POOHEAD189

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Are those the beasts that don't leave tracks and teleport across logs?!" Emmaline hissed.

"I don't know! Do you have a better idea?" Neil shot back. They both looked at each other, Emmaline a bit more desperate than Neil, but only by a small margin. Neil had always treated life, even deadly situations, with far less care than a sane person would. But being so close to the ruinous powers and having Emmaline to worry about did get him antsy. Lightning lanced downward again, striking the monolith, and Neil had the disturbing thought that it was coming more rapidly as the chants grew more enraptured.

"Ok think, Neil, think..." He said to himself, stroking his chin.

"I fucking hate the woods," Emmaline moaned, and with the release of pressure like a knot being untied, her words unlocked an idea in Neil. He blinked, and a moment later glanced around them. This section of the forest was notably thick with trees, towering oaks and elms that blotted out the sky almost as completely as the obscuring clouds above. The thief pulled back a moment and began to rummage through his pack, praying to Ranald he still had a few sacks of powder. Emmaline peered over his shoulder quizzically. "What are you doing?" She whispered.

In answer, Neil shoved his short sword in her hands. "Babe, don't be mad at me if this is a dumb question, but can you use your magic and make the blade extra sharp?"

"I-..." She started, and peered over the lip of the rise again, before ducking back down. "I think I can, though anything more complicated and they could sense we're here."

"Ok, do it, please." He said to her, and then gave a triumphant 'yes!' a moment later, a few sacks in his hand. Emmaline did as she was bid, slowly and quietly weaving the flows of chamon, the blade now glinting in the pallid light. Neil took the sword back, and crouched. "Ok, stay here and don't move." He told her, and began to skirt down the hill without so much as to a 'why.' She cursed, but did as he bid, knowing he likely had something clever up his sleeve. The time seemed like hours, but in reality it was likely only a handful of minutes, and everytime the lightning struck, it caused Emmaline to jump. She could sense the horrid, corrupted magic in the spells being woven, stuffing her senses with a sickly sensation. She was about to go looking for him when she saw Neil climbing back up the slope like a dog.

"Where were you?" She demanded, but he shook his head.

"Just get ready to run when the signal goes."

"What sig-"

There was a sudden crack, the sound only blackpowder could make. One or two of the cultists turned, but most were too entranced by their ritual to pay it any mind. However, it was an entirely different thing when another snap that reverberated off the trees and the dirt echoed, and drew everyone's attention. The snap dragged, followed by more, and a loud creaking as suddenly, a four foot thick tree with scythe-like branches and the weight of a steam tank fell into the light and struck the very middle of the ritual like a hammer striking an anvil. Immediately, half the cultists were either crushed or smothers by the boughs and leaves, and the other half of them stood stunned. The tree had slammed atop three of the monoliths and covered two more, and as the panic set in, Neil had already set his hochland rifle down, his eye in the scope. He pulled the trigger, and a cultist's head snapped back, half his jaw missing.

"FOR SIGMAR!" Neil roared as loud as his lungs allowed it, and Emmaline screamed like she was a banshee from albion, their cries hitting the confused acolytes like a slap. Neil shot another cultist with his pistol, and Emmaline attempted to do the same, however her gun clicked and a 'shizz!' could be heard above the tumult. More puffs of smoke and flame rose up as the Neil fired and the two of them charged. Even with half the cloaked figures down and three now dead, the rest looked around as if expecting to be surrounded, and Neil took advantage of it, sticking the closest one with over a foot of imperial steel with his shortsword. They just needed to scatter them, and make it to the horses.

Fallout: Philadelphia - America's Cradle

Hmmm, seems interesting

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

The slaves scattered like mice, a few of the newer slaves tossing down their weapons as if that would aid them in any fashion. One man cried to Allah to save him, prostrated on his knees before a rampaging Rhinox slammed its hoof atop him, snapping his body in two for the merest instance before crushing both halves together into a bloody paste. The massive beasts pummeled the floor of the arena, every step causing indentions in the hard ground as they moved. Bahadir had seen them once before, but he had never fought them. He had only watched as one of his few friends had been crushed into the wall.

Bahadir had been granted a moon-bladed axe with a back spike, a privilege granted to one of the most successful fighters. One of the beasts spied him and turned, arcing its head like a mace. He leaped out of the way of one of their swinging horns, his foot catching the ground before pivoting, launching his body at the flank of the turning beast. Bahadir stabbed the spike of his weapon into the meat of its buttocks, causing the big animal to squeal like a boar from the pits of the chaos wastes. A men atop the howdah fired his bow, but the bucking monstrosity caused his aim to swing upward, the arrow loosing into the crowd. A cheering peasant was impaled through the throat, but the crowd did not lower the volume of their screams of adulation.

Bahadir glanced to his left, and saw a neophyte toss his spear at one of the behemoths. It was a weak throw, the spearpoint not even piercing its hide. Across the arena, some of the more experienced men had taken into a skirmish formation, worrying one of the beasts from all sides with tridents and swords. But while it delayed its charge, it wouldn't save them. The Rhinox the spear had been meant for hadn't even noticed it, and it charged into the left line of the slaves, crushing two men immediately and sending a third flying, his broken body landing atop the large statue of glorious Ptra above the eastern wall statue, a tribute to the father god of the sun. As the Rhinox galloped, its undulating body send one of the bowmen to the ground, and out of the dust the black clad woman appeared, slitting his throat with her sword. As the blood spilled on the sand, she took up the bow and slung the quiver, doing her best to nock an arrow as the slaves died around her.

Bahadir saw one of the Rhinoxes scratch the floor, sending dust as it shook its shaggy head, looking for another target. Its howdah emptied from the polearms of the slaves and its own bucking gait. It's eyes fell upon Calliope, but as it snorted, Bahadir's axe hit it square on the snout. It flinched out of sudden fear, before its fear turned to anger and it bellowed into the air as it's eyes fell on Bahadir. The pit-fighter had thrown the axe, and he puffed out his chest and screamed an obscenity at the Rhinox. While the beast obviously could not understand, it took the bait. It charged, barreling at the powerful man with the velocity of a rolling boulder, Bahadir lining himself up and crouching, readying his body. Twelve yards, eight yards, four yards...

Bahadir sprang to the side as the Rhinox crashed into the wall, splintering stone and sending dust into the air dozens of feet. The ancient stone of the wall cracked from the impact, and even Bahadir felt the concussive force of the air. The Rhinox growled in pain and annoyance, but Bahadir was not watching it try and collect itself. His eyes were skyward, and he felt a prayer answered when the large statue of Ptra began to topple forward, its base broken. The poor body of the slave hit the ground in a heap just as the statue fell atop the Rhinox, slamming the dazed beast into the ground. Bahadir wasn't sure if it was dead, but it was not getting up anytime soon, at least.

He got to his feet, only for an arrow to clattering between his feet, a missile from the last man atop a howdah. He coughed dust and squinted from the sun, peering at the otherside of the arena to see how Calliope and the others fared.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

With no tracks or any discernible trail, the group was left without a heading or a means to find it. Per Neil's suggestion, they at least followed what path through the trees they could where they were spaced far enough apart for a coach to travel through. Though eventually, even that plan went sour. The forest grew too thick and laden with stones and fallen boughs. As twilight fell on the forest, it was clear to everyone, even half-crazed Johann, that not only could they not find the coach, but they would have a next to impossible task finding their way back to the road. Neil had fine eyes, but even he was stumbling every now and then, doing his best to keep Emmaline from hurting herself.

Up ahead, Johann and Kurt's figures had returned, cursing. Johann waved his saber about like a child with a rattler, albeit out of frustration rather than enthusiasm.

"We have to make camp, boss. There's nothing left to do here." The crossbowman said reluctantly.

"They couldn't have just up and disappeared!" Johann screamed into his face, daring him to say another word. When Kurt didn't, he waved him off, acquiescing without voicing it aloud. "Go get some firewood!"

Kurt nodded, and Johann pointed at Neil and Emmaline accusingly. "And you two, make the camp!"

Neil gave a nod, followed by a facetious imperial salute while Emmaline stuck her tongue out at him. The darkness, coupled with Johann's blind anger, covered it well. Kurt walked to the east by a dozen paces, holding his crossbow at the ready, until he began to glance at the ground and idly rummaging around on the forest floor. Neil began to clear a space between the trees. Emmaline started to fish through the packs, finding what food they had and nibbling on a bit herself. Up above, Morrslieb loomed bright and green, casting a sickly pall over the forest floor where the shadows did not hold dominion. Neil glanced up at the sky, realizing he was in Reikland, the heartland of the Empire. And still, Chaos and monsters were around every corner. It seemed nowhere was truly safe.

Neil was similar to Emmaline, he was a city boy. But admittedly traveling from Marienburg to Altdorf and Altdorf to Nuln had taught him a few things. He knew how to make a camp without causing too much of a sound. In fact, the silence was so palpable, it caused the next few moments to stand our starkly.

Suddenly there was a rustling, and some inhuman moan that proceeded a cry from a voice. Kurt's voice. The scream rose up sharply, and then was abruptly silence. Emmaline was still chewing on a piece of jerky when Neil tackled her, her 'hrmmm?' barely audible before he planted a hand on her mouth, pulling her into the brush. The leaves cloaked them, but by the green light of the cursed moon, they could still see their immediate surroundings through the diminutive branches and foliage. Emmaline clung to Neil as they watched Johann run into the clearing, yelling for Kurt. He unsheathed his pistol and fired into the gloom, the smoke vomiting from the barrel in a white cloud.

"Thief! Woman!" He screamed next, but Neil did not feel like being a hero with his lover there, and on tonight of all nights. The shadows began to move around the clearing, and soon they separated into black cloaked figures that moved with the grace of hunting cats and the fluidity of serpents. Johann managed to cut into one of them, causing a giggling groan of pain and a splattering of blood, before he was overwhelmed and grabbed, and before Neil and Emmaline's eyes, he was taken, still screaming, into the darkness. Neil held his breath, and Emmaline did as well. They did not move, did not make a sound. The next handful of minutes, they waited there, until they were sure the figures were gone.

"We can't stay here," Emmaline breathed.

"You were always the smart one." He agreed.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Kurt fell over on his ass, having lost the ability to even stand as he tried to regain his own humanity. Neil had felt it too. It was like an all encompassing lust, yet the lust was not of the carnal desire for flesh. It was like a mouse being mesmerized by a swaying cobra. Neil felt if he had not such a strong sense of self, he might have been lost in the maelstrom of that pull. He heard Emmaline curse, and his first immediate worry was alleviated. The three of them had been effected, but it was nothing compared to how the entire scene had ravaged Johann.

At first, he seemed merely catatonic. His eyes staring blankly, lips moving in a wordless whisper. But gradually his eyes darted left and right, and he began to breathe more rapidly, his mind rising above the scramble, but not quite being put back together properly. He jerked, as if waking from a falling dream, and he seemed almost confused and appalled he found himself in the woods. The sun was not quite below the horizon, but the trees blocked it, casting an ominous shadow across the bandits. Johann's whispering became audible, an unintelligible muttering that one could occasional decipher the names of 'Brandt' and 'Gert' and 'Coach.' Kurt had risen by that time, clutching his chest as if to still his quickened heart, but very much nominally back to his old self.

"Boss?" He asked Johann tentatively.

Johann twitched, and when Kurt put a gentle hand on his shoulder, Johann pulled away so quickly, it was as if he had suddenly had cold water splashed on his face. The bandit leader pulled out his saber and unholstered his pistol, and though Kurt looked concerned, Johann didn't point either at him. "T-They took our boys." He said breathlessly. "Our boys, we have to get them back."

"Boss, I don't think-"

"We have to get them back!" Johann insisted with a roar, his gaze sweeping over Neil and Emmaline as well. The lovers looked at one another, still shaken but coherent enough to feel a bit awkward at the command. Johann did not wait for them to comply, he began muttering to himself again, stepping over the log they had placed in the road and hurrying into the woods, moving with a purpose Neil did not understand. Perhaps the road curved that way up ahead and there was a short cut. He guessed it was possible the gang had been through here before.

"Wait, I'm coming!" Kurt cried, grabbing the crossbow he had dropped and running after Johann. Neil took Emmaline's hand, and the two followed them, albeit at a safe distance. Despite the fact Neither wanted to see any more of the cursed coach or it's eldritch passenger, they could not go back to the Inn. Either they were alone, or they stayed with their two armed companions, and on a night like Hexennacht, it paid to stay in groups.

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"And this is supposed to help us transport two thousand civilians out into the fields?" Katiya asked, sliding off the roof. Zeb half-caught her, steadying her as was his duty. Her boots clapped onto the pavement, and she steadied the emblazoned coat of her office.

"If you have a better idea, sir...ma'am." He corrected half-heartedly. He did not think he would ever get used to being a commissar's comrade. He had always been taught a commissar was like a feral beast. It could allow you in it's presence, but one day it would be in the wrong mood, and it would be your head. He had a hard time believing Katia would do that to him, but old traditions take awhile to leave one's system.

"No, I do not." She said, and reached into her coatpocket to pull out a handheld military-grade vox.

"Once we're across, we'll clear the Orks out and let the convoy get through the drained portion." He told her. He could tell she didn't need convincing. She pulled the trigger on the vox, and static rose before a voice answered with a gruff "Corporal Lance Henry" was fed back. She pulled out a dataslate, and began barking orders to Henry with a voice of command that would have karskins standing straighter. She voxed six more corporals, before sliding her thumb across the dataslate and switching the transmission. Static fedback again, whining like a small animal, until another man barked an introduction, his voice baritone and his accent vaguely Tanithish. "Sergeant of the Piece Donnal! Sir?"

"This is Special Imperial Officer Petrovska. What is your current location, sergeant?"

There was a nervous pause. "417 West, Commissar."

"Good. Find me a corporal who can plant six shells at these coordinates I am about to give you. 2917 Eagle, 4869 Neptune."

"Yes ma'am! Er, sir... ETA ten minutes. Out."

"Out." She replied, and glanced behind her. Curiously, Zeb was gone. She tucked the dataslate and vox back into her breastpocket, and stalked toward the filling station they had been planted on not minutes before. She called out for Zeb, but when she turned the corner, she paused and saw he was amidst a squad of six greenhorns, field stripping and refitting a standard lasgun. Even as he replaced the stock and shouldered the weapon, the first armored cars began to arrive, and in the distance of the far street, transport cars filled with civilians and a loose assortment of guardsmen slowly approached in a large column. Katiya waited for Zebulon to notice her, before he stood to attention and ordered the other men to do the same. They saw Katiya and gaped, before roughly snapping to attention, no doubt the horror stories of Commissars still fresh in their minds.

When she gave the 'at ease' Zeb barked at them to get moving. The newfish scattered, scrambling off. Zeb jogged over to her, and grinned. That was when they both heard the high-pitched whinnying of artillery shells.

Who's still around?

@Fuzzybootz What sort of stuff are you into rn?

Who's still around?

@Fuzzybootz Hey, Fuzzybootz! Lovely to see you again :)

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"They're not real works," Neil whispered to Emmaline. She nearly choked on the mead halfway down her throat.

The small band of bandits had found a table near the center of the left room, connected by a large opening to the wider right room where the hearth lay. A few men in hard leathers and armed like them have given them a few looks, ranging from suspicious to a jovial 'cheers.' Within a moment, Johann and his band were seated and mead and ale were swiftly granted to them. Emmaline said she wanted something sweet, and so mead it was. After Neil forked down some links of sausage, he leaned over, elbow on the table, and whispered to her.

When she regained her dignity, coughing a couple of times, she whispered back hoarsely: "Who?"

Neil nodded forward to the armed men across the floor. At her next unspoken question, he elaborated. "They're wearing their swords wrong. Any hard man would keep it in easy reach, and their armor looks castle-made in some places and scrap in others. And that one's helmet, see the ridge at the top? There was a plume there."

"Their looters," She reasoned quickly, and Neil nodded. She liked to pretend she was clueless, but she was smart as a whip. Emmaline glanced at Neil, and he glanced back. Their faces were very close, and he gave her a wink.

"Just keep your valuables close by," he said, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang had begun discussing the past few days, glad the hunger and thirst was over, but still demoralized by the lack of a good score. Neil caught some of it, and he could empathise. But sometimes one's life was good enough, at least for people not blessed by Ranald like he figured he was. How else could he and Emmaline still be alive after all the chaotic messes and near misses they had been through?

"I'm tellin ya, all we need is some food and we can grab a prize tonight," Brandt said a bit too loudly. Neil glanced around, but luckily people were too spooked or too busy in their own conversations to really pay attention. Johann looked grim, looking at Brandt like he was asking him to sacrifice his first born child.

"We just got in here, ya fool. You really want to sleep on the ground tonight? And on Hexennacht? You heard the woman."

"Blind superstition!" Kurt said, banging his fist on the table hard enough to shake the silverware. "But gold is very real."

"We thought the walking talking rats were fake too, didn't we?" Johann remarked, and for a second, no response was forthcoming. Neil thought that simple piece of logic was enough to turn the tide, but Gert spoke through a mouthful of mutton.

"We can't get back in the city like this, boss." He reminded him, chewing loudly as he did so. "If we don't get a score, we'll be on the ground for another few weeks."

Johann deflated at that, and Emmaline's eyes widened at the thought of not sleeping in a bed again. Neil steadied her, but before he could speak, Johann groaned loudly. "Fine, you bloody louts! We're going out, but if by morning we have nothing but sore backs, I'm gutting everyone of ya and finding a new band." He warned. Neil doubted he meant it, but one could never tell with bandits. A few glanced at Neil and Emmaline, who had been just whispering to one another, and by their looks it was clear the two of them were expected to follow.

Emmaline's head fell into her arms, crossed atop the table, hiding her face behind flesh and her waves of blonde hair. Neil rubbed her back, sympathy on his face. "Hey, you can sleep ontop of me, babe." He told her.

just want to say hi and make some friends

hello wheels!