POOHEAD189

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"The deal is, I take him, and you're coming with us." The man said, as if it was the simplest thing in the universe. He pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of Neil's head for emphasis. The bounty ticket made a face, showcasing the position of his arms and the material of the gun against his head was not the most comfortable in the world. Jocasta stood up, hands in the air. She reached to brush her thick hair, but the man barked for her to stop.

"Calm down, jeez." Jocasta marveled, lowering her hands again to a more neutral height. "This is not how one negotiates."

"You think I give a fuck?" The gunman asked. "Start moving!"

Jocasta scoffed, giving a good show of confidence. "Look buddy, you come in here, wake us up, we're hung over, filled with pizza. You do know where you are, right? This is an official mecha fighting area. How do you plan on getting past security? I mean, look at that clunker right there! You realize how long it took us to give it that kind of shine?"

Neil's face twisted in confusion. They never gave it a shine, did they? He glanced at Hunk, and saw just a rough silhouette of his and the hired gun's reflection. He was about to look away, before he realized...he could see the hired gunman's reflection! Not well, but enough to give him a good scope to gauge his movements.

"You mean nothing to us," The man said with a chilling finality. Neil knew his next words would have no bluff in them. He would kill Jocasta if she did not comply. "You are going to come with me. I'm giving you until the count of three..."

Neil had to act. "Can I at least-" he started, raising a hand. At the corner of his eye, he saw the slight change in color along Hunk's steel as the hired gun raised his weapon to butt Neil in the back of the head. He smiled inwardly, amused that one word from him could annoy someone so much.

He felt time slow, felt himself exhale, and inhale, and he ducked so late he swore he felt the wind of the weapon gently brushing his hair. Without hesitating, Neil glanced back and reached up, gripping the killer's weapon arm as he regained his feet, trying to grapple the assault rifle out of his hands. Neil immediately knew he was not in an advantageous position, his arms unable to lock with his opponent, and Jocasta flew behind the couch as the man's weapon discharged, bullets firing across the room, cutting holes through furniture, memorabilia, and shattering half finished bottles of whiskey. Neil felt the immense heat of the ammunition fuming into his face, stinging his cheek until the clip was empty, before he lashed back with his elbow. The man had armor, but he managed to hit the spot between the chest plate and the belt, causing the gunman to stagger for a second. Neil spun, getting hit in the face by a palm, but undeterred as he bowled the man over and they started wrestling on the ground. After a few moments fraught with struggle, his assailant got his feet under Neil's stomach and launched the thief into the air. Neil cried out, hitting the ground in a long half-roll, half-slide before he hit the tail end of the fallen billiard table. His hand finding Jocasta's fallen gun.

"Hey, thanks." Neil said quickly as the man went for his assault rifle, only able to get his gun up before the ionized round from Jo's gun punched through his chest. The gaping wound cauterized within the span of a second. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out save a wheeze, before he collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud, breaking the plate of his face helm.

"It's safe now!" Neil called with mock enthusiasm.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Despite his snark, Neil felt almost as at home as Emmaline. He could survive on the road, but not thrive. He was a city boy, and he rarely stayed longer than a week or two outside of one of the great metropolises of the Old World. Cities had intrigue, women, money, and one could get lost, or better yet lose others, so easily in its jungle of stone and woodworks. He had to admit Altdorf was a sight, giving a low, appreciative whistle, which Emmaline misconstrued as him flirting with her. She gave a smile and Neil winked back, playing along regardless. He had been here once before, years ago when he had been traveling to Nuln. He had only set foot in the capital of the whole of the Empire for a few brief hours, sticking lose to the river barge he was traveling on. He mostly remembered the spires, and the distant colleges of magic, and streetlamps! They weren't actually uncommon in Nuln, but most were paid out of pocket. In Altdorf, almost the entirety of the city, at least all the main walkways, were lit with street lamps in the evening.

Neil thought back to his stay there, remembering when he watched the halfling juggle six potatoes and steal a wallet all while a dozen men and women watched. He remembered a man claiming to be a wizard threatening a grey-haired mercenary before the charlatan was run off. He recalled the portly vendor that sold him a slab of honeyed ham for his trip. It was strange to think Emmaline was here during then. Strange that he remembered watching the city gently go by as his barge traversed the waterways to send him to Nuln. He felt a moment of loss, for a second. He wished he could have spotted her in the winding streets, flirted with her then. Life was full of such things, he supposed.

"No towers? Well, guess we'll have to settle for a villa then. They make Tilean style mansions here right?"

"For the right price," Emmaline replied in good humor. But it ebbed out of her when they entered the shadow of the first gate. It looked like any other, perhaps more grandly designed and far larger than most. The layered stone was well carved, with a steel portcullis just waiting to fall and two great doors reinforced with iron ready to close at a moment's notice. "This is the Witches Gate," Emmaline explained as they passed under it. "This is the gate Templars would bring in apostates and dark magicians to be executed." She idly grabbed at her throat, as if imagining an axe blade slicing through it.

"If they don't have a thieves gate I'll feel left out," Neil replied, taking her hand on her throat into his own and squeezing it. As usual, the two bounced back immediately. The guards barely glanced their way, and soon the clamor of the streets filled their ears. "Don't suppose there are any abandoned apartments around here, right?"

"If there are, I don't think there would be a sign." She quipped. But Neil did see her place a hand to her chin, as if she were thinking of the most likely sections of the city to contain abandoned areas. But then she shook the thought away. "The Grandmarkt is this way, past the docks. Let's hope Shallya let's us find somewhere we could sleep at least..."

Hours later...

The Gilded Ox was once a grand stone building with intricate carvings and ornamentation upon its crenelated façade. Now it is falling down, with large cracks across its stone walls and a crumbled and abandoned annex. The sign, with the visage of an ox, half peeled away, upon a red and white striped field, is faded and looks less gilded and more rusted. The Rusted Bull, some now called the tavern. Though not within ear shot of the owner, a surely, one-eyed dwarf named Kagri who ran the place like a well-oiled handgun. Neil and Emmaline had gotten all this information from a rake named Siegfried who had picked them out for a couple of chumps before Neil saw through his little sleight of hand scheme, called the Brettonian Drop Neil had used a few times, and managed to wrangle some real information out of him.

Now Emmaline and Neil found themselves walking under the squeaking sign of the Gilded Ox, walking in to find it much like Siegfried described. It was moderately large, maintained but not well furnished. There was a mix match of round and rectangular tables, and the timber planks on the walls and wood were reddish brown, giving the room a warm feeling coupled with the lamplight. A few mercenaries enjoyed themselves, chatting and cursing and snickering. A halfling sat in the corner with three different mugs of drink, as if trying to decide between them. A young local drank, bleary eyed with his face in his mug. A hooded man sat in the back, keeping to himself. A small number of couples and well to-do customers were there, but they were few and far between compared to the rougher men in hard leathers and stern looks. A table in the back had a bunch of locals laughing, carousing, one louder one pinched a barmaid as she passed by, but they were an outlier to the more moderate demeanor.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Neil asked Emma.

"What? It was your idea!" She snapped.

"Yeah, but you didn't talk me out of it." He pointed out.

"Can I help you?" A tired man in an apron asked, seemingly the only male on staff. He had caught them in his eye and stepped our from behind the small bar area. He had a lot of wrinkles for someone who did not look over forty, and was balding to boot. His lips were cracked, and he tilted his head to listen.

"We were looking for work." Neil said, sharing a look from Emmaline. "My lady here is a good dancer, and I'm a pretty good flute play-"

He snorted, showing his teeth in a sardonic smile. "Well, I could talk to old Kagri, but let me tell you right now. If you want work, we don't need no entertainers. Even if you're good. Kagri will just say..." He pointed at Emmaline. "Barmaid," and then pointed at Neil. "Bouncer. Sorry, but that's all we need. One of our girls ran off a few weeks ago and likely wound up dead. And it gets rough around these parts at night, and our last bouncer got killed."

Neil quirked an eyebrow, but Emmaline was glowering at the prospect of working with her hands, whispering. "Barmaid..." as if it was an unholy curse.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Emmaline," I barked, kneeling down to rip a piece of parchment off one of the dead servants, wiping away the blood ebbing from my arm before wrapping the stained cloth about my hand gripping the power sword. Clara was on her side, doing her best to sit up but clearly favoring the left side of her body. To my lover's credit, she was up and ready, blue eyes sharp as sapphire stones. I bled freely on the floor, ignoring my own predicament. There was a loud crash as the door was struck by something immense, like the gauntlet of a post-human encased in Mark IV armor.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any psychic energy left?" I asked her.

She looked almost bemused, but saw my expression was hard, and she followed suit. "Some. I can make do."

"Us it on me." I ordered.

"What?" She asked, incredulity rising in her voice. Another blow struck the reinforced door, the blow sending a screw through the air to ricochet off a pillar like a bullet, flying into the bowels of the ship.

"He will break through that door in a matter of moments." I remarked, stripping off my jacket, letting it slide through my deactivated blade to fall to the floor. My black top was ripped, but it hugged my torso like a bodyglove. I was dirty, and bleeding. "You will launch me at him with all of your power, and I will kill him." I saw her begin to protest, but I reiterated. "All your power. Even impaled and weakened, he can move too fast for normal men. I need to fly at him like a bullet."

"And you think because you struck me earlier that I wish for you to throw your life away? That I can't understand that was to keep us both alive? I'm not a child." She said. I could tell she was attempting to get me to rethink my strategy, using any means to do so. I could see she wanted to find a way for us to win without this. I loved her for that. However, now was not the time.

"No, I know you are an adult, and I trust you enough as a confidant for that to be a nonissue. I also trust you to see what I ask to be done." I told her, before turning around to face the plasteel door, readying my sword. "Now are you ready to do what I say or shall I find someone who will?"

She giggled manically, caught between her pride and her feelings, and the ridiculousness of finding another psyker at a moment's notice. "As you wish, Inquisitor Drakos." I felt the subtle emanations of the warp coalescing around my person, keeping free of my sword hand. My body grew lighter, and I bent my knees to better prepare myself as the next blow wrenched the door, the plasteel now misshapen. One more blow would do it. I made a note not to look back at Emmaline, or either of our convictions might fail. Cold, malicious laughter erupted from within the ruined room, and the sound of ceramite on plasteel erupted as the chaos astartes struck again. I saw the door fall, the hulking figure bloom into view. The final strike was like the gong to begin a race for trainees, and Emmaline did her part. Even before the plasteel slabs had hit the floor, my body was thrown like a javelin, my years of hard training and labor counting for naught at all, my flesh like so much pulp against the plasteel and ceramite I hurtled towards. My sword was activated before I even knew I did pressed the activation button, and in the span it took for Clara to blink, I was passed the astartes, my glowing sword fading into the dusty gloom with my form.

"What was that?" The Chaos marine cackled, glancing behind him, before turning back to the two women with amusement. "Did you think to kill me with a human missile?"

The word missile ended in a small gurgle, as the Chaos marine stumbled, and gasped. For the first time in millennia, he seemed confused. Idly he reached up with his arm, only for the appendage to fall off, severed, along with his left shoulder and the entirety of his collarbone. Three hundred kilos of flesh, steel, and ceramite hit the floor like an anvil, before the rest of the astartes followed moments later, topping onto the floor of the ship. The red glow of its eyes fading into nothingness as the last wheeze escaped his lips, and the only noise was the humming of the ship itself.

Clara coughed, and it was what brought Emmaline out of her trance. The aide took one step, and then ran into the room, not even looking at the chaos marine to find her Inquisitor and lover, hoping he was not paste against the wall.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

@Rhona W Oooh, yeah, you can't ban someone from a thread. I thought you meant you got a site mod. Don't worry, I'm handling this.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

@Rhona W The ban was lifted, or the ban did not go through?

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

@Srpv I don't understand most of what you're saying, but don't insult people.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Bahadir waited a moment, wondering if the food was laced with something. Even if they would not outright kill he or the corsair, perhaps they would give them food that slowed them down, caused them to feel nauseous, give them the shits, distract them in the ring? But no, after wondering of it, he knew while the Sultan and Vizier wanted them dead, they also wanted a grand show. And the harder they fought, the more sweet it would be to watch them die, and so he took a small slab of ham and began to eat it, enjoying the succulent meat. It had a hint of sweetness to it, and to a slave, this was nearly tantamount to sexual pleasure, though it did not quite press those same buttons. Still, he could not keep the satisfaction out of his face, and next he plucked what grapes he found, and took some dates to keep[ for later.

He initially kept his head down. Long years under the lash, and the delectable food before him, had his eyes down and shoulders hunched. And he only caught a few words of Reikspiel here and there, as well. He wished he knew the northern tongue better, particularly so he could converse with the foreigner, but it seemed that even Azim chose to speak in that tongue because he felt his main adversary was the woman. Bahadir was merely a useful idiot, made to give a grand show before his untimely demise.

Well, the man thought, I would sooner let scorpions claw my eyes out before I kept myself subservient at my own death! He felt the pirate was rubbing off on him a bit. He never really felt any loyalty to the Sultan, but her promise of something more set a fire in his breast.

"You wish to kill we?" He said slowly, speaking the northern tongue clumsily. "You will have to try harder."

The Vizier and Calliope looked at Bahadir, both with different expressions. The Vizier had a look of shock and disdain, whereas the dark woman smiled, and then laughed like a hyena. Azim rose up, eyes blazing. "You dare speak out of turn, slave?" He asked in Arabyan.

"If you are going to kill me, then yes." Bahadir replied quickly. "I am of the old blood! I have fought men and beast! And if you think I will lay down and let it happen..." He thought for a moment, finding the right words to say it in reikspiel. "...You can...suck... this... penis!"

Azim's eyes widened, and he gave a snarl that would make a mountain cat proud. With a dramatic whirl, his cloak billowing, he turned and strode away, the food and water being withdrawn in his wake. But before he left the chamber in its entirety, he glanced back at them, a smile having returned to his face. "I was vexed to lose such a worthy slave, but now I have no qualms of setting the 'Wahush Wukar' on you!"

His harsh laughter echoed down the halls as he strode away with the theatrical air of a Detlef Sierck melodrama, his entourage in tow behind him. Bahadir settled back down, crossing his arms and letting out a breath. He glanced at Calliope, and knew she understood roughly what he said. Their next enemies would be the 'Beasts that walk.'

The Withered -- An Interest Check

This looks pretty cool

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil was nearly cut by a flailing cultist, but by the skin of his teeth he managed to sidestep a wild slash from a cleaver and stick the cultist in their stomach with an instinctive riposte. He heard a gurgle of blood, and then a giggle that broke through it, followed by the cultist swinging a backhanded strike that nearly took Neil's head. He cursed and ducked just in time, and did the same back to the vile chaos worshiper, taking their head with a swift slice. The sharpened short sword tore through fabric, bone, and flesh easily, and the head went spinning into the tangle of branches left by the fallen tree. Neil was about to wipe the sweat from his brow when Emmaline tumbled into him, sending them both to the ground. Emmaline fell atop him, and he blinked away tears from the smoke. Flames must have caught on the tree.

"You good babe?"

"Yeah, but the others are dead."

"That sucks," he acknowledged, and the two swiftly got to their feet, though they remained close. Both rogues looked around, and what cultists their were left were either on fire or maimed, and the rest had either been crushed or had fled into the wilderness. The horses remained in their spots, however. Neil grabbed Emmaline's hand. "C'mon babe!"

"Wait!" She said, pulling on him. He looked back, and she bit her lip. "Shouldn't we search the bodies?"

Neil paused for a second, and if Emmaline did not know any better, she could hear mechanical cranks whirring in his head as he processed the thought. His eyes then lit up as if a 'bing' sounded, and he shook his head. "I promised you the palace and Ghal Maraz, remember? This is chump change." He reasoned, though of course, he felt it best not to grab more chaos artifacts if they could help it, when there was so much uncursed gold in the largest city of the empire. It was also lucky for them that beasts seemed normal, albeit a bit spooked by the tumult. Perhaps it had been the carriage itself, or the cultists that had caused the steeds their abilities.

Either way, Neil felt assured when their eyes were normal and the allowed Neil and Emmaline to untie their reins and mount them without issue, fleeing off into the night to leave the bodies of the bandits and cultists to burn.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

"Not bad." Bahadir said to her with a satisfied grin. He gave a shrug as if considering his compliment. "A bit rough, but not bad."

She gave the smile a crocodile might before a meal, and the corsair rolled off of him, offering him her hand to help him to his feet. He raised his brows, not expecting the gesture, but she had offered to partner with him, and it looked like she was keeping to her word. He took her hand, and though he was almost twice her size, her body was lithe but fit, and she managed to keep herself somewhat steady as he rose to his feet. The crowd surged, a wave of men and women standing up from their seats and pointing and the pair of them, calling for more. The other slaves jogged to the middle, those that could walk. Some of them were tanned, others were fair skinned, and one was as black of skin as Calliope's hair. They raised their weapons and hooted, screaming out to the crowd with triumph and exultation. Bahadir raised his fist into the air, his face as grim as stone, and that caused another uproar of cheers.

It seemed like forever, but suddenly the crowd went silent, and Bahadir and the rest turned to look northward, toward the Sultan's seat. Calliope followed their gazes, and sure enough, the Sultan had lifted himself from his chair and had approached the swepping balustrade, his vizier just beside him, leering down at the survivors. They were hundreds of meters away, but even from this distance, Bahadir could see the Vizier was displeased. The sorcerer planted his staff onto the floor, and all knew it was a small cantrip that carried the Sultan's voice across the area for all to hear.

"Laqad qatalt bishakl jayd. Allah yueamiruk hadha alyawma, wa'ashkuruk ealaa alqital fi sharafi! Antisarun! He declared, and the crowd roared again at his approval. And as the other day, the Arabyan Mamluks rushed out into the field to guide the slaves back to their pens, so they did not get any funny and dangerous ideas of escaping through some crack in the arena. Calliope whispered to Bahadir for a translation, and he told her 'he thanks us, and says it is the will of the gods we can entertain him so well.'

Two hours later, after having been searched for concealed weapons and being granted their daily ration of water and food, Calliope and Bahadir found themselves now 'free' if one could call it, albeit in a closed off section of the arena. Calliope questioned why they were not allowed to traverse the greater area underground as yesterday, but even Bahadir did not know. They were within a smaller chamber, the size of a living area, with two cushions to rest upon and one jug of water, which Bahadir felt a wonder at. It was rare to be granted such a privilege twice in a day. Closed around three sides, with one wall being carved with inlets and ridges to signify some ancient door, behind them were mere iron bars. It was not until one of the smaller slaves named Ibn-Amrik approached that they could get some answers.

"If it is not the victors of impossible odds," He said in accented reikspeil, grinning with ivory and copper teeth. He was as scraggly in appearance as a starving dog, and as thin, but he seemed in a fine mood. "Bahadir, my friend! Why did you not tell me you have a woman as lithe and dangerous as a serpent?"

"Why don't you tell me why we're in here, and not allowed to walk with what little freedom we are alloted, Amrik." Bahadir responded derisively.

"Have you not heard? Certainly you did not miss the cries of your victory?" He asked, surprise in his wicked voice. "Everyone today could see it was your victory, not the other poor souls of this hell we call home! The crowd speaks of you two more than the Sultan and his nameday!" He cackled at that, a harsh laugh that ricocheted off the ancient stonework. "And you have names, besides! Bahadir they are calling the 'Bronze Tiger,' for your great strength and agility, and you, Corsair, they have named the 'Black Mamba,' a most dangerous serpent of the desert oasis."