POOHEAD189

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

The Dwarves looked at Jocasta with blank and grim looks, the very names of the monsters bringing disbelief or destroying levity. The Dwarves were ancient enemies of everything mentioned save humans in that list, though Beren imagined it did pique their interest if nothing else. The dwarves looked at one another in confusion, except the white bearded elder and one of the black bearded dwarves who stood in the back. They watched Beren and Jocasta with judging gazes.

"Why were we called from the bellows?" One of them asked.

"They spoke the tongue!" Buri cried.

"No, he did." Jocasta said, pointing at Beren.

"Well, she can speak a lot of languages." Beren said with a smile. "It's actually really impres-" But he was cut off by the looks of the dwarves, and he scratched his head. The Eru'Dai gave a bow in apology, and then unstrapped his drumengr axe and presented it before them, hilt first. The stout folk blinked and a few marveled in surprise, the eldest of them reaching forward and taking the axr by the haft, examining the runes with a sure eye.

"Baljiskur Runes..." He grumbled solemnly. He gazed up at Beren with a newfound respect, and gave the axe back to him. Beren took it gingerly, and the dwarves, once seemingly at odds with them, immediately turned congenial and even boisterous. They spoke in their archaic tongue in what was likely greetings and approached, surrounding Beren and patting him on the back. Beren looked overjoyed, much like how Jocasta might act were she introduced to a guild of arcane excavators who welcomed her with open arms. It was such a quick transition, it was like Beren had known these dwarves for years. They each introduced themselves with a bow, before they began discussing all manner of things.

"What do you got back there, a finery forge?" The warrior asked.

"If we could, but no." The one named Gurin complained. "Just a bloomery and a few workbenches to smooth out the impurities. We can barely make steel here. Cast Iron is what we can usually churn out. Men can barely tell the difference, anyway."

"We're looking to make a living while we comb the libraries." The youngest dwarf pipped in, his blonde beard shorter than the rest (though still nearly three feet).

"For what?" Beren asked, kneeling down conspiratorially with the dwarves. Every eye save his turned to Jocasta, and then Beren followed their gazes and laughed. "You can trust her. She's with me."

"We don't just trust anyone a dwarf-friend is sweet on." Radsvir said as if to remind him. A few of them bobbed their heads in unison. Beren blanched, his face flushing. It was true he and Jo flirted a lot, but nothing had been established. He wasn't sure if he should deny it or not, and eventually he decided to go with the truth:

"We're just traveling together, but I give my word you can speak in front of her." He told them.

"A great honor. She must be someone special." Otar reasoned, but they didn't linger on it. He turned back to Beren, speaking with a grave visage. "We're here because we are trying to find a lost hold. Thundrim Guldi of the Old Kingdom, in the Age of Reckoning. We heard there were books in the library that spoke of its whereabouts, but it might be in a language of men. Even if we found the book, we might not be able to read it."

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

The Dwarves Arrive

---

Southshore did not have long to wait. Even at that triumphant moment, a small army passed eastshore tower at a slow, inexorable pace, much like the movement of the clouds above or the currents of the sea. Grass was shodden under boots of leather and steel and small animals scattered before the wake of the force. Those civilians outside of Southshore and away from the center of the cheers could hear the low rumbling of over two thousand heavy feet.

The guards stationed by the road stood with surprise and shock on their faces once the armored throng passed over the hill and descended upon the town. Had they charged it would have been pandemonium, but they marched in slow and ordered ranks. Steel armor glinted as axes gleamed in the sun. Helms shined to mirror polish covered grim faces and heavy hammers bobbed up and down with the motion of their stout bodies. At the rear, cloaked units of huntsmen stalked in groups of a score each, rifles resting on their shoulders and keen eyes gazing across the hills of Lordaeron.

The advanced force of Khaz Modan had come.

Twelve hundred dwarven warriors grumbled and muttered behind their beards, passing the message down the line that they had made their destination. Thargas was pleased at their quick pace, even considering the craggy, rough ground of the Arathi Highlands. Dwarves could not move quickly, but they were swift marchers in wartime. A dwarven column made surprising speed by the simple fact of rarely ever having to stop and rest. The lads were grumpy for it, but they did it without argument.

Fifty dwarves armed with poleaxes rode at the head of the battalion on sturdy rams, and before them was their commander, Thargas Anvilmar. Aside him was Geradin, High Priest of the Light of Ironforge. Magni had shown great trust in the humans by providing such esteemed members of his court. Thargas only hoped the manlings deserved it.

The brown bearded warrior dismounted his steed and let a retainer take the reins, opting to walk at the head of an honorguard as his men made camp at the edge of town, eating a well deserved lunch and setting up sentries. Twelve dwarves, along with Geradin and a fellow acolyte, followed Thargas passed the dumbfounded guards and strode boldly down the street and into the center of the town.

Needless to say, when the doors to the War Council burst open and Thargas Anvilmar along with the High Priest strode into the chamber, it was likely far quicker than the Scarlet Crusaders had been expecting.

"I hear ye've been expecting us," Thargas said to Ashbringer conversationally. "That's good, because my arse is sore and it's been a long walk from Khaz Modan. Firstly, I would ask that ye let me and the lads take residence in that tower o'er yonder to the east. We can set up a headquarters right quick with a few materials. If that's settled, I'm ready to discuss war if ye are."

"The light blesses this meetin' as surely as the sun rises," Geradin said solemnly, a hand raised to the ceiling before slowly drifting down. The venerable priest cleared his throat, and the following silence was broken by. "Ye wouldn't happen to have any beer would ye?"

"Aye, let's have some beer if ye would be so kind." Thargas agreed, standing beside a chair and crossing his arms. He had ridden to far to sit down immediately now. He would stand and speak to the seated men eye to eye.

The 'Official' Elden Ring thread

I beat it and did a second playthrough, though I didn't finish that one. Great game, but I'm really waiting on some actual DLC. I did a str/end build first time, and dex/int the second.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Buri - Business Dwarf (blue beard)
Otar - Cleric of Runar and leader, oldest dwarf with a white beard.
Varin- youngest Dwarf, dirty blonde bearded and likes animals
Gurin - Soldier dwarf, black beard
Muragrim - Mercenary dwarf, black beard, doesn't speak often
Radsvir - brown bearded, tall and handsome for a dwarf

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Can we eat, at least?" He asked her, giving her his usual smile. He believed her without hesitation, but she seemed a little quiet, which he found kind of strange. She nodded her head quietly, but when he sat up she pushed him back down with two firm hands.

"Reeeeessssssst," she ordered.

"Okaaaaaaaay," He said. She seemed satisfied at that and made her way to the door, sticking her head out and waving a servant over. While she spoke, Beren had some time to look around the room. Clearly it was a guest chamber, well furnished and with rich oaken furniture. Oil lamps were set on the desk, and a great mirror was place to his left, beyond where Jocasta had been sitting. Her Sarong and their belongings were placed on a chair beside it or laid bestride it on top. He was worried about his weaponry for a second, not to mention his clothes and gear, but he found the axe and staff resting against the wall opposite the mirror, and his clothes, freshly knight and washed.

He looked back at the door and saw that Jocasta had disappeared. Briefly he wondered if he should try to get up behind her back, but he realized just how weak he was when he moved his arm to slide the covers off, and promptly slid them back on. Once he ate, he'd probably feel more energized. He wondered how long he had been asleep...

An hour later, after Jocasta had returned with the food, followed by two servants carrying further dishes, and after Beren had inhaled most of it, the doctor gave him the go ahead to get out of bed. No jumping and kicking for a day, but he could walk around at least. Beren got up, but Jocasta insisted she helped him walk. It consisted of her trying desperately to keep his muscled form upright, both of them waving to the servants and the steward of the house as they walked out.

Outside...

The air was crisp, but the sun was warm. The manor had been of pleasant design, but Iskura was very unlike it in style and architecture. The walls were massive cliffs of carved rock, twice as tall as any wall Beren had ever seen save for the very mountains of a dwarven Thundrim. The buildings around them were monuments of stone, baroque and almost sinister, even in the light of noon. Statues of wolves and gargoyles framed the keeps, halls, and temples that dominated what was the center of the city. From their point in the old quarter, the central Castle could be seen up the busy street, its high spire and robust defenses a testament to whoever had built it. If the stories were true, the giants had made the foundations of the city long ago, and only in the last few centuries had men dared enter the haunted halls and build around them, founding their colonies.

Jocasta let Beren walk on his own once he had insisted, seeing she was about to collapse from the weight. They made their way west, towards the great city's gates where the streets were less obstructed and the buildings were more recent (and comfortably human sized). Traders and laborers and carts wheeled past them. Every now and then a woman would pop out of a window and hang something out to dry, or an old man would raise his fist and bark at someone below him. So many sights and sounds and fragrances. Beren doubted the city was half as populated as the capitals of the Andred provinces, but it was a great change of pace from the sparse settlements they had dealt with the last few months heading north, where fewer and fewer men lived.

"Where are we going?" Beren asked Jocasta, who seemed to be leading them along.

"Hold on, just a minute more." She told him, dragging him along. He laughed at how strange she was acting, but down the corner and on the next street, Beren and Jocasta caught sight of a huge wall of wood. Racked on it was every weapon or iron, steel, or bronze you might think of, at least west of the Sundered Sea. Shields glinted in the sun, and a wicked looking bastard sword gleamed, catching Beren's eye.

"Holy shit, this is cool." He marveled as they waded through the crowd.

"Right?"

"I don't want to get it, but that's a nice looking sword." Beren said, nodding toward the blade.

"I didn't think you could use a sword," she said.

"I'm terrible with one," he admitted. "But I can admire good craftsmanship. It's almost dwarf-made, if I didn't know any better." Arms crossed, his words would die in his throat when he saw a heavy, squat dwarf walk out of the shop and place a mace on the bottom rack of the wall. He wore an apron covered in soot and grime, with a black hand print on his bald head. It took off a dagger and a small hanger, and walked back inside.

"Good eye," Jocasta said with a smile.

Beren grinned at her, and the two of them strode passed the crowd that browsed the wall and stepped into the shop. It fed into a smithy past a great curtain, and the heat of the chamber felt nice even in the accompanying room. Once they stepped in, the bell rang and a dwarf popped out from behind the counter. It was a short top, but the dwarf still stood atop a pile of neatly stacked books. He had a gleam in his eye and a beard so black it looked almost blue.

"Welcome to Buri n' Boys! I'm Buri and I'm here to give ye quality iron for your hard earned gold, how might I help ye?" He asked with a rehearsed pinache.

"I just wanted to know where you're from," Beren asked softly, in a grinding tongue Jocasta couldn't recognize. The Dwarf went from smiling to flummoxed, and he blinked and squinted.

"How do YOU know how to speak that, boy? How in Runar's little...HEY BOYS! COME OUT HERE!"

"Who's asking?" A gruff voice called back.

"Do it!"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"The xenos had captured an astartes. Thank the Emperor we found him." I lied to the Sergeant, and subsequently the men. The Angels of Battle were well known enough by name, but most men in the Imperium had never seen a true Space Marine in the flesh. Emmaline had seen two, and had been lucky enough to tell the tale, when I had first liberated her from the chains of the cultists. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"Ast-" The Thunder Warrior began, but I gave him a look that told him it was unwise to speak. He thankfully listened. I was not sure he would. From my readings, the Thunder Warriors had been mad, violent conquerors. Perhaps that was only when they were having their fits of rage from the gene modification. He decided they were in dire enough straights to take that chance.

The men saluted, looking at the warrior in awe. The Thunder Warrior didn't respond in kind, but rather gazed at them for an uncomfortable few moments of silence before the Sergeant bade them put their hands down. They did so, and I cut to the chase. "Status? Where are the chimeras?"

"Another one was taken down after you were...gone. Chimera B is missing. We got separated in the fight." Sergeant Radvek reported. "Some of our men might be alive somewhere in the facility, but this is all I have right now. Nine, including myself."

"The cultists?" I asked him, impatient.

"They were killed to a man. Larkin here attests to it. He was our rear when we retreated." Radvek stated, indicating a guardsman with a stony visage. I asked him directly and Larkin said so himself, and I saw no lie in his eyes.

"That still leaves Bahometus and the rest of his forces." I reasoned.

"There's more?" A soldier asked, but buttoned his lip when the sergeant glared at him. I nodded and stated what they needed to hear: "Much more, and not only cultists, either... Daemons."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren slowly opened his eyes.

He remained completely still, even his breathing had yet to be altered. But his eyes could see a partial view, though lidded. Before him was an empty chair, a small desk, and a painting on the wall. It depicted a vast jungle, with silhouettes proportioned to that of the shadows, giving them a living, ethereal feeling. If Beren wasn't mistaken, it was a painting by Ophelvol. He had learned a bit of art from a curator in Andred before he had moved north. Strange, it was a very bland wall for such an expensive piece to be on.

Once he realized he was in a soft bed, he felt he wasn't in immediately danger and let out a soft groan. He felt stuff and sore, but whole and very much alive. How could that be? Hadn't he just been beneath a mile of stone, attacked by some being. Hadn't he been with...?

"Jo?" He asked, trying to sit up. He could complete the move, but he felt awkward. Blinking, he looked around and found the woman sitting on the opposite side of the bed on a cushioned chair, asleep. Beren's heartbeat slowed when he saw her there, and he calmed and sat back against the cushions, breathing belatedly. "Good," he said to himself, sounding very dry in his delivery from just how panicked he had been for a brief second.

Somehow, he felt he had almost died. But he wasn't sure if what had happened was a dream or not. If it had happened like he remembered, there was no way he could have lived. But...there was no hole in his chest. Instead, he felt as strong as ever, albeit still quite tired. And so he lay there, watching her without thought. Even asleep she seemed cute, and he wasn't going to wake her. But her position had caused some blockage apparently.

She gave a resounding snort and shot up, blinking. Jocasta wiped her face and smoothed her hair, the window behind her making her blonde hair look almost silvery, and then she realized Beren was looking straight at her, alive.

"Hey pretty girl," He said, his voice hoarse and his eyes drooping. "What h-...wwhat happened? Where are we?"

Hi, I'm new... kind of.

Welcome back!

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt wasn't very knowledgeable with the laws of court or expected gender roles. While women were still mistreated on the streets, luckily there was a bit more diversity in terms of circumstance and personage. He had met a few girls who could outwit him or even beat him in a fight in certain situations. He wasn't one to underestimate someone due to their sex, and one look at Silke told him she was someone to be reckoned with.

He also figured she was a bit too proud to admit she wanted or needed help, but he honestly found it cute. Not in a 'quaint' way a noble might look down on an inferior, but a quirk he liked. He swiftly found he liked many things about her. He suddenly had images of her and he in his head, those of a romantic fashion. He tried to push them out of his mind, but he found they hung on the periphery, just waiting to be pulled back in. He gave her a wink when she agreed to lunch, and then called for one of the servants to bring them some food. He made sure to thank the man before he ran off to finish his task.

Galt awaited her to get to her feet, but the former-thief blinked when she asked him about archery.

He smiled curiously. "No, I never had the occasion." He said, wondering why she might be interested. Unlike a neighboring country or two, archery wasn't the national past-time here. He made sure to pull her chair out so she could take a seat, just as a gentleman would. Once she did so, he would take his own and recline in it, thinking on her question. "Bows are for hunters or yeomen, usually. Or that's what I hear from folk. When one is in the city and they want to do something less than legal, they tend to use crossbows. Slower but less uh, conspicuous. Hey, look at that. I'm using big aristocratic words already."

He grinned at himself, and some water was placed in front of them. "Oh, thank you," he told the maid. She gave a small bow and exited. Galt took a sip of the clear water, still amazed at how clean some water really could be. He was always surprised at how thirty one got after drinking a few sips. He supposed his body was just annoyed with him having neglected itself for so many years. Not like it was his fault...

"I'm handy with a knife, but bows I'm not familiar with." He admitted, placing the glass down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He realized as he did it he should have used a napkin and went for it, dabbing what was left. Why do you ask, Silke? Is there a tournament coming up? I'm afraid I wouldn't do very well in it."

As he finished the thought, steaming plates of food were laid before them. Galt found he was fairly famished. Beefs, lettuce, potatoes and butter were set in round, wooden plates. Utensils were placed before them, before the servants hustled away once more.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Emmaline later told me his mind was a conglomeration of intense emotions, unbridled and chaotic. It was hard to imagine he was a coherent being, let alone one of the oldest servants of the emperor. The Thunder Warriors were the precursors to the astartes, and I had only heard of them in the oldest of texts my master had made me read. I saw Emmaline clutching her head, screaming for her life. The huge bronze warrior did the same, crying out intensely, piercing my ears like a knife.

His archaic gun pummeled the walls with rounds before he threw it from his hands and began to pound the scarabs, hunks of steel flying everywhere as he vented his anguish, his voice reverberating along the walls. I didn't speak any further. Instead, I made my way over to Emmaline and shook her gently, calming her down as best as I could.

"Emma! Stay with me!" I cried, and held her until her screams subsided and she fell limp into my arms. I felt her chest and breathed a sigh of relief when I felt her heart. It was strong but erratic, like her. As the seconds passed, it became more steady. She opened her eyes slowly, but I didn't see. My eyes were on the the thunder warrior, whom I had noticed had stopped screaming. On his knees, he breathed heavily. If I had not known better, I would have called him a mere statue.

"You... are...a man..." The Thunder Warrior said softly, or softly for such an immense being.

"Yes," I said, holding Emmaline protectively. "I am an Inquisitor of the Imperium of Man."

"What is that?" He asked, his voice slow. "Why... was I shown the High Commander?"

I spoke with surety. "This is the forty first millennium. You have been asleep for over ten thousand years."

The warrior was frozen, but from my meager psychic skills, I felt emotions. I wish I was as skilled in the art as Emmaline. I couldn't tell if it was confusion or rage. It was far more subtle than his earlier emotions, but after many moments he moved, getting to his feet. He grabbed his weapon, and I when he turned he found I now stood between he and Emmaline, my power sword ignited.

"These things were xenos? I remember them..."

"Help me kill them, and the cultists or wish to summon daemons using their foul tech." I asked him, unmoving before the juggernaut.

He said nothing, but I felt his affirmation with my mind. He turned to face the wall, and I helped Emmaline to her feet.