POOHEAD189

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Welcome wanderer, come rest your weary feet!
Come gather round, to hear news so very sweet.
The harsh road you have walked with no water or respite,
has given way to an oasis of pleasure and delight

You've arrived at a city with wonders to behold!
Wine, magic, love, and mountains of bejeweled gold!
Sultan Muradi Al-Man celebrates his ascension to the throne,
whiles slaves and commoners work themselves to the bone!

Thieves stalk the night and corsairs jealously guard their boats,
Keep your wits about you or they'll cut your pretty throat!
But smile, relax! You'll find luxuries that entice,
Welcome, Tilean, to Copher, The City of Spice!

WHOOMP

Flames leaped from the fire eater's mouth, igniting a slab of lamb upon a stick and casting light from under the shadow of the great gate. The meat cooked before the onlooker's very eyes, and the street performer handed it to his delighted customer. Children clapped and ran, laughing as they chased one another within the crowds. Music floated through the streets, seducing the mind with a caress of melody. Hard men languished in labor and women fussed over prices, but the very air was alight with celebration, a saturnalia of joy and reverence on this day of adulation. Undulating cries of priests lifted to the skies as sorcerers could be spotted overhead on their carpets of arcane flight. The sun, merciless in its power, smiled upon the land sought, it's light so penetrating it was as if it desired to kiss the skin of even the most sheltered scholar. As the road of the desert transmogrified into the bustling streets of Copher, the shantytown of the outercity was brushed aside by towering apartments and soaring spires of high learning and forbidden sorcery, overlaid with tapestries of every color imaginable.

The further one walked, the grander it became. Structures of timeless architecture dominated the streets, casting shadows that rivaled the World's Edge Mountains. Princes road horses of snowy white fur and bedecked in golden tress while others sat in canopies atop elephants, massive beasts from far to the south, lumbering through the streets without a care on where they stepped. No one of importance would be slinking through the ground on their feet, and those that got too close would be cut to pieces by the mamluk guards, swathed in cloth and mail of burnished steel. In the alleys, men begged and dealt in trades so illicit, even the pirates would curl their lips in disgust. One cloaked figure looked to be helping another leaning against the wall of a shop, only for the slice of meat to be heard, and blood pooling at the prostrate man's feet as the other hurried away. In the distance trumpets sounded, erupting with rapturous echoes that could be heard from the shark-infested sea. A call from the heart of the city itself, beckoning to be heard as if enchanted by witchery.

The plaza before the gates of the palace had not seen so many men and women since the city's founding in a bygone age. Arabyans cried out in their native tongue, their bodies, so tightly packed together, looked as if they formed a sea of shimmering sand. Immigrants from Ind, Nippon, Cathay, Corsairs from Sartosa, men from across the Old World, and even the rare elf or dwarf, were gathered in the crowd that seeped into the side streets and rooftops as if Allah had sprinkled them from the heavens. But at the center of the crowd, a large space was cordoned off as the princes of the tower and emirs of the provinces approached in their finery and golden livery, resplendent in robes and fine jewels, their caravans stuffed with drink, succulent food, and caches of gold to present to their liege. Beside them, dancing women and dervishes with their whirling swords spun like woven spells. Drums thumped and lyres sang, chimes rung and mamluks lifted their voices in rhythmic, roaring unison as they walked, holding standards of coiled serpents and hawks of copper and gold.

It was then, at the crescendo of their chanting, that a keen, clear voice passed over the crowd like a gentle shower of rain. All eyes turned to the balcony, built of marbel and gold high above the walls, overlooking the city, its stones cleverly shaped to amplify any voice that spoke upon it. Out of the silk drapes strode Sultan Muradi Al-Man the Munificent, his full beard as dark as a black opal and his features weathered but sculpted from thorough breeding. He held his hands up, and the murmurs of the crowd went silent as the procession in the streets halted. No one breathed, no one whispered, not even infants dared wail. He watched from his perch, as if daring anyone to break the silence before his consent. The Palace itself was as large as an awakened god, and only one a step below the gods could reside in something so splendid.

"Dae Al'aleab Tabda!" He called to them all. 'Let the games begin.'

And so they did.

---

The blunt force of the punch sent flashes of light through his eyes, he lost his sense of smell and nearly the good sense to duck. The slave moved on impulse, feeling the wind from the next blow brushing his dark locks as it passed over him. He balled his fist and buried it between his opponent's ribs. The twitch from his adversary's upper leg announced his intended knee strike as if he had told him over arak, and Bahadir kicked his shin before the move transpired, cracking the tiny bones in his foot like a blackpowder bomb. The other slave screamed like a caged ape, but even as he fell, he wrapped his powerful arms around Bahadir's shoulders to pull him down to a fight on the arena sands. Bahadir planted his feet to keep himself up and drove fist after fist into the man's stomach, pummeling him until his abdoman was bruised and his ribs were shattered like glass. His opponent let go of him, and when he breathed, blood flecked his lips and stained the dirt like thousands upon thousands of those who died before him. Bahadir stumbled back, glad to breathe air not rank with sweat, to not taste the iron tang of blood.

The crowd lifted in their seats and whooped, crying and hooting for more. The games had begun not an hour ago, but the corpses of seven men and two leopards littered the hard floor of the dusty stadium. Merchants laughed and traded coins, betting on every match in their private circles as the Emirs professed to their many wives they had known who would win all along. In the seat of honor, the Sultan watched with his prized eunuchs and courtiers, his trusted vizier and court sorcerer standing by his side. They watched as Mamluks jogged into the arena, moon-bladed halberds at the ready to escort the final survivor back to his cell while bare chested men ran out and began to dispense with the bodies.

Bahadir wiped his face with his heavy forearm, blinking away the sweat, before he bowed to the Sultan and the Emirs, prostrating himself as all who performed before them were bade to, and then he picked himself up and walked back into the shadows beneath the arena, where his fate would change forever.

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Now that he had received a modicum of rest and the smallest bit of food, his mind could wander back to other things with more substance, such as pretty women and the one power. He preferred the former to the latter, but in Zoya's case, she was evidently a package deal. And his attention was more focused on the memory of the map than her at that moment, the intricacies of the undulating hills and sweeping breadth of trees, before arriving at the grassland that apparently had some Aes Sedai significance.

And the bloody Horn of Valere had something to do with it! He knew his teacher would have told him to toss the idea away. A fool's errand paid no dues, he had once said. And he had yet to be paid by the High Lords, not that he expected that payment anymore. It was not a smart decision, getting caught up in Aes Sedai schemes on a trek that led dark-one-knew-where.

But he was intrigued, nonetheless. And Tar Valon was not short of funds.

"I'll consider it," He said neutrally. She looked at him as if she could see right past his facade, and as far as he knew, she just might have that ability.

"You would be paid well," She remarked teasingly. "And you did save my life, and heroically helped us escape the ship. An Aes Sedai never forgets a friend."

He hesitated for a moment, considering. His thoughts drifted back to the boat, where she and he had decided to be honest with one another, no tricks and no foul play. He was used to being honest with rich employers and less than lenient with those who had but the promise of payment, but considering she was an Aes Sedai, and she was admittedly growing on him, he could speak plainly.

"I don't want to be involved with anything to do with the one power." He declared, letting the words hang in the air. "If you were an aristocrat I would serve you well to win your favor, if you were a local girl I would dance with you and maybe steal a kiss, if you were an illainer I wouldn't hold it against you, but you're an Aes Sedai. I don't know what to do with that but... if you give me your word you intend to treat and pay me fairly by the completion of this task, I won't fail in it. I have nothing else to do, save find a nice bed and have a bath, if I can."

He held his hand out for her to take, his sculpted nose casting a shadow across his lips from the filtered light that bounced off the top of the upturned ship. His eyes twinkled.

TOP OF THE MORNIN' YALL IM CRAZY AND WEIRD WOOOOOOOOOOO

Hey! you! yes! you! I'm Gale, a chaotic neutral and chaotic good roleplayer and storywriter who loves humor and chaos! my intrests are fantasy rps, undertale, dnd, and a custom story i'm working on. i love music, animals, and a good insult, even one drected at me, as long as it's funny. i have been told that i'm rude at times, but my friends think its just my tendency to jump first, look later. anyway, hope we'll be good friends!

@Gale

HELLO GALE

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil reloaded quickly, grinning wickedly at the skaven scurrying away in fear. But it was a short lived victory. He pulled himself away from the opening to check on Emmaline, who looked none the worse for wear. The slight scuff on her healthy cheek somehow enhancing her beauty. Luckily none of the bandits were relaxed enough to really pay too much attention, their boots stomping on the floors as they ran back and forth, cursing and shouting at each other. It was then Neil noticed that things had grown quieter. Not silent, of course. There was still the occasional glowing bullet slicing through wood, but no clan rats surged forward and the strange firearms the skaven used weren't assailing them quite as horribly.

"We got guys watching our ass?" Neil asked Johann, who had come back into the long gallery and knelt down again, sporting a pistol in one hand and a notched military saber in the other. He peered out of the window before ducking back down, having evidently seen nothing to fire at. There was the faint smell of something rancid in the air.

"I got Clause and Kurt keeping an eye on it, and Brant's barred the doors." He said, and coughed from the dust flying everywhere. He snorted and kicked a piece of fallen wood away from his position. "Hell of a day to join the crew."

"Least we had some fun, beforehand." Neil remarked casually, giving Emmaline a smile that brightened the room. She smiled back, but it was whiped from her face, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. Neil wasn't sure what the matter was, but he rolled away from the wall just as Emmaline screamed his name, and in a split second he saw her concern. What almost looked like a floating ball of green was hurtling toward the shattered window between them and Johann. Neil tossed his hochland rifle and leaped as best he could from the awkward position, and if he wasn't so blessed by Ranald with quick reflexes and clever fingers, all three of them would have died a most painful death.

He felt the globe of poison glass land heavily in his grasp, and his breath caught when it still 'clunked' against the floor. By Ranald's luck, his hands had halted the momentum just enough to keep it from breaking, and Neil's lips formed a tight 'o' in amazement at how close that was.

"Here, let me take it," Emmaline whispered, but Neil hugged it close to his chest when she reached for it.

"Babe, I love you, but you're kinda clumsy." He said.

She placed her hands on her hips, her knees on the floor. "Someone needs to hold it while you fire, numbskull."

"Oh don't worry, they'll get their globe back." Neil said with a grin, and he hopped to his feet and poked his head out of the window. Even as he did so, he saw a cloaked rat with an ornate mask and a large pack strapped to its back producing another globe. Its eyes couldn't be seen, but the glass coverings made it look almost as if the skaven were part insect. "Johann!"

The bandit boss was already on it, readying a shot. A moment later, a kick and a flash of smoke. The rat fell over, cracking some of the glass with its fall. By Neil's estimation the skaven was twenty meters out, and Neil stood to his full height and tossed the globe he had to land amidst the ever billowing gas. Emmaline yanked at Neil's arm, and he nodded. "Boss, we got to get away from the gallery. We don't know if the gas will come this way." Emphasizing the word 'boss' to keep up the facade they wanted to join the outfit.

"What'll it do?" He asked hoarsely, reloading.

"Bad shit, let's go!" Neil remarked, and he followed Emmaline into the lobby down the corridor. As the two thieves rounded the corner, they heard the sound of screeching and the sound of iron on iron. A man grunted and yelped. Neil flipped his hochland rifle, hefting it as they entered the scene. Two skaven lay dead on the floor, bleeding from heavy cuts. One of the bandits was dead too, a falchion still embedded in his skull. Another bandit furiously defended himself against three skaven as more streamed out of what to Neil appeared to be a closet behind the staircase.

"Sigmar's balls." Neil and Emmaline remarked together, Neil redirecting his rifle and firing into the group hounding the bandit, Neil thought his name was Clause. The bullet punctured the neck of the first and the skull of a second, dropping two at once. Neil spun his brass covered rifle and ran in like it was a club, battering one of the skaven that had decided to sneak up behind the dueling bandit. If they didn't think of something, they might be surrounded again in a matter of moments. Emmaline pulled Neil back with the strength of desperation, and Neil saw her wild look.

He looked back at the other skaven charging in to harass Clause.

Clause hacked and stabbed, but took a cut in his ribs. He kicked the skaven in the head, but more swarmed around him, and Neil saw his eyes sweep over his and Emmaline as the two thieves turned and ran down the corridor. His cries of help followed them, but were muffled when Neil slammed the doors and Emmaline spun and performed a spell that melted the brass on the knobs and locks, fusing the doors together. The two sprinted back the way they had come, Neil holding Emmaline's hand as the lovers ran to a better position.

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

The true drakwald was not for some days by horseback, but the woods infesting the roads out of Middenheim were still thick and ominous, and even when they thinned, steam wafted and small creaks of decrepit trees kept a man on edge. The road was soggy, but not so deep a horse couldn't traverse it well with an experienced rider. Kasimir kept the reins of his horse firmly in his hands, eyes glancing left and right every minute, ears opened and alert. He left the city of the white wolf nearly half a day ago, making his way down the mountain and reaching one of the many roads that led to Neiderung. He figured that would be where Lucius would take her, and unfortunately he knew Lucius better than most.

"Girl's an idiot," he sighed as his horse rounded the corner, and a small wayward village came into view. It spoke to the strength of the White Wolves and their constant patrolling that it was not a walled settlement, one of the very few in all of Middenland, as the shadow of Middenheim still towered over the region. It was relatively small as well, the main road directly apart of the travel road, cutting through the settlement as the central drag. Smoke puffed into the air from various small homes and businesses, and what men and women were out trudged by Kasimir with only giving him a cursory glance. He felt they were likely too busy to grant newcomers much notice, and the fact he was coming from the capital meant he was not a threat. But a moment later, he realized why so little attention was being granted to him.

Up the road, another rider approached. Kasimir raised an eyebrow, noticing the steed he rode was well bred and powerful, so stark white it almost glowed, even with the sky above overcast. Upon it rode an equally powerful looking man in a tabard and old-style chainmail, and as the man turned his steed to the left, Kasimir saw the grotesque display of three beastmen heads tied to the saddle, their mouths open in screams, fangs and tongues out for all to see. It took Kasimir a few moments to recognize the regalia on his tabard, and the what the antiquated armor signified. He looked up at the sky, thinking that Ulric had a real sense of humor. He kicked his horse forward, and tethered it at the same inn as the knight.

The fellow had taken off his plumed helm at the counter, searching through his bag and mutturing to himself in his foreign tongue when Kasimir approached.

"I would like to buy this man a drink." Kasimir remarked, placing two krowns on the counter. The barman pursed his lips, and then scooped up both coins. "Whatever he wants, and I'll have what he's having."

The man regarded Kasimir curiously, almost suspiciously. He bore a mustache a count would be envious of, and had deep set, green eyes that had an almost cerulean quality to them. His hair was matted and shaved into a short, flat top. He didn't invite Kasimir to sit, but he did give a nod in thanks. "Merci, monsieur."

"You do the land a service killing those monsters." Kasimir declared as the Brettonian knight ordered wine, pulling up a stool beside him. He had to hand it to the man, wearing heavy chainmail even when drinking showed dedication. "Could I ask what brings you so far north?"

"I serve ze ladee as zshe seez vit." He explained. "Ze derak wal iz dan-zsher-oos I am told. I seek ze favere of mon patron, and so I go weer ze monstres reside." The glasses of wine were placed before them both, and the Knight drank his without delay, Kasimir taking a more casual sip. After a few good gulps, he placed the beverage down and cleared his throat. "Wat breengs yoo to zis small villazsh?"

Kasimir smiled into his drink, but forced it to disappear. "I am the son of Graf Todbringer, Count of this besieged province. I am on the quest to rescue a noblewoman from an evil vassal. Ironically, the woman is Brettonian like you. My odds of success are slim to none, but I must see it through for my noble father."

The Knight's head slowly turned to look at Kasimir, his eyes penetrating into him. Kasimir saw the gleam, and it was as if the wine the man had so desperately focused on was swamp water. He turned in his stool, leaning forward, brows lowering. "Zis is non soom trick, oui?"

The rakish bastard raised an eyebrow as if the idea were preposterous. Truth be told, even he would have had a difficult time believing it were he not living the reality, and he reached into his pack to pull out the steel and silver sigil of Boris Todbringer's office. "This is my father's seal," He said, letting the knight examine the item. "And what would I have to gain by lying to you, sir? I only tell you because I know men like you are honorable, and would not dare betray me to my enemies."

He smelled the seal, and for a moment Kasimir thought he would test it by taste, but a few moments later he slammed the seal on the counter and raised his fist. "By ze ladee, I zshall 'elp you in zis quest, monsieur!"

DHARMA Initiative - LOST

You have my tentative interest

just an old user lol

@TeaQueen360 welcome back!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

"Yes ma'am," he replied, deciding not to comment on Jocasta's 'boring board.' Clearing his throat, he decided to head up the stairs and grab a cup of coffee. He trudged up, still feeling the light tug of weariness from the usual lack of sleep, and he came into the main office with a yawn. His eyes, slightly red, were still as sharp as the knives he was about to handle. But first, caffeine. He stepped into the break room and grabbed a cup, glancing at the brand of coffee Emmaline had ordered for the office. True to form, it had the skull and crossbones of Death Wish Coffee. His mouth quirked up so little it wouldn't have been noticed even if someone looked directly at him, but in his world, that was a smile.

Pouring in the small teaspoon of sugar and some light creamer, he took a sip and felt a well-balanced acidity, bitterness, sweetness. Not too bad, and if he remembered right, Death Wish had double the caffeine. He'd need it, he guessed. He stepped out of the breakroom, nearly bumping into an intern who swerved out of his path, and made his way to the back of the station, past the smaller offices and the main room, finding the big oaken door made from the ever-rejuvinating wood of a treant. He placed in the code 6167, and heard the door unlatch. He grabbed the handle and pulled it open, flipping the lights on.

One of the lights flickered for a moment, but stubbornly lit itself as he stepped in. The 'war room' they called it, it was more of an armory for wiccan wannabes. It was an austere room, with various charms, poultices, and weaponry stacked, shelved, and categorized. A big poster of the CW show Supernatural had been placed up on the wall by Jocasta, and Alcander thought the choice was only moderate cringe. But to give credit where it was due, Eric Kripke did get one thing right. Rock salt in shotgun shells were a staple, and he pulled a few boxes of shells out, taking out the rock salt bag from costco, and took out his pocket knife to peel them open and begin filling them, whilst carving small latin symbols on them for added measure.

He grabbed a few witch-doctor charms to protect against the undead and malevolent spirits, and he decided since he was not entirely sure what they were up against, he knelt down before a large cupboard and pulled open the bottom drawer. He reached in with both hands, and pulled out a safe made of yew. He unclasped the lock, and pushed the top open to reveal five serrated knives. Made by the dwarf Hunir, each knife had been forged with multiple pieces of ancient weapons. The spearhead of Cu Chulainn's spear, a shard of Fragarach of Lugh, a lump of silver, and a small sliver of the spear of Longinus. Their copper plated hilts were made from bits of the tabernacle of Moses himself. They were only brought out when they really did not know what else to bring, but he thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

After that, it was a fairly standard affair. He grabbed five leviathan fangs on cords to wear around ones neck, small crosses of bronze, some small arms rounds with holy water, garlic, and with silver heads, and a few miscellaneous items in the 'fun bag' for very niche encounters. He refilled the ammo in his own gun, the nickle in his M1911 procured from the blessed bells of notre dame. He stuffed his gun back in his pants, and readied the equipment to be grabbed. As he drained the last bit of his coffee, feeling more awake, he was about to step out of the armory before he realized he forgot something.

Alcander snatched a few grenades of holy oil. Never could be too careful, he surmised.

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Pre-Planning Banter

[A collab with @Randomguy@Vanq and myself]

---

Gideon barked triumphantly, his barrel-shaped body slumped forward as his bent legs lowered his head to the ground, his wagging tail high in the air. He gave a great vertical leap, reaching Rannon’s eye level before he touched down again. Rannon smiled, but soothed his best friend and scratched him behind the ears.

“Alright, let’s go. But behave,” Rannon said to his Mabari, who gave a yawn to show he understood. Satisfied, Rannon set about making his way to the hall, determined to join the pathfinding team, Gideon walking briskly beside him. But after ten strides, he realized he was famished. Maybe swinging by the mess hall might be a good idea, since it was on the way. He did not wish to arrive late, but being distracted by hunger was not ideal either.

Cadmus walked away from the courtyard in a contemplative mood. After hearing the speech given by the High Constable, the mage found that he had mixed feelings regarding the whole thing. He definitely agreed with the whole retaking the Deep Roads part. For one, diplomatically speaking, it would earn them a lot of favour with the dwarves, and given that Grey Wardens and the Dwarves had longstanding relationship of mutual respect borne from dealing with the darkspawns, helping them reclaim their old glory of the Deep Roads was a surefire way of forging a strong and lasting formal alliance with the Dwarves. Strategically speaking, taking back the Deep Roads from the darkspawns also made sense, that meant they were pushing the darkspawns back and could establish outposts and forward operating bases right at the doorstep of the darkspawns.

The premise of a campaign to retake the Deep Roads and taking the fight to the darkspawns made sense. No, that was not the part of the plan Cadmus was worried about. He was worried about the allusion made by the Constable regarding ‘Slay them before they rise!’. Presumably ‘rise’ here referred to the Blight, so essentially, this would mean stopping the blight before it started. The question was how? The only way they knew of to stop the blight was to kill the archdemon, which followed that stopping a blight before it started meant killing an archdemon before it rose, which was…questionable. Cadmus did not disagree with the premise of the plan inherently, but considering how little they knew of the archdemons, it felt reckless to attempt slaying them while they slumbered. Cadmus would support finding out where they slumbered and establishing an outpost to observe them and perhaps attempt to find out if it was possible to safely kill them while they slumbered. But outright killing them? Cadmus hoped the higher ups had more information to work with than what was available to rank and file soldiers like him, otherwise, they were just rushing headlong recklessly, which was eerily somewhat reminiscent of the planned Deep Roads expedition by using demons courtesy of the Orlesian Wardens during the Corypheus fiasco.

Well, for now, he had better head to the pathfinding meeting. Unlike most of the wardens, having been selected as part of the pathfinding team, it didn’t seem like he would be able to fully partake in the feast. Feeling a bit parched, he took out his ritewine bottle. One of the good things about the Joining Ritual was the fact that the immunity also extent to alcohol, somewhat. Meaning that he would be able to drink some wine and keep a clear head for the meeting, as long as he didn’t go overboard. Cadmus shook his ritewine bottle, trying to measure how much alcohol was left. There was still some left, but it had been sort of his thing to never completely empty the bottle until the Calling, which meant, it was probably time to refill the bottle. He had the feeling he’d be busy in the upcoming days, so now was probably as best a time as any to refill his bottle.

Besides, it’s a feast. That’s when they serve the good wine.

And so, Cadmus headed to the dining hall, intending to quickly refill the bottle before heading to the meeting. He entered the dining hall finding wardens feasting and drinking, their morale high after the rousing speech. Spotting the wine barrel, Cadmus started making his way there.

“Pardon me. Apologies for cutting lines, brothers, but I have to join the pathfinding team briefing in a bit, and I’d like to refill my wine bottle beforehand. Terribly sorry, you know how it is,” he said as he tried to make his way over to the wine barrel through the wardens gathered there.

Still in high spirit, upon hearing Cadmus was part of the pathfinding team who essentially would spearhead the campaign, one of the wardens gave him a cheer, which was then followed by others, as they clapped Cadmus back, allowing him to pass through.

As Cadmus thought, being part of the pathfinding team seemed to come with its own perks. He wondered how the Southern wardens would react upon hearing he was a Tevinter mage who practiced blood magic, though. It would be rather entertaining to see their expression in some sort of ironic comedy.

Regardless, Cadmus made his way to the wine barrel, turned the knob, and refilled his ritewine bottle.

She had gone first to grab dinner, though with the meeting looming and her reticence at a drawn-out goodbye, Shiathari only briefly made an effort to find Edrick. A quick scan of the very full hall was sufficient enough to say that she had tried. She couldn’t really recall the last time it had felt this packed, this bustling, this loud.

She lightly picked her way through the perimeter of the hall, sliding between bodies of other wardens and their guests all the same. A bad habit returned, with the lithe ranger greedily gulping down the plate of food she had fixed herself, propped up against a wall, eyes keeping a careful eye on the crowd around her. Satiated, overly even, she deposited the plate - empty but for some streaks of gravy and crumbs - on the end of a table and made her way for a bit of wine to wash it down.

“Only a pardon for your brothers?” Shia chided, though it wasn’t harsh nor said with anger. She hadn’t even really looked to see who it was pushing himself through the line that she had patiently waited in. Her hands turned the knob in turn, deep red liquid flowed into her tankard, though she only allowed it to fill halfway. Her head turned to see who she spoke to, the tankard at her lips. A harsh gaze settled on him as she took a small swallow. “Will you push your way through first where we’re going too?” One side of her lips ticked upward, a half-smile that struggled to soften the rest of her expression.

Cadmus turned his head at the voice, finding himself looking at a black-haired elf warden, giving him somewhat of a smile.

“Ah. Apologies, I must have missed you,” Cadmus said. It was the truth, the elf passed completely beneath his notice. As far as keen sense of awareness go, Cadmus was far from an expert, but having been in the wardens for 4 years meant that he wasn’t exactly novice either. He doubted anyone would seriously try to sneak around in a feast, given the fact it might put some of the more veteran wardens on edge, so it’s likely that she was just doing it out of habit, just quiet enough to escape his notice. A proof of an experienced rogue.

Cadmus then smoothed his expression, as he smiled, “Like I said, I was just about to refill my bottle before–”

He stopped as a new arrival made his way to the two.

Rannon had arrived a few minutes prior, elbowing his way through rather than squeezing past. He didn’t want to be rude, but it was better him than Gideon, his hound at his heels until the Fereldan-born had found a plate and filled it to the brim. Pouring some off his plate for his companion, they both ate swiftly and a bit greedily. Warden food was Warden food, but all in all it was quite good. They had broken out the best cooks for today, he surmised. Once he was done, he put his plate up, and thanks to his height, his eye caught two familiar faces.

“Come on,” He said, his Mabari perking up.

Men and women laughed and chatted and jeered, toasting their flagons and engorging on the food as he passed. The tables were long and the hall wide, but his long legs got him to Shia in short order. He tapped her shoulder, briefly contemplating the poor joke of stepping to the opposite shoulder, but thinking better of it.

“Couldn’t resist the wine, either, eh?” He asked her, and then gave a nod to Cadmus when their eyes met. Gideon wriggled, and pushed through Rannon’s legs for Shia to pet him, if she would.

Cadmus nodded back at the blonde man who was seemingly about his age, before turning his attention to the mabari who was making his way to the elf. Mabari…a Ferelden warden, perhaps? It might be stereotypical, but mabaris were practically engraved in that nation’s history and culture, so…

He then replied, “The wine does smell excellent. They opened the good wine casket it seems.”

“In any case, allow me to introduce myself, I’m Cadmus. Cadmus Laenas,” he says, introducing himself to the two.

She felt the tap first, a sign she had grown complacent at not having picked up on the human’s approach. The smell and sound of a mabari was unmistakable though and eased away any discontent at being caught off-guard. Her head shook a quick no in response to the question, and then she was down, both knees bent and hovering over the ground in a crouch as the mabari wriggled before her.

“Who’s a good boy?” She knew Gideon, and by extension of that fact, his handler. Her thin fingers wrapped around his face and massaged the massive dog’s jowls playfully. War dog or not, like most animals he was eager to please the elven woman. She muttered a few more affirmations, something she doubted Rannon would be surprised at. It was the other man’s introduction that brought her back to standing, her body turned with a hand still resting on the mabari’s head, her elbow crooked slightly uncomfortably to do so.

Her expression evened out as she looked the man over more closely. A vint? No, something she had better not say aloud. With a quick glance to Rannon, she offered her name in return. “Shiathari, you one of the new arrivals?” She was certain she hadn’t seen him around before and something told her she would have noticed him if he had been.

Gideon wiggled excitedly, his huge mouth opened, his tongue lolling out as he panted happily. The mabari’s tail shook his entire back end, bumping into the table. Rannon had to pick him up by the haunches and move his back legs so they had room. Gideon had always liked Shia, and that was enough proof for Rannon to trust her, plus he thought she was funny. The other man, he didn’t recognize.

“Cadmus? Good to meet you,” Rannon remarked, his deep baritone easily piercing the din of the crowd. He shared a look with Shia, before he took Cadmus’ arm and shook it, making sure to not grip too hard. “Picked a hell of a time to join, but we could use all the help we can get, I’ll bet.” Gideon was inclined to agree, giving a yip, which could have been interpreted in many ways, but Rannon felt it was a greeting.

Cadmus nodded as he chuckled, “Hah…yes, a ‘hell of a time’ indeed, that’s quite the understatement. It’s good to meet both of you, Shiathari, Rannon.”

Turning to the Mabari, he added, “And you as well, of course. Though, regretfully, I do not know your name yet.”

He was part of the Imperial Senate, a politician. Part of the magisterium even, through one of the seats afforded to the Imperial Circle of Magi. Though not exactly a diplomat, he had spoken to some Ferelden dignitaries on occasion, and from what he had learned, ALWAYS gave respect to their Mabari lest you invite their scorns. They were called doglords for a reason, as unflattering the moniker was.

Cadmus continued, “I’m new to the Anderfels, but not exactly new to the wardens. It’s been about four years since my Joining now. I was in Orlais alongside some of my fellow Tevinter wardens when we received the order to come here. Then, when I arrived, I got the assignment to be part of the pathfinding team, and here we are. What about the two of you?”

Shia’s face remained flat beyond the sharp look that those she counted as friends would know was just how she was. “I’ve been a griffon-keeper here in the Anderfels for…” She paused, without purpose other than to quickly try and count the years. “Five? Years. A warden another five or so beyond that. The Free Marches, the border of Tevinter.” She enunciated that, her eyes trained on the new man for any weird tells. Gideon seemed to nudge her. “Right, this one wants you to know his name is Gideon.”

She lightly, or as lightly as she could that he would still feel it, pressed his head back down for her arm to rest more comfortably again. “I’ve had my fill here, seems we’re all meant to be seeing what the High Constable wants of us.” Shia bit her tongue to prevent the nickname she had for him from rolling off her tongue. Any of the wardens who had been at the fortress long enough had earned a nickname of some sort, mostly in good humor, or as a way to privately remember who was who.

Cadmus nodded, conveying his agreement, “It’s probably for the best. It would not do for us to be late to the briefing,” then, with a small smile, he added in a tone of a jest, “As senior wardens, we should be in the habit of arriving early. Good influence and all that.”

Rannon smiled, liking Cadmus’ pragmatic patriotism. “You’ll fit in just fine here, I think.” He said, his deep baritone powerful even amongst the party chatter. Gideon perked his head up, lifting Shia’s arm, sensing his master readying himself to move. The big mabari lifted himself up, and turned around, his fine coat brushing against Shia’s arm. “Come on, bud. Yeah yeah, Shia’s coming with us.” Rannon grinned, and he gave a nod to Cadmus to follow.

Greetings from a real chitty guy, lolol

joe mama

@chitinous guy

no u