POOHEAD189

Blackguards of The Moonsea

Malcador crouched behind a collection of ferns as the townsfolk either ran or led a desperate defense against the onslaught. Winged shapes flew over as cutthroats in black killed men, women, and children alike. To the wizard's satisfaction, he did see a number of them dead, even the winged fiends. While he doubted the townsfolk of Thenton to hold them back, the people of the moonsea weren't unaccustomed to harship and knew how to defend themselves from incursions from Thar.

An opening!

He sprinted across the street while a heavy cavarlyman was busying a trio of swordsmen with his lance, and there seemed to be no overhead fliers at that moment. With his long legs, he crashed into the next house, opening the front door swiftly and abruptly closing it. As he spun to the foyer, he saw a macabre scene. A haggard mage, using fel energies, was drawing the blood out of the slaughtered family. It made Malcador's skin crawl. Blood magic was banned from being practiced except under the strictest circumstances, even in the Hosttower of the Arcane. Only adepts and above could do so, and always with supervision.

Immediately the bloodmage spun towards Malcador, the siphoning blood splattering onto the floor. Mal got on the balls of his feet,, reaching for a small bust on the foyer table as the bloodmage began to chant. As the incantation increased in volume, Malcador realized he recognized the spell. He waited as the mage raised their hand to him, and with the reflexes of a thief and the knowledge of what was going to happen next, he threw the bust at the bloodmage. His eldritch lightning hit the copper statue and burst it, copper shrapnel flying everywhere. It tore into the bloodmage's chest, but Malcador tackled him before he could even buckle, and the two went to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The mage felt like a sack of meat slapping onto the ground, having lost control of his limbs from the evisceration of the copper fragments.

Malcador's face was scratched, but he got the better of the weakening bloodmage and slammed his head into the hard floor, knocking him out cold or killing him outright. He was not sure, but he really couldn't care less. What he did care about was the book that was sprawled open, having fallen out of the mage's limp hand.

Well, it wasn't his spellbook, and it would take some time to work through it and learn the spells, but it was better than having nothing. He rifled through the sorcerer's robe as the blood began to spread, taking a number of silver and gold pieces and a clawed amulent of some kind. He would figure on it later. He grabbed the book and went into the other room, hoping to find a spell to help him locate Serphia, or at least defend himself. He didn't want to remain in the foyer. He had seen too many dead families today, he believed.

Briefly, he prayed to Mystra for Serphia to be safe, then he prayed for her to bring his sanity back, because he had no idea why he was even the slightest bit worried. Likely his lower half doing the thinking.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

"No tracks, sir. The shield breaking down caused the snow to pour in. If an astartes dreadnaught did this, we wouldn't know it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, stifling a sigh. Every deep breath drawn outdoors was like swallowing a lungful of ice. I hadn't known Klane or Merkaba well, but they obviously did not deserve this. During Sel's excursion I had organized a number of generators graciously provided by the lady to power small arti-cells, erecting tarps over where the squads were stationed to bring some warmth and camoflauge to the men. Anyone from the hills or the road would see just a blanket of white from the snow, and the men inside would be a bit less frigid.

Stroking my chin, I began to think out loud, before deciding to refurbish the thought into a question: "It couldn't have been one of ours, none of us have anything crude that might be used like this, and there'd be no reason. Unless any of you know of any vendettas in the unit an officer wouldn't know about?" I inquired to the gathered squadron.

"No sir," Ruskins said, shaking his shaggy head. "Merkaba liked to gamble, might have taken someone for all their worth, or he owed hard, but I wouldn't think that'd lead to this."

"Sel, take your men and-" I started, then thought better of it. They looked frozen and tired as hell, though they wouldn't admit it in front of me. "Spade, Ruskins, er, Mills, Tandor, and Sel, get yourself some amasec when your shift is over. You earned it," I said, and the majority of them looked either relieved or ecstatic. "I'll check the perimeter. I'll see which specialist and a few grunts are available."

"Sir!" They all remarked in unison. I gestured them at ease, and we transported the bodies back to be examined by our medic, Falstaad. Born on a feudal world and given to the imperial tithe as a boy, he often joked he was given to the gods, but he did not become an angel like those lifted up by the adeptus astartes. He was sent straight back into the mud on another plane, only this time with ways to prolong our mortal suffering. He was exceptionally cheery for how macabre he could be, but he knew his business. Once he began his examination, I directed Crispin to keep his men on alert while I gathered up a small squad for myself.

Unfortunately for me, when I asked who Crispin recommended be my second for the shift, he said he could spare specialist Elara, alongside a few other names that were lost on me as I began to contemplate the Emperor's cruel plan.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

The preternatural and the occult often caused strange occurrences. Rupert actually liked it when it popped up now and again. It broke through the monotony of the day, even if he would fervently deny any enjoyment of it. It would be a small acknowledgement of enjoyment out of the life the old bastard had made him live. Not as if he did not already live in his head, after all. There was one point where he grabbed a bottle of alcohol, even as he reached he wasn't sure if he would pour it on the wound or take a swig, and his fingers stuck to the glass. Kelly Asher still had a bit of kick to her, which he supposed was a good sign. He had only met the Winter Knight on a handful of occasions, and they had always been brief, and never this latest version. The soft clink of metal as he utilized the tools and removed the bullet was punctuated by cracking ice. Luckily, it dissipated soon enough.

He worked his jaw and shook his hands, getting the feeling back in them so he didn't feel pins and needles in his extremities. He reminded himself the Knight owed him. He was not accustomed to garnering charity nor giving it. When she awoke he would demand payment, his only question was what.

Rupert's thoughts were interrupted when the TV began to sputter and come to life without a power source. That happened very rarely, he thought. The room's want light was monopolized in the corner, shadows dancing as the image faded in and out, until Rupert saw the following news. He was curious, despite himself. Whatever power was showing this to him, he didn't like the anonymity. Then his eyes widened, and the word came to his mind before he could even conceptualize it. As if the heavens themselves had planted it there, lurking in the depths of his mind, bursting forth just as he realized what it was.

Dragon.

Immediately he felt a pressure on the left side of his head, a stabbing pain and his body contorting. His right hand clutched his left arm, and he grit his teeth as he violently shuddered. His vision was filled with white fire, and he blinked it away as he crashed into the wall deliberately. Sir Aldus Grey had seized him, demanding to be let loose like a lion. The words rang in his mind. DRACA! WURM! SATAN! SERPENT OF FIRE! Rupert groaned in defiance, bloodshot eyes opening to find focus. "I'm in control... tonight...old man..." He whispered acidly, too preoccupied to rhyme. He jerked his body against the wall again, and like a bubble of gas in one's stomach, eventually the pain and force subsided, and Rupert placed his hand against the wall to keep himself upright, gasping for air.

The knocking came just there.

Brilliant, he thought. He was disheveled at the best of times, but at the moment, if one passed him on the street they would think a stabbing from him was not a possibility, but an inevitability. He sucked in a mighty breathe, and pushed himself upright, stumbling to his bedside and sliding his hand under his mattress. He fished out the large, runic dagger he kept hidden under there. He had already decided to answer it. There were too many open questions tonight for him to not solve the great 'mystery visitor' he thought sardonically. He unlocked the door slowly, and gingerly twisted the door handle, looking at the newcomer like a starving wolf.

"Hello?"

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Penny I shall respond within a day, commander

Black Serpents: Warhammer RP

Kayden found everything decidedly NOT helpful, and it continued to regress as the mob outside pounded on the doors and tried to shatter the windows. It was lucky they had a few spears to worry anyone who managed to make a hole in one of the boards, but it wasn't going to keep them out forever. Morek and Otto and a few other lads kept the main bulk of the stacked up furniture from budging too far back, but the door itself was almost completely dismantled, and it was only a matter of time before they began to pull out various parts of the makeshift obstruction rather than continually push on it.

A bullet punched through the wall somewhere to Kayden's left, the prince reflexively ducking but otherwise fine.

"It'd be a whole lot easier if we could use our bows, captain!" Arnest called, having just cut the reaching arm of a man who had attempted to snake the arm out of a hole to try and unlock an obstructed sidedoor.

"Don't I know it!" Kayden cried, his frustration mounting. An axehead broke through the top of the door, cutting into the hand of one of the knights. Had the man not been wearing a gauntlet, he might have lost a finger. He cried out and pulled his hand back, but before he shoved his sword through, Otto pushed him away and sent him to grab more chairs.

"We have nothing more to throw on, knight commander!" He complained, exasperated.

Kayden stepped back as Otto ordered the man to come and help push. The Wyvern captain knew this was a losing game. No matter what they did, there was no way they could stop the mob from entering and killing a whole lot of men, even if they were hired thugs. They lived here, some had lovers, maybe even children. Time seemed to slow as he pondered, his mind going to work. He was a good duelist, a better lover, but he was an unmatched strategist. Many lords and intellectuals who fancied themselves chess masters were unhappy whenever they tried to challenge him to a game. Alcohol? Fire? No. Pendulums? Collapsing the stairwell? Images flashed through his mind, and the moments seemed to drag until an idea burst forth out of his mind.

"Take that table off the barrier!" Kayden ordered the men. "Get me a bottle of wine! Morek I need you and Gerhardt upstairs."

Everyone stopped to look at him. Even the tumult outdoors grew more slothful as if the gods themselves were curious. Otto looked at him like he had sprouted four appendages out of his abdomen and revealed himself as the chief baby eater of the courts of chaos. Even More looked perplexed. However, an urgent look from the captain set his men and the dwarf to grab a table, before Otto tried to stop them. Morek shoved the man out of the way.

"You curs! You're in league with them!" Otto snarled as he drew his sword. His knights followed suit, the sound of steel echoing across the timber halls.

"Stand down!" Calliope ordered, her soprano voice thundering down the central stairway. She watched over the conflict like a perched black wyrm deciding which of her subjects she might devour. The noblewoman raised a well trimmed eyebrow at Otto when he whirred to face her. Kayden heard another shove from outside, and during this small reprieve, his longbowmen began to grab the table off the top and set it down at the foot of the stairs at Kayden's bidding. Otto's men waited for an order. It came from the sorceress. "Listen to Captain Caladwarden and do as he says."

Otto glowered at her, and Kayden was unable to predict his next move, but after a few tense moments, the knight capitulated. The next few minutes passed by extremely quickly, followed by a very long minute that seemed to last an eternity. Kayden had heard time traveled strangely in the chaos wastes. He wondered if that's how it felt there, as he sat on his cushioned chair and awaited the assembled furniture to finally be pushed aside. A half a dozen toughs shoved their way in, only to find the most unlikely sight in front of them.

"Might I speak to herr Ernst?" Kayden asked calmly, pouring a second glass of wine. They looked at him, dumbfounded, and glanced around to see no longbowmen or knights. The lead one, a cleft lipped ruffian, stepped back slowly, and went to fetch his master. Ernst Ruttiger strode before them, confused as all hell, and gazed at Kayden with unmasked incredulity.

"What the hell are you playing at, traitor!?"

Kayden sat at a long table, with a bottle of wissenland's best and two glasses filled with red wine. He was alone. No men or dwarf in sight, no Calliope. Kayden's sword was on the table, as was his pistol. He smiled pleasantly at Ernst. "Why not come join me for some wine, herr Ruttiger?"

"Y- ..." Ernst's lips tried to form words, but they were unable to come. Vaguely he gestured at the wine as his men stepped back to allow him room to further gesticulate. "I asked you what the hell you're playing at!" He said angrily. "And put that poison away!" Kayden calmly poured some of Ruttiger's cup into his own, and took a sip. Even as he did so, Ruttiger cried out in frustration. "Stop it! Whatever you're doing I'm not falling for it!"

"I'm just inviting you in, sir," Kayden said, his hands out wide.

Ernst waved an accusatory finger at all the phantom assailants within the lobby, fumbling for the right words to sound dramatic. "Fuck all of you swindlers!" He said, and turned around to walk away. His men looked at one another, and Kayden waved them to come join him. He even gave them a wink, and they looked at one another and backed away. Kayden shrugged, as if to say 'your loss' and took another sip of the wine. It was quite delectable, though he's certainly had better. Somehow danger and drinking during the work shift made it taste all the sweeter. Outside, there was a loud clrack! Dust and the hot outside air billowed into the room, as did Ruttiger and his handful of men.

"Well, it seems the second part of the trap worked after all." Kayden remarked idly, as longbowmen, riflemen, and knights stepped out of the closets, their weapons in hand and aimed pointedly in the direction of Ernst Ruttiger. One of the ruffians thought to tip the scales and charge Kayden, but the prince merely tossed the remainder of the wine in his face. He blinked, and the sting caused him to howl. Kayden pushed the chair back and stepped out from behind the table as Ernst and his men were trapped between a fallen bookshelf and the weapons of those inside the townhouse. The prince took hold of his sword, placed it under the chin of the ruffian that had charged him, and urged him to step back. He did so hurriedly.

"Now that we have your undivided attention, herr Ruttiger, I believe you have two choices." Kayden remarked, his sword point swinging to the pudgy merchant, who had begun to sweat even more than usual. "You can be our hostage, or our guest. One is decidedly more comfortable than the other. Either way, The Lady Blackwood awaits upstairs to discuss the terms of your legal transgressions."

No Good Deed

His head was swimmy and his sinuses full as he knew hers had to be, but it was another stroke of luck they found food in the depths still good and ready for them. Waybread kept well for months, even years with the proper packaging. A bit too convenient though no doubt dwarf prospectors would come back and hold a grudge on them that would last a thousand years, but at the moment he was willing to take that chance. However, despite his sleep addled mind and his immense hunger, he recalled something quite important when she announced dwarven ale.

"Wait!" He cried suddenly, holding his hands. She stopped as if stricken, wondering if there were greenskins bearing down on them. "If it's dwarf ale, you've got to be careful!"

"I've had it before!" She said.

"You've had the swill they serve imperials." Malcador chided her, approaching as he got his bearings, examining the barrels. She did not shy away, clinging to the closest barrel as if it were her child. "Some dwarf ale is merely strong drink yes, but some brews can blind or even kill a man. They're an entirely different species of being. It could very well be poison to us."

Hannah blinked, regarded the barrel again, and then laughed. For the first sentence she put on airs of a dwarfish accent. "Aye, you'd normally be right. But this is Dungard's Red Eye. It kicks the shit out of you, but it's not lethal." The woman rose up, took out a small knife and began to sedulously uncork the barrel, biting her tongue gently as she worked the adhesive off the wooden top. Malcador felt a surge of relief, but then it fizzled to nothingness.

"Wait, how do you know that?" He asked her as soon as the top popped off with a satisfying sound. "Can you read khazalid?"

"No," She said breathlessly, brushing a loose fringe of brown hair out of her eyes. "But it's the same stuff the three dwarfs I know down in old town drink. You can tell by the symbol on the side. 'Course they guard it like gold, but I've had a sip or two. Never this much..." She began to chuckle with giddish glee, and shot a look at him. "But I'm not fucking drinking alo-..."

Malcador had already dipped an old wooden bowl into the top of it and gave her a devilish smile as it came to his lips. "What are you waiting for?"

She seemed put off for a moment, but it bloomed into a grin no doubt countless men had seen before they were unceremoniously relieved of their gold.

Aboveground they had been testy with one another. The orcs and goblins and lack of rest of food had seen to that. Belowground, with the dwarf ale flowing, things changed quickly. Ale flowed, food was devoured, lights summoned and unsummoned, Malcador twirling the ball of light through the air to entertain a clapping Hannah. At one point, Hannah was on her back as Malcador poured the ale into her mouth from a precarious floating bottle a dozen feet in the air. Malcador would later recall Hannah giving him marksman's lessons. The powder had dried sufficiently for a few shots, and she guided his hand with hers, whispering him the secrets of proper aim as if they were the words of Nagash's book of the dead. Strong drink often made you lose and regain your sense of self seemingly at random. The next time Malcador could suitably say he was awake, he was hand in hand with Hannah as the two danced between the decrepit crates and insurmountable stone, singing the Legend of Reikwald Max.

"The Witch Hunters on my tail won't catch me
For I'm Reikwald Max, and they can't match me

By the thirteen fingers of my right hand
I swear they'll never drive me from this land

'Cause watching my backs are the boys from the band
Seven foot Gerd and four-eyed Brand

The Witch Hunters on my tail won't catch me
For I'm Reikwald Max, and they can't match me!"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

If I had a world for everytime Emmaline collapsed, I would own the ultima segmentum, and yet I never got comfortable with the feeling. I still ran to her, scooping her up in my arms and helping wash and tend to her, despite the amalgamation of weirdness and the strange closeness we had with our minds linked. I knew we would need to speak of it. Letting things like that go undiscussed was the same as allowing a wound or an underhive cult to fester. However, we had other, more grim tasks to deal with. While Emmaline slept, I contacted Lazarus and spoke in binary, using numbers rather than the screeches most tech priests used, to relay the information we had received so he might utilize his databanks.

However, I was not satisfied, yet I also could not leave Emmaline to sate my curiosity. Not without some protection, at least. I was ambivalent, at first, however I felt as if I needed to find more cognizant answers than the bastard Demick could show us. There was bound to be another in this metropolis that could give more information, and so with hesiation, I pulled out what was left of my luggage and checked the encrypted compartment beneath my personal belongings. Gingerly, I lifted out a consecrated scroll I had no expected to use, and here I was about to use it not for banishing a daemon, but protecting my lover and my second.

Unrolling it, I found the Stigmata Incantamentum. It was a ritual of Theosophamy, a sister study to Daemonology. The latter was used for direct conflict typically, or more specifically, controlling the warp's energies through force. Theosophamy was more esoteric and passive in its application of immaterium manipulation, and with a small cut to my finger and the proper incantation, I conducted it within the hotel room. It required psychic strength to be performed, but it was not an immensely taxing work. Concentration and the proper pronunciation was key, and within minutes I had warded the material plane within fifty meters from my exact spot in all directions. If a daemon approached and met the barrier, it would dispel, and if a proper heretic stepped into it, I would feel it and they would experience an immense sense of foreboding and vertigo. As for mercenaries, I planted a small, controlled explosive device by the door that could only be disarmed by the proper code 'Omega Lambda 7-X-L-9.'

Emmaline was privvy to it, but if she woke and I was gone, I would hope she believed I went to the authorities for a quick chat. It might be the only thing I could accomplish this night anyway.

I grabbed my coat and my weapons, and kept the scroll in my pocket just in case. I left my comm there. It was clean, as far as I was aware, but I did not wish to be tracked. Which meant I could take both comms and leave Emma without one, or leave both so she could call the authorities or even a hospital while I was away. I left a small note, telling her I would return soon, and locked the door behind me. I would first check the precinct, and work my way back from there. Wherever the shithole in the gleaming jewel of the north was, I would find it.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

"So we're supposed to attack that?" Markus asked, vexation in his voice. He had entertained this plan as they trekked, but having watched the ghoul infested port enough to find very little ways they could comfortably slip in and out with the supposed idol, the prospect was obviously very dubious to the pirate if anyone bothered to look at him. "And none of your scaled friends can help?"

"Forbiddennnnnsss" Sss'Tomek croaked, cowed as if its very god watched him. Markus believed the little blighter wasn't lying, but it still sounded like a pile of Stirland wheat. Markus glanced back at his men, awkwardly clumped together to keep away from the ambidexterous eyed lizardmen that knelt and hopped. One struck a huge insect with its elongated tongue like a sticky missile and ate the thing before their eyes. Bartholomew cringed at the sight while Gorman tried to keep his rations down. Halfdan looked at another bug appraisingly, as if he too should try to eat one.

"Who's up for a swim?" Markus grinned.

"Swim!?" Emmaline blurted. Sketti seemed in a soft agreement with her. Markus ignored the dwarf and glanced at Emmaline with annoyance.

"Not you," He growled. Emmaline's face colored, the buxom woman both offended yet relieved. She was a coward, but he couldn't blame her. If it was not for the small lizardman he would have kept her back at the ship. For his part, Sss'Tomek blinked and tilted its head a bit too far for human anatomy, likely in curiosity. Markus snapped his fingers and ordered Halfdan to put the powder down. The big man had carried a small barrel of powder in his pack in case of emergencies. He slung it over his shoulder and set the large sack down, pulling out the barrel. He had to shoo away one of the skinks who wanted to examine it.

"Sketti, you and a pair of lads, probably Halfdan and Gorman, stay here with the lizards and Emma. Me and the rest of the boys will swim round and come up from the docks. Steiner's second while we're out. Sketti, I need you to make a small distraction. Maybe a delayed fuse to get the things running off in a direction that leads nowhere. We'll come in from behind and nab the idol before slipping out. Emma? Don't fuck any of this up."

"But Suss'Tomek said I was vital fo-" She began, but Markus placed a rough finger on her plump lips.

"Don't argue with me." He ordered, but sighed a moment later. "If you have to mess things up, do it in a useful way. And stay alive."

"How romantic," She deadpanned, but Markus already had his coat off, stripping his upper body of apparel and placing his guns on the ground with the rest. With a curt gesture of his head, the pirates followed him, bleeding into the jungle foliage as the distant growls and screeches of the ghouls gave an eerie ambiance to an already forsaken land.