POOHEAD189

Introducing Myself

@tinydancer01 Welcome, glad to have you!

Blackguards of The Moonsea

The book was, at times, undecipherable. He could not make hide nor hair of certain passages, but others seemed pretty bog standard, and others were just familiar enough that Malcador believed he could cobble together the pieces to make a spell. Unfortunately, much of it was blood magic, an art strictly forbidden by the academy he attended. Though he disagreed with most of the stringent rules of the academy, this one made perfect sense to him. Even the gods looked at it in a poor light, and the one time he tried it, it made his skin crawl, even under controlled conditions. He was glad he beat the blood mage to death, otherwise he would have been in a bad way.

Outside, pandemonium was still occurring. He felt a weight on his psyche; on his very soul. The screams of women and children and the cries of demons were the backdrop for him sitting in a dark kitchen, reading a book full of blood magic. Why on earth Mystra had cursed him so, he did not know. How the gods could allow any of this to happen, he wasn't sure.

Still, after raiding the larder and reading up a bit, he felt more dangerous, or at least less helpless than he had at the start of the day. With a few more spells in his repertoire, he could cause a bit of havoc to anyone trying to get in his way. Briefly he wondered where Serphia was, but despite his worry, the sly mage knew she was more likely to survive this whole ordeal than him.

Without warning, the door to the foyer burst open. It did not directly lead to the kitchen, but it was close enough to where Malcador saw the devil step in as it did so, though it did not face him immediately. The mage, thinking quickly, unleashed a cone of cold, one of the spells he had placed in his roster. An incantation and a gesture of his hands, and a blast of wintry ice flew from his hands. The devil spun, and to Malcador's disbelief, pulled the icy magic into a controlled, floating ball within his hands. Malcador's eyes widened, and leaped aside as soon as he realized the devil was using a counterspell. The cone of cold was shot back at him, and had Malcador not had the dinner table before him and the cabinets in easy reach, he might have been hit directly. He fell behind cover, and the devil stalked in, eyes peeled for the hiding mage.

Suddenly, out from the other side of the kitchen, two wooden guardians, animated figures of the collected wood used for the floor and furniture, stepped out. Both were the size of men, made into a humanoid likeness, and they charged the surprised devil. It hissed and prepared a spell, likely one of fire, but before it could, both constructs hit it at dead runs and the three tumbled to the ground in a cacophony of splinters and spikes. Malcador was not going to wait around to see if his constructs had beaten the thing, and he was now down two very useful spells he could have utilized at better times. Instead, he felt past the snarling devil and the constructs as they pummeled one another, making his way out the front door.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Our calls were unanswered, the words drowned out by the howling wind. I cursed, and slung my lasgun over my shoulder. Elara did it as I did, out of habit. However, I did not even need to look back to know she was apprehensive.

She voiced her concerns just as I predicted. "Sir, I don't advise we-"

"Our men are down there." I cut her off. Elara might be lax when it came to fraternization, but she was responsible when it counted. However, when it was needed, I was not. "Get on the vox and call it in. We can worry on who's listening in later. Just don't advertise I'm with you. If they're ours, they'll already know."

There was a moment's hesitation, before a burst of static and Elara's voice ringing in. "Forward unit to base, unit two is missing. We have found their trail." She rattled off brief coordinates as I began the slow descent down the wintry slope. The decline was rather sharp, but the indention made by the falling men showed the hard ground was not too far beneath the snow, and it was far less than impossible. Despite the wind and the blood on the trail, only a few feet to my right the thirty meters we descended, it wasn't that unpleasant of an experience. Perhaps it was a small way of coping with the unexpected violence, but I was reminded of one of the few times in my life I appreciated my father. We were on the trail of a large Primus Deer in the Askian mountains, and spent three days tracking through the snow. His endurance had been inspiring, leading me out of the wilds with our prize in tow. It only made my resentment of him that much greater, and the wish to outdo him.

The decline ended in a sharp, ten foot drop. Unfortunately, I did not know that, and slipped, falling the ten feet onto an embankment of snow. Elara slowed to a stop above me, calling out if I was alright. It was mostly my pride that was wounded.

"It was deliberate!" I called, hastily getting to my feet. My tailbone ached, but otherwise I was fine. "Didn't want you to go first."

"Such a gentleman," she responded diplomatically, dropping down next to me with far more grace. She added, "sir" as she patted herself down.

However, the limited flat ground we found ourselves on looked to be the natural porch to some sort of roughly hewed tunnel in the ground. The tunnel was large enough for the both of us to walk in abreast, and the curiosity of its existence was superseded when, as the wind died down, we were granted a clearer picture of the first few meters of the mysterious cavern. What I saw then brought a shock of terror down my spine, and I gaped. Beside me, Elara gasped.

"Throne above, what could have done this?" I asked breathlessly, stepping forward, lasgun held high.

On the floor of the tunnel's mouth, I saw what looked like the remnants of a kill. It was chunks of bloodied meat and bone, a visceral collage of slaughter. Someone or something had taken a chainsword or something equally as deadly, and had hacked this victim apart so violently, I would have never guessed it had once been human, did I not see tatters of our uniform in the pile of gore.

Our horror was interrupted by another scream down the tunnel, shattering our focus. I recognized the voice. "It's Carigen!" I yelled, which meant the poor soul before our feet was Colfax. I glanced at Elara, and despite the fear in her eyes, I knew she was with me. "Let's move."

We stepped past poor Colfax, keeping silent with our lasguns raised. I flipped mine to full auto, and despite my earlier claim being a bluster, I refused to get behind Elara. She did not look to be complaining, and I wondered just what had made this tunnel in the mountain. It did not look like something carved by man, but it was too big to be an animal's burrow, even a large animal. The ground was almost perfectly flat, as if blades had evened most of the inconsistencies in the earth. We couldn't move quickly, because despite the symmetrical tunnel, the darkness was quickly closing in. Twelve meters in, even the light reflected off the ice and snow was getting dim, but we heard a wet, squelching in the dark. The sound turned my stomach, but when I activated the illuminator mounted on my lasgun, something I had been loathe to do before to give away our position, I was faced with another of my men meeting a terrible fate.

The upper body of Carigen shook gently, his face a mask of distress and terror. It faced us as if expecting our arrival in a grisly welcome. I turned my light to the left, but whatever had been devouring the lower half of the trooper moved quicker than I could react. I pulled the trigger, a stream of lasbolts erupting from the barrel with loud CRACKs that echoed off the tunnel walls, hitting the floor where the beast had been a moment before. I only saw pieces of it. Scythe-like protrusions along the back, a slick, armored hide, I couldn't be sure how many limbs. It rushed down another tunnel, and to my surprise I found we were at an underground crossroads, five different tunnels leaving a central chamber. I stepped over Carigen and returned to firing down the tunnel the abomination had sped down. I couldn't be sure if I heard a cry of pain. I believe I did, but Elara was at my side, begging us to go.

I knew she was right. Both men dead, and I couldn't be sure I had killed...whatever the hells it was. I ripped Carigen's dogtag off his corpse, and together we ran back into the snowy landscape. We needed to warn the others, and we likely needed a bloody drink as well.

Mikes clothes fitting

@wittyusername Hey, please edit the more explicit parts of this post and leave it to when someone is interested and DMs you

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Nearly an hour had passed, and still nothing. The wind bit at my normally perfect skin, and I resisted the urge to lick my lips. It would only make them drier, I scolded myself. Even with three layers on and my overcoat, along with a standard trooper's winter head protector, I was freezing. Yes, the landscape, or what I could see of it, was breathtaking, but it would be far more enjoyable on a couch with a cup of recaf. I was so cold, I didn't even entertain the baroness's presence on my lap in that scenario. Merely being warm would suffice. However, I had an example to set for the men, and two of them lay brutally murdered in the snow. I would walk around stark naked if it meant capturing the bastards that did it any faster.

I tore my gaze from the verdant slope of the mountain to my companion. Specialist Elara had turned back too, lasgun in her hands and her figure almost a silhouette in the tempest of snow around us. It wasn't a true blizzard, but the incessant uptick of wind and the flurries of snow made it seem like we were caught in a storm. I saw a small tuft of strawberry blonde hair sticking out of her head covering as she approached, her eyes on mine.

"Clear, sir." She acknowledged, having to pull the cloth off her lips to do it. I did the same.

"Let's find Colfax and the others and turn back. Get another shift out here. I want to investigate a bit in the house, anyway." I told her, glancing past her to the manor, which was all but obscured by the weather.

"Sir, if I might make a suggestion." Elara said. I nodded, allowing her to speak. She continued: "Whoever killed Klane and Merkaba is likely someone from the house, but they seemed to know where they were. Sure, they could have gotten lucky, but it seems prudent to make some false moved in the vox broadcast, just in case they are listening in."

I pursed my lips. It was a longshot, but the suggestion wasn't without complete merit. After a moment, I shrugged. "As good an idea as any. Good job, specialist."

"Permission to accompany you inside sir, when you do. You'll need back up." She looked in my eyes with her own blue orbs, boring into them. I knew what she needed, and it wasn't what I needed. Still, some troopers deserved a few moments indoors, and despite her flirtations she was good at what she did. Plus, Morek would be with me, anyway. "Alright, but only-"

A scream was heard on the wind.

The both of us turned, trying to gauge where the sound originated from. Specialist Elara seemed confident it came from the west, and we both double timed it, lasguns at the ready as we passed by a pine and a huge mound of snow at its base. As we did so, we heard another scream, sounding like the same voice, but it suddenly seemed far, far away. Almost out of earshot, yet in the same direction. Impossible, I thought. Unless the attack had a snowmobile, they couldn't have assailed the same man in two different locations.

Suddenly Elara grabbed my jacket, and for a moment I was about to snap at her. A man was dying, desire could wait! But as my momentum halted, I realized the white blanket of snow was about to send me headlong down the mountain. Elara managed to pull me back from the brink, but as I caught my balance, I saw a carved out section in the embankment of snow. Two of them. One was larger than the other, and out of the snow, we saw the butt of a lasgun sticking out, and droplets of blood marring the otherwise perfect white of the landscape.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

"I intend to-..." His witty reply was sundered when she ignored him and walked right in, and Rupert was a bit too tired and off-put by the entirety of the nights affairs to react violently, or even just protest. Not to mention his insatiable curiosity, and so instead he just swung the door shut as the woman strode deeper into his makeshift abode and herself comfortable with her unasked for explanation. Not that the exposition was unwelcome, he was in need of some illumination on the nights events. If only she wasn't so cryptic.

"I figured someone would be trying to find her," He said, and then raised an eyebrow and looked the woman up and down. She was attractive, but that wasn't his interest. He was wondering just why someone would find him, and then walk in, saying others were trying to find him. Clearly the wards he had were not the best.

He listened to her words, albeit with barely suppressed impatience. He was not in the mood for this woman's sudden appearance, and what's more, he felt a small surge of revitalized energy from within when she mentioned the ancient adversary. Rupert clutched his chest for a moment, gritting his teeth until his willpower shoved the old man back within the dark recesses of his consciousness. He collected himself, albeit barely.

"This is all fascinating," he remarked dryly. "But do not mention wyrms again, and before we get acquainted, who the hell are you and why the hell should I trust or even care about what you have to say." His words were spoken acidly, and he continued: "Are you a seer with vague notions or someone who is more informed? I pray you're the latter or I'll become somewhat unpleasant."

It was only then he realized he still wasn't rhyming, but that was the least of his concerns. "And yeah, I have a small glass of milk in the fridge. Answer my questions and you can help your merry self." He nodded to the old, 50's box fridge in the corner. It was small, albeit not necessarily a mini-fridge. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, the lower half of his face obscured by the collar of his coat.
@Penny

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

Papers and debris floating to the floor like rain as the winds of magic dissipated into harmlessness. Behind a tossed desk, Emmaline could hear a short groan, as if someone was moving from a spot that had been midly uncomfortable. Over the lip of the desk, a hand appeared, and it grasped the desk. Malcador's striking visage, now looking like he spent the night on the floor, rose into view. He was still rather good looking, but his mane of hair was disheveled, with bits of paper in it.

"Well, that was rather more recalcitrant than I initially imagined, but..." He spied the ring, now perfectly glinting in the light. He blinked, his grey eyes catching the small serpents etched upon it. He didn't remember adding that to the ritual, and if Emmaline's magic had without her will, it could very well have been the work of something beyond their world. A daemon, worst case scenario. As rare as it was after being trained, there was always the possibility of a mage being possessed and used as a window for daemons to work their mischief and even violence. He doubted a god would take notice on their work here but... who knows?

He grunted and lifted himself up, dusting off his robes. Damn, his best elventhread ruined, at least until he could get them properly washed. He'd have to change into his older, more crimson robes of common weave. He glided over to the central table, somehow still smooth of looks and gait despite his unkempt appearance. Carefully, the handsome sorcerer picked up the ring, and immediately felt a small burden. It wasn't that they had increased the mass of it, but there was a weight to its spirit only a mage could sense. Still, it wasn't unpleasant. Like the weight of a gilded belt before you placed it on, seemingly nonexistent once worn.

Briefly he wondered about the wisdom of presenting it for inspection. The spellcasting had been somewhat obstructed. There was no telling what side effects it would have, but he knew, the way she had looked at it, it was going to have to do.

He strolled over, and then lowered himself to a knee, not worrying about scuffing the robes any longer. "T'was unorthodox, but I think we have a winner," he said, gingerly taking her hand and sliding the ring into her finger. The band glinted brighter, as if ensconced by an inner flame for a brief moment. He gave her a surreptitious wink, not letting go of her hand, rubbing with his thumb. "Hmmm, it needs a flashy name. We want it to be mysterious, and something good... how about the Chrysos Aurea? It's sexy, sleek yet bounteous, commands attention. They say an item always resembles its creator, after all. Yes, it suits you perfectly."

He gave her a wolfish grin, sly but hungry. But then his eyes went past her shoulder, and he saw the sun beginning to set out of the distant window. His look turned to resigned frustration. "Ugh, if I stay my friends will throw me into the reik." He began to rise again.

Silver & Gold: A Warhammer Roleplay

For someone who appeared to be a lower ranking student, her master's quarters in the tower was ornate but somewhat meretricious to Malcador's sensibilities. However, the student herself was more than appealing, and he whispered the alchemical symbols along the text as he read, his breath warm on her slim neck. Flirtation aside, however, he did have a professional sort of interest in what the grimoire contained. Particularly what Emmaline had spoken aloud.

"This seems dangerously close to my own order," he said, and chuckled to himself. "Then again, there's always a bit of overlap between the schools." As he spoke, Emmaline drew her face even closer, almost touching his cheek with her own. Overlap indeed.

"What are we going to enchant, exactly?" She asked, turning her head, soft golden hair bouncing against his face. "If we use something in here, Albrecht will-"

"Bitch and complain?" Malcador grinned. She laughed and nodded. He bit his tongue gently as he thought, and then nodded. "Can you spare one of the coins you won tonight? I know it's not your first choice..."

"Well, you need to smelt some iron to make a sword," She said, reciting an old chamon idiom. She reached into her pouch and pulled out one of the crowns. "We need to be careful, they're mostly gold, but they have some impurities, technically 95% gold." Malcador plucked it out of her hand and flicked it into the air deftly, catching it before their eyes.

"I'm impressed." He said. "See? You do listen."

"When it comes to gold, I am without equal." She said, holding her head high as if she were a prized stallion. He grinned again, not for the first time noticing her bosom on full display at the motion. When both redirected their attention back to the book, Malcador flipped the page until he found the section for the hermetic practices. He placed the gold coin on the page, next to the alchemical symbol for gold.

"I know you likely know this, but I want to say it plainly so we're on the same page," he remarked. "So in theory, gold is most closely associated with the sun, yes? And spells, though they can last centuries, can wither. We don't have the books for any dwarf runes, and elven texts are scarce on the matter. But I think together we can ensorcle this gold coin into a coin of luck, and while the sun is yours, the sky is mine, and so they're linked. With an admittedly advanced dwimmer or incantation, I can bind the coin with the sun relatively easily, and it can gather strength from it."

"We can turn it into a ring," Emmaline said, lips parted and eyes shining. Malcador glanced at her, to tell her that could work, but found himself dumbstruck by the sheer lust in her eyes while staring at the coin. It was one of the most erotic things he had experienced in months, and he had to rein himself in before he began to ignore the lesson and use it to his carnal advantage.

"Exactly, and when the ring is under the sun," He said, lifting the coin betwixt his fingers. "A domain we both share, it regains strength and continues bringing good fortune, and it should allow it to remain so for the entirety of its existence." Of course, Malcador could combine a few weaves and spells to make it a bit less soft than usual gold, though Emmaline likely could as well. Still...

"The idea has promise," He teased with an air of nonchalance, playing the coin between the back of his fingers. "Shall we proceed?"

In the back of his mind, he knew they needed to begin now. He had to be gone before the sun dipped below the horizon, as comfortable as he was in this golden tower with her.