POOHEAD189

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Bahadir rubbed his wrists, surprised she had bothered to help him there. It had been a long time since he had spoken to a woman, and he had never fought alongside one. He had shown her some hospitality to spite the Sultan and Vizier, and yes, because she was beautiful. But now he was curious on other matters. He had picked locks like that as a child, but she did it so casually and without feat of any reprisal of the guards if they discovered his manacles had been undone.

"I had expected to be back at sea, not in some thrice-poxed underground prison for the entertainment of the pompous elite that should be paying me, rather." She lamented, a piratical slur in her inflection. The dark woman crossed her arms, glancing at the ceiling. Bahadir had understood a small portion of that, but he felt like he got the gist of it. But her next words, he was not sure he understood. "How do you get out of a place like this?"

Bahadir chortled. He said the word, and even were he fluent in Reikspiel, it would have sounded awkward. "Out?" He asked, and when she merely looked at him, he shook his head. "No out. Fight. Die."

"I'll fight and die on my own terms, with a belly full of wine atop a mound of gold." She said. He was hoping he was interpreting her right.

He decided to reply back in Arabyan, albeit slowly. "They wanted you dead enough to throw you in the cage of beasts. Tomorrow, you'll fight, and they will make you fight until you are dead. And if you live through all twelve days, they will simply kill you after."

She seemed to get the last part, at least. "Not much incentive for me to stay then, is it?" She remarked, flashing a grin and leaning back, placing her palms on the stone floor. She eyed him up and down, her eyes lingering on his forearms. "I'm without a ship and a crew. If you're up to escaping with me, I'll make you first mate."

"Madha?" He asked. She raised a hand to make it more clear, extending it.

"Escape." She said, letting the word fill his mind with possibility. "Partners. Yes?"

"You're crazy," He remarked in his native tongue. They would castrate him, then nail his hands to planks and let him rot in the sun until he was baked unto death. But, there was a glint in her eyes and a promise in her grin that he had never seen before. It had been too long since he had harbored feelings of escape. And so he slowly reached out and took her hand, and she shook it powerfully, needing to in order to move his big arm. Clearly handshaking was not a normal Arabyan custom.

"We have an accord!" She exclaimed, flashing her teeth. "Once we're out of here, we'll celebrate with some rum. _{And once I get some revenge...}"

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Four days ago, they had been surrounded and assailed at all sides but creature that, by all rights, shouldn't exist. Three had died that night, and the rest had fled hungry, and wounded, and tired. Four days of running, beyond certain they had beastmen or skaven at their heels, and for four days they had barely any sleep or food, and stopped to drink only when they happened to cross by a stream. Fear had kept them in motion, had kept them running as fast as they could. But now, on the fifth day, it was the general consensus that they had evaded the terrors of chaos, if the ruinous monsters had even chased them. It was just as likely they had slaughtered each other and took no notice of the six humans that had slipped away in the night.

Of the seven bandits there had been, there were now just four left. You might count the charming Nuln thief and the voluptuous Altdorf swindler amongst them, but Neil did not, which meant there were the two of them and the four bandits left. It was two days ago when they had found the road, and like as not the news of the great attack on Nuln had swept across the province, because they had yet to meet a single traveler or coach on the road thus far. However, the further they walked, the more recent the signs of activity were. Hoof prints here, an abandoned cloak there, an old campsite that had been used within the week.

But without a map and just the general direction of the sun, they knew they were moving generally west, just not how far west they had gone. Every now and then, when they crested a hill or the trees thinned, however rare either were, they could see the ominous, sweeping silhouette of the Grey Mountains in the distance. Which meant Neil knew they were likely in Riekland.

"I need a bath..." Emmaline complained in his ear.

Johann and a his crossbowmen Kurt strode ahead of them, the leader 'leading,' though Neil would have felt more inspired if he didn't spit constantly and moan about as much as the rest of them. The adulation of survival quickly gave way to hunger pangs and foot aches, and though they did escape with a few supplies and had managed to catch a fish or two after some embarrassing attempts, it still wasn't enough to stifle the mood. Kurt, on the other hand, still kept his eyes peeled, afraid of anything coming out of the forest. Neil was glad of it. Just because they had left the beasts behind didn't mean there wasn't the usual terrors ahead. Even Reikland wasn't completely rid of beastmen or orcs, even wild animals. Behind them, Neil heard the other two muttering and talking. Neil and Emmaline walked in the middle of the party.

Well, Neil walked in the middle. A few miles back Emmaline had come to him about her feet cramping, and so after looking into her big blue eyes, coupled with Johann's insistence they kept moving, Neil had done the only thing a boyfriend could do. He carried her. The front of her against his stooped back, her legs wrapped around his waist with his hands supporting her thighs like a seat, and her arms over his shoulders. He recalled having done the same thing when they first met, after they had narrowly survived being attacked by rampaging greenskins. If it was anyone else, even a pretty girl he did not know, he would have told them to piss off, but alas, he was in love.

"We'll be at a city soon, Emm." Neil assured her, tiredly. "Once we get to Altdorf, I'll bathe you myself."

"Ooo, I like that," She cooed in his ear, sending a shiver up his spine. Suddenly he felt a renewed sen of purpose, energy swelling in his breast. Her nuzzling into his neck also helped immensely, and she giggled as he stood up straighter. It was amazing the magic a woman could bring, and Emmaline had more than most, and Neil did not mean her sorcerous powers.

"Quiet!" Johann whispered suddenly, scrambling for the brush. Neil blinked, and followed Kurt as the crossbowmen too went to a hiding spot. Neil crouched down behind a wide thicket, Emmaline clinging to him tighter as the whole band hid from view. Neil took a deep breath, and soon only heard the beating of his and Emmaline's hearts and his lover's steady breathing. Until they heard something rhythmic. Something solid and minacious. The engineer turned thief realized it was a black coach, being drawn by four coal black horses. He could see Johann's figure tense, but as the coach came into view, there was something unsettling about it. Something unnerving. Even the horses seemed intimidating, their eyes blazing in a way that made them look every vigilant and wild. Neil wondered if Johann would give the signal to attack, but before he knew it, the coach was gone, the horses cantering and taking their cargo gently into the distance.

It had been an easy enough score, and no threat. Why hadn't they gone after it?

And why did he feel such a cold chill down his spine?

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Rannon

---

Rannon was used to taking orders and giving them when the time came, but long conversation was not his forte. It muddied the objective and kept him on his toes about where the orders were truly coming from, what exactly they expected of him. He was a man of few words, but he was decisive. Deliberating got men killed, and unfortunately that sort of mentality leaked into peacetime or preludes before a battle. He almost wanted to tell Cadmus to keep his mouth shut, albeit in a gentler manner. But he had to admit the question was valid. Meanwhile, he pushed the inclination away for other matters.

He was not too keen on going so far beneath the world, but it was not the worst thing he could think to do. It would simply be an ignominious and pointless death if he died in a cave-in, and his large stature and great sword was not best suited for tight spaces. And the water nor air could be trusted. What would he do with Gideon? He glanced at his mabari, who seemed to sense his eyes and looked back up at him. Rannon guessed they would make-do like they always did, but the logistics of the venture with food and water would be a nightmare, even with the aid of the dwarves. In fact, the combat against the darkspawn seemed the easiest part. Even the promise of more blights was not too unwelcome to him.

Rannon had always been a good soldier, and a good warrior. He could fulfill both roles, and even if someday he did not come back from a campaign or a fight, as long as he was killing darkspawn, he was happy. Gideon felt the same way, to a point. Though, Gideon also fed off of Rannon's temperament and desires in a way. A part of him wished he was a different man, so Gideon could live a better life, but he also knew if he was a different man, then Gideon would not have imprinted on him in the first place. But fighting darkspawn where they slept in their beds, or whatever passed for their homes... it felt like vengeance, or justice. He did not know which, as of yet, but he would figure it out.

As for his part, he at least wished to introduce himself. It was expected of him, and though he did not speak much, it was not out of shyness. He cleared his throat, pushed his chair back, and stood to his full height, towering above everyone present save the Qunari, and even then they did not dwarf him in size. "I am Rannon Bryce, of Fereldan. This is my companion, Gideon. I am known by many of you, but to those who do not know me, I simply wish to say we are brothers and sisters of the order. I will fight, and if by some need, die to see that our mission is done. Let us go forth and take their spawning pits by storm." He spoke matter-of-fact, without raising his powerful voice, and then simply sat down, letting his words hang in the air.

For good measure, Gideon gave three hearty barks in agreement, and they echoed across the walls. Rannon placed a hand on Gideon's massive head to keep him steady, but the mabari merely nuzzled the hand back, happy for the attention.

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Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

The underground was filled with more beasts, but many slumbered or waited as clever scavengers, ready to attack weakened prey or to chew on the bones of those already dead. Already shadows began to appear against the walls of the forum as more cats approached. Bahadir and the woman made it to the wall, and the pit-fighter leaped, looping his shackles around a bronze jackal head, hauling himself up above the walls. He stuck his leg down, and after some hesitation, the woman grabbed his trousers and pulled herself up onto the low ledge for some much needed respite. Five feet above that were the other slaves.

"Infidel!" Satir shrieked in Arabyan, shaking his fist at Bahadir, his large, angular nose casting a shadow across the left half of his face. His breath stunk more than the maw of the great cat's. "Why do you cast such a shadow on my operation? You were a whoreson and a thief before you came here, and now you ruin even this!? And for a worthless woman of all things!"

Bahadir grabbed onto the ledge below Satir, and used his cable-like muscles to yank himself up, placing one knee on the ledge. Satir did not stop his tirade, and below, a dozen cats from across the world lumbered and shrieked, some gazing at their dead comrades for meat, but the others staring above hungrily. Satir continued: "Rogue! Dung! You are no more worthy of freedom than the growth on my foo-"

Bahadir grabbed the front of Satir's ruined shirt, and with a swift tug, yanked him forward. His insult became a scream, and his arms flailed above Calliope for a brief second before he fell headlong over the ledge, falling past her to hit the slope of the wall. The skinny man rolled into the derelict forum, coughing. He lifted his head, and horror dawned on his face as the cats moved in slowly. Calliope could hear his cries of utter terror as Bahadir lowered his chains, letting her take it in her hand. He easily lifted the slim woman up to the ledge as the screams were abruptly silenced, and bones snapped.

"Thank you," she said to the slave who saved her.

"Tasiruni musaeadatuk," the muscled slave said, shaking his head to free his face from his mane of hair. He spoke quickly, but to Calliope's ears, it roughly translated to 'happy to help.' The fighter cleared his throat, and gestured she follow with a nod of his head. She had little choice, considering most everyone else around her had bet on her death, and so the two walked out of the makeshift 'balcony' and into the slave chambers proper. They walked through a large corridor where men huddled along the walls, some sleeping, some speaking, and others likely dead.

The next chamber was large, and obviously made by the Arabyans rather than whatever civilization had been there before. Pillars of standard, sumptuous architecture with inlaid copper serpents held up the curved arches and obtuse shape of the ceiling, but save that and the stairs leading to the gates, everything else seemed squared or shaped for pure utilitarian purposes, from the unlit forges to the pit where they dropped the bones and corpses of the dead, to the area where men typically ate and drank what water was provided daily. Except for the crumbling rocks to the right, and the gaping cavernous wound in the side.

"Beautiful, yes?" He said sarcastically, knowing enough Reikspeil to make a sardonic joke. He gave Calliope a wink, before indicating the way. She looked up and breathed out a curse, more climbing. It was not so high, however, and after grabbing a few handholds, the two made it above the shattered wall and into a smaller cavern just above it. It was difficult to tell what caused the cavity in the stone, but it was not smooth like from water damage. Within, was a small cot and some earthenware jars of water, and a few unlit torches, as well as an axe, the haft sticking out from under the cot. A few shattered bones lay at the cusp of the space. Bahadir breathed a sigh of relief, and dropped to the ground, where a few worn out and weathered cushions lay. He had collected everything he could get his hands on, during his stay here.

"It's not much, but it's home." He said in Arabyan, hoping his inflection gave her the gist of what he was saying. He cleared his throat and opened one of the clay pots, grabbing it with both hands and taking a deep swig. A small stream of water tumbled down his neck and rolling over his large pectoral muscles. He placed the pot down and indicated she could take one. It was clear why he chose this space. One could see the entire chamber of up here, and no one could sneak up upon you. Once she took some water, he started speaking slowly. "What...did you...do... to anger.. the sultan?" He asked in Arabyan, and gestured to help her through it. He shook his hands gently when he said 'anger' and pointed at her and upwards when needed.

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

@Frog Dog No it's a special discord server for this RP here.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

There were more than pits beneath the arena. Thousands of years of erosion and wind had buried forgotten tombs and palatial buildings not seen since the age of nehekara. Once, long ago, the city's first founders had stumbled upon these ruins and had built atop them. The enterprising arabyans had merely carved out around them and utilized them for their own purposes, and now, with the Arena above, they used the forsaken wonders of the ancient world to house their beasts.

One such chamber, now fallen into disarray, was shaped like a senatorial forum, or a council chamber made from unknown hands. Erected pillars shaped like desert wyrms, sinuous and coiling, stood in a ring around forum. Five wide steps in a full circle surrounded the round central floor, where a pale light shone from above. Beyond the light, the shadows grew increasingly darker in all save but a few nooks and crannies above in the rock, where men slept or spoke in hushed tones. None dared step foot off their ledges and onto the ground floor, they merely waited for the next show.

Most slaves slept in their pens, and the most problem ones were locked in there. But the guards had long since given up making such a practice mandatory for the majority. There was no way out, and to go further below only promised starvation or the awakening of deadly monstrosities even the arena fighters had never imagined before. And if violence ever did break out, as far as the masters were concerned, it made for better fighters.

At this time, most of the slaves were asleep. But a few stayed awake, speaking in hushed tones and playing bone dice. Bahadir could never sleep after a day of fighting, at least not early. He played the matches over in his head, thinking on where he could improve, and sometimes wondering who it was he had killed. He tried not to, but his mind inevitably asked the question. As he lay there, propped against the stone in the shadows, he noticed something. At first he didn't realize what exactly, but he sat forward and peered over the side, and realized the pale light at the center of the ruin was marred by a slim shadow from above, and suddenly coarse laughter followed that reverberated through the deep.

The shadow became a woman bound by a rope, slowly lowered in the very middle of the forum, until ten feet above the floor, the rope was cut. She fell heavily to the floor, and Bahadir heard the men below and around him begin to murmur excitedly. Satir the Gambler raised his voice, calling for bets on the newest victim. Bahadir loathed Satir, the crooked man with the sharp nose loved betting on men's lives, so much so that he became a broker for the other slaves. No one killed him because he provided much needed entertainment, and it was not even his callousness that had given Satir his ire. The gambler was dishonest, and lied on the winnings, pocketing more than his share.

"A woman this time! Shall we say the beasts will not even fill their bellies?" He mocked loudly. Bahadir ignored the taunt, and blinked when she woman lifted her head. He recognized her from the Sultan's court! The foreign woman he had been trying to impress. What could have brought her to lose favor so quickly? Even as he watched, a rolling growl carried over the floor, and large, lithe figures began to coalesce from the shadows around the prone woman. Impressively, she didn't even look. Instead, she rolled over, curled her legs up, and slipped her bound hands above her legs with an uncomfortable effort, before finding a fallen scimitar amongst the fallen items upon the ground, shoving her bonds against the iron blade to free her hands. Only then did she bother to glance at her situation.

A striped cat from the jungles of Ind, a dozen feet from nose to tail and heavier than five men, languidly moved into the light, the rippling muscles in its back causing the gorgeous stripes to dance. A maned cat from the lands south of the desert loped into view opposite the other, stalking back and forth, equally large and golden furred, its every breath audible even from the slaves watching. Four more cats of varying variety appeared, each pacing, wary of the other cats, each eager to fill their empty stomach. The Sultan only dropped in those who had truly angered him. Technically, if they were lucky, they would make it out alive and join the others in the arena, but Bahadir had never seen anyone survive the punishment. To her credit, the woman sliced through her bonds and lifted the scimitar, calling for the beasts to stride forward. Allah, she was brave.

And whoever had pissed off the Sultan and his vizier, Bahadir liked.

As she readied herself for battle with the striped beast, the maned one saw its opportunity and charged, moving off the upper steps and reaching her in the span of three seconds. It leaped to bowl her over, only for its powerful maw to be halted by the thick chains that still bound Bahadir's wrists, bronze meeting fangs as the large fighter stubbornly held his ground. Above, men gasped and hooted at the new turn of events, some laughing and others crying out the game was rigged. A claw drew a jagged line across Bahadir's chest, but he held the cat back with all his might, letting the woman keep her eyes on her front.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

The shadow under the walls of the arena merely muted the heat, it did not erase it. But to Bahadir, he felt his heart still pulsing, the realness one felt during a life and death struggle palpable, as if his senses were honed to a razor's edge. His eyes adjusted to the darkness swiftly, and mercilessly the tunnel ended in a large stairway that fed into the underbelly of the arena, where the temperature dropped a few precious degrees lower, and where slave-fighters were fed and given small respite, where the beasts lurked in cages ready to be unleashed. Bahadir heard the ringing of metal and the cracking of a whip, the echoes of a cry of pain reverberating off the ancient stone.

The central chamber was large, its immensity barely illuminated by torches, leaving large pockets of shadows where slaves in chains hid for privacy or sleep. Mamluks stood guard as slave masters patrolled the underways, the network of tunnels laced across the underground that led to different gates around the coliseum. The fighters were sequestered in different groups of large numbers, always coming out of the same gate.

At the bottom, a stout figure stood awaiting the survivor of this latest blood bath. He had one eye and a black beard, his burly arms scarred, one ensconced with brass rings. Moredek smiled, showing a mouth full of ivory and gold teeth. "Not bad up there, boy. You performed that right hook like I taught you." He gestured to the guards that had followed in Bahadir's wake. "But you didn't keep your eyes on the norseman. He nearly had your head."

"Can't be perfect all the time," Bahadir said, knowing where the Mamluks escorting him would stop. The silent figures turned about face, and walked back up the stairs. All save four, who noticed a signal from the dwarf and waited. Bahadir noticed it too. "What?"

"Sultan wants to see you." The Dwarf announced, raising his head up and waving over another slave. The lean, shaved man struggling to carry a collection of thick chains in his arms. "Now put yer shackles on, and don't speak unless spoken to. If you insult him, we both lose our heads."

---

The laughter of the Sultan and the simpering snickers of his courtiers were drowned out when the sound of weighty chains clanked against the marble floor. Two Palace Guards opened the doors that led into the upper floors proper, and into the Sultan's resplendent waiting area walked Moredek, who gave a bow at the doors, and then gave an even lower bow when presenting himself before the Sultan. The dawi had been training fighters and serving the sultans for close to a century. Muradi Al-Man clapped when he saw the dwarf, smiling widely.

"My old friend! Good it is to see you!" The Sultan exclaimed in accented reikspeil. "You have done your wonders again, I see."

"I've done me best to aid yer lordship in his wishes." The Dwarf remarked back, knowing they spoke in this manner so all foreign guests may understand. "I present ye with me prized fighter, Bahadir..."

The sound of clanking chains began again, and the pit fighter strode into the light. He wore simple tan trousers, his waist wrapped in a red sash. His legs were hidden, but his upper body looked like sculpted bronze, herculean, and yet marred by scars from swords and whips. His skin was baked and dark, and his mane of black hair reached his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the floor until he reached his trainer, and fell to a knee before the Sultan.

"Rise," the Vizier commanded in Arabyan, bumping the bottom of his oaken staff against the floor. Some spell caused his voice to sound more clearly, though he did not raise his voice.

"Rise, slave!" The Sultan prompted in the same tongue, before realizing he had forgotten his own theater and spoke again in reikspeil. "Rise and be proud. You have survived the first day of the games!"

Bahadir did not know the speech, but he rose all the same. The Sultan spoke again, but the slave did not understand. Luckily for him, he saw the Sultan speaking to everyone around him rather than to him. He elbowed the Vizier and said something, and the Vizier feigned a small laugh. It was then the Sultan pointed at one of the foreigners, a few of the courtiers moving out of the way to give them space. Bahadir saw it was a woman, darkly beautiful, but wearing the trousers and attire of a corsair, with calculating eyes. Her skin would have been fair if not for the kiss of the sun from long hours at sea. She seemed to entertain the Sultan, speaking back in the same tongue and giving a tight lipped smile. Bahadir had to keep a grin from his face. Tolerating the Sultan was something foreigners would have to get used to, not that he had ever been this close to the ruler of Copher. But as a child, running through the streets and nabbing pieces of bread and lamb to survive, everyone saw the Sultan every few months. The rulers liked to show everyone in Copher they were alive and ready to cast their eyes on the unworthy at their leisure. The Sultan raised his hands forward, indicating Bahadir, before he waved dismissively.

Bahadir and Moredek bowed again, their heads so low Moredek's beard brushed the floor and Bahadir almost felt the chains would make him fall forward, but the two were then escorted out, the doors of the room slowly closing behind them like a portcullis.

"That was not so bad," Moredek said. "Walk you around like a horse, let people look at the blood as if they got their hands dirty themselves! We'll put some food in you and send you to the hall of trials."