POOHEAD189

Blackguards of The Moonsea

Mal had no problem stealing either, other than the incarceration that could follow. He was glad she at least knew an assassin was not typically smiled on by normal folk, though there was no shortage of men in need of a good blade for hire.

The handsome wizard pursed his lips and shrugged. He supposed she was right, they could go after a few bandits. But they would be difficult to find and likely difficult to kill, especially if he doesn't have a spellbook. Then again, they might have a bandit wizard with one he could requisition for himself...but that also complicated things. Malcador would rather not be turned to stone or hit with a fireball. But, he supposed if they ran into them, it couldn't be helped. Admittedly he would kill for a proper bed and some food. Bandits might have those too, even if they were in a cave.

He stroked his fine chin, contemplating her suggestions, before she turned back around and mentioned murdering the family, and he looked at her for a long moment.

"...Let's not do that." He told her, as if he had been on the fence about it.

Before Serphia had a chance to debate the topic, the most unlikely thing on Toril happened. The two of them heard a distant noise, a deeper reverberating noise that shook the very ground. It was followed by a myriad of screeches and wailing calls that sent a shiver up Malcador's spine. Arloke peeked out from Serphia's pack, his multitude of eyes as confused as Malcador felt. He was still not used to the drow and her pet, but they were at least familiar. Gods be good, what in the nine hells could those sounds that be now? He shared a look with Serphia, and the two of them kept from the door and went for the ladders leading up to the second story of the barn. They climbed up quickly, and knelt beside the openings all barns had to ventilate air.

"Mystra curse me," He muttered, as the two of them beheld utter pandemonium. Across the field, they saw men, women, and children running out of houses and sprinting for their lives as black armored figures and devils, (they had to be devils!) chased them with wings, claws, and whips of serrated steel. Malcador watched a man was pounced on and ripped apart by two spiked devils just as a family was rounded up and put to the sword by faceless men in black brigandines. A kilometer to the left, there was an explosion of coruscating colors, and Malcador could tell a spellcaster was defending himself. A handful of armored cavalrymen rode out of the tables, lances and swords at the ready. They were defenders of the town, peeling off to chase different monsters and groups of men, but they were far too few.

There had to be two hundred of the black armored men, and maybe a hundred devils. The townsfolk outnumbered them, but the sheer surprise and the lack of armaments with the average citizen likely spelled their doom. Even if Malcador had his spellbook and all fully prepared spells, he doubt he could turn the tide himself.

"We need to help them or..." He stopped, wondering what they could do. He shook his head, knowing Serphia was not likely going to risk her neck for the townsfolk. He was hesitant to as well, he had to be honest. "This is our chance, if we can kill a few of those attackers, we can loot them and take their equipment. I might can find a spellbook." He hoped his reasoning would be seen as sound to her. "Feel up for a quick fight?"

Without her, he'd be killed immediately without his magic.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

Rupert regarded them curiously, seemingly unconcerned with the weapons aimed his way. Though he evidently had the good sense to raise his hands to show he was unarmed and complying. The Beak's Men were always a nuisance, two hundred years ago up to the new millennium. These ones thought they knew something others didn't, even beyond the norm. Blood useless, Rupert thought.

"Thanks for giving me a chance. Guess I'll dance." He replied, inclining his head and stepping back to indicate he was leaving. Of course, he meant the other colloquial meaning for dance, and as the two Precinct officers began to relax, a light beamed down from the heavens, hitting Rupert as if the illumination had a physical weight to it. The police cursed and open fired. Kelley Ashler winced, shielding her eyes from the light and bullets.

Out of the fading maelstrom of light erupted an armored form, charging the officers like a bullet train. The figure, clad in mythic steel, weathered the two shots that rang out before he reached their position with no sign of injury. He punched the leading officer in the face, crushing his skull, blood and bone pouring from ruined visage. He yanked his fist out, placed his bloodied hand on the barrel of the other man's gun, and when he fired, the round ripped through his pistol and cut into his arm. The policeman screamed in pain and horror, but the armored figure shoved his hand through the man's chest, his scream turning into a quiet gurgle. Teetering, it took a few moments of panic before his body finally shut down, and he fell into a heap on the asphalt.

"They died without a fight. A dirty business, but it had to be done." A voice said, sonorous and ancient. It echoed, as if from a great distance. The night was now quiet, again, the wind the only sound to carry over the streets.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever old man. Get back to your ghostly realm." Rupert's voice remarked with a bored inflection. The armor began to dissipate into nothingness, as if some immense heat had turned it to mist, and Rupert turned around, slapping his notched hat with his hand to get a small collection of particles out of it. He cleared his throat and placed it back on his head, but his telltale grin was gone. More trouble than he intended, and with a target he was not after.

He looked at the Winter Knight speculatively. "I guess we're caught in your mess. I hope it's worth more than less." He said. "So where do we take you?"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I set the throttle and ran my hands over the activation runes along the speeder. The promethium fueled vehicle roared to life and audibly lifted off the ground. Emmaline-with-false-modesty squeaked, but then fixed her hair and professed it was nothing. I pushed the level for thrust and she cried out as she was nearly set careening into the backseat, but with a will she kept herself seated as if she controlled gravity. It seemed Emmaline was getting more used to the mind-scape, though I was afraid it was almost too late. As we streaked up the wooded mountain, snow and crags dotting the landscape between the immense collection of pines, I found myself wondering if there was even a train up ahead.

Past a break in the trees, another speeding skidded into view from the left. Faceless mercs from Demick's memory held on as they aimed their submachine guns, the vehicle sliding closer to get a better shot at them. Emmaline was about to open fire with a lascarbine of her own, before there was a flash, and a deafening BOOM, and the merc's speeder was torn asunder. The mercs that had not died on impact flailed for dear life as they were shot out of the vehicle over a hundred kilometers per hour. Behind me, a fascimile of Lazarus hefted his Transuranic Arquebus and gave a nod my way.

Suddenly a large boulder rose up before us. I banked hard, the vehicle screeching in protest before I eased it back and redirected it to the tracks again. Above us, the sky was beginning to shimmer and blink, black to red in a coruscating horror show. Even the hills were beginning to undulate gently, as if reality itself was unraveling. The roaring wind was cut by a stormtalen helivehicle rotor blades, veering over them like a bird of prey adjusting its flight pattern so it could better swoop in for the kill. Stubber rounds knocked up snow and debris around us, and two hit the speeder, emperor protect with only cosmetic damage. Without warning, lighting engulfed the stormtalon, and smoke erupted from its body as it tumbled out of sight as quickly as it had come. I looked to my right, and above Emmaline-with-false-modesty was another Emmaline, robes of white and blue and holding her force staff, frost coating her golden hair.

Emmaline-with-false-modesty turned to look at me, and her outfit blinked to a deceptively conservative satin dress with a cleavage window and a slit showing a shapely leg, her hair long and straight, obscuring one eye in a classically sensual fashion. "Even in my mind, you imagine me?" She asked, clearly touched and preparing to show her appreciation physically. "I mean, of course you would. But still..."

"EMMA! CONCENTRATE!" I roared, spinning the steering on the speeder before we struck the opposite treeline, dirt and snow spewing out behind us. Luckily, that turn brought us in eyesight of the locomotive. To our left and right, trees began to whither and die as if both moisture and time was being sucked out of them. I slammed on the throttle, speeding up to outrun the collapsing mind. My glance told me Emmaline still wore her dress, but she also had a jump pack and a helmet on. A vox unit that had not been in my ear a moment before cackled with static.

"Keep her steady! Let go on my mark!" She told me. I sincerely hoped she knew what she was doing, setting the speeder on autopilot and unfastening myself. I placed my hand on the windshield and set my foot on the dash as we drew closer to the tail end of the train. Emmaline grabbed my hand, and I took hers and gripped tightly.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Updates will be coming by Wednesday. Depending on the player's preferences, I can provide NPC posts or PM them bullet-points if they want to write it themselves.

@AndyC

we still good?

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Fetzen Is Balthazar doing anymore than firing the weapon? The post had a lot of thoughts of his but it was kinda hard to follow

Tyrants of Illiac Bay

"When the oblivion gates opened, one ended up bursting forth in the very center of Skaven. I was a young boy, but old enough to remember. I was orphaned after that, and learned to steal and eventually..." He tried to find a kinder word for it. "...kill people, and I ended up in a bandit group a few years ago. We called ourselves the red talons, or Rahid did, but he always had ideas too big for his ability. Anyway, his second, Behoon, ended up betraying us to a lord whom we recently robbed. He lured my fellows and I into a trap. They all lost their heads, but I escaped, beat Behoon to death with their heads, and then left all the remains on the mat of the lord's bedroom."

He almost took a drink, but realized that would indicate he was lying or not answering in a satisfactory manner. He would wait, the night was still young. He saw her looking at him, and he shrugged. Despite the horror, he was charming about it. "I... well, I did not wish to lie. Anyway, I was tired of being chased and wanted to start something new, and so I headed north. I didn't have the coin to go by ship, and they also have those pesky lists. So I've just been traveling for half a year, until I made it here. Lucky for you too. Not often you get a handsome thief with skills like mine and he's looking for a partner."

"Now, let me ask you a probing question..." He said, pondering for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling. "What is your greatest desire?" He smiled. "No, I'm not flirting with you. Not yet, anyway."

---

Marcel Gross tossed a chair, the item noisily clanking against the wooden floor. He ran a hand over his sweaty forehead and sighed, vainly trying to calm himself down. The clearing of the mine was a good thing, he had to remind himself. But it had been a kick in the teeth when that bouncy girl and the redguard walked in and collected the money right after the town had been ransacked. It's one step forward after four steps back. He needed that money more than ever, but a deal was a deal, and he had to hand it over. Grabbing his pint, he set back down at his desk with an audible grunt, organizing his paperwork so he knew where he was next going to conduct the relief efforts when the front door opened.

A man wearing a black cloak stepped in, a nondescript short brimmed hat hiding his face. It was difficult to say if he was nord or imperial, or even breton.

"What do you want?" The Alderman asked testily, hardly looking up from his desk.

"Heard about the attack. Wanted to know if there was something I could do about anything else." The faceless man said. "Word has it the mine is infested with goblins. The lads and I can help with that, maybe."

Marcel groaned. "No, someone already got that today. Two of them." He flipped a page so violently it flew out of his pudgy hand.

"Just two of them? Interesting. And where are they?" The stranger inquired.

"No idea. Thanks for the offer, but that's all I got for you. Unless you want to find the slaver bastard." Marcel remarked, but the man was already gone.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Penny I was deliberating, I didn't say I WOULD leave her!

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

*Should I Stay or Should I Go plays in the BG*

Blackguards of The Moonsea

The previous night had been an experience. Malcador had to endure eating only slightly cooked squirrel, while Serphia and he spoke about their plans for the next day and supped what little water they had gathered from the last river they had happened upon. They had no money, no prospects, and it was only a matter of time before the riders of Thentia showed up in Thenton to question the townsfolk about two escapees. A dark elf, who was easy to spot, and an incredibly handsome magician, who might also not be extremely forgettable. Not to mention the bulbous giant spider trailing them.

They needed to keep heading east, potentially to Hulburg. Malcador had never been there, but it was close enough to reach on foot and far away enough to be out of Thentia's sphere of influence. He doubted Serphia had been there, either. Truth be told, wherever they went, she would bring trouble by nothing else but her heritage, and if people found out she was an assassin, it would certainly not help an already delicate matter. However, Malcador was stupidly going to stick with her for awhile.

The outfit he now wore was a simple one. Baggy, worksman's trousers and a white linen shirt, tied snug at his waist with a sash belt. Sephia had received similar garb, albeit not exactly the same. Malcador had fixed his hair best he could, but he was still fairly unkempt. At least they had slept well, considering it was on hay. Malcador had been so tired he had slept until an hour after sunrise, and his body still ached. He was not built for running all day, and while it replenished a small bit of his magical strength back, he still required a spellbook to do anything complicated. He wasn't a sorcerer that could just will his way into power, he was a wizard. It required study and preparation, and he was without much of either, and no real collection of spell components.

He drew a course map of the northern coast of the moonsea in the dirt with his finger. "We could travel on the east road, but someone might spot us, and you would need to keep your face swathed in some form of cloth. We could head north for a brief spell, and travel in the back country. It might be safer, even considering how close Thar is." He shook his head. There were multiple options, but none of them great. "I'm not sure how adverse you are to stealing, but we might need to continue that until we can procure some more coins and find a reasonable mode of employ. I would suggest we hire ourselves as guards on a caravan, but considering our lack of armor or weapons or credentials, I doubt anyone would accept us. They'd sooner send us straight back into Thentia Prison."

It looked somewhat bleak, to him, but chances were Seprhia was far older than he, and was likely used to traveling places without being seen. With Arloke scouting, they might have to endure the woods for another few days longer.

"What do you think, Serphia?"

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

@AndyC When do you update us? I assume eventually we don't just write all of it ourselves (hope this doesn't sound rude)