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:OOC Thread:

The boat bobbed gently up and down in the polluted waters of the harbour, the scum of dead fish and human waste pushed aside gently by the blunt prow. It was nothing special; it stank of fish, it was badly in need of certain repairs, and it steered like a drunk cow, but it was all Captain Wavecrusher had. Wavecrusher wasn't his real name; he wished it was. It was the sort of name you could sail through the wildest of seas with, slay the mightiest of sea monsters, and not break a sweat. It was a long cry from his real name, which was Edrik.
Edrik was the sort of name suitable for his current job, which was fishing in the calm waters off the coast. He was rarely successful, and was convinced he was cut out for more.
So, earlier that day, he had sold his nets, his fish and his crew, and had formed Wavecrusher Transport Enterprises, Taking You To Where You Need To Go For 300 Years. It wasn't the smoothest of slogans, but it would do. Currently, he was offering passage to Lustria, a famed land, and one he only vaguely knew how to get there. He had plastered posters over the town proudly proclaiming 'Passage to Lvstria, One Silver a Head. Apply at docks.'
He was expecting his first passengers any moment now. Craning his head, he stared down the dock, completely failing to notice the sleek rat shape that crawled, dripping, over the side of the boat and slunk past him into the hold.
Some shapes approached through the haze...

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\m/ Metalhead for Life \m/

Click my dragons please?

Anyone interested in a Warhammer RP?

The sounds of heavy footsteps and the creaking complaints of the old wooden dock accompanied the brute. The heat waves hid him just enough that the captain might have fooled himself into thinking that whatever-it-was wasn't really that big, but as it approached, the wishful thinking fled. Which wasn't a bad idea, in all honesty.

"Boss want to go to Lus-tree-ah. He be here in a bit. Me an' him, two silver." He held out a massive hand, the two gleaming coins looking tiny as sequins in comparison. A diminutive grey-green head poked over the ogre's shoulder, the comically oversized nose and ears completely at odds with the psychotic glitter in its tiny, beady eyes. A bite mark blemished, and nearly obliterated, the right ear, and a dirty blue rag was tied on like a hat.

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."

Edrik gulped as the ogre towered over him, beginning to think this had been a bad idea. Tentatively, he plucked the coins from the ogre's hand.
'Um... come right aboard. Make yourself at home. But... I need to know... who's your boss?'
He stepped back as the ogre looked at him, expressionless.
'On the other hand, doesn't really matter, does it, it's his money. Welcome aboard the, er...' he flustered. His boat didn't actually have a name. Very unprofessional. '... the Pretty Swan!'

__________________
\m/ Metalhead for Life \m/

Click my dragons please?

Anyone interested in a Warhammer RP?

"Oh. Da boss is dis thinling in robes an' banages." Speaking with the care of someone who isn't quite sure how a word is pronounced, "His name is 'Sethos the Im-peck-uh-bull.' Can't miss 'im." Big Gaurok Mountain-Eater walked up the gangplank, stepping as gingerly as a creature weighting the better part of a ton possibly can. The gnoblar perched on his shoulder stuck its tongue out at Edrik and made a rude noise.

It never occurred to Gaurok that Captain Edrik probably didn't know that ogres called anything smaller than themselves 'thinling.' Content in his own, very focused world, he sat down with his back to the mast. Scrabblit managed to get clear before he got squished beneath his master, but just barely. Survival instinct ticked.

"I gots a bit o' meat frum da udder day, boss." Scrabblit held up an entire roast chicken, previously hidden in his bribe sack. Gaurok took it and chewed it peacefully, the bones making a muted crunching sound. It didn't last long.

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."

Alessio sat silently at the table, his hooded face in shadow, barring the tip of his snout, and his eyes, which glared at the four men before him. They seemed aggitated, and the Captain looked angry.
"Wheres our gold then, rat?" he asked, practically spitting the last word. The men shifted when he said it, worried about what the 'rat' could do to them. Alessio looked silently at them, and shrugged, his silent way of saying that he had none.
"You sayin' you aint got none?" growled one of the men, a huge man, round as a barrel, and with upper arms the size of Alessio's thighs. Alessio rasied one hand and pointed at the man, nodding, and grinning. One man spat on the floor, before downing a slug of rum, and throwing the glass to the floor as well. he entire crew had been drinking for the last hour or so, and had been eating in the galley. It seemed that some built up some courage, but that didnt matter much.
"So how you gonna pay us?" demanded the Captain, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Alessio gestured around the assembled men with one hand, and drew a finger of the other across his throat. The men simply laughed, one laughing so hard he had to sit down, wiping tears from his eyes.
"You'z gonna kill us all?" screamed one, barely able to control his laughter. "With yer little knives?" As the men laughed, Alessio reached calmly into a pocket, and pulled out an empty bottle, setting it on the table for them all to see. They stopped laughing, and glared at him, wondering what he was going to do.
"Wha's'at?" asked one of them, pulling a weighted hammer free, failing to notice the sitting man developing a strong cough. "Wha' game you playin'?" Alessio pointed first to the bottle, then at the men, then drew his finger over his throat again, a satisfied smile crossing his face.
"Poison!?" shouted the Captain, grasping for his sword. "You've poisoned us!?" Something wet splashed on his hand, and he looked down, recoiling in horror as he saw blood on his hand. The coughing man slumped to the floor, coughing, and spraying blood everywhere, as one of the others started to cough as well.
"Get 'im!" shouted the largest one, jumping onto the table to reach the Skaven, as the other coughing man slumped to the floor, the toxin killing him instantly. Alessio lashed out with his claw, and cut the mans legs out from underneath him, before dropping to the floor, rolling under the table to attack the Captain.
A leg came away and the man fell with a curse, and Alessio pulled out a knife, and stabbed the last man through the gut with it, before lashing the claw across his face, chopping his skull to fractions. The Captian looked up in shock, feeling the cough rising in his chest as the Skaven grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him up, bringing the claw back for the death strike.
The last thing the Captain heard before the blades entered his chest, was the sounds of his crew coughing bellow deck.

__________________
"I am not a retard,
I am the retard,
Mr Retard to you."

He just wanted to get to Lustria, there he could ... Whisper ... Some ... Words ... And ... Do ... Something. Yes, something. D'avekki didn't quite know what, but it would be something ... Something ... Fantastic. Yes, that was the word, fantastic. He needed to get back into the game again, after all, he WAS a Chaos lord.

Right now, he wanted to check the progress, he wanted to see how long it would take for them to get to Lustria, so D'avekki walked up, on board; and stopped. The smell ... hit him badly. God, he had forgotten the smell of fish. It made him want .. to kill something.

D'avekki started to finger the knife in his pocket, feverishly.

Taking a turn out from among the jumble of buildings by the docks, a cloaked figure swept down the street with mighty strides. It pained him that his royal feet should have to tread the dirt of shanty places like this, it did, but every time he tried to steer his feet elsewhere, they ceased to obey him. In the long weeks since he'd been reawakened, he'd almost stopped trying. Marching down the street, he thought nothing of elbowing or shoving his lessers aside, even going to far as to toss an unfortunate Arabyan gentleman from the pier. Soon enough the gangway creaked under the boots of the Nehekharan god-king, and he boarded the ship, fashionably late. He shoot a disapproving glare from out of the obscuring darkness of his hood, at his hired ogre - he regarded the fat, reeking monster with outmost contempt. It smelled worse than a goblin, and was thicker in the head than an orc. It was a race that would make good slaves - strong and capable of eating whatever you threw at them - if only they hadn't been so appalling. How such a fat creature could even stand up without growing exhausted was beyond Sethos, despite the rather in-depth lessons he'd received in the ways of the new world.

In his personal chambers in the city of Bes Hehet, the building echoed with laughter as the city's ruler, Sinrasuli, or to address him by his full name: Amsi Kambythet Sinrasuli Tutsekani Kaldum, the Unworthy, the Late, the Bringer of Giants, Chosen, Pyre-Crowned, Grand, Voice of the Gods, Tamer of the Red, Gold of the New Age, fell back into his chair, his bones rattling in throes of rampant mirth. Before his trembling corpse stood a gilded pedestal, upon which sat a clear crystal ball from which streamed the thoughts of his brother as audible words, and whose polished surface showed the eye through Sethos' eyes. The silver voice of Sinrasuli echoed his joy at his brother's punctured pride as the mummy king clutched his stomach in laughter. He obviously felt nothing in his stomach, but some reflexes extend beyond the grave. Eventually, however, his laughter did stop, and he crawled up to sit on his throne proper. Leaning forward on the armrests, he grinned broadly at the cowled figures before his throne. The two looked to each other, and then to their master. They were the wizards who had crafted the scrying globe, and they were destined to become wealthy men before the night was through.

Unaware of his brother's sadistic espionage, Sethos put one foot before the other and swaggered past the ship's captain without a word. Though not exactly scholar material, the mummy warrior realized that asking for the royal cabin on a ship like this would be madness. Instead he found himself a quiet corner of the weather deck and sat down to brood, not even speaking a word to his loathsome mercenary.

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If your signature is larger than your post, you're wasting space. If your signature is larger than your average post, you need brain surgery. Or a brain.

Alessio looked around the galley, an expressionless look upon his face. He did not care much for the humans, but he did care that he did not get to face them all in the heat of combat, only being able to kill a few of them with his new weapons. Hardly a fitting tribute to the mighty weapons of my people, he thought to himself, pushing a body aside with his foot as he walked through the room. A small hissing sound caught his attention, and his head snapped up to the sound, coming from the farside of the food bench. He stood up on the bench nect to a pair of dead sailors, and then rose up on the table, his offhand gripping the hilt of a knife.
He crossed the table in a long stride, and almost laughed at what he saw. His hand slipped from the hilt and he descended from the bench, to crouch next to a live sailor. The mans mouth was all but sealed with his own clotted blood, and one nostril was almost blocked, but he could still, amazingly, breath.
He tried to draw breath to speak, but Alessio rested a finger on his lips, and shook his head, indicating that he shouldnt speak. The sailor wearily closed his eyes, and tried to breath, but it was obvious that we was in a lot of pain from the toxin, and would not survive long. In a surprising act of mercy, Alessio rasied his arm, and the claw jumped out like a switch blade, before he slashed it across the mans throat, killing him instantly.
Alessio stood and went to the top deck, putting his claw back in its rightful storage place as he went.

Lustria... It was an odd place, naught but one huge forest, dotted with small temples and the like. Alessio could not understand why anyone could be interested with it, but that wasnt his concern. His master wanted something, and he was bound to retrieve it. He sighed slightly, and went to the anchor chain and snapped it from the deck, letting it sink to the ocean floor, and setting the boat adrift. With a satisfied nod, he went to the smaller rowing boats, and jumped inside, ready to head to the shore, barely a mile away.

__________________
"I am not a retard,
I am the retard,
Mr Retard to you."

Edrik squinted up at the sky, peering past the clouds at the sun. It was more pleasurable than looking at the other occupants of the boat, that was for certain. An ogre and some foul-smelling beggar wrapped in bandages. He'd considered throwing the bony, emaciated man off his boat when he had first strode up the gangplank as if he owned the place, but the deferential manner of the ogre warned him. If he was playing, Edrik could put up with a bad smell for a week, especially as it was only just detectable over the stench of fish guts.
He glanced at the sun... midday. They would have to leave soon to catch the tide. Clearing his throat, he put on his most authoritative voice.
'Alright, laydees and gentullmen...' he began, the ogre looking around for the lady '...we will shortly be departing for the fabled land of Lustriaah. I suggest that if you know others who wish to embark on this fine vessel, that you should let them know now. Thank you. That was your captain speaking. Thank you.'

...

Beneath his feet, Kritch stirred from his slumber, ears pricking. His knowledge of manthing speech was excellent, and he let out a little squeak of joy at the words of the pretentious fat boatlord. Lustria! Soon-soon! Rivers of warpstone! Cities of gold! He could hardly wait.
But... what was that? There was a dry, musty smell in the air, and Kritch's nose twitched apprehensively. A deadthing! Long dead, by the smell, and cured by heat and sandblasting. Fresh linen, too. From his studies of the histories of the Old World, Kritch guessed this must be a mummy, a packleader of the deadthings. But what was it doing going to Lustria? Kritch whimpered to himself softly, and his paw clenched. Stealing his warpstone! He knew Nagash had been a notorious consumer of the stuff, and the desert deadthings were his servants, right? He wasn't so sure of this, but it made sense. Angrily, he pulled one of his knives out and slammed it into the bottom of the boat, thrusting it in deeply. He couldn't let this happen, no-no!
A leak sprung around his knife, and he hastily pulled it out, and a small stream of water began to leak into the hull. Bad-bad! Tearing a strip of cloth from his filthy robe, he stuffed it into the hole, but the water kept coming in. The manthing boatlord couldn't come down here, he couldn't afford it! Resignedly, he sat on the leak, letting out a little squeak of dismay at the cool temperature of the water. This was going to be a long trip.

__________________
\m/ Metalhead for Life \m/

Click my dragons please?

Anyone interested in a Warhammer RP?

The loud clanking of armor against wood filled Gorgols ears, he was running for a boat, he heard rumors of treasure, it was a good way to get away from the city. His arse itched furiously, but now was not the time, he needed to get to that damned boat, his axe swung from back as he ran, he wished he could be swift like an elf, only for a moment. His appearance was intimadating to most, he even made some giants look like wimps, he hated these law enforced streets, they say no fighting, or killing, then if you do, they want you dead. He could easily handle many gaurds, but he knew they had the reinforcements and equipment to subdue him, he wasn't so stupid to invoke their wrath any further, at least not for now.

He wondered who else would be treasure hunting with him, he hoped they were scrawny, he'd kill them and take the loot for himself, a rich man he'd be...it sounded nice, he could hire his own army and take that wretched city by force. He finally reached the boat and waved his iron claw "Aye! Stop da boat, I wana get da loot too!" His words came out, his orc accent stained them, anyone with half a brain could tell he was an orc. He examined the other passengers as he trampled on board, his metal boots making a clunking noise as he came to a stop, he first noticed the ogre, "Damn dem fat boiz always stealzin frum da orcs!" he mumbled.

He wasn't intimadated by that fat ogre, he'd kill him too, he caught a whiff of what looked like a beggar in rags, he couldn't tell, nor did he care. "Aye, bum, Ima smash ya if ya don't get in da water, ya stink worse den da fat ogre! Gorgol threatened, he was quite upset with the company he'd be sharing the luxury of this boat with, he didn't have to say anything, but his big mouth never knew when to shut up. He hoped the ogre would get mad and fight him, but he doubted that fat incompetent ogre could even move anymore, he always hated ogres, he always hated rats too, he thought he smelt one, but he couldn't tell with the mixture of scents filling his nose.

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I feel it everyday it's all the same.
It brings me down, but I'm the one to blame.
I've tried everything to get away.
So, here I go again chasing you down again.
Why do I do this?
It feels like everyday stays the same.
It's dragging me down, and I can't pull away.
Over and over, over and over you make me fall for you.
Over and over, over and over You don't even try to.
I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead.
I know what's best for me, but I want you instead.