POOHEAD189

A Basket of Undead [1x1x1?]

Yes please

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Bahadir had seen some amazing things in his time as a slave-fighter. He had even been a part of a team set to fight one of the deadly chimera's of the far north, just barely coming out of that alive. He had seen men eat their own arms rather than starve. But this was something he had not seen. It was a marvel of engineering and logistics, something Bahadir had heard about but had never been witness to. Briefly, he had a weird sense of loss. If he escaped, he might never be witness to such things again. Perhaps his life was not so bad...

He knew that was a falsehood, however. How much sweeter would his life be if he was in the crowds right now, eating pork and sitting with a lover? Or perhaps even plundering the real seas himself? His sudden hesitation was curtailed and then redirected to a longing to be free, and a wonderful sense of thankfulness that he could do it with a bang such as this! That is, if he and Calliope survived.

"Yataharak!" A Mamluk called, indicating the slaves to move. Calliope needn't be told. She stepped onto the boat as if it was made by her commission, hard boots clacking across the roughly hewed timber. Bahadir was unsure of how steady it would be, but evidently she was not. He would trust her practiced instinct, and leaped onboard as well. The boat lightly bucked, swaying from the new weight and the small ripples in the water. There was a moderate wind today, dilapidating the surface of what should have been pristine, calm water with no current. Bahadir was used to sand or stone, or the timber structures of men. He was not used to floating on water.

"I must tell you..." Bahadir said in his strange accent, Calliope turning to look at him. "I..." He tried to find the right words."-cannot swim."

She snorted, bewildered she had not thought of it. "If we live, I'll give ye some proper lessons, but as for now, if you fall in, just find the arena floor and kick off it. Plus, the sharks might keep ye a bit busy."

More and more slaves piled off, until there was roughly a dozen, along with the two would-be partners. Across the expanse of water, the other slaves had gotten onto their boat at the insistence of moon-bladed halberds. A few of them looked not unsure of what to do, and Bahadir wondered if there were other corsairs or sailors on their side. He didn't know. The sun peeked through the clouds above, basking his scarred chest with merciful heat, and a keening trumpet sounded, before others followed.

"Take the handle and do exactly what I say," Calliope commanded Bahadir. He looked at the fastened pole, and gripped it with a big hand as Calliope drew her saber. Above, the Sultan stepped forward, raising his hands to the heavens, and the people cried out in joyous celebration as the games began.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

"Avast!" Bahadir cried as he barreled toward the orc, unsure if he used the word correctly but confident the vibes were good. The bestial green monstrosity was so taken aback, it did not have time to realign its axe, and Bahadir full-body tackled the orc, slamming its thick, muscled body against the stone wall. Above, a Tilean man screamed in his native tongue something Bahadir could not understand, but it sounded very much like 'finish it!' to his ears.

The orc was stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly. Bahadir only had time to knee it in the stomach before it bit his shoulder with hard teeth. The big Arabyan would have screamed had he not gritted his teeth, taking a big hand and poking the orc in the eye with his thumb. It squealed and unlatched its jaws, but shoved Bahadir away. The pit-fighter stepped back, pressing his hand on the meat just left of his right shoulder and felt sticky, wet blood on his hand. Bahadir growled, and the orc, having shaken off the pain, decided to charge Bahadir this time.

Bahadir had fought in countless matches in the arena before roaring crowds. He had killed numerous men in nameless acts of violence beneath the streets and in the slave pens. He had been trained by whip and cudgle, taught the art of fighting over his many years under the lash. The orc, though powerful and naturally savage, had not the practice or discipline. As it bared its tusked maw and leaped at Bahadir, the swarthy skinned man deftly pivoted his foot and spun, leading with his free foot in the air and striking the orc across the jaw. The big green body continued on, even with its head in a fog, and it missed Bahadir completely, hitting the ground in a further daze. Bahadir leaped over its prove form, easily reaching three meters in the air, and landed his knee squarely on the back of the orc's thick neck, squashing it beyond hope or repair. The monster's upper spine and throat was severed, and it spasmed as it died.

The jeers and screams of the crowd rose, and Bahadir did not know if it was because his narrow-minded focus was lifted, or if the final blow raised their volume. He turned, and saw Calliope just getting to her knees, rubbing her head. Bahadir walked over to her, and she squinted as he stood over her.

"What in the bloody-" She began, but before she knew it, she was sitting atop his unbloodied shoulder, high in the air as the crowd screached, a wave of roars lifting to a crescendo as Bahadir and Calliope lifted their arms and waved. A few people threw bronze and gold coins onto the arena floor, something that was vehemently preached against by the Sultan's laws. Any monetary gift to a slave was seen as a grave offense, and the upending of social order. Calliope nimbly caught a few in the air, patting Bahadir's head so he could lifted and rise at opportune times to catch the wealth. As she did so, she dropped them into her shirt, laughing wickedly.

In the balcony high above, the Sultan grew red and Azim watched with wrath in his eyes.

Wealth and Warpstorms

Alcander held on for dear life. He had always been none-too keen to flying, but the dust and multitude of rocks clattering against the windshield and the sharp turns was making him even more nervous than usual. It was good he was practiced in keeping his voice steady.

"I see," He said, bracing his body so he was not shaken about like a mix-drink. He tried not to verbalize his distaste at the mention of Xenos, but he supposed doing business with them was not so bad if it was to gain wealth from drug sales. It certainly was not giving them imperial weaponry to use. Alcander was not extremely devout, but he had seen Xenos twice in his life, and each time they had tried to kill him. He held no love for the bastards. "Bit ye still nae told me when th' stairm'll end."

"Just a few minutes. They never last too long here," She remarked, banking left and dropping low after cresting a small, jagged rise in the wastes. He wondered by Yvrine had not joined them, but he supposed even with the Rogue Trader dead, there was still a business empire to run.

Within ten minutes, the wind storm had abated, and the lander was placed a few hundred meters from the scene of the Lord's death. When Camilla stepped out of the transport and strode ahead of him, Alcander noticed her movements were fluid and poised. She traversed the gaping cracks in the dried ground and numerous sharp stones with a dancer's grace. He had no doubt in his mind she was an acrobat, perhaps an entertainer of sorts.

"What was yer relation t' the auld man, Lord Othelio." Alcander asked as they walked, glancing left and right, wary from the new terrain.

"I am...was, his cousin. I have been in his retinue a handful of years now. He had no other close relatives." She said.

His brows raised. "So...ye to be his successor?"

"Yes," she replied. She had a faint accent, not nearly as pronounced as his own, but he could not quite place it. But beyond that, she had essentially just informed him she was a princess of a multi-planetary dynasty and trade empire. Briefly he wondered if his manners had been adequate, but dismissed the concern as silly. What was more strange was that she was out here alone, with him. She must really trust him. He felt somewhat flattered, and that was hard to do.

"Here," she announced, stopping at the top of a gulley. It's length spanned for a few kilometers, he thought, but it wasn't too deep. Perhaps five meters, give or take. He stopped beside her, hands in his pockets as he peered down. Just as he imagined, the rocks were scattered, likely from the previous, or many storms over the last few day/night cycles.

"Let's gae doon." Alcander said.

Camilla reached for a small satchel in her belt. "Yes, of course. First let me-"

Her words were cut short as the pebbles her right foot rested on gave way, and the leg flew into the air. She tossed her hands up as her footing was compromised, and she gave a peculiar squawk. Had he heard the noise from afar, he would have looked on incredulously, but as he was right there and quick, he grabbed her flailing hand on instinct, planting his foot on a stone and helping lessen the fall so her rump did not bruise as it brushed the stones.

"Ye alright?" He asked her. She blew some loose strands of hair out of her face and regained her standing position, brushing her backside and leggings off.

"Yes, thank you. The rocks are treacherous, be careful." She advised. Alcander nodded, but hid a smile at the irony of her warning. The two traversed down the slope of the gully moments later, and juxtaposed to her momentary loss of balance, Camilla flitted down far more nimbly than Alcander, and he felt he was pretty light on his feet, generally. Once they reached the bottom, her keen eyes examined the ground, and she placed a well-manicured finger to her lips, before pointing a few meters to the left. "We found his body right there."

"Can ye shoo me exactly how it ley?"

"Show you?" She asked, clearly wondered if he meant she should lay on the rocks.

"Place yer feet where 'is feet would bae, and face the direction he ley." Al explained. She took a moment to get her bearings, and did just that. She seemed to be facing southwest, if he had an accurate summation of the direction of the sun through the remaining haze, an aftertaste of the storm. He went over and knelt down where Camilla's indication would have his stomach be, and examined the rocks. A few moments went by, and he began to move a few of the smaller stones aside. Curiously enough, he found no blood. He reached into his duster and pulled out an Auspec, and scanned the area.

"Some traeces o' organic matt'er," He breathed. "But nae blood."

He blinked, a realization dawning on him. "Don't Rogue Traders have a wee servo-skell?"

"Yes, but we couldn't find it. After we found him, we simply assumed whoever killed him stole it or blasted it to bits." She said. "We could not access it remotely when we attempted."

He rose to his feet, and gazed down the gully. "Les gae ep top and luuk aroond. If it was doon 'ere we'da seen it."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Our time in Savaven had been full of research and unrelenting legalities, and I spent most of my time behind a desk or surveying the monumental libraries that stood bestride the palaces of the cardinals. It was mostly uneventful, save for handful of moments the various members and adepts of the ecclesiarchy tried to jealously keep certain vaults out of the hands of my retinue, but in that I brooked very little argument. Emmaline and I worked alongside one another for some months, her eye for detail impressive, though after a few hours she often found herself thinking of less professional matters or wishing to stretch her legs. When she heard Savaven did not have any icecream she groaned. I admit the distraction did help my mind relax before I redirected my focus back on the ministerial task at hand. However, four months before our completing, there had been a misshap on the bridge of the Caledonia, where Lucius Raj had broken the leg of one crewman and shattered the sternum of another, and Emmaline was tasked with ascending to keep an eye on the Thunder Warrior while I finished my work on world.

I could have called Lucius Raj down, but the ecclesiarchy would ask too many questions on the nature of him, and if they found out we had procured one of the legendary thunder warriors from a xenos cage, we would have more problems to deal with than the usual liturgical interruptions. And while I could throw my weight around, it was an inquisitor's duty to only do so for the good of the imperium, not their emotional desires. Although we did manage to obtain, or stumble upon, some scraps of information about the enigmatic warriors of old terra. It seemed they died quickly, usually for one of three reasons. Combat, of course, but also faulty organs from the less-than-safe flash cloning initiatives in their primitive creation, and thirdly, their bouts of insanity could literally tear their own muscles apart. It seemed, given luck that Raj could survive battle and be one of the more fortunate with a stable body, if we could keep his sanity in check, he could potentially live for quite a long time. And so for four months, Lazarus and I spent nearly eleven hours every day pouring over different texts and scripts, until finally I concluded we had gathered all intelligence that we could.

Finally, we could return to Pacitus.

As Lazarus, a few member's of Urien's crew, and I ascended to the Caledonia, I felt somewhat uneasy, despite my through examination. There were so many unanswered questions, I knew it would be difficult to unwind. However, I had a feeling Emmaline would find a way to get me too, despite my dogged thoughts. Once we entered through the bridge, I gave a quick chat to Urien, and he was ecstatic to be sending me home. As good friends as we are, he felt a need to explore the stars as much as I needed to feel Pacitus under my feet. I saluted him as a cordial gesture, as he would throw a celebration soon to liven up his crew, thanks to new supplies gifted by the ecclesiarchy from Savaven.

I went to my quarters to retire, a near kilometer of a walk, remembering when I had escorted a very drunk Emmaline down the same course not so long ago. I stripped my hands of my gloves, and opened the door to my chambers...

Wealth and Warpstorms

Alcander had needed the meal, and had procured a toothpick to idly tongue in his mouth so as not to feel as strong of an urge for a lho-stick. The two ladies had been in an out, providing idle chitchat but not giving him much in the way of information, though granted he had not drilled them very hard, expecting the Rogue Trader himself to fill him in after he filled his own belly. Though he was not prepared for where they took him once the feast was over.

"Shite," he cursed under his breath, the toothpicky nearly dropping from his lips. He was stunned for a good moment, but the season ed probator quickly took a hold of himself. He gave Yvine and Camilla a brief, albeit sharp look. "Buildin' castles in th' aer, ye two are."

He felt his hopes of this being a simple misunderstanding or an operation he could potentially refuse dash. Even though the two women weren't Rogue Traders, the death of one was held in the up most secrecy, as were the details of his death. He was just given a great responsibility, even if he refused to solve the case, he would have to stick around until it was concluded or someone else was anointed, or someone would come after him.

"Of all th' bleedin' luuk," He muttered, walking past the ladies and eyeing the corpse. He had evidentally been a well established Rogue Trader with many years under his belt, if the titles alone did not denote such a thing. Alcander could spot rejuvenant work easily enough, these days. The old man had been well maintained, big and not without a good bit of muscle. Alcander noticed the calluses on his hands and the various, generational scars along his body. He placed a hand on his brow and lifted it to open Orthelio's blank, blue eyes. Neither were bionic, nor did he see telltale signs of certain poisons. He picked up the old man's wrist and checked for a pulse, before sliding his finger down to see any bloating on the ulnar artery.

"What are you doing?" Yvrine asked, a bit testily.

"Chekin' t' see if the auld man is dead, o' cairse." Alcander remarked.

"He would not be in here if he wasn't," Yvrine said. Alcander could feel her looking at Camilla with incredulity. The probator did not smile or respond. He had dealt with several cases where a man was hit with slow acting poison from the death world Veraekus. And there were other instances as well where the auspex and people's standard modes of checking signs of life were wrong. He wanted to be thorough.

He lowered the thin white cloth covering the corpse's extremities, finding a small exit wound to the left of his abdomen. There were no scorch marks, so it was not done from a lasgun. The wound did not seem big enough for a standard autogun, much less a bolt round. But, as he gently lifted the heavy man up a few inches with surprising strength and felt underneath for the small of his back, it was clear whatever had hit him had hit him from behind. Whatever kind of projectile, it had struck him right by the kidney, cutting into it a bit. "Hou loong had he ben ded before ye foond me on Castobel?"

"Two days." Camilla said.

Alcander's head shot up, blinking. "Ye better be coddin' me," he said, suspicion and annoyance warring with ettiquete. The woman, Camilla she had said, was obviously unfamiliar with the term, but the way he said it made it clear, and he saw it dawn on her eyes a moment later.

"I like to keep tabs on useful individuals." She said by way of explanation, and though she hid it well behind a neutral, professional face, he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Alcander did his damned best not to mutter a curse on finding out he had been surveilled, even to a limited capacity.

Never trust a beautiful woman.

Alcander set the cadaver down gently and went to clean his hands. "If ye would be sae kind, please take me tae the site where ye found him, and on the way, ye might be tellin' me why he woos on this wairld."

Wealth and Warpstorms

Alcander had never liked warp travel. It made his stomach churn, and felt all too vulnerable. The time disparity also never sat right with him. He was never keen on situations he couldn't have some modicum of control. However, after the journey from Castobel to Godfarthing, he recalled he did not much like interplanetary travel either.

They had been picked up by something Alcander fancied looked like an Arvus Lighter, only sleeker and longer, with a reinforced hull. The liason had called it an Avro-transport, a old craft refurbished by the Arkon corporation, evidently. He had never heard of them, but then again, Alcander had been out of the public eye the past few years. He had tried to bury his head in the sand as much as he could, so it was to be expected. Even so, despite the solid transport and the in-flight refreshments, it was met with turbulence from solar winds, and unexpected void debris, making the two day journey a three day slog with little in the way of sleep. It did little to help his mood. His badge, arm slate, even his laspistol had been confiscated from him by the bastion chief. Evidently it was up to his 'new' employer to provide what he needed for him, beyond his clothes and good looks, and he doubted he still had the latter anymore with his recent luck with women.

The Avro-transport made a relatively smooth transition through the atmosphere, and the hot white planet rose up around them as they approached slowly. He saw the distant figures of great hive cities hundreds, if not thousands of miles away. But where they were landing was in the middle of nowhere, hardly noticable until they were a mere mile above the surface. The starport was bigger than he expected, but still a podunk, obscure spit of civilization in the vast cracked wastes and gullies that filled the horizon. The transport touched down with a soft lurch, and within a minute the door opened, hot air carried by an insistent wind scythed into the cabin.

Two low level security men and the liaison stepped out first, followed by Alcander, who shielded his eyes from the hot sun above. He wondered if this world even had clouds.

"There they are," the liaison remarked, pointing north. "You can finally get some answers, and maybe something to eat."

Alcander said nothing. His armored, black coat had been taken away, replaced by a worn duster. He grabbed the hems and straightened it, despite the wind calming down. Flanked by the security, Alcander approached what looked like two women, his guess turning correct as he walked closer. One was a darker skinned, muscled woman, with a strong jaw and keen eyes. She was nearly as tall as him. To her right was an olive skinned vixen, a woman he had considered merely beautiful that became stunningly beautiful as he approached. Most probators in his position would have counted himself lucky, being taken off world at the behest of a rogue trader, meeting with gorgeous women on a clandestine world. But he had chosen his life of anonymity. That, and he was not so keen on a beautiful woman. He didn't trust them. Call it prejudice, but he had experienced his fair share.

"-younger than I expected," he heard the dark woman say softly, only catching the tail end of their exchange.

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles, before blanketed his face into a neutral look once again. Despite his reservations, he wouldn't be disdainful. Once the probator was a few meters away from the two, he opened his mouth to speak, but the darker woman cut him off.

"Welcome. You stand in the presence of Heir Presumptive to the Warrant of Trade, Camilla Belchite Del'a'Trantio. And I am Yvrine, honored Seneschal of Lord Captain and Rogue Trader Orthelio Bathazar Belchite." She said, a small accent slipping through her clipped speech, using the high gothic. This Camilla looked at her funny, but their eyes widened a fraction when he gave the proper hand sign of meeting nobility, speaking back to them in the same dialect.

"Honored. I am Alcander Mires, probator of Castobel and servant of the Imperium." He said by way of greeting, the wind picking up again, swaying his duster and unruly hair, still unbrushed from the journey of the void. As standard as the transport was, it was still a small vessel without a proper shower. He had to make do with a change of clothes and a small restroom. He cleared his throat, and despite his restless state, his eyes were set and penetrating. "Now, would you be so kind as to let me meet your Lord Captain? I admit I am limited on my information. And could I trouble you for a meal?"

Wealth and Warpstorms

I killed a man, the day I met her. Running down a hab block on a hive world called Castobel. Another mark on the God Emperor's ledger of potential judgements. I thought the act had sent a beacon to the stars. Even here, hiding on a world of two hundred billion souls, my guilt and my past had come for me. I suppose I should be flattered. In my experience, misdeeds are often rewarded, or at least granted clemency in the cogs of self righteous logic. The end justifies the means, and all that. I was not above the notion. If you worked in the dark long enough, you became the dark, a wise man once said. Strange then, that no matter where I went, I was chased by the ghosts of my previous life. Or so I often thought. Later I learned it was not my past that haunted me, or not merely that. It was the future calling to me, grinding me down to better serve a purpose, and a woman, I would come to know. After three years at the academy, and seven years in the adeptus arbites, I had felt I had enough. I went and crawled into the darkest, most crowded hole I could find. When she found me, she had pulled the curtains and revealed the sun. Painful, uncomfortable, but later I realized, I could finally see.

Greasy rain slithered down stone and plasteel habs, thin rivulets rushing through the streets of the deserted blocks. It made the ground look alive, gave life to a place that did its damned best to kill whoever was stupid enough to make a living here. Clarions sounded in the distance, but past the sirens and the rain, all Alcander could hear was his own breathing. He was pressed against the wall of a hab, jacket soaked to its core, weapon up and the safety off, waiting for his moment. Not for the first time did he curse the bloody rain. To maintain air pressure, the glorious leaders of Hive Isobel vented the polluted air that coalesced at the top of the middle hive, equalizing it with injections of scrubbed air, and the more hot, humid air causing the bastardized rain. It tastes like the hab-block was sweating.

His knee still stung from when he fell, and he still tasted the bitterness of gunsmoke and rockcrete that had flown during the mad pursuit not minutes before. Rain drummed on his wide brimmed hat, and his retinal implant gave off a pale shine, the only indicator he was a probator of the local bastion. Well, that and his badge, but every probator knew it was a grox-shit way to identify one another, considering how good the gangers had become at fraudulent badges. Alcander had heard most bastions did not even use them anymore, and they had insisted they wear other means of communication and identification when necessary, and so the probus had given them arms slates, usually hidden from sight by long sleeves. They had kept the badges mostly as tradition, but the arm slates were meant to be copy-proof, unable to be given to anyone who had not earned it.

But it seemed even that wasn't enough. Ranborne had taught him that.

Pallid light glinted off the watery rockcrete street, loudly contrasting the long shadows cast by the various habs, massive pict boards in disrepair, and the overturned Solas-Harkonstar, laying like a dead beast across the block. Good car, he had heard. A couple of years ago he might have been able to afford it, but those days were as far off as Terra, in his mind. Had he known the tires weren't so good in rain, he likely would have thought better than to buy one, anyhow. It had not done Ranborne any favors. Then again, neither had his greed.

Alcander inched slowly to the edge of the corner, poised in the alleyway. Briefly, he thought he heard something. A soft, rhythmic noise. Something solid. Footsteps? He wasn't sure, it could have easily been the heavy drip of rain from a pipe. He held his breath, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. His eyes snapped open when the ident on his arm slate pinged. It wasn't loud, but it was loud enough. Something had changed, and he realized the noise had stopped. Without pausing to consider, Alcander dove out of cover as plasteel and rockcrete burst around him, its hard surface no match for the propellant base, mass reactive detonator cap of a bolt round, with a depleted deuterium core and diamantine tip. He knew the sound before he even looked, having used and been fired at with bolt pistols in several operations on distant worlds.

Alcander hit the ground in a roll, water scattering like shrapnel, catching himself with his foot on the edge of a pothole. His hat gone, Alcander's black hair matted and whipping as he raised his own gun, a standard issue laspistol courtesy of the bastion. He had always hated laspistols during his years as an arbites. They were too bright, and had less stopping power than he was comfortable with. He much preferred autoguns, but his probus had insisted, and the brass decided what was what. Alcander saw a figure through the glare and the rain, moving to kneel in the street, so fast was Alcander that Ranborne looked like molasses as he pivoted his hip and realigned his boltpistol. The bald pate and congenial face curled into a mask of anger and fear. He did not like that was the last memory he would have of him. He had counted Ranborne as an ally; a friend, even. But his friend had tried to kill him, and was turning to finish the job.

Alcander pulled the trigger, and finished it first.

Ranborne's body hit the ground, and his boltpistol clattered onto the street, the barrel still smoking like the flesh on Ranborne's visage. Alcander caught his breath, wiping his eyes and pulling his hair away from his face. The world had been all black and white, until his laspistol had blared red, the discharge still burned into his retinas. After a moment, he drew himself up to his feet unsteadily, and still keeping his gun trained on Ranborne, approached the fallen man. He had wanted to talk to him, to ask him why. To give Alcander a damn good reason for his betrayal. He wouldn't have accepted money, or pressure. He had to know, dammit. But there was nothing, he knew. He looked down at Ranborne's corpse, and he realized he would never find out.

He holstered his laspistol, and after taking a moment, he withdrew his sleeve to activate his armslate and call in the verispecs. But on the touch screen, he saw a notification. It was what had sent the ping earlier, and he read it. It was a call from bastion command to come in, he was being relocated, to turn on the beacon on his armslate to await transport. Briefly, Alcander wondered if this was another trick by Ranborne, one final play from beyond the grave. But he dismissed the idea, and activated his locator. A small, red flash ticked on and off, and he set himself down by the curb to wait, watching the corpse of his former friend, making sure the rats didn't get to him.

Minutes later, lights flared as a groundcar turned a corner, bumping up and down as it rolled down the street. It pulled up just a meter from Ranborne's body, and Alcander knew it wasn't the verispecs. Whoever this was, they were quick bastards. He couldn't see through the tinted windows, but the car door opened a moment later, and a man he did not recognize stepped out. He wore an expensive jacket, not the cheap-novaplas the merchants and business men of the upperhab tried to pull off as rich. The truly wealthy wore natural fibers, and this man, with his slicked backed brown hair and sharp eyes, had to be from wealth, or work for it.

"Alcander Mires?" He asked. Alcander noticed he ignored the rain, like him. "Come into the vehicle, have a lho-stick. We need to talk."

"I need to wait here until the verispecs arrive. And I don't smoke, I quit a few months ago." Alcander remarked. He felt somewhat jaded, petulant. Ranborne's body was not even cold, and he had so many unanswered questions. He did not care if this man was Sanguinius himself, he was not the least bit interested in what he had to say. "Whatever you want to tell me, you can tell me right here. I'm working."

"I've been told you're no longer on this investigatus, but whatever you wish." He said, straightening his jacket. The rain had somewhat abated, as if it did not mind wetting Alcander or Ranborne's corpse, but it made an exception for one of the gilded. "I am a representative and aide of your new employer. You are to be taken to the nearest gate, and transported to the upper hive, where we have a transport waiting to take us off world. At that time, we wi-"

"Off-world? I fought hard for this station, I'm not going anywhere. And who the hell do you represent?"

"The Lord Captain and Rogue Trader Orthelio Bathazar Belchite, Architect of the Trade, and the Emperor's Chosen servant, guardian of these systems."

Alcander just stared at him, and the two men merely looked at one another for a handful of seconds before the probator rubbed his eyes with two fingers, and stood up, taking in a deep breath. "You said there would be lho-sticks?"

"I thought you quit." The man reminded him.

"I've had a rough day."

My Introduction

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Hello! I saw your profile, what is it like script writing and voice acting for Faerun?

@HeroesCrescent

It's very neat, considering how big of a fan I am! We gotta write in character, which is always fun

My Introduction

Hello everyone,

I would like to start off that I am not the best at roleplaying and have little to no experience. But I saw there are some Writers in this forum so I decided to give it a shot.

I am the Writer of the book, "The Heroes of the Crescent", and would like to get to know some more writers on here, that have something in common like myself.

In my sparetime, I like to engage in movies & acting and screenwriting, because I see there is a connection to storytelling. But instead of just writing it on a book or on a page it actually turns into visual story, that is why there is so much more engagement there to be had. I also do go to school for it too and pursue it.

Either way, it is nice to meet you all and hope we can have a good chat.

@HeroesCrescent

Welcome! Always cool to meet a fellow author!