POOHEAD189

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"I appreciate it, my lord. But if it's all the same to you, let's focus on the bow today. Maybe if it's a success I'll come back for more formal training with the sword or spear." Galt remarked. Luckily these last weeks have given him plenty of opportunity to practice his accent, chipping away at the small low-born idiosyncrasies to sound positively posh. Silke wasn't fooled, of course, but most others would be. If you wanted to be a thief, sometimes you had to act, and that required some voice training.

The next few hours were less stressful than Galt would have thought. Once he actually got passed the basics of holding a bow and what fingers to use when firing, he found it was actually a fun experience. Experimenting on arcs and gauging a target with his keen eye. Vincept wasn't overtly hostile. In fact, he was a fine teacher, passionate on the art of war as a good noble should be. He made a few jokes at Galt's expense, and at one point called him a 'blasted cheeky fellow' but otherwise, Galt found he and Vincent got on fairly well. Of course, when Vincent brought up Silke, bluntly trying to pry on if Galt had any intentions with her, Galt maneuvered out of that line of questioning as quickly as possible.

"You're catching on swiftly. Silke said you were a quick study." Vincent congratulated. He stood watching as Galt drew another arrow from his quiver to line up a shot.

"I'm flattered she would mention me," Galt replied, honestly. It brought a small thrill to his chest, but he did well to hide it.

"You should be, she keeps her cards very close to her chest." Vincent replied. "I'm certain you appreciate many of her assets."

Galt nearly fumbled his shot, but made sure to halt on firing for a moment. After giving Vincent a questioning look, he took the shot and managed to get within a foot of the bulls-eye. Not too bad, though Vincent could certainly do better. Galt dropped the bow from his eyeline and went to grab another arrow. "She's been very helpful these past weeks. I'm quite grateful."

"I am as well, to have her as a sister. Though she often bites off more than she can chew, though she'll deny it. Try not to take up too much of her time."

Galt agreed halfheartedly and with a noncommittal response, and they continued for another few hours until Galt's arms were about to fall off. By that point, it was early afternoon and they grabbed a quick bite to eat before Vincent gave Galt a farewell and an encouraging word (in his manner) before letting Galt meet with Silke by the stables. The ex-thief found her there next to a nobleman, one he had never seen before. The articulate man and woman were discussing marriage, and at first he was intensely suspicious until he heard exactly what they were speaking of and his heart raced with...anxiety? Dread? He gave the lord a bow as he took his leave, trying to hide his fretful thoughts.

"Well, that was not so bad. I'll feel it in the morning, but I think I am getting the hang of the bow." He told her, rubbing his shoulder. "Worst part is the endurance. But we can talk on it when we're off. As well as other things."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Noon the next day...

Kneeling down, I removed my glove and wiped away the sand to reveal a warped, glass-like object. My fingers curled around it and lifted it off the beach easily, examining the crystalline material. It was no piece of technology, just the coagulation that occurs when a lasbolt strikes sand. Judging by the arc of the burnt sand, they had fired from the treeline and not on some vessel. I tossed it to the side and sighed, lifting my eyes off the beach to look at the gnarled corpse that had once been Samara Bandir.

Her clothes had been torn and picked at by some avian creatures, and her body had been mostly stripped of flesh. In life she had been a lovely but brutal woman of dusky-brown skin and a severity to her manner that Hadrian could only hope to match. He made a silent prayer for the Emperor's Peace upon her, but he had been prepared for this moment after having received the vision from Emmaline. At his left stood Selencia Aethil, who stood with a stony visage that only Hadrian could see past to the flickers of pain behind her eyes. The Magos Biologis and the agent had been long time friends. It was a small mercy that an autopsy wouldn't need to be performed.

Emmaline and Lucius were keeping the locals busy, the psyker making a show of ordering myself to check the corpse so she needn't be bothered, and then performing some theatrics of investigation elsewhere and making up some nonesense about an arbites being able to 'sniff-out' their quarry from some bioenhancement that did not exist. It gave us a scant few minutes to have some time with Samara and give our condolences, as well as investigate in peace. I would have to thank her for that later.

I suspected a few effects had been taken off her, but from a quick search I found an auspex scanner that had unfortunately not served her well, a small compartment in her belt that held a index digi-weapon, and a pack of the lho-sticks she was always so fond of. Even now I could see her leaning on a railing back in the pacitus hanger, smoking and teasing me after a scolding Kronus had elected to discipline me with. The late inquisitor often liked to prepare his rants, and I had quickly become accustomed to all of them. At that particular time, it had been his 'Penal Legion' scolding, which he often used if I disobeyed his orders. Brushing the memory aside, I realized what I could not find on Samara's body was her rosary, her data-slate, any overt forms of weaponry, or the necklace Selencia had given her seven standard years ago. I slid off her remaining boot and retrieved my knife, sliding the keen blade under the sole and popping it off with a 'click.'

"We're dealing with amateurs." I said off-handedly. Any professional would have searched her far more thoroughly. I plucked out her miniature vox-recorder, which had a microscale tracking device installed, and a counterseptic for emergencies just beside it.

"Perhaps they were just expecting some arbites and not a member of the inquisition." Selencia reasoned as I handed her the recorder to be listened to later. She took it and then glanced at the small rippling waves that licked the shoreline. Havenos was populated by small, freshwater seas due to a celestial anomaly like a meteor shower that had melted great glaciers and formed basins from the impact craters.

"True," I admitted, placing the boot back on. "They might not have known whom she was working for. Only that she was on their trail a bit too hard. Either way, it's good news for us. Either they're unprepared because of incompetence, or because they don't who's wrath they have incurred."

Ill Met in Ostland

"I'll have words with Valmir von Raukov himself!" Marius yelled furiously. He pointed up at the city watchman who had ordered them to leave. "I'll have you know I know his bastard! I'll get Boris von Raukov and I'll go back to Nuln and have him marching back here with the entire 4th! I'll have you strung up! I'll..." He stopped to catch his breath.

The day had been spent in the cold and wet, without rest or even a moment of respite to eat. The two had ridden hard back to Wolfenburg to escape any chance of being waylaid by beastmen or accosted by those fucking Grunwald bastards. The horses were near collapsed, and even Natasha looked a bit weathered and irritable. By the hammer, she must have been made of steel. All that riding and fighting and explosions and even if he was well rested he knew she could knock him out with a well-placed punch. Regardless, the blonde would-be merchant and the boyarina were in the middle of a throng of the helpless and the destitute, trying to make it into the city. Something had happened while they were gone, evidently. Something that was driving all the nearby villagers or local laborers to find protection in Wolfenburg's walls, and just their luck they had arrived right when the gates had been closed for the day.

"Meyebie vwe can finte some food and bed in vone of the abandoned villages, da?" Natasha wondered. Marius had heard life was hard in troll country, and some of the more remote tribes still raided and pillaged one another as a matter of life and material. Taking someone's home while they were begging at the gate looked pretty tame compared to that, likely. Marius was tired enough to consider it. But some fool clutching a babe elbowed him, trying to get past the merchant at the front, and he felt a new surge of anger sweep over him.

"No! We must get into the city!" He told her. "I'll have words with Grunwald and squeeze him for all he's worth, and I can't think without the knowledge I'll not be set upon tonight. A keen mind needs some security and I'm tired of beastmen."

He felt like he was complaining like a petulant child, but Natasha heroically decided to stand upon her horse so as to get the watchman's attention. A few of the men above ceased their shouting to go home and turned to look at this warrior woman out of the wild north.

"I am Natasha Andropolovskya, dughter of de march warden of troll kuntry! I hef come for busyness! Will you let me and paratner stay out of city?"

It sounded like a very wild claim, and the men were silent for a moment. They looked at one another, and the entire thing made Marius unreasonably angry. He could usually talk himself through any situation. If this worked, he would be jealous, though he knew it was his exhaustion making him so. He did have to admit Natasha looked every inch what she claimed to be.

"Bold claim! How do we know you are who you say you are?" A broad-faced man asked from under his helm. His question ended in a very unmanly squeak as a spear sailed over his head with incredible speed and struck the small ceiling above the archway to keep the elements off the guards. It quivered there, and crossbows and guns were drawn on Natasha. It was like she had reversed the polarity of her own magnetism, as men and women surged away from her position automatically. Marius was too dumbfounded to even move.

"De seejul of my house is awn lance, and it is made from the Koroskinya tree. Only in de mountains aboof praag keyen you get it." She said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow in a superior look. "I expect lance beck vwen we get in."

Marius's mouth dropped to the floor when the door was opened and left slightly ajar, with ostland halberdiers marching out and lowering their weapons to keep the crowd from rampaging through. None really had the heart to, however, and both Marius and Natasha were escorted inside the walls by a retinue of wolfenburg's finest. As stupified as he was, Marius did have the frame of mind to ask one of the soldiers. "Herr Halberdier, what has led all these refugees to the city?"

The large man, his winged goatee as red as an early morning sun, looked at Marius incredulously. He huffed a small laugh and said. "I don't know where you've been sir, but the Norscans are invading Nordland. Almost a hundred thousand of the bastards, with their accursed monsters to boot."

Ill Met in Ostland

"You could have given me more warning than that," Marius said after they both slumped back into ruin. They seemed to have fled for now, but he still felt a calamitous thundering in his breast. He didn't mean to be stand-offish but they were both so tired, every words they sound had a tired quality to it that could sound snippish. Her eyes had a steely edge to them for a moment, before she gripped her stomach from the wound and sat down and became a bit less severe.

"Eyen citee, toulking is wvat can safe your liyaf. In woods, silence. You should liyasten to me until vwe get bak." She said. Marius' lips thinned as he looked at her, disagreement blossoming within him, but he just realized how much of it was from their trying circumstances than any sort of willingness to argue. The idea made him very tired, and he sat down.

"Fair enough, fraulien. Now let me take a look at that wound." He said, rolling up his sleeves. She didn't seem enthused by the prospect, but she capitulated and Marius got to work. His hands were soft like a man born to the desk, but they knew their business. Within a scant few minutes, she was patched up with as little pain as possible. He took his leave and sat down, amazed at how muscled and slim her stomach was. He couldn't fathom how much hard riding and sword training it had taken to have the physique of a blade.

"Tank you," she remarked, pulling her top back down over her bandaged waist.

"We're partners," He said, and the woman looked up at that pronouncement. Marius gave her a smile, and it was contagious because she returned the favor. The camraderie was short lived, unfortunately. A crude arrow flew in from outside to strike a barrel, thumping on impact and quivering from the sudden halt of momentum. The two shared looks, and once again they climbed atop a stack of crates to see through the window in the stone. There were seven beastman on the treeline, and different one fired a second arrow as the first nocked another.

"By the balls of sigmar and the tits of myrmida, are we not going to catch a fucking break!?" Marius lamented.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

There was a terse silence, followed by a slow, faint clapping that swelled into a moderately supportive chorus of clapping. Nobles weren't exactly the most brave sort, at least when they did not really know whether what had just occurred was socially acceptable or would later make them a subject of scorn. Only one rotund man with a thick red mustache guffawed and hooted, an island of exuberance in a sea of laodicean support. The good baron Marius did look relieved that the crisis had been solved, though Beren imagined he would be less excited to aid them in the future if they were to cause problems at every social gathering. It was well known the two of them stayed at his residence by way of prior service.

Jocasta took Beren by the arm, and she smiled up at him and whispered "victory!" with a grin.

"Poor girl, she had no idea who she was messing with," He replied with a posh accent.

"Now let us all go back inside and enjoy our refreshments," Marius said. Across the crowd, the Duke gave a nod in approval, before he cleared his throat and ushered everyone back inside with a call that dessert had been served. The lords and ladies filtered out one by one, chatting amongst themselves and trying to hide their amusement or glee, and in some cases, horror, at the scenario they had just witnessed. As they fled the balcony like sand tumbling down an hourglass, Beren glanced behind them over the gardens far below, illuminated by the full moon.

"So when do you think we should leave?" Beren asked.

"The city or the party?" Jocasta asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"We'll bounce from here whenever you want baby," Beren joked with a voice like liquid gold. "But I mean, with the Dwarves."

"Whenever they get the paper work ready." She shrugged. "I think the bitch might try and weasel her way out of it, but hopefully within the week. We'll talk to the baron of it, later."

"If she tries to get out of it you could always joust her," Beren shrugged.

"You can be my squire." She said imperiously, patting his bicep as if she were doing him a great favor. "Of course you'll have to feed the horse and fetch my things, but it's an honorable station. A man of low birth can only rise so high."

"And yet you two seem to be doing quite well for yourselves." A voice said, drawing their attentions to the curtain. A tall man with a hawkish nose had decided to remain, concealing himself by the shadows of the drapes but stepping out now that the last of his peers were gone. He was well groomed, with a red coat embroidered with gold and long white breeches. His hair was cut rakishly short, and he bore handsome grey streaks along his temples. "What do you plan on doing now that you two are bona-fide adventurers?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. Have we met before?" Beren temporized, trying to remain polite though the mood had grown a bit soured. The man tried to hide a smirk.

"I am lord Vandenhartd, one of the proprietors of the city. Forgive me, I merely saw the commotion from earlier and your theatrics here and it piqued by curiosity. Have you been in Iskura long?" It was a harmless, innocuous question. Though there was a weight of intrigue behind it Beren didn't like.

"We have simply fallen in love with your lavish city. They say it was built by giants long ago, is there any truth to that?" Jocasta asked with a thespian flair so thick it was almost stilted. Beren wasn't slow on the uptake. Her question for a question was bypassing his query without engaging in it. Lord Vandenhartd's face was unreadable, but eventually he gestured passed the balustrade with a manicured hand.

"Yes, so the sages say. Though rumor has it men were enslaved by such beings millennia ago. I suppose human workers still might have had a hand in making this bastion of the north." He explained with a nonchalance. "Perhaps now that you can go into the wilderness with a letter of marque, you can find out just how many secrets this land has to offer. Just be careful. There have been many who have marched past Torm's Gate to find their fortune and instead were left in unmarked graves."

"Thank you for the warning, my lord. Now if you would excuse us, I believe the Duke himself would be sorely missed of your presence." Beren said.

It wasn't clever, but Jocasta placed a hand over her mouth and Vanderhartd looked taken aback. To asked to be excused was one thing, but Beren telling him to go himself was something else. Anger briefly flashed in the lord's eyes, but it was replaced by a vile mirth that he seemed to always have in abundant supply. "As you say. I leave you to your mingling. Perhaps we will have a chance to meet again soon." Beren and Jocasta watched him make his leave after that, and he glanced over his shoulder one last time before disappearing into the ballroom.

"Well that was ominous." Beren observed, crossing his arms.

"I would say he sicced the redhead on us, but maybe that's too obvious." Jocasta reasoned, rubbing her chin and pinching her lower lip as she considered the idea.

"Well, even if she was his, it backfired on him at least."

As fate would have it, the two were interrupted once again. Sudden bursts of sound that reverberated off the walls of the stone spun Jocasta around and had Beren about to leap on her for cover, thinking it was stolen dwarven artillery. Instead, dazzling flashes of coruscating colors erupted across the sky arrays polychromatic light. Red, green, blue, yellow, all of the colors of the rainbow light up the darkness above the city, illuminating every shadow for brief flashes of an instant. Beren and Jocasta placed their hands on the balustrade and watched as firework after firework launched up into the air in sizzling arcs before exploding in a cacophony of dazzling colors.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The point of the sabre bit through the well-made mail and poked into the meat of his pectoral, but it was a light wound. Markus knocked the sword aside even as the drucchi pulled the sword out of the wound for a second strike. He took his cloak in his offhand and whirled it about his arm, his accursed sword clattering against dark elven iron in three passes. Markus pushed the drucchi back, ignoring the wound and fighting with a controlled savagery. The dark elf face was unreadable behind his helm, but a strangled cry rang out from him when Sketti shattered the drucchi's leg from behind with a metal rod. The elf went to his knees, and the dwarf placed the rod at the elf's neck and crushed his windpipe with his stout muscles.

All around the cohesion of the dark elves had been shattered and they fought one against two or three of Markus' crew, one by one being cut down or leaping over the side of the ship, unwilling to die for a mere human vessel. The towering Halfdan himself picked up a dark elf and threw the screaming raider further than Markus thought possible. Markus didn't see where the dark elf landed in the gloom, but he heard the splash.

"Captain!" Brod bellowed, the normally pot-bellied man looking positively lean compared to his normal self from the lack of food he had been provided the past fortnight. Markus rushed over to him, and the man pointed over the stern. Dark elves were scrambling, but one wearing an ornate devil-horned shoulder guard cape roared in their vile tongue, organizing the swordsmen who trickled in from the commotion. Even a few of the ones that had jumped ship had crawled back onto the docks and went to rally themselves by their commander.

"We need to get this ship moving," Markus said, but even as he spoke the words, he saw the dark elf commander stumble. The captain looked to his left and saw Idrin lowering a crossbow, the string still quivering. Unfortunately the commander wasn't dead, however. He rose back up and waved his hand, shields rising from the staggered formation, quickly gaining cohesion to protect their lord. Markus cursed and ran back to the deck, crying out to raise anchor and get the sails down. He knew there was no wind, but if they could at least get out of the docks they would find the gale they needed. As men ran to their posts, he saw Eckard nearly stumble over Emmaline. Her bottom in the air and her eyes on the deck with his navigational equipment.

"What are you doing, woman!?" Markus demanded as he hurried over to her.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt stepped into the comfortable office and found it was one of the few times the previous six weeks he did not feel like a fish out of water. Of course it mostly had to do with Silke, but the lack of ceremony save for Franz performing his duty certainly helped. The office also seemed entirely personal, save for the evident trappings of nobility. Real work could be conducted in here, much like any clerk or healers area. He doubted there were many heads of state adjourning within these walls. He gave a slight smile at Silke's dismissal of any sort of interruption, not surprised at her manner.

Vincent was a different matter, on the other hand. Yes, he had a gruff manner about him. But the informal attitude surprised Galt. He had expected her brother to be overly protective of her or at least skeptical on why he had to waste his time on an upjumped cutthroat, but he saw none of that. Either he was more mature than Galt had given him credit for, or Silke had given him a thorough talk before he had arrived. Either way, maybe the archery lessons would not be entirely horrible. "Very well, Vincent. You can simply call me Galt. I've grown a bit tired of Count Harrowmark, at least in most instances. Sometimes I still feel a bit of awe at the existence of the title at all, and Silke could-."

Galt laughed, almost saying 'Silke could call me anything' that would go from familiar to something else. He stopped at that awkwardly and continued. "And I do not know how strenuous a half a day with the bow is, but I trust I can still ride afterwards, particularly if it would do Silke some good. I did have to ride a horse to save my life, after all. I can manage an afternoon ride," His grin was infectious, one hand on his hip as he spoke to the siblings. "Perhaps that will help both Silke and I find some rest later, if we've both had some light exercise."

"Yes, I would advice my lady to find some rest. This would be a fine excuse," Franz added, inclining his head politely so as to still appear subservient. Though clearly the man was worried about his mistress. Galt found he liked him already, and Vincent would perhaps grow on him. He supposed they would also have refreshments available. Aristocrats always had refreshments available, it was uncanny but exceedingly fun. Galt wasn't getting fat, but if he let his guard down he would certainly be in danger of it.

"I agree with Franz. Plus, I would love to see your lovely estate." Galt assured them, and turned to face Vincent, though his eyes often drifted back to Silke as he spoke. "But as for now, let us get to the art of uh, shooting. I do have experience in fighting, but I am unfortunately inexperienced at anything more complex than a crossbow, and I've heard it on good authority that such a device is a cowards weapon. That wouldn't do."

Poo's Particular Interests

I've decided I have room for one more, but I might not be the fastest to respond due to a busy real-life schedule in general! If a spot's still open, I'd like throw my hat into the ring for the bandit/cabal RP :)

@Fetzen

I will let you know when I can, but I think I am booked up atm bud :(

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"She favors her left," Beren whispered conspiratorially in Jocasta's ear. Jo placed her hand against her mouth to hide her sudden laugh, but the redhead looked stricken in horror. He felt regretful the Baron was getting displeased, but the 'lady' had attacked Jocasta and pissed him off, and her indignation only egged Beren on. He spoke to Jocasta again. "Her hammer's bigger than her anvil. Horses might be good, but she's clumsy on her feet. You'd kill her in axes and shields."

"Anvil?" Jocasta asked, and lady Giroux took it with an entirely different meaning, trying to make her backside as small as possible. Earlier she had been flaunting it, but when things weren't going her way she seemed to fall apart. Beren had just said a common dwarven saying, and he tried to explain it to Jo in human terms. "Uh... her bark is bigger than her bite."

"I already apologized!" She said breathlessly. The crowd looked on with wide eyes, and the Baron seemed about to step in and order the guards to come with him. Giroux flushed at all the attention from how things were developing. Maybe not all publicity was good publicity, after all. Beren stood to his full height and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. Jocasta stood in a similar fashion, her eyes wild to act the part she meant every word of the knightly duel. Maybe she did? Beren wasn't entirely sure this was a farce.

"You're a few hairs short of a beard-" He started. Lady Giroux gently gasped and grabbed at her chin in fear as he spoke, again misreading his words. "You come in here, try to separate us, then try and frame me and ruin the good baron's party, and then come out here to assault my g- uh..." He looked at Jocasta and she glanced at him. They hadn't even had the time to talk about it. "-assault Jocasta and now you want to back out scot-free? I don't think so sister. Honor demands she meet you on the field."

"I can call for a champion!" She stated, though she sounded very unsure at her initial statement. As the words left her, the developing thought did bring some fire back to her eyes, however. Beren guessed she would be happy to have any win over Beren and Jo. The monk just grinned.

"Sure, and I'll step in for her. Choose your man, but we'll use fists." He said confidently.

That dropped her down a peg yet again. She had been as close as anyone in the party when Beren had nearly wrestled himself through four thugs, and it was clear he hadn't been trying to really harm anyone. She lifted her chin, trying to form words of retort, but Jocasta suddenly lurched forward like a dog on a leash. Lady Giroux screamed in surprise. "No stand-ins! She's mine! We'll meet at dawn!"

"Hold!" Baron Marius said with a stern countenance. He fixed his suit and stepped out of the crowd, joining Lady Giroux though not deigning to take her offered hand. She awkwardly dropped it and smoothed her dress, glaring at Beren and Jocasta with an air of what she thought was superiority. The Baron seemed as if he had taken their jibes as a respite so he might think of a way to solve this, and he had regrettably come up short. "Surely there's a way we can come to an agreement without coming to blows?"

Beren and Jocasta slowly looked at one another. Beren raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Jocasta nodded in acquiescence.

"There is one thing, if the Lady Giroux would be so gracious..."

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Palona wasn't in a state of panic, but the movements of the mercenaries weren't doing the townsfolk any favors. Torm cantered through rushing men on Lycurgus, his hand gripping the hilt of his arming sword, the knight's knuckles white. What were the bastards thinking? He knew there were zealots in the army, but he didn't think the commanders were lunatics. Why would Palona be worth losing thousands of men without powder or shot? Torm seethed with indignation, but he knew he had no one to blame but himself. The wolf should have known better than to poke the bear. This entire debacle was his fault. If they made it out alive, he would answer to the Gods if not the other officers.

Behind him, forty five of his men followed in his wake on their horses. Six had been slain last night, overwhelmed by the enemy. Twenty had been wounded, but only half that had been harmed enough to severely limit their combat capabilities. Torm felt the patched wound in his side flare up again with a stabbing pain, aching something fierce consistently throughout the day. The Knights saw Cadger and Bianca arguing over something in the distance as the dwarves suited up around them, likely expostulating over strategy. Torm and his men made it to the vicinity of the tunnel, a large cleft in the earth at the mouth of an old aqueduct. Torm had heard the town had once been the site of a great city, and these conduits of rainwater were the last remnants of it.

His shadow and those of his men loomed over the entrance, and he sniffed amusedly at the irony. The dwarf that had been digging to bite them in the ass had instead crawled up their ass to ask for help. It was a short lived mirth, however. The dwarves did not deserve that.

Across the small channel that fed into the underground, the Captain and his retinue awaited. Black Ryann, along with a few of the captain's special honorguard stood at the ready. Torm had heard the mage would accompany him at the fore. The idea did not enthuse him. He felt much the same about the spymaster as Bianca felt about Torm. He was certain the feeling was mutual. Aeon and his men were standing in formation just beyond, their column reaching down the street out of Torm's field of vision.

"Are we ready, Captain?" Torm called, reining Lycurgus in. The steed stamped with impatience.

"We are," a woman's voice replied. Torm turned to see Bianca and her scouts approaching. Cadger and his lads were in tow, though they didn't seem pleased with the end of their previous discussion.

"It's not right!" The Dwarf complained, as irate as Torm had ever seen him. The dwarf usually seemed detatched at worst and usually amused at any current events. Evidently, he had just been told something that went against every fiber of his being. They passed the Knights without even looking their way, but as Bianca and her men hopped into the tunnels, Cadger stopped at the lip with Thossack and the other dwarves.

"Their legs are longer, Cad." The Captain replied, motioning for Black Ryann to move forward with his steed. "We'll get them back, don't you worry." The wizard seemed unenthused at the command, but he did as he was bid. His roan was as black as the wizard's robes, but of good stock if Torm was any judge. Thank the gods the man hadn't enchanted good horseflesh. His eyes met Torms and the Knight whipped his horse to the left, giving the wizard room to follow as he and his men walked their horses down the incline to splash into the shallow water of the aqueduct. Thossack had assured them the tunnel was big enough for mounted men, and so they would go first. The war steeds had been well trained, stepping down carefully and entering the darkness of the channels behind Bianca.