POOHEAD189

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

Would this be a bad time to ask when we are to start?

Blackguards of The Moonsea

Her words gave him a grin that showed his teeth. He had to admit, despite his uneasiness, he liked her manner. She had a way of thinking that was clever, but deceptively uncouth by surface standards. Likely from her being more used to her own dark speech. Either way, he found it endearing. Then again, he told himself, it would be amusing until he was dead. Another few twists of the lockpick, and he entered her cell. It was dark, and he felt a sense of dread being in the same cell as a drow, but being a wizard was about discipline. "I believe you. Though if you betray me, keep my face intact. It's my best feature." He joked, before bidding her: "Stay still so I can unlock these, just hold tight." The young wizard tried not to stare at her too long.

It was surreal being so close to something he had been told all of his life would curse him and eat his still beating heart. Drow were cursed by Corellon of the elven pantheon, sent into the depths of the underdark to toil under the Spider Queen. Despite his nerves, however, he had to admit she was rather attractive in a terrifying way. Her face was sculpted and her exotic eyes were indigo in hue, not to mention her shapely, lithe form. He pushed both his fear and salacious thoughts away, or at least the latter. His fear returned when she gazed at the ceiling, speaking into the darkness as if it were a pet.

"Mystra's tits!" Malcador cursed when the shadows began to move, almost searching his repertoire of spells to see what could obliterate a spider that size, at least when he realized what it was. However, he stopped when he gathered she spoke to it in such a familiar way. "Gods, you need to tell me if you have a pet spider." He remarked, indignant. He did not want to bungle their deal, however, and knelt beside her, trying to concentrate on the lock until he freed her left hand. At first he was distracted by her in two ways, but now his focus was solely on the spider that watched with six unblinking eyes. The irons popped open, and he completed the circuit on her next hand. Soon, both shackles were unlocked, and he stepped back to grant the dark elf room.

The lockpick was almost broken. Four manacles and two doors had spent it, and he tossed it aside. His cool, collected manner had returned, and the mage inclined his head. "Glad to be of service. I neglected to introduced myself. I am Malcador of Waterdeep."

It wasn't a full introduction, he did not want to grant his true surname yet. But it would suffice for now. Maybe if they survived, he would feel more ready to speak.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

It's true, I began to see double

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

I had been in the company of enough jealous, aristocratic women to know her look and meaning. However, luckily Sel decided to retreat before there was any real issue. Then again, maybe her presence would have kept me in line, because despite my best efforts, I felt Baroness Arsenault looked particularly lovely tonight. She had certainly dressed for the occasion, and if the men flanking her were any sort of relation, they hid their distaste well. I pulled my hat off and inclined my head. "Please excuse Corporal Sel, ours is an oddity of a company. Not many in the guard have mixed sex units, it can be a bit tricky you see. But they handle themselves well so far, by my estimation."

"Yes, very strange." She agreed, but seemed to no longer dwell on it in accordance to her own desires. "But you seem to handle it well, and yourself, for that matter. Oh, you were so heroic on the holo!" I kept my posture strictly in accordance with an officer's step, but she could afford to be more casual, placing a dainty hand on my forearm. She led me into the manor, passing into the long gallery, where baroque paintings and ostentatious ornamentation hung, the tapestries and curtains lined with gold filigree. A bust of a long dead ancestor sat proudly beside a small statue in the likeness of a kneeling Sanguinius, the primarch deep in contemplation. We stepped past an enfilade of rich apartments, and reached a Grand Hall fit for a planetary governor's banquet. A number of white-clad servants went about their business, and the Lady Arsenault gave me small anecdotes of when the last painters and artisans had completed the various neo-romantic academic painting, formed the unique stylized pillars, or installed the latest set of cushioned dining chairs. I adopted a thoughtful pose, or laughed when applicable, and gave witty remarks when called for, slipping back into the role of Count's son like a glove. Eventually, she waved away her aides. The one who shared a modicum of her features gave me a measured look, but said nothing as he departed. The lady guided me out of the Grand Hall and into a small study with a brilliant view of the mountainous valley. The snow flitted past us like angels falling from grace.

"Is that man related to your lineage, by any chance?" I dared ask, glancing back in the direction of the banquet area.

"He is my second cousin, Beauford." She remarked with a hint of indignation. Somehow, the vexation on her face only added to her beauty. "He does his part, but he resents my claiming of my father's fortune. He cannot stand a woman can own the estate and our many holdings. Of course, he does not lack complete honor. When the will was announced, he promised to serve me, but if you ask me, he merely wishes to curry favor so I might place him in the will."

I nodded, and for the first time it was not an act. "Most don't appreciate a woman's worth. I'm glad to be serving in a unit that does." I said, and slid out of her grasp to gaze out of the window, all white and black. I was about to make the segue of needing to return to the men, but she struck first.

"My lord, I am reminded of my earlier thoughts," She said, approaching to gaze with me, a dramatic look to her classical visage. Lips pursed, she said, "Even if it serves its purpose, it must be difficult with so many men and women together. I imagine fraternization is looked down upon. You would not, of course. You're a man of iron will." She flattered me, and I hate to admit I felt my breast swell. "The scandal alone would be a mark on your promising career."

"Luckily, I have no attraction to those of the ranks." I said, lying through my teeth. "It simply would not do, even if I were to break our unspoken rules. I am of house Caladwarden."

My lies and my pride, as in most tales, became my downfall. She hid her smile well, instead espousing a coy, demure look. "Of course, you have more refined tastes..." She remarked huskily, and before I realized her vanguard action, the swell of her full bosom pressed against my arm. I felt both dread and a thrill pass through my body, and I glanced behind me quickly, in fear of prying eyes. "I imagine a man in your position must find it arduous to be without equal company. Without succor, without release."

I felt a scream rip through my mind, telling myself to back away, to give some modest platitude and resume looking out the window. I almost wished for the bolt of a longlas to rip through the window and strike my leg. However, despite the obvious ploy and her banal words, they still rang true. None of my intellectual reasoning could penetrate the wall my body had erected between my mind and my desires, and as if our lips had been infused by gravity, we leaned forward to kiss.

Until the manor shook like it was struck by an Astartes Thunder Hammer. The Baroness squealed in surprise and horror, and I kept both of us steady with my arms. Outside the window, there was a flash of light to the north, and took her hand and let the lady to the Grand Hall, ordering the servants to protect her as I left the room, sprinting outside. It was not the time for it, but as I ran, I was not worried about an impending attack. I was scolding myself for nearly getting involved with the damn woman! Once outside, I was hot enough to not notice the sudden chill at first, but gradually I came to realize the void shields had been destroyed. The next few minutes were followed by a flurry of activity as I ordered men and women to take positions and keep steady as I sent Sel and a small squad to check the damage. So far nothing else had deigned to attack. Perhaps it was a simple malfunction, but I waited for Sel and the rest to report back.

"Crispin, swing two squads left of the far wall to guard the flank! Brodlock, keep your squad to the right, near the vehicles! Elara, sit tight and keep the guns up. I need eyes on the road!"

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

Prince of Rats

The Prince of Rats
The Prince of Rats

^{"Keep your powder wet and your cock dry. Wait, no-"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Neil Bartholemew Edwards _________________________________________________________ 24 | Let's not get into it. _________________________________________________________ Freebooters | Albion N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Gunnery Neil knows how to maintain, aim, and fire a cannon. He can handle the creation and distribution of armaments. ◼ Back Alley Experience Neil knows how to find people and things other's shouldn't. He knows how to speak to smugglers, murderers, and pirates and finagle information or unscrupulous dealings. ◼ Courage Neil has very little self preservation. He believes he is protected by something, and even when that feeling wavers, what's life without a little risk? - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Backsword Half basket-hilt, consisting of four longitudinal knuckle-guards extending from the bun shaped pommel, complete with extended tang button. The spaces between the guards are filled by large S shaped brass wiring. The grip is covered in fish-skin and secured with the twisted brass wire. The blade it double fullered, cut and thrust with a false edge at the tip. ◼ Brace O' Pistols Twin Vallé D'Or officer's pistols, each round barreled with narrow top rib & moulded breech, bevelled edge stepped ‘Banana’ lockplate with bevelled pan, swan necked cock. Walnut full stock moulded around the barrel tang, lock & ramrod channel. Steel mounts comprising foliate sideplate, escutcheon, long spurred pommel with domed butt cap, trigger guard with cone shaped finial, turned baluster ramrod pipes, later horn tipped wooden ramrod. ◼ Rope and Hook No good thief is without fifty feet of rope and a good hook to use. Neil found it's solid to have in boarding actions and sieges as well. ◼ Seal of Anderton An amulet of immeasurable worth. His lost love gave it to him to remember her by. Neil didn't know what it was, but when he found out, no wonder her father was pissed... - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Pistolier Neil is an exceptional shot, with both pistols and rifles. However, he's far more used to pistols. ◼ Sailing He's been sailing for long enough to know which rope is what, who should be where, and how to get through a squall. ◼ Bladesman Neil is gifted with a long knife, though his swordsmanship is nothing to celebrate. He can handle himself well enough, but if he faces a proper duelist, he'll have to fight dirty. Luckily... ◼ Dirty Fighting & Fisticuffs Neil is fair in a scrap, and he's good at utilizing his wit and environment to his advantage. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Charm He pisses off a lot of people from his escapades, but he wins over more with his easy smile and his casual, devil-may-care demeanor. It also helps he's got a large- ◼ Alacrity Neil is quick, nimble, and a capable climber. He's not a trained acrobat, however he's hard to knock off his feet or trip up. His fingers are as dexterous as the rest of him, to the detriment of full pockets and the delight of busty women. ◼ Toughness Neil has received more beatings than all the hanging carpets of Albion. He can give some licks, and ignore those he gets (for the most part). -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ The only son of John and Mary Elizabeth Edwards, the reigning cobblers of Salt Street in the trade quarter of West Hampborough. He grew up with sisters, two older, one younger. Neil had always been expected to carry on the family business, toiling to earn an honest living. Work hard, keep your head about you, and never forget where you came from. He was quick, loved swimming, but he was short for his age. The other boys, the smaller gangs that ran the streets, called him bilge rat. He quickly got a chip on his shoulder. He went where others couldn't, stole from those others wouldn't, and was beaten more than his fair share of times. The older boys had their licks, but even the peelers kicked him around a bit. But he was a tough boy. He began to embarrass the family, but got a reputation for nimble work and an unshakeable courage. The beaks, the cacklers, the bawlers, the divers, they began to talk. Even the academy girls gave him attention, though he didn't realize he was a bit too young for those affections. Despite this, he worked hard for his family, when he wasn't muckin' about. They knew he cared for them. His late growth spurt was welcome to the local girls, but he was still lithe and agile, with a good aim. First with rocks, then with pistols. 'Barking Irons' they called it in Albion. He'd first handled a few after he'd met his first, bonified pirate. They hung around Allpenny Bumper, a riverside alehouse that catered to sailors and bargemen. Neil had never led a gang, but his reputation as a wildcard had blossomed right when his parents were losing their fortunes in the business. War and famine had begun to effect the populace, and Neil had taken to more unsavory work to keep his family afloat. His oldest sister was getting married soon, to boot. After a nasty barge theft, a few of the pirates had grown wise to Neil's operation. They started inviting him into their circles, drinking with them. At night they would take him out on the river and let him handle the pistols and swords. He was taught a few basic moves at his request, and he practiced pistols with them, shooting empty bottles out of the air, just over the brackish water. In exchange, he ran a few odd jobs for them on land, became a courier for their contacts. One night he was followed, a man pulled a knife. Neil had to defend himself. It was the first man he ever killed. Soon word reached his family. Not the killing, though they suspected. But his choice of friends. John Edwards confronted him, told him to knock off this business with his street activities. His mother's heart was breaking. Neil was given two options. Follow them to the countryside to find better opportunities, or join up with the Navy. Neil decided to take the king's honest schilling. Aye, that was much safer work. Half a year later, with basic training and drill down, he went off as a midshipmen on the privateer sloop The Queen's Business. He'd never been more exhilarated, even during the down times. He found action a handful of times during the latter half of the infamous 4 year war, Albion's rising navy battling Castille and Vallé D'Or for rights to the Silver Stream searoute. He did not rise to Lieutenant, he'd disobeyed too often for that, but he was raised to Gunner for valor. Wounded after his third battle, he spent the last two months of the war on the mend, and was discharged along with the rest of the crew. They re-positioned themselves as merchantmen, and Neil kept at sea for another year until he arrived as Medicia. He'd picked up a few words from serving alongside some Medicians on his jaunt as a merchant sailor, and his contract was just about up. He'd had enough of sea life for a bit. Three years with no more than two dozen days on land, if that. He needed a vacation, and let his contract go. He began to bet his earnings, growing more accustomed to the lingo and learning the tells and tricks of the local divers. He found himself befriending a barman, an Inigo Almaste, who gave him some clues on some rumrunning and smuggling. He had just dipped his toes in that life again when he was swept up by a siren out of song. He'd never seen a woman like Camille of Anderton, and their tempestuous lovematch was as bright and titillating as cannonfire. But then she was snatched before his very eyes, and she confessed she was the princess of one of the petty kingdoms that made up Medicia. He'll never forget it, it was the first time they had professed their love, when the guards dragged them away. Neil was sent to the clinker, but he had all his buttons on. He broke out in a day, and found out from Inigo she was to be wed in a week. He spent his money on two swords, and bartered his way onto galleon bound for the New World. The day of the wedding was bright, and Neil sequestered himself in one of the closets the night before to get passed the guards, and slipped into the crowd once the festivities started. Before the vows, he tossed aside his cloak and threw Camille a blade, unsheathing his own backsword. Together they told the lord to stick it where the sun didn't shine and fought their way out of there, rushing to the docks, hand in hand. But Theus had other plans, and as Neil leaped aboard, Camille was taken out of his hands by the dockyard watchmen. She told him to go, or he would be killed. He didn't care, but the look in her eyes stopped him dead. He vowed he would come back, after finding his fortune. He would come back, not as a lone thief, but a captain. He would come back, he swore, and bloody take her back. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Neil wants the power to free his woman from her evil father and husband-to-be. He wants a fast ship and the men to follow him.

---

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

Prince of Rats

The Prince of Rats
The Prince of Rats

^{"Keep your powder wet and your cock dry. Wait, no-"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Neil Bartholemew Edwards _________________________________________________________ 24 | Let's not get into it. _________________________________________________________ Freebooters | Albion N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Gunnery Neil knows how to maintain, aim, and fire a cannon. He can handle the creation and distribution of armaments. ◼ Back Alley Experience Neil knows how to find people and things other's shouldn't. He knows how to speak to smugglers, murderers, and pirates and finagle information or unscrupulous dealings. ◼ Courage Neil has very little self preservation. He believes he is protected by something, and even when that feeling wavers, what's life without a little risk? - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Backsword Half basket-hilt, consisting of four longitudinal knuckle-guards extending from the bun shaped pommel, complete with extended tang button. The spaces between the guards are filled by large S shaped brass wiring. The grip is covered in fish-skin and secured with the twisted brass wire. The blade it double fullered, cut and thrust with a false edge at the tip. ◼ Brace O' Pistols Twin Vallé D'Or officer's pistols, each round barreled with narrow top rib & moulded breech, bevelled edge stepped ‘Banana’ lockplate with bevelled pan, swan necked cock. Walnut full stock moulded around the barrel tang, lock & ramrod channel. Steel mounts comprising foliate sideplate, escutcheon, long spurred pommel with domed butt cap, trigger guard with cone shaped finial, turned baluster ramrod pipes, later horn tipped wooden ramrod. ◼ Rope and Hook No good thief is without fifty feet of rope and a good hook to use. Neil found it's solid to have in boarding actions and sieges as well. ◼ Seal of Anderton An amulet of immeasurable worth. His lost love gave it to him to remember her by. Neil didn't know what it was, but when he found out, no wonder her father was pissed... - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Pistolier Neil is an exceptional shot, with both pistols and rifles. However, he's far more used to pistols. ◼ Sailing He's been sailing for long enough to know which rope is what, who should be where, and how to get through a squall. ◼ Bladesman Neil is gifted with a long knife, though his swordsmanship is nothing to celebrate. He can handle himself well enough, but if he faces a proper duelist, he'll have to fight dirty. Luckily... ◼ Dirty Fighting & Fisticuffs Neil is fair in a scrap, and he's good at utilizing his wit and environment to his advantage. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Charm He pisses off a lot of people from his escapades, but he wins over more with his easy smile and his casual, devil-may-care demeanor. It also helps he's got a large- ◼ Alacrity Neil is quick, nimble, and a capable climber. He's not a trained acrobat, however he's hard to knock off his feet or trip up. His fingers are as dexterous as the rest of him, to the detriment of full pockets and the delight of busty women. ◼ Toughness Neil has received more beatings than all the hanging carpets of Albion. He can give some licks, and ignore those he gets (for the most part). -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ The only son of John and Mary Elizabeth Edwards, the reigning cobblers of Salt Street in the trade quarter of West Hampborough. He grew up with sisters, two older, one younger. Neil had always been expected to carry on the family business, toiling to earn an honest living. Work hard, keep your head about you, and never forget where you came from. He was quick, loved swimming, but he was short for his age. The other boys, the smaller gangs that ran the streets, called him bilge rat. He quickly got a chip on his shoulder. He went where others couldn't, stole from those others wouldn't, and was beaten more than his fair share of times. The older boys had their licks, but even the peelers kicked him around a bit. But he was a tough boy. He began to embarrass the family, but got a reputation for nimble work and an unshakeable courage. The beaks, the cacklers, the bawlers, the divers, they began to talk. Even the academy girls gave him attention, though he didn't realize he was a bit too young for those affections. Despite this, he worked hard for his family, when he wasn't muckin' about. They knew he cared for them. His late growth spurt was welcome to the local girls, but he was still lithe and agile, with a good aim. First with rocks, then with pistols. 'Barking Irons' they called it in Albion. He'd first handled a few after he'd met his first, bonified pirate. They hung around Allpenny Bumper, a riverside alehouse that catered to sailors and bargemen. Neil had never led a gang, but his reputation as a wildcard had blossomed right when his parents were losing their fortunes in the business. War and famine had begun to effect the populace, and Neil had taken to more unsavory work to keep his family afloat. His oldest sister was getting married soon, to boot. After a nasty barge theft, a few of the pirates had grown wise to Neil's operation. They started inviting him into their circles, drinking with them. At night they would take him out on the river and let him handle the pistols and swords. He was taught a few basic moves at his request, and he practiced pistols with them, shooting empty bottles out of the air, just over the brackish water. In exchange, he ran a few odd jobs for them on land, became a courier for their contacts. One night he was followed, a man pulled a knife. Neil had to defend himself. It was the first man he ever killed. Soon word reached his family. Not the killing, though they suspected. But his choice of friends. John Edwards confronted him, told him to knock off this business with his street activities. His mother's heart was breaking. Neil was given two options. Follow them to the countryside to find better opportunities, or join up with the Navy. Neil decided to take the king's honest schilling. Aye, that was much safer work. Half a year later, with basic training and drill down, he went off as a midshipmen on the privateer sloop The Queen's Business. He'd never been more exhilarated, even during the down times. He found action a handful of times during the latter half of the infamous 4 year war, Albion's rising navy battling Castille and Vallé D'Or for rights to the Silver Stream searoute. He did not rise to Lieutenant, he'd disobeyed too often for that, but he was raised to Gunner for valor. Wounded after his third battle, he spent the last two months of the war on the mend, and was discharged along with the rest of the crew. They re-positioned themselves as merchantmen, and Neil kept at sea for another year until he arrived as Medicia. He'd picked up a few words from serving alongside some Medicians on his jaunt as a merchant sailor, and his contract was just about up. He'd had enough of sea life for a bit. Three years with no more than two dozen days on land, if that. He needed a vacation, and let his contract go. He began to bet his earnings, growing more accustomed to the lingo and learning the tells and tricks of the local divers. He found himself befriending a barman, an Inigo Almaste, who gave him some clues on some rumrunning and smuggling. He had just dipped his toes in that life again when he was swept up by a siren out of song. He'd never seen a woman like Camille of Anderton, and their tempestuous lovematch was as bright and titillating as cannonfire. But then she was snatched before his very eyes, and she confessed she was the princess of one of the petty kingdoms that made up Medicia. He'll never forget it, it was the first time they had professed their love, when the guards dragged them away. Neil was sent to the clinker, but he had all his buttons on. He broke out in a day, and found out from Inigo she was to be wed in a week. He spent his money on two swords, and bartered his way onto galleon bound for the New World. The day of the wedding was bright, and Neil sequestered himself in one of the closets the night before to get passed the guards, and slipped into the crowd once the festivities started. Before the vows, he tossed aside his cloak and threw Camille a blade, unsheathing his own backsword. Together they told the lord to stick it where the sun didn't shine and fought their way out of there, rushing to the docks, hand in hand. But Theus had other plans, and as Neil leaped aboard, Camille was taken out of his hands by the dockyard watchmen. She told him to go, or he would be killed. He didn't care, but the look in her eyes stopped him dead. He vowed he would come back, after finding his fortune. He would come back, not as a lone thief, but a captain. He would come back, he swore, and bloody take her back. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Neil wants the power to free his woman from her evil father and husband-to-be. He wants a fast ship and the men to follow him.

---

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

@AndyC Is there a place to differentiate names and aliases?

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

I'll have a CS up by tomorrow, cap'n

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

Doctor Knave Mister Knight

Name: Rupert Henry/Sir Aldus Grey

Character Concept: Knave Knight

Physical Description: A spin of yarn, a bit of grime, a man out of time. A pinch of charm, a penchant to rhyme, a skulking shift in the paradigm.

Rupert is unscrupulous, disheveled, and half the time unbathed. He sports a coat fit for a victorian and a hat that hides his indigo eyes. His face is symmetrical, albiet his nose is still crooked from a back alley scuffle in his early years. His hair is brown and as thick as wheat, and his skin had an almost pallid grey coloring to it. He has the distinct look of someone with a dangerous secret, with the air of a dealer of money, and a smile of someone not afraid to die.

In fact, he might welcome it.

General Background: Rupert Henry was born in 1809. An orphan, a street urchin. He made a home for himself in the backslums, working petty crimes and growing up without guidance beyond a friendly scholar who taught him a few educational anecdotes and ways to speak properly. One day, when Rupert was an adult, he went back to visit the old scholar, to find he had disappeared. The only thing left in the vacated estate, the only thing in the entirety of the cleared out structure, was a crucifix necklace, set on a dias.

He pocketed it, more to sell it than remember the old man, but eventually he did find himself putting it on his neck.

The necklace disappeared into a trillion golden sparks, and the mark of the cross was on his chest. Now, he has a voice in his head. The voice of the scholar, who, through an incessant amount of questioning, revealed himself to be Aldus Grey, Lord Captain of the Ordo Draconis, the Order of the Dragon.

Rupert is now bound, as Aldus is, to the Oaths of the Order and to finding the Seven Heads of the Beast, which are seven evil dragons. Three have been slain, in two hundred years. In that time, Rupert cannot steal, or he would feel the sting of a thousand needles in his eyes, he cannot lie, or be struck by lightning, and he cannot steal, or feel the sensation of being boiled alive. He has had to skirt the lines, do what he can to survive, while adhering to these draconian rules of life.

Powers:
Aldus's Arms & Armor: To cry "Arma Invicta" summons forth a suit of magical plate armor, along with a crucifix longsword able to harm otherworldly beasts. The armor was made in the fires of the last goodly dragon, Dómgreind. It can withstand small arms fire, and is resistant (but not immune) to magical attacks.

Skills of Practice: A two hundred year old young man, living with the knowledge and unsolicited advice of a six hundred year old knight.

Skullduggery: Rupert might be bound by oaths, but he knows how to bypass them in certain ways, and knows his way around a back alley.

Longevity: Rupert can die, if his head if removed or if he is drowned for an extended period of time. However, it is exceedingly difficult to kill him, and he can live indefinitely until the task of the order is complete.

Fear: Rupert fears being stuck in these oaths for eternity. He initially fears dying for this mission he had no stake in, but is beginning to think death might be a release. He fears not being able to truly live. Aldus, however, fears dying without fulfilling his oath.

Desire: Rupert wishes to be separated from Aldus, and allowed to live freely, or die to end it.

Tyrants of Illiac Bay

The next morning was sunny and idyllic, much like it had been the past week. Amal remembered waking up to the sound of rain, but it had retreated like a thief before they woke up. The two had splint the earnings accordingly, and had made a fine reward for their work by Amal's reckoning, even before they cashed in the bounties. Lucrative, would be the imperial word for it. The bandit called it a fine night.

Delphine had not deigned to ask about him, and so he did not speak on it. It was for the best. She likely knew she wouldn't like the answer, and he was wise enough not to bring it up. A thief was one thing, a bandit prone to violence was another. Still, he was surprised at how savvy she seemed to be, yet how trusting she was he would not stab her in the back. The rogue theorized she was desperate enough to trust anyone, and as much as he took advantage of people, he felt it was too much for him to do so here. Plus, admittedly he fancied her, at least as much as he could after one job.

"The thieves guild does have blind spots." He nonchalantly added as they trekked through the woods, back to Koegria and their just reward. Red berries, yellow roses, and rootbulbs infested the forest path, Delphine picking them gingerly and going on small, educational tangents, spicing them with witty anecdotes of potion making that had Amal actually remembering the names of the various plants. Though she pointedly went quiet when Amal began speaking on her debts. They both had their specialties, he thought wryly. "It's operated by cels, ones that have very little to do with one another. It takes a little time for those looking for you to find you if you happen to leave the city, at least when you're not being followed or... escorted." He gave a devilish smile as if to suggest he might be a member, there merely to keep an eye on her.

"Oh yes, I'm certain I've got my own handler and everything." She quipped, laughing. "Nice disguise, by the way. A dashing hammerfell bandit with a panache for dropping pies? Nefariously concocted. Maybe I should pay you my earnings now and consider my debts paid?"

"If you did that, I might almost forget the charming part." Amal replied. The bandit was surprised at how easy it was to speak to her. Usually women were flummoxed by his manner. They made their way down a sloping hill, stepping over the grasping roots. Amal nearly stumbled, carrying the brunt of the loot and being unused to forests, despite his footwork and agility. Delphine helped him with a looped arm, giggling at his uncharacteristic misfortune. They broke the tree line in a playful manner, only for the mirth to turn to ash, Delphine gasping when she saw the sundered west wall of Koegria. Even Amal was taken aback, and he was no stranger to destruction.

A multitude of smoke pillars rose amongst the half ruined town. Apartments and businesses stood next to homes and shops that had been burned or reduced to rubble by assumedly magical means. It looked all the more off putting by the smiling sun and the soft warmth that kissed the pair's skin. Amal watched as the arm of the Dibella statue suddenly lost its integrity, as if waiting for his eyes to watch the appendage shatter upon the ground. Immediately he knew it could not have been a military force or a rival lord. He heard no occupation, nor saw any picket lines or scouts. Most of the town was still whole, despite the damage. On the bluff overlooking the walls, the lone oak tree had burned to a crisp. Its emaciated form stark and black against the blue sky.

"Stendarr's mercy..." Delphine breathed, looking to Amal. He placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded, reassuring her. Together, they made for the archway, the roughly hewd street untouched save for a dead horse, its stomach cut open. The brambleberries and bushes flanking the road ruffled, stained with crimson. Beyond the aesthetic damage and the steed, a lone figure sat beside the wall in the fetal position, clutching its knees. Delphine and Amal shared a look, and Amal approached carefully, stepping past the stinking corpse of the freshly killed horse and kneeling beside what he now recognized as a dark elf.

"What happened, friend?" He asked, using the term to built some rapport with the fellow.

The figure raised its head, bags under his eyes. His white shock of hair disheveled, and a scar on his cheek. Amal felt he recognized him from the other day, but he couldn't be sure. "Dun... Dunmer Slavers," he said slowly. "None I know. I don't know them... I would not do this."