POOHEAD189

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

"No..." She said, pouting. The desired effect was ruined a bit when she hiccuped, but to Malcador it only made her cuter. He had imbibed in a bit of wine, but had neglected to go all in like Emmaline. He knew no matter what, he'd have to walk her home. And unlike what he had been planning, it likely wouldn't end the way he wished. Malcador wasn't a virtue of morality by any stretch, he was a handsome lech used to finagling his way through life when his good looks and wit couldn't hack it. But he also wasn't one to take advantage of a woman when she was drunk. Of course she would sober up in a few hours, but he would be out on the town by then!

"And if that's the case, then why did you want us to go out here?" He asked her, his quick mind summing up the answer before she even spoke.

"You..." She went, idly playing with the pond of gold in the pouch she cradled. "You seen smart, and I wanted to semduce you... to help me..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Gods be good. "You got a little too drunk to do that, Emma."

"I'mb usually better at it." She admitted. "Been a weird day."

Malcador paused, contemplating his next move. It wasn't evening yet, so he still had some time, but should he help her? He looked at her, and immediately realized with amazement that he would. Grand idea, old boy. He scratched the back of his head as he considered their options. She was gorgeous beyond belief, but even though he "Emma? Emmaline?" He said, and she perked up curiously. He looked defeated. "I'll help you, we have a few hours before I get busy, I think. And we'll need to work fast. I'll walk you home, and then I'll get my supplies and spellbooks. I'll come over to your place, and then we'll work on it as long as we can. Alright?"

"Yes!" She squealed, and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek.

An hour later, Malcador had led her to her room, as much for her safety as to make certain he knew where it was himself, then the celestial mage ran out of the Chamon tower. As he descended the winding, metallic steps, he garnered a bunch of incredulous looks from students and staff. A few calls of "Are you lost, Skygazer!?" chased him, but he ignored it. He made it to his own tower, and with relief, he realized most of it was still deserted. No questions on that end, he thanked Sigmar for. He grabbed his mortar, pestle, alembic, calcinator, as well as his tools of measurement and his spellbook, along with a few common components. Sulphur, and the like.

He practically sprinted back. Shallya knows how desperate he was to get this done quickly. Luckily he received less jeers when he arrived back, likely because with all of the equipment, he seemed more like a helper than an interloper.

That or everyone was getting too drunk or stuffed to care.

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

Malcador hadn't expected the thievery, but it didn't perturb him. He quite liked surprises.

He sidled up to her, whispering conspiratorially. "I know just the place," he said, and took her by the hand. The pair exited the Magestarium and soon were out of the Colleges entirely. The streets, albeit not empty by any stretch, were not the immense cacophony of activity is was the usual. It was just after lunch, and those that hadn't eaten their feasts in the comfort of their home were now leaving the taverns, and many were going to settle down for a nap or a more leisurely activity. Even those of the city watch had bread crumbs on their lips or were snoozing soundly. Of course, you could fill whole villages with the numbers of men and women who were still out and about, but Malcador was used to twice the volume.

Eventually they made it to Grandmarkt district, the passing clouds above barely obscuring the overbearing sun. It wasn't quite summer yet, but spring had fully come, and even on the short flower gardens made from government subsidies along the stone walkways, the flowers were in bloom. In the Grandmarkt, the festivities had begun to die down, but there was still a great crowd laughing and drinking and feasting on pies. A number of halflings were among them, one laying atop a table, his paunch in the air and snoring loudly. Malcador guided her past the ruin of the festival, and together they entered a large, three storied establishment called Hammerhome.

"What is this place?" Emmaline asked after Malcador knocked on the door. An eyeslit opened, and Malcador made a small sign with his hand, before the slit closed, and the reinforced door opened.

"Well, on the surface it's a club, of sorts." He told her as they walked in. Immediately they were greeted with the sweet smell of cooked cakes and mead and spiced wine. There were carpets with Arabic embroidery on the floor, and the lamps were lit with camphine to keep the scent from being overwhelming in the enclosed space. There was a dining hall, a resplendent chandelier above that glimmered with a thousand facets of light, the display was lost on the mostly empty hall, save for a few couples in rapt conversation. Malcador led Emmaline to the stairwell, but instead of ascending, he opened a large door beside it.

The doorway led downstairs, and they stepped down the wooden, almost rickety steps until they were met by the sounds of rolling dice and the groans of the myriad of losers. Malcador and Emmaline bore witness to a full room of nothing but gambling and drinks, from cards to knucklebones to Sigmar Save Me. Waiters hustled passed well polished and study tables as men and women cheered and fell over in disappointment.

"You're not likely to see any firstborn noblemen here, but second sons and middling merchants that want to rub shoulders with them congregate here, as well as some of the more lucky commoners." He explained quietly. "The take is good, if you win. Just don't piss anyone off too much."

"I can try," she said devilishly.

"Let's see if we can take a bit more gold, today."

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

Malcador smiled widely. Not just because the woman had come back after he was certain he'd not see her for some time, but also seeing Gunter caught red handed in a misogynistic joke made it all the sweeter.

"Yes, do continue Gunter." Malcador crossed his arms, oozing smugness. He gently nudged the buxom blonde. "He's always so funny, watch."

Gunter was stricken, and then he gave an incredulous look at Malcador for this social betrayal. Malcador snickered quietly, and Gunter just threw his hands up. "You have never seen a girl like a Nulner girl. They say you can't make heads nor tails of them. Their head in the ground, their ass in the air-"

"What they don't tell you is they're tits deep up their own ass." Malcador finished for him, and Gunter gave a frustrated groan as there was an accompanied by a chorus of laughs. There were a few Nulners at the Colleges, but most went to their own, lesser school located in the city state. Altdorf citizens and Nulners had an intense rivalry, but Gunter was not privvy to where the blonde came from, so he redirected the joke to be about Nulners. Malcador simply freestyled the punchline.

A few of the men in the grouping were Malcador's longtime drinking buddies, but others were from an assortment of other orders. Adelmo, a manicured, effete apprentice of the amethyst order that was more bluster than substance, indicated the newcomer. "I suspect this is a friend of yours, Mal?"

Malcador did not recall they were close enough for Adelmo to use a nickname, but he decided to let it go. He glanced at the beauty, an open question on his face. "Yes, this is...-"

For her part, she slipped her arms around his left. "Emmaline Von Morganstern, his... 'friend'" She said, coyly.

"Ah, I see. You do get around, Mal." Adelmo snickered.

"He does?" Emmaline asked innocently.

"I take some small offense to that," Malcador remarked, but there was a light heartedness in the air after he had dismantled Gunter's ruin of a joke, and soon they were trading. Emmaline did not leave his side, and Malcador was not about to be pulled apart. Eventually the group disippated into smaller clumps, and both of the attractive apprentices glided away. Emmaline giggled. "The look on your face when I showed up again was priceless," she admitted.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect you to come back," he said with a guilty smile.

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

The festivities were as he expected. Despite the air of faux aristocracy the mages tried to associate with themselves, there was a boorish quality to the atmosphere, and his keen eyes detected more than a few open displays of magic from the increasingly drunk students. Malcador hid a smirk when Voltivar the Grey, a well-to-do master wizard snuffed out the flames of a bright apprentice with a deft flow of magic, and pulled him by his ear out of the Magisterium. A few of the students danced together, but most were content to eat or speak in their cliques, a few students laughing uproariously. He wasn't put off by the state of affairs, it was actually quite entertaining. Even nobility were not as noble as they pretended to be, but the constant anecdoche of magician apprentices was something he could do more without.

In the corner he saw Louis DuPont, an apprentice that ran from his brettonian homeland, not too keen on being given to the Lady and disappear without a trace as all males with the talent were. The Amber apprentice smiled wondrously with his light blonde hair and fair features as he joked with Morgan, a red headed apprentice from Wissenland with a penchant for death magic, but with too much apprehension to embrace it. Brown haired Ianara of the Light Order danced just to the point of scandalousness with Voltivar's prized pupil, Ailin, while the old codgers back was turned. Scandalous because, whilst not a master, she was no longer an apprentice either.

A few uncouth Chamon lads were trading insults with a pair of Bright apprentices who had gone over to refill their wine cups. Tall Barten of the Amethyst awkwardly walked around, clearly without a place or group to sit, but still enjoying the warm rolls enough to not complain too much. Across the way, Malcador spotted Friedrich, Hofferman, and Gustav. They were chatting with one another and a pair of girls he recognized as Jestain and Malerie, both from the Amber order. Malcador briefly had the idea to go over there and ruin his friends chances with them so they wouldn't be too distracted for tonight, and smoothly went to grab a cup of wine before he collided with something. Immediately he realized it was both solid, yet comfortably soft, and a flash of golden hair obscured his vision before he realized it was a woman.

An unfairly gorgeous woman.

He snatched the apple out of the air as she impressively caught everything on her plate before it became bedlam, and he held out the fruit for her to take in a gentlemanly fashion. She whipped around at him with what he thought was petulant indignation for a moment, before she saw him present the apple to her, and the woman studied his face. Usually he was far more smooth, but in such close proximity and unprepared, he caught the full brunt of her beauty, not to mention an impeccable view of her decolletage. Intellectually, he realized she was studying him because she also found him fetching, but every lout knew that wasn't enough when it came to flirting.

"Sorry I'm in your way, I've a bad habit of being somewhere I shouldn't," He said with a sly grin, tossing the apple in the air briefly before holding it out again.

"No harm," She said, plucking the apple out of his hand. "I guess we have that in common, herr..."

Her dress was beautiful, the blouse embroidered with flower motifs and leaving little to the imagination, her dress clinging to her shapely legs. The green astride her shoulders gave her much needed modesty, or else a master might kick her out as well. He fixed his hair, and absently realized she was a few years older than him. "Zauberhaft, but you can call me Malcador. I haven't seen you here, before."

"Is that so surprising?" She asked, and he had to concede the point. He only knew a handful of people out of the thousands inducted. There were hundreds at this party he had either never seen before or had only seen in passing and with no name attached.

Malcador chuckled, and gave her a small bow. "Don't think I'm too forward, but I was present when Lucrezzia Belladonna visited the Colleges two summers ago, and as far as I'm concerned, next to you she looks like the Duchess of Parravon." He said, and she snorted a laugh. He gave an insouciant grin that promised fun. "So yes, I'm surprised."

He detected a small flush of her cheeks and when she failed to hide a smile, his grin deepened, but she glanced behind her shoulder for a moment. "Well Malcador," She placed a hand on his arm, and he felt a spark where her fingers touched. "I've certainly bumped into less pleasant men, but I have to go."

"I can't even buy you a drink?" He asked as she glided passed.

"It's free!" She laughed.

"I can't even get your name!?" He called, but she was already sashaying away. He realized with undisguised pain that she was giving him a show with her hips as she exited. When she was gone, he groaned and took that wine he had yet to grab. Malcador would try and sate his desires in town, but he knew it was a temporary thing. He would be thinking about her all bloody week! He downed the wine in two, massive gulps, and went to find a chair.

"Sigmar's balls..."

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

"After speaking with him for nearly a day and a night, I chose to travel with him across the world to this great city of Altdorf, to this very college, to beseech the brother magisters of this Golden Order for the opportunity to prove myself worthy of being accepted as an apprentice to their college. And now, some forty cold winters later, I am here to teach you the facts and practices that you will have to accept and adhere to if you wish to survive with sanity and soul intact as long as I thrive as a Magister in the service of this different nation's great and noble emperor and avoid the fires of Sigmar's Templars. I do not anticipate that many of you will succeed."

—Haqiqah al-Hikmah, Arabyan Magister Lord of the Golden Order

---

That morning, the Horn of Sigismund sounded in the deep of Altdorf.

It was a somber sound, so loud and deep it reverberated across the stone walls of every building in Altdorf, the most illustrious city of man. Emperor Sigismund IV won a great victory at the Battle of Grimgrill Dale, aiding the Dwarfs in 1695 IC. After the battle, the Dwarfs gifted him a runic horn called the Horn of Sigismund, and after his death at the hands of a Wyvern that crashed into the Imperial Palace during Grimgor Ironhide's siege of Altdorf, the horn had sounded every year on the anniversary of his death. A reminder of how vulnerable the heart of the Empire truly is to some. However, to most others, it merely signaled the beginning of Pie Week.

It was the first day of Erntezeit at Altdorf, which brought mixed feelings to the apprentices of the Colleges of Magic. On the one hand, it was the first day of Pie Week, an excuse for halflings to bake pies, and the Empire as a whole adopted it for its own to feast and party. It meant lectures were short, and a myriad of food, drink, and fraternization that was normally discouraged was allowed (to a point). On the other hand, exams were next week, and while lectures were halved, assignments were not. An unfortunate complication, but no mage, master or apprentice, worried about it on the first day.

Between the eight towers of the orders of magic and mysteries, there was a vast courtyard of limestone. Students and professors traversed it everyday, hustling and hurrying on errands or congregating in groups in deep discussion. At the center of the courtyard was a large, domed structure called the Magisterium, a building of three floors where the masters and patriarchs of the orders met, and where the High Patriach of the Colleges and his study presided. Only a select flew students were allowed entrance to the building on normal days, and even then, only access to the ground floor was granted unless they had been summoned by the High Patriarch himself. However, the exception was for events and holidays. A uni-order feast such as those performed on Pie Week were held on the ground floor, and both apprentices, faculty, and patriarchs were welcome to the festivities.

Every twenty new guests, another carver was brought in from the kitchens with another roasted waterfowl. Robust ale and famous riekland wine were brought in casks, a small makeshift stage with live music played a thumping tune, and standing tables to place small hors d'oeuvres, as the Brettonians called it, were located every dozen feet. Apart from the explicit rule of no spellcasting, for wild magic or the accidental daemon possession was a bit too uncouth, or the sad forbidding of touching beyond dancing, there was very little oversight amongst the crowd. Men and women from across the breadth of the empire and even beyond had crawled out of their studies, apartments, and mystical dens to attend. Contrary to popular belief, there was no age limit for what made an apprentice at the Colleges. The majority were in their late teens or early twenties, but anyone with the desire to learn how to control their talent, or unwilling to face the wrath of the Empire's Holy Inquisition of Witch Hunters, could and would be inducted into the College at the apprentice level.

It was eleven in the morning, and Malcador had big plans that night. He was to go out drinking with Friedrich and a few other lads of the order while they met with a few acquaintances outside of the Colleges, something that was not normally allowed. An apprentice was not granted leave to exit the Colleges unless given strict permission, but Pie Week was an exception, and to say they had a two day bender planned did not quite do justice to what happened last year and what would more than likely occur this year. Still, he couldn't be gone for longer than those two days. He needed to complete his assignments. He was an apprentice still, but in his twenty third year of life, he had given enough time and energy that he was about to ascend to the rank of Acolyte, if he kept his more ravenous proclivities in check and completed his lessons and assignments on time and in good order. Most did not become acolytes until their twenty fifth year, and many did not see true Wizardhood until their forties. He expected to be a ranking Wizard by his thirtieth year, and even considering his more unscrupulous activities, he was expertly good at performing them in moderation, and things were going according to plan.

He wore a special set of robes for the occasion. Most celestial apprentices bore simply white robes, perhaps with some silver thread and light blue hem to accentuate. In contrast, Malcador was clad in robes cut in the elven design. A white robe with constellations near the hem of the sleeves and bottom in light cerulean, under a deep blue surcoat, a leather belt with a crimson rube at its center, a prize he had won at a contest three years prior, successfully indicating the astrological importance of an obscure comet called Malfieus's Hermetis by judging its trajectory.

Truthfully he had merely wanted to be granted the perk of not cleaning the gutters or rooftops of the tower and accompanying structures, but he had kept the belt and to his delight, found it was quite valuable. His long black hair was fashioned in handsome waves that framed his lean, striking face, a visage both studious and wry in countenance.

Malcador has just walked in, hoping to verbally spar with rivals and make the occasional good impression while he consumed his fill of meats and cheeses, before he would make his exit and plan for the night. If he didn't go, Friederich and the others would have his head. Luckily, he foresaw no reason why he would not be available that night.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

"Clap him in irons!"

The struggle began anew, six men doing their best to keep a hold of him as Neil rolled like a river serpent. An arm reached to try and wrap around his neck and the pirate sunk his teeth in the meat of the forearm, sending the guard in a fit of screaming. Neil stepped awkwardly, his arms moving quickly, punching and elbowing and kicking where he could. "Blighters slippery as an eel!" One of them complained. Neil had no illusions of getting out of the bind, but he wanted to make it as tricky as possible. Maybe they would make some sort of mistake. Finally they managed to grab a hold of both his wrists, and the woman who watched casually put her knife away and waited for the opportunity to punch him square in the midsection for good measure. Neil doubled over and they managed to finish the arrest.

"What the-" He coughed, gasping a lungful of air. "What the hell did I do!?"

The woman and the sergeant stared at him before they exchanged looks. Ok, that was a fair point, he silently conceded. "What did I do for this specifically?"

The question was met with a cudgel to the face, and he dropped. Only the men keeping a hold of him kept him from slamming face first into the dirt laden street. After that, Neil faded in and out of consciousness. Sometimes his feet were dragging, othertimes he recalled stumbling along, but before he knew it, the Iron Hulk came into view. He had seen the strange prison a handful of times, but had never actually been tossed in. Free Sail was a city of runaways from the law, only the worst were thrown in, and only rarely did any leave. As the name suggested, it was originally made from a beached war galleon, hollowed out and filled on the inside with stone and iron bars, and the dungeons went below the surface as the years progressed and the offenders increased. They rounded the corner, and Neil found himself at the entryway, made of timber and brass fitting on the starboard side.

"Keep moving, boy!" One of the watchmen said, tired of hauling Neil around.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" He said, beginning to struggle again. His eyes swung to the woman, narrowing on her. "Who are you?"

She snorted, pinching his nose between her thumb and forefinger. "No importa quién soy, Albioness!" She snapped, and Neil had to fight to get his nose back. She did not seem unamused, but her face did not smile. There was an intensity and danger there, something he would have found endearing had Camilla not stolen his heart. The thought of his lover brought back his willingness to fight, and he decided to get in another jab.

"Ah! Oh, am I suppose to have taken Castillian lessons now!? HaY mUcHoS lIbRoS eN lA bIbLiOtEcA?" He mocked.

As the pirate predicted, he received another series of bludgeons, not least of which from the woman, before he was tossed into the darkness of the Iron Hulk, where the screams and laughter of the insane perpetually echoed, and the worst blackguards in the seas were your own companions.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Partially my fault getting distracted by other things, but thanks for running this @ctrlsaltdel
You're a great DM

Black Serpents: Warhammer RP

"Everything in order, Captain?" Calliope asked Kayden as he dismounted at the camp, taking a small moment to eye the camp herself to know its exact location. Nestled in a small valley a few miles from Bonnerhaven, they had made sure to keep themselves behind the curve of the sloping treeline so their campfires could not be seen from the city walls. Even paranoid Kayden did not believe there would be too much cause for concern, but it paid to be careful.

"Indeed, my lady." Kayden remarked smoothly, sharing a smile. "Drinking and rutting are a soldier's favorite pastime, and with your generous payments, the men now have their chance."

"Be sure to get your fill," Otto sneered, and Kayden did his best to hide a smirk. No doubt he had expected the Wyvern's month long contract to not find an extension, and what's more, Calliope and Kayden had been spending hours after dark together. Though contrary to Otto's jealouslies, it was so far innocent. When she had renegotiated the contract, she had offered to play a game of chess with Kayden, having heard from his men he was quite good. When he politely declined, she offered to increase their pay by 600 crowns. He took her up on the offer, and while he won, much to her frustration, Kayden was impressed at how close the game had been.

Despite his familiarity with debate and his education, Kayden did not consider himself an intellectual. He enjoyed three things. Strategy, tactics, and women, which meant he was quite good with all three as well, and when the Lady Blackwood offered more games to beat him, it let him get a taste of all three during their trek north. He almost never lost a game, and Calliope warned him he was not to let her win. Eventually, she did defeat him twice with cunning manipulations. Considering he was somewhat of a savant at it, that spoke volumes of her brilliance. During the long hours, they spoke and debated, trading witticisms, though she was very vague about her ultimate goals. He did not pry too hard, and oddly enough, the knowledge she was a death wizardess that could obliterate him if he displeased her added a bit of spice to the almost nightly tête-à-tête. He had certainly grown more fond of her, though it was difficult to know if the feeling was mutual.

"That's very kind, Otto, but I must see to my men first. Maybe later I could enjoy myself, but I will simply be escorting them in and out." Kayden admitted.

"How noble," Otto remarked, sarcasm dripping from his lips. Kayden decided to act as if he did not notice.

"Your compliment means the world to me."

Calliope gave Kayden a look that told him to knock it off, and then turned to give Otto a more baleful expression that shut him up immediately. She turned her horse to the left, controlling the beast with expert handling. "We will be in touch, Captain. Be sure to keep your men in line."

"We serve at your pleasure," Kayden responded, giving her a deep bow. "I can keep the pawns in check, as you do the knights."

She failed to hide a smirk. "Indeed." Before she cantered off on her black stallion. The Knights rode behind her, forming a small V shape, with her at the head. As the small contingent rode out of the valley, the wyverns had begun to erect tents and gather firewood, setting cookfires and organizing sentries. Kayden's next hour was a flurry of activity, as both men and women were vying for first dibs of the town, and others wished to be last for various reasons. Another hour, and he was at the head of twenty men and five women, unarmed save for their sidearms and in their padded jacks and civilian clothes.

No Good Deed

For the first time in his life, Malcador wished Emmaline Von Morganstern was here for something other than carnal pleasure. A chamon user could find their way underground, perhaps not flawlessly, but they had a certain affinity for stone. Malcador, however, was ill equipped for the underground. His power came from the sky. As it was, he could maybe do something small, but his greatest magics were beyond him, even when he didn't have a hangover that could fell an ogre.

"I concur," he whispered to her, eyeing the tunnel exit the ratmen left. He turned back to Hannah just as she finished mouthing a mocking 'I concur,' and he glared at her. She smiled at him guiltily, fluttering her lashes. It was the hangovers, he knew. But he wasn't going to leave it without a snide remark. "Be glad I don't make fun of your dung heap accent."

Her jaw dropped. "Dung heap!?" She exclaimed, before clamping her mouth shut with both of her hands. Malcador was stricken, eyes wide with fear as her voice echoed across the cavern walls. They were both silent for long moments, but the damage had been done. Malcador hung his head, and Hannah's hands left her mouth, the duelist began to massage her temples as she muttered. "Just shoot me now, Ranald. Just fucking end me."

Somehow, her words gave Malcador a decidedly simple idea. He took her by the arm and yanked her, causing her to give an uncharacteristically girly squeak from the rough and tumble duelist. "We need to use this!" He told her.

Moments later, the three ratmen scuttled back into the cavernous chamber, their lights in one paw, and each had a serrated long knife in the other. One chittered, either in fear or anticipation, and there was a musk that followed them so pungent, Malcador's eyes watered. The lead one pointed to the crates, his tail lashing. Malcador was still trying to get past the accursed smell. Luckily for him, as the odd beastmen began to split, Hannah struck first, eager to rectify her mistake of yelling earlier. By her own admission, she wasn't good with a long blade, but Malcador and Hannah had hidden behind both sides of the entryway, clinging to the shadows to flank the vile things. She had the element of surprise, and she used it.

Her sword went into the back of the central ratman, piercing flesh and brittle bone. It couldn't shriek, because her blade went through the lung, but it hissed as it spasmed, before it fell to the floor just as she withdrew the blade. It dripped with black blood, and as she turned to the left beastman and bradished her blade, Malcador unleashed his spell. Having taken the time to summon his energies and craft the cantrip in the shadows, he thrust his hands out with a word of power. His hands glowed like flame, and streaking stars burst forth from his fingertips. The two beastmen turned, their mutated expressions unreadable but no doubt they watched in fear as the lights zipped and curled through the air to crash into their fur covered bodies, igniting their rags and hides in fire. This time they did scream, a keening wail of a dying animal. More stars hit them, staggering them before they could make good an escape, striking their forms repeatedly until they were naught but smoldering, writhing beasts, tortuously dying on the floor of the chamber. Their cries were silenced, now only whimpers, before that too was replaced with the popping of the fire.

Malcador lowered his hands, and fell to his knees. He felt a sharp pain in his knees from the blow, but he hadn't the energy to stop himself. To his surprise, Hannah was beside him, helping him up with her arm slung under his.

"Remind me never to piss you off," She joked.

"You'd shoot me in the head if I tried it," He laughed tiredly, before his mind began to whirr again, and he looked at the accumulated corpses. The wizard stared blankly for a long moment, before he shook his head. "No, no... they can't be real."

"What?" She asked as she guided him forward a step.

"They're not beastmen," he breathed in disbelief. "They're skaven."

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

"Interesting..." Neil murmured after he made his way downstairs, pondering the offer his old colleague had given him. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the same glint of mischief Camilla del Atranto fell in love with. "That's very interesting..."

If the ship was designed the way he said... bluff above the water and sharp below. Gives the hull a finer entry and a long run as she goes aft. Heavier, but fast despite it. Hell of a galleon, if true. Neil would have to give it a look himself. Already he was entertaining notions of a possible mutiny, though really his mind wandered often to places he would never tread. However, he did need a ship to go back to the old world and rescue Camilla. If this was as impressive as he was lead to believe, it might fit the bill. First, however, he would need the treasure of the expedition. And even before that, he needed a bloody drink.

He wasn't going to stay at the inn. Any fool knew you wouldn't make a deal and then loiter about, and so he went to the next closest tavern. Gorman's Brewery, where the Black Fleet and a few tougher mercenaries made their haunt. Despite their fearsome reputation, as long as he was there for a quick drink, nothing untoward would happen. Though given it was Neil Edwards, something untoward always happened. He crossed the busy street, a carriage swerving to miss him as he casually walked across, onlookers gasping or looking on incredulously. Neil gave a casual nod to a few on the left before stepping in.

He was met by the faint smell of alcohol and the overwhelming scent of sweat. The light was low, the sun still blinding outside. Pirates in black frock coats and men in leathers armed with long knives spoke in cordoned off tables and drank their beer, laughing and threatening one another in four different tongues. A few gave Neil a chilling look, but he merely stepped to the counter, where an old, burly seadog chewed on a piece of tobacco and curled his thick fingers around a concealed weapon behind the bar, as he likely did every time someone approached him.

"Hello, fine establishment you have here." Neil said with a posh accent, indicating the common area. He didn't yell it, but a few closer men of the Black Fleet looked at one another curiously. Neil glanced their way, but then caught a curious sight. Three tables down, he noticed a small cadre of rough looking sailors sitting with Saltpeter Hardin, the dockmaster. Neil's left eye twitched for a moment, and he dropped two doubloons, the silver clinking on the table. "Two flagons of rum, and some peanuts if you have any."

After the barman checked the authenticity of the coins with the tried and true method of biting down on a single piece, he went about his business. Soon Neil had two mugs of rum, and some peanuts in a bowl he had nestled in his left arm. After a brief hesitation, he strode over to see old Saltpeter.

"-and what if the navy gets wise to us?" A black bearded thug asked, his eyes betraying the cunning he likely never utilized unless absolutely necessary. Neil operated the same way. His personality gave people a view of stupidity while he hid his real motive.

"The navy-" Neil said to the men, placing a glass of rum down on the table in front of Saltpeter and pulling up a chair for himself. "Will be none the wiser, as they say."

Already pistols and swords were drawn, and Saltpeter looked as white as a sheet, already sweat impressively beginning to pour down his thin face. For Neil's part, he took a big swig of his rum, enjoying his fill even as the pirates demanded he explain himself. If looks could kill, he'd be dead on the spot. He placed the rum down on the table with an audible clack. "What? Pete, you didn't tell 'em? I'm his business partner!"

"No, he is not!" Saltpeter rebuked, but Neil slapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing him in a hug.

"If I'm not then how did I know you'd be here at this time, hmmm?" Truth be told, he had not known that, but it was a circumstantial bluff he could use to his advantage. He waved the men to sit, and though they hadn't fired or stabbed him, there was only a small inkling of relaxation that wasn't nearly enough to keep his head. "See, when ol' Pete here takes a bribe, I do the dirty work and make sure things run smooth as a mermaid's hide."

Neil was only half-lying. He knew how Saltpeter worked. There was never a man as corrupt as him, and he used a bunch of street urchins and low level sailors, pinned badges on them, and sent them out to lie through their teeth and compartmentalize various ships and their crews so the highest bidders could take their time in the best spots. Not only that, but Saltpeter knew where to take ships on the run from the navy, and even knew a few secret berths in times of crisis. Neil had been one of his "helpers" before, and he nearly lost his head from it. Now he found a chance to get Saltpeter back, and get paid doing it, or at least keep him from getting paid. The tavern had gone mostly quiet, the confrontation taking the brunt of everyone's attention.

"What the hell'dya not tell us about him, for?" One of the pistol wielders asked Saltpeter with a growl, shifting the barrel to point the weapon at him. The dockmaster blanched.

"Th-that's right, Neil is an acquaintance, though I didn't think he'd show up here. I promise I was not hiding anything. What would be the point? All this does is hurt the meeting!"

He was right, though what Neil was doing wasn't the worst thing to happen to the meeting. The door burting open and the port watch streaming in was far more meddlesome, and Neil took a huge swig of his rum as the Black Fleetsmen bared their teeth and brandished their weapons at the watch, who by order of their sergeant, halted and presented their muskets and swords. Neil's brows rose, and he sunk under the table slowly as something far more volatile was about to happen.