighters into combat personally and slew many Orcs, Magni shares in the toils of his brethren with typical dwarven stoicism. He led the defense of his homeland and kept the Orcs at bay for years, enduring orc axes and dragon flames.

With charisma, he renewed the dwarven spirit and relit the forges and reestablished trade with the outside world once the horde had been routed. For many years he played an administrative role, but the Third Great War reared its head, Magni did not hesitate.

Sending mortars and gyrocopters to Lordaeron for aid in its defense, he mobilized his forces to guard the passes and hold off the restless dead to keep the passes open for refugees. At some point during the war, Magni had to take part in the fighting himself and fought alongside Chen Stormstout, a panderan brewmaster. The two became fast friends.

Near the end of the war, he received news of his brother's death and the betrayal of Arthas, as well as the news their northern colony was decimated. He went to the council and gave an impassioned speech, prompting them to mobilize their forces not only for a defense, but a full northward assault. Unfortunately, the Troggs arriving and attacking their Gnomish allies have slowed them down far more than Magni would like, he is patient and dangerous. He already sent a charter and another group of tough dwarves with fighting experience to travel to northrend again and reestablish a base there.

His latest activity, other than the soon-to-be-enacted plan to route the Troggs, is to send twelve hundred dwarven soldiers to the aid the Scarlet Crusade under Thargas Anvilhammer, as well as three hundred priests and paladins under the watchful eyes of Gheradin, the High Priest of Ironforge.

Powers and other Abilities:

• Powerful and skilled in close combat.
• Able to throw his hammers great distances.
• Is tough and armored.
• Can break stone and cause shockwaves.
• Has the avatar state, increasing his strength, toughness, and size.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Crossbow's clicked, quarrels scything through the air mere feet from Beren's form. He leaped and swung where he could, uninhibited by the snow like his pursuers but still slowed from having to navigate through the trees. These coniferous trees kept their leaves all year round, so it gave him a bit of cover even if it detracted from his visibility. From one branch to the other he leaped, men's voices raised up from behind him. Even as he caught another branch, a quarrel struck the wood just beside his hand, and the branch broke with a snap like lightning.

He didn't have time to curse, only plummeted a dozen feet to the ground and hit the snow with a grunt. Leaves and smaller bits of wood fell on him like a blanket, but after a mere moment he pushed himself up like a leaping dolphin out of the surf. Beren shook his head and brushed the twigs out of his thick, dark hair and gauged his bearings. Checking his east, he saw a handful of men twenty meters away and closing.

He decided not to get back in the tree, knowing it was slowing him down more than anything. Instead he turned and ran on foot, leaping over snow banks and dodging roots and dead brush, kicking off trees to do unexpected turns as he fled. After another two quarrels zipped past him, a last missile embedded itself in his jacket just where his cloak had been rolled up. That was lucky, but he still groaned at the hole in his jacket. He growled and continued to run before hitting the sloping decline of a hillock, leading down to a small clearing in the trees. Beren hopped down it and looked around for an exit. He saw the statue of Meldarion to the north through a copse of conifers, still gleaming in the sunlight.

He took that as as good a sign as any he couldn't keep running.

Initially he had fled so they could focus on his flight and not Jocasta's disappearance, but he needed to link up with her, and he hadn't yet seen any sign of her. Beren turned around, planting his feet in the ground. All around him were trees, but none stood between him and the small slope across the flat clearing. The lack of trees meant the sun had touched the ground more, making the snow scarce.

Beren stripped himself of his jacket, tossing it to his right. The powerfully built man wore a navy-blue undershirt and a maroon vest over it, with a sash belt that matched his under shirt and earthly colored trousers that almost seemed like an aradian savran, but was distinctly more practical. His muscled arms were exposed along with his neck and face, but he had freedom of movement. It was frigid out, but it was the hottest part of the day for the next few hours. The sun kissed his tanned skin as he extended his arms to gather his breath, giving his form a distinctive brass quality.

The first two men broke the tree line, both pale-skinned and blue eyed. Their crossbows having been discarded, much like what Beren expected. He wasn't very learned with projectile weapons, but dwarves made extensive use of crossbows. Even with pulleys or footguards, they were a bitch to load and were heavy to lug around. They wouldn't have caught him with those weapons. Instead they drew their schiavona's, black guards and steel that glinted in the sun.

"Given up, have you?" One asked, both sliding down the small incline. "We don't want to have to kill you, farm boy."

Beren's concentration broke, and he blinked, flabbergasted. "I'm not a farm boy..." He said incredulously, and pointed a finger at the one who spoke. "Wait, do you...do you think I'm a cliche!?"

"Doesn't matter to me," the second one added.

"Aye, come with us and you can be a Lion. Or we kill you here."

Beren took the staff he had lain down in his hand and began to twirl it before him, right to left, letting the swing of the pole casually sweep the snow before him, making a visible line in the mud. Some of the more dogmatic people in his order felt it was not right to ever fight, even to defend oneself. But even if Beren adhered to that, if he died, Jocasta would be out there alone. He wasn't going to let that happen.

"Cross that line and someone will die," Beren warned them. Unfortunately, they didn't have a chance to answer before a third man showed up, sliding down the small hill to the level ground. The first two looked at one another and grinned, before they advanced on Beren, swords out and legs moving in rhythmic patterns. The third Lion in the middle, they made a semi-circle before him and stepped past the line, and Beren knew there was no backing out.

Had someone been near in the trees, they could have heard the clang of steel and the clack of iron-studded wood. The three men gave swift thrusts and small, savage cuts. Beren stepped left to right, trying to get the three to get in one another's way. His staff was a blur, wacking the swords aside but giving ground. Two stabbed at him, his staff blocking both swords simultaneously as he stepped over the third sword's thrust, stomping his booted foot on the blade to disarm the middle attacker. The center lion cried out from the pinch of his hand in the basket-hilt, but Beren's foot hit him just under the jaw. He fell back, blood pouring out of his mouth from a bitten tongue.

Beren leaped to the left, dodging a sword blow, redirecting a stab in mid air with his staff. He landed in a small skid, twisting his staff under and over the blade and shoving it over the Lion's arm to smack him in the head. He reeled back, but swiped a backhanded cut as he fell back. Beren ducked, but he took a cut from the advancing Lion, tearing a deep slash across his arm. The pain flashed, but he didn't let the warm blood stop him from reacting. Even as the last lion reared his schiavona back for a stab to his midsection, Beren shoved the midsection of his staff into the man's head, staggering him.

Another fourth Lion reached the tree line even as Beren leg swept the third lion, and the first two were getting up at that point. He knew he couldn't face those odds, and though he felt regret for it, he stepped forward and stomped his boot on the fallen mercenary's neck, crushing his wind pipe. The other two ran at him, cutting from both side, sending Beren ducking and dodging and riposting where he could, the two drawing him back toward the base of an oak tree. They worked well in unison, clearly having been trained to fight together.

He was in trouble, but even as the third reached them, Beren saw something that could help when he glanced upwards. The monk leaped back and kicked the oak tree with all his strength, the base of the tree shuddering. Heaps of snow fell on the men just as they were about to finish him off, sending them sliding to the ground in a heap. Beren kicked off the tree and drew his axe, and even though he felt it was almost tantamount to murder, he performed his bloody work as they lay there dazed, and then he ran off, back toward the road, hoping to find Jocasta somewhere behind the Lion's lines.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"That sounds like a plan." She said. The roar had come from the northwest, and luckily the road curved eastward, but any beast as smart as an Arch-Troll would know where the road was. Beren didn't want to put too much thought into why Qwarath was roaring, but either way it didn't bode well. Lesser trolls weren't common but not rare in the mountains, but Arch-Trolls were like demons. If you found one, you likely didn't survive the encounter.

They started to move, Beren trying to think back on encounters he had with trolls. The Monk had met two in his life. He had never killed one though. They stood fully nine feet in height with rock-like scales on their upper body and simian arms with strength beyond human capability. Easily controlled by how dim-witted they were, they were vicious and often hungry.

As he thought, a crossbow clicked, and a quarrel shot through the flap of Beren's jacket, punching a hole and leaving a slit in the thick fabric. Beren blinked, lifting the edge of it up and sliding a finger through it.
"Hey! Why do people keep fucking with my favorite jacket!"

"We'll do a lot more than that," a voice said, and both of the travelers turned back to see men approaching. Donning cloaks as black as death, golden and white lions were carved on their tabards. Beren saw there were twenty men, all wielding crossbows with their swords at their hips. At least fifteen of them aimed at the two, and their accuracy only became more assured the closer they got.

"Don't even think on running." The front man said, a man in his early forties. He had a somewhat handsome face, though his sneer detracted from it. He had long blonde hair and goatee, and he carried himself like a swordsman. He did not hold a crossbow, but instead had a wicked mace in one hand, bouncing the haft on his shoulder like it was a cudgel.

"You Werholdt?" Beren asked them, now standing around ten meters from one another.

"Yep. And you're an Eru'Dai," he said matter-of-factly. "Didn't think I'd ever meet one of you. We could use a man like you, and a woman like her."

"I'm right here, fellas." She said, waving her hands to let them know she wasn't inanimate.

"Yes, you are, Jocasta." He said, and Beren raised an eyebrow at the name drop. "We did some digging. You owe a lot of money. You serve my company well and maybe do some...extracurricular activites for us and I'll help you out on that score. And you, Eru'Dai... you'll be paid well for your services."

"Do you have that sarong ready?" Beren whispered.

"Yeah, but it won't work for both of us I don't think," she cautioned.

"Just use it anyway. I'll be fine." He assured her. Jocasta was skeptical, but instead stepped forward, waving the sarong like a flag, one foot out and the other back like she was going to perform some acrobatic trick.

"Alright boys, we give up! But let's give you an encore," she said, sliding the sarong down dramatically. Once the cloth passed her form, it shrouded it and she disappeared before their very eyes. Beren took that cue to get lost, and he simply sprang upwards, grabbing a tree branch and using his rock-hard abdominal muscles to swing his legs up and disappear into the thick canopy above.

"Find them!" Werholdt cried, waving his hand angrily.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Wait! How did you..." Beren asked, but Jocasta continued to push him out of the door. "No, how did you do that!?" But the door closed behind them.

Beren and Jocasta stumbled out onto the street road, Jocasta shushing Beren for a second to halt his questioning. The last day or so he had worn his torn jacket and the red cloak to keep himself warm, meanwhile Jocasta had been busy. She ushered him to follow her to the side of the building, and then whipped out the Sarong. Beren tilted his head as he watched her, note entirely sure what she was doing. The woman displayed it out like he was a bull about to charge at a Dre Costa 'run of the bulls,' but then when she whipped it away, there wasn't some trap, but his jacket. His fixed jacket!

"Oh wow..." He said, taking it in his hands. The seam was not even noticable. "Thank you Jo. I don't know what to say except thanks."

"The least I can do," she reasoned, trying not to milk it with someone as genuine as Beren. "Now let's hit the road before we get stopped by those black cloak ass-hats."

Beren put the jacket on and placed his cloak inside of his pack, and the two set off, trying to keep their heads down and their feet moving until they made it out of town. They had been given some provisions by the Master of the Town, and with the money they had earned, even considering the expenses, they could live in Iskura fairly comfortably for a good few weeks if they didn't needlessly spend. Hopefully they could find a means to get more money by that point.

It was just now noon-time, and then sun was at its height. The next few hours would be the warmest and the best conditions for walking, and so they made the most of it. Beren kept his staff in his hand and kept himself relaxed, his eyes would be peeled once they got a bit further from Helmguart.

"How long is it to Iskura?" Jocasta asked. "It didn't look that far in my map, but I lost that in the caravan. Not that it was wholly accurate, either."

"I think about forty...forty five miles." Beren answered, thinking about it. "So about three days of walking if we keep a good pace. Though we might want to stop whenever we find a good place to rest for a night. This won't be like the caravan with the covered wagons or the Inn, or even the draugr tombs. It'll be cold as hell and things could be watching us."

"You know how to butter a girl up," she quipped with a laugh, though there was a slight trepidation in it. Beren smiled, somewhat guiltily, though it turned sly.

"Well girly, what would you like to talk about?"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Forgive us, we're new to the marches." Beren said, giving a polite bow.

"I can see that," the Master said, placing his fingers together. "By your manner of dress just as well. Are you Izyrian, or perhaps from the eastern continent?"

"No..." Beren said slowly, thinking. "The Southlands. My father is a native there."

The Master blinked in wonder. "Really? That is...truly something." He admitted, considering. Beren's parentage was uncommon but not unheard of, however people of such an ethnicity like he and his father almost never left the shores of the Black Delta or the continent proper. It sounded like a crocodile voluntarily traveling to the far north or through a waterless desert. He shrugged, continuing. "It;s strange times. Unfortunately, I was informed you were bringing me ill news on the caravan under the care of Captain Rohardt and Master Falkenrath."

"We do," Beren said uneasily, glancing at Jocasta. He took a deep breath. "As our journey went, we started losing men. One I know was lost to the wolves, and another three were killed by what I think was a Bwgbher. But I never saw it."

That drew Jocasta's attention. Bwgbher's were dangerous creatures, as silent as a lynx and nearly as big as a bear. The rumors said they were humanoid in shape, hairy with sharp claws, and unimaginably quick. If they wanted to, they could brute force their way through most men, but they preferred killing from behind, silently. Beren wasn't sure he had believed something so large could be so stealthy, but after seeing the deaths of those men, who died without having unsheathed their weapons, he started to believe.

"That accounts for four out of forty," The Master said skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Two weeks in, after another few had deserted or were killed by other things, our remaining caravan was caught in a battle. Orcs and Ogres with brands and iron masks fought the dead and weird abominations. I have some notes on them, but the point is, the caravan was destroyed." Jocasta explained, hands opened wide. "Beren here saved my life, and we escaped through the uh, hills, and found our way here."

"And what were you just now doing north of town?" He asked curiously.

"A date. She's really hot. Don't you think so?" Beren asked, and Jocasta placed a hand over her mouth. The Master opened and closed his mouth, and then gave a "Uh yes," as an answer.

"Sir, what is this all about?" Beren asked, more seriously. He crossed his strong arms over his chest. The Master pushed his spectacles closer to his face and sighed.

"The Leo Mortus, these black-clad men. They came here at the cusp of winter, heading to Iskura. It had begun to snow heavily, and even in a blizzard, dread things can roam in the woods. I offered them employment and a place to stay, if they would help protect my town. It was fine for a month, until some of my men were killed by a raid of giants, and a few others died of disease on the walls. Soon the Lions had the greater numbers, and their Captain, a man named Werholt, decided to throw his weight around. I've had to deal with the situation delicately, and he believes I will accomodate him in all he wishes. I was counting on Captain Rohardt to change my fortunes, but now he and his men are apparently dead, may the trinity watch over them."

He leaned back and rubbed his temples. Beren felt sorry for the man, but there was little they could do. Jocasta raised an eyebrow. "Do you have no more friends?" She asked.

"A few in Iskura. Baron Marius is a close friend, but there's so much snow, and I can't spare any more men here to send him a letter."

Beren shrugged. "Well we were planning on leaving in a day or so anyway. We can take it." He offered, and looked at Jocasta. She shrugged. The Master looked at them, and if there had been music it would have stopped.

"Y-You would?"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The day we arrived, I made arrangements for a meeting with my peers before departing. I was called to meet my fellows on the Gereon, a sword-class frigate meant for escort duty before it was requisitioned by Barnabus Amator, one of the two Inquisitors that answered my call. A good choice, the frigate. It was a ship with a design that had remained largely unchanged since the heresy, with strong void shields and superior structural integrity allowing to go head-to-head with even destroyers, it's only real draw-back was its relatively short ranged weaponry which made it ideal for close-quarter assaults and self-defense but very vulnerable in long range fights, not to mention it could become stranded and picked apart if out-maneuvered.

I stepped on the bridge in full battle-gear, planet-fall schedule within two hours. At my hip was my power sword, the skull of the emperor emblazoned on the hilt. In my hands was a shotgun I retrieved from the armory, a custom model with AP slugs that could penetrate armored targets at medium range. On a holster at the small of my back, my large-caliber auto-gun rested. My cloak and furs hugged my shoulders, but my torso was covered in carapace armor, and I wore ceramite greaves and vambraces.

In my wake walked Emmaline, carrying my force staff and keeping her face serene and regal, as usual accompanied by a glitter of intelligence in her eyes which I felt would no doubt impress the other inquisitors. I had told her to dress somewhat conservatively, if not in a body-glove. Her presence was not unwelcome, but she was new to my outfit and I did not want the elder inquisitors to think I was beguiled by her to induct her into my service. The beguiling part happened after that, and it was certainly mutual. Not that she did not look stunning even dressed such a way, but I had to admit even then I was growing smitten with her.

Crewmen and midshipmen sat at their stations, servitors zipping across the thickly plated floors and operating cogitators that flanked the bridge. At its head was the Captain whom I was informed was named Gelgar Fawks. He had evidently made a small name for himself in the Ultima Segmentum with a daring lunar orbit maneuver in a battle against insurgents. Behind him stood my two colleagues and their seconds.

Barnabus Amator stood in a dark military uniform, bedecked with the Carnodon pelt and the symbol of the Ordo-Xenos on his chest, along with various accolades that betrayed his states as a senior inquisitor with a century of experience. Next to him was a man with an arbites helm and strange armor that had a mirror polish to it, a las-carbine in his hand and a jump-pack at his back.

Cornelius Reichgleib of the Ordo Hereticus was much the same as Inquisitor Amator, with a similar amount of experience though having spent the last decade in the desk from a lasting injury he had received during a heretical uprising on the planet of Ambalkator. I did not know the extent of his injuries, but I could see a somewhat pinkish mark reaching to his check from his neckline, which hinted at burns. He seemed resolute in the eyes, howver, and he was dressed to kill. A black body-glove and what looked to be padded armor underneath, as well as a cape that befit his station. Before his injury he was known as a shrewd man, and I knew I needed all of the experience both men could provide.

At Reichgleib's right was a man of greenly pale skin, seven feet in height with white eyes. Had I not been informed of the fellow in question, I would have thought it a xenos. He was a forest-stalker from the moon of Elkor, where the radiation from the system's two suns caused a strange evolution to the people there. The forest-stalker had a long bladed saber at his hip and a visor over his eyes, though he wore a simple uniform fit for a large guardsman, without the helmet. His hair was a shock of white.

"Inquisitors," I greeted, giving a slight incline with my head. They repeated the gesture. Barnabus looked at me with his good eye, his left having been removed by some battle-wound decades ago. "You honor me with your involvement in this matter."

I was not being humble or honeyed, they truly had given me more respect than I had likely earned. This had been my case, but either of them could have claimed seniority and taken control of operations. I hoped I did not disappoint them in the coming conflict.

"You've done quite the time on this matter for such a short career," Inquisitor Barnabus said. "The PDF are growing restless, but they'll serve as their part deems. We'll let them go ahead so as to soak fire and soften the enemy up for our guardsmen and aides."

"We will need to remain covert, at first." The Hereticus Inquisitor added. "As far as we know, we have the element of surprise. We should assume we do not while operating to capitalize on it if that be the case."

"Agreed," I replied. I produced a data-slate, and they did the same. I sent them both the coordinates of the attack areas, but I spoke it aloud so there was no confusion. "On the northern quandrant of the planet, there is an estimated landing zone. 397-214, around fifteen hundred miles north of the planet equator. I will land there. Inquisitor Barnabus, you and your squads will land twenty miles due east where our schematics have picked up a gaping cavern that we believe is an entrance to Bahometus's headquarters. You are to help my team flank them when the time comes. Inquisitor Reichgleib, you will approach from the heights in the west. It's rough terrain but you'll be able to get the drop on them from above. We will flush them out."

"A sound plan, Inquisitor. But might I ask, who is this?" Barnabus inquired, pointing at Emmaline. I turned to regard her as if the question was strange. He continued. "I was told your second is a tech-priest of mars."

"Yes, Lazarus." He conceded. "He is busy making sure our equipment is readily available, as he serves as my quartermaster in such affairs. This is Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, my aide and a psyker of considerable power. She has saved my life numerous times and I have personally trained her and dubbed her worthy of service."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Hey!" One of the men said, running after them and tripping onto his face in the snow. He lifted his head up and raised his fist. "When I find you I'll fucking kill you!"

"You can fucking kiss my ass," Beren said under his breath, and he caught Jocasta grinning, seeing she heard him. He laughed, wheeling his horse toward the road as she followed suit. The beasts cantered a bit, not going too fast so as to catch the dirt and not a snow drift. Beren wasn't the best rider, but he was adequate, and he had an intuition with beasts. Jocasta's horse walked brusquely beside his own, though she didn't seem too agile in the saddle.

"Sometimes my nice facade disappears, you'll have to get used to it," he told her with a faux haughtiness.

"A bad boy streak? You're full of surprises," she said slyly, and they bounced on their saddles down the road before they made it within a five minute walk to town. They left the horses there, not wanting to be charged as horse-thieves. If they had kept them, the Black Lions would have been able to give a true reckoning of wrongs and not just a personal vendetta. Beren hopped off his mount and helped Jocasta off hers. She tucked the sarong in her coat, and they walked back to town, letting the sun warm them as they passed through the gate.

Rounding the next corner, they were a few streets from the inn before guards approached as if by magic on three sides, five men in all with spears. Their eyes were set and their faces grim, save the fifth one that wore a gold cloak, who eyed them appraisingly. Every villager that passed by gave them a wide berth.

"Uh oh," Jocasta said.

"Can I help you, officer?" Beren asked, trying to hide his growing panic. Had they been seen somehow? With the body or the horses? Beren kept still, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The lead man took his helmet off and rubbed his bald head, before placing it back on.

"You two are coming with us. We have things to speak of at the master's manor." He informed them. Beren glanced at Jocasta, and she could see in his eyes a question of follow or flight. She nodded, and offered her arm to him. He took it, so they could be in close proximity if things went south. Beren really felt like he trusted her, even with only knowing her for a week. Well three technically, but a week seeing her every day.

They walked with the escort towards the northern side of town, where a small wall held a gate of iron bars that opened at the sergeant's call.

Maverick Malediction

Neil was certainly happy for the privacy, and he thanked Rashim as the man departed. The scoundrel admittedly was very hungry, but he only wanted to eat a small portion at the moment. He could get his fill later, but his mind was certainly on other things at the moment. He and Calliope had run and run and finally they were at a place where they could relax, and he didn't really see much danger in these Seven Princes, even if they expected some sort of subservience.

What was on Neil's mind was Calliope. He saw the cues, the look, the smile within the veil, the subtle movements on her body. He didn't have to be told twice, and he sat on a comfortable chair on the table, and he pulled her own up very close, extravagantly presenting to her with a wave of his hands. She took the seat with a smirk and plopped down on it, plucking a grape out of the mounds of fruit and chewing on it greedily.

"One could get used to this," Neil remarked, eating some of the steaming chicken and fried vegetables. His stomach thanked him, and he washed it down an aged red vintage, letting him truly take the edge off. The bath, the comfortable clothes, and the food were just what he needed. As Calliope ate her fill, taking some honey fritters and a bit of the pork, Neil presented her with more grapes. He hung it before her eyes, and she snatched it out of his hands with her lips, which he noticed were delectably soft.

"Does this count as my buying you dinner?" She asked him smugly, leaning closer and giving him a marvelous view of her plump bosom. He felt his mouth not heeding his call for a moment, but he tried to steady himself.

"Honestly I...I was starting to think you weren't interested..." He admittedly, and then looked into her eyes somewhat suspiciously, though a smile played on his lips. He looked every bit the dashing bandit prince in his attire, and the smile accentuated it. "This isn't just a trick to kill me again, is it?"

It was clearly halfway a joke, but he also was somewhat intimidated by her. It was strange, but it only turned him on more. He'd never been with a woman that scared him and he quite liked it.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren's snicker at her sarcastic comment on the assassin disappeared as surely as she did when he saw her teleport. For the briefest of moments he thought something awful had happened, but then she fell into the snow and was covered by the whiteness in a large mound. Beren stomped through the snow and began to dig, uncovering her. Jocasta popped out of the mound like a genie, holding the soft crimson fabric up with wonder in her eyes.

"This thing I can work with..." she said, marveling at it.

"Well, at least I know she's ok." He said to himself outloud.

Jocasta took Beren's hand and she was pulled out of the little hole, examining the item like she would an ancient text. He envied her ability to decipher script and artifacts, and Beren actually felt very fulfilled helping her in such things. He wondered what she was looking at, but it was clear there were flows there he simply couldn't see. Beren smiled watching her.

"Well, you did kill him. You can take that, and we can keep the money together since we're going to Iskura together anyway." He told her so she didn't have to worry about him trying to claim it for himself. Her smile to him was brilliant, her eyes trailing back from him to the sarong.

"It can probably fit me, but not wearing all these layers," she said.

"We probably should get going." He said, counting the coins. Strangely they were in Basileon 'Bezants.' There were a score of them, give or take. He counted them as they fell from one hand to the other, clinking as they slid from the second hand back into the container. "Unless we got something else to do. Even in the daylight, we don't know what's out here-"

POOF.

Beren blinked and turned, and saw Jocasta was gone. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was another POOF. A vaguely sweet scent filled the air and what looked like a puff of quickly dissipating smoke was there one moment and then it was gone, and he turned to where he heard it. His nose brushed against Jocasta's, and he flinched back.

She giggled at startling him, and then revved the sarong up and whipped it at her feet again. Once more the smoke popped up and she was gone, before he heard a squawk from above him, clearly the woman having failed at showing up where intended, and she tried to cry out but wasn't fast enough. She fell directly into Beren's lap, driving the air out of him again.

"Oof!" He exhaled, and cleared his throat, blinking. She smiled guiltily and he shook his head, smirking. "This is going to be a continual thing, isn't it?" He asked her tiredly, failing to hide his delight at her having fun.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren looked at her and smiled. For a second it seemed like he was thinking of kissing her, but he didn't. Instead he said. "Thanks..." and let it hang, before pursing his lips. "Then again, now that I know you have student loans, I don't know if I want you sticking around."

"Shut up!" She laughed, hitting him with a pillow.

They talked for the next hour, joking and laughing. Jocasta explained at least some of her situation with her time in the Mythrim Tethir and the Occult Bastion, not to mention the Black Lotus. She had been right, she was probably far more sought after than he was, at least for monetary reasons. Beren's enemies were more martial or diabolic in nature, and none of them would hire an assassin to kill him save one or two. Most wanted to kill him themselves. He explained to her about his order a bit. The Eru'Dai, translated from an ancient text as 'warrior monks' were a sept of fighters and peace-makers that followed the 'One' which Beren thought of as the Evergod. It was a lot more lax than a knightly, dogmatic order. It was wrong to fight unless people were threatened, never kneel before anyone but the one, always speak the truth unless it harmed someone else, and try to do right by others. Pretty sensible things, though a lot of it had been exercises in breathing and martial training and inner peace, which somewhat explained how he could handle crazy situations with focus.

His father had been a well known priest (and still was last he saw him) and his mother had been on the village council (again, still going strong), and while they had allowed Beren to be taught the ways of the Eru'Dai by Master Guan, a hermit who emigrated from Shi'Ran, they mostly wanted it for self-defense to keep him alive amongst the Southland frontier. When he had come of age, his mother had insisted he learn a trade and not go gallivanting out into the wilderness like he was want to do. His father had saved a Dwarf Captain's life years ago and decided to call up a favor to help Beren out and curb his mother's ire. For five years he was sent to live with the stout folk at Thundrim Kadrin, a great honor, where he learned smithing, and when his apprenticeship was over he came home and lived in a village two weeks from his parent's home, working as a smith until it was burned down by marauders one day. By the time he reached that part of the story, both he and Jocasta couldn't remember if he went further. The next thing they knew, the sun peeked through the windows of the room. Jocasta snuggled against Beren, her cheek against his bare chest and her curvaceous form curled up almost on his lap, with his arm around her. The embers in the fire were now low, and Beren had been the one to wake up first this time.

Gently, he lifted her up off of him, trying to ignore her impressive chest draped on his face for the moment it took for him to move her up and over, and he set her on the couch, covering her in the blanket. By the time she woke up, he was dressed, strapped with his armaments, with an apple in his mouth and some hot drinks and breakfast sausage and eggs in a plate for both of them to take their fill of.

Once their bellies were filled, they made their way out of the northern gate of town. They passed by morning workers, farmhands, errand boys, and folks going to get the early sales at the markets. The townhouses were all two storied, with no windows on the first floor. Made sense to Beren, who saw similar accommodations in the Southlands. It was just smart to make sure every home was defensible against attackers, both men and monsters. On the gates, the Dead Lions stood watch in their garbs of black, gazing at them suspiciously as they passed through the open archway.

Once they made it out of town, they trekked north. The woods were thick, but gnarled and mostly dead. Snow littered the ground, but some of it was melting due to the bright sun of the day. Beren walked with his staff out, taking in the scents of the morning. The air was frigid, but the sun felt nice and it would feel better at noon. Thankfully, it seemed like it would be one of the warmer days in recent memory.

"How far do you think it would be?" Jocasta asked him, pulling her coat closer to herself.

"Well, you'd think a statue would be well known. But these lands are so overgrown. We'll probably have to wait until we find an animal path. I doubt they would have left the payment anywhere someone could stumble on it." He reasoned.

Less than an hour later, they turned down a small deer path that Beren had spotted. They stepped lightly and warily, still knowledgeable there were a myriad of dangers in the marches, but the crunching snow and tangled brush were free of beasts and soon they found the statue at the edge of a few boulders and a broken tree.

Meldarion Dragonsbane. He looked larger than life in the morning sun shining on the carved stone. Beren stopped and gazed at the statue for a moment, examining the likeness. He wore his scalemail hauberk and long hair tied in a ferocious ponytail. They say his eyes were the fiercest one could ever look upon. They looked severe here, but he didn't think they could quite capture the feel of the real one. He still seemed formidable, however, standing there eight feet high with his two curved swords.

"It'll be just down this way," Jocasta told him, nudging him. Beren grinned, bumping his hip against hers. She did it back playfully and shared the grin.

"Lets get it, girly."