Culluket

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Biannca would never allow such sloppy diction.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Lurking just sounds so sinister.

{Closed}

I too am still here for jalebis and chill. If we need to do some more light bickering IC while we wait to stop this from calcifying, I'm fine with that.

Beyond Civilisation's Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP [Seeking Desperate Souls for Adventure!]

LUCIUS: Necrons have boarded our vessel! Anoint the defensive matrices!

SERVO SKULL ED-MR3: Oh you did NOT just shoot dat green shit at me!

Beyond Civilisation's Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP [Seeking Desperate Souls for Adventure!]

There *is* only one superior race, though.. :/

@Enzayne

Yeah, Orks. That's what you were going to say, right?

@Roosan

#TyranidMasterRace5Lyfe

@Sarpedon

Servo Skull supremacy.

The Absent King

"Pursuant to Roper, are those entrusted with the realm's security WITCHES and WHORES?"

The Absent King

Gawain sat paralyzed, sweat beading on his brow, praying the Monarch would not ask him anything about geography.

Beyond Civilisation's Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP [Seeking Desperate Souls for Adventure!]

SINDRIIIIIIIIII!!!

Let sleeping dogs lie.

The guild of esteemed sellswords is coming along nicely.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Gobskag was having difficulty with the watch.

Specifically, Gobskag was being held off the ground by the scruff of his greasy robes, kicking and flailing as four very official, very well-equipped men surrounded him. The novelty of the situation hadn't yet worn off for them, but Gobskag had a sixth sense for these things, and he knew in his revolting green water that it was only a matter of time before he was squig food.

"Geddoff!" he shrieked, swinging from side to side, "You got da wrong bloke! I ain't one o' dem bad gobbos, I'm 'eroic! I'm a merc, see!"

"You were caught stealing chickens from market." declared the sargeant over the stifled cackling of his men, "Who's your employer, the guild of foxes?"

"Iss fer real boss! I got papers, see!" Gobskag waved the twisted Scary Face staff, which was currently festooned with official-looking shreds of paper, affixed with clumsy wax seals. He tore one off -- the invitation --and forced it into the face of one of the men, who took it with ill-concealed amusement. "See!"

"Ah yes," the sargeant sighed, "The papers. Old tavern mats with 'I AM A MERSENARY' written on them in mud." the man drew in a thoughtful breath, "Call it circumstantial, sir goblin, but I suspect these of being forgeries."

"They ain't forgeries! I made 'em meself, I swear!!"

"Moving on. Upon being discovered stuffing two chickens into a sack and the other into your disgusting mouth, you then threw some sort of noxious elixir at the farmer--"

"It were self defense boss!" the goblin pleaded, "He wuz comin' at me wiv a chickin choppa!"

"Due to the chickens you were dragging away, presumably."

"I dunno nuffink about that, boss! Dat could of been any gobbo in town! Anyway they tasted crap."

"...And upon being confronted by the watch, you then accosted one of my men with a... let's see here... 'wooden scary face,' is that correct, Gaius?"

"It was very scary, Sarge."

"I see..."

"Took years off me life, it did"

One of the other men snickered from somewhere behind him.

"...Serious charges, greenskin. What have you to say in your defence?"

This was it. His one chance. Gobskag put on his most appealing tone, spreading his green hands in a gesture of honesty so practiced it couldn't possibly have been genuine.

"Friends... Tillyans... Countrygits.... " he began, "Dis is just a big miss-understandin' is all. I is but a humble travella, a simple gob of 'umble means, what doesn't know about the strange kustoms of dis shiny, noble land. But I's been around, here and dere, I knows how fings operates..."

A small pouch fell from the goblin's sleeve, landing on the cobbles with a musical jingle, its loosened opening betraying a glint of coin within. The goblin grinned an unctuous yellow grin.

"Oh goodness, hehh heeeehhh, I seem to 'ave dropped somefing," he wailed theatrically, "Poor clumsy Goblin, hnheehhh... Per'aps now I'll just walk away over dere, right, wiv me back turned an' all, so I can't see if it gets picked up, an'--"

"Bloody piece of--" the guard holding Gobskag patted at his hip, briskly, "That's MY fecking coinpurse!"

The sargeant drew his sword, his amusement at an end.

"Right. Entertainment's over. You're not in the Badlands now, vermin, this is Tilea, we have laws, and a thousand other things an animal like you couldn't possibly understand. You're going to hang, forthwith." he gestured, curtly, "Get it to the scaffold."

Kicking and shrieking ensued. The Scary Face stikk claimed another victim, but the odds were overwhelming. And that was how Gobskag da Great met his ignominious death at the hands of--

"Sarge..."

--Something in the other guardsman's voice made the rest of them pause mid-scuffle. He was holding out the crumpled, dirt-streaked invitation, offering it to the Sargeant, his expression grave. The officer gave him a questioning look and took it, frowning, reading over the page.

Little by little, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Di Trantio..." he murmured, slowly. The other men stiffened. One made the sign of Sigmar, uneasily. Guilmuero. So it was true. There'd been rumors, but...

A mirthless smile split the sargeant's features. The gallows suddenly seemed a tender mercy.

"Change of plans, lads," he said, crushing the paper and tossing it at the goblin, "Escort this esteemed sellsword to his employer's place of residence. Make sure he gets there in one piece. After all, he has his grand new career ahead of him!"

There were sinister chuckles from one or two of the other men. The goblin was deposited ungenerously onto his arse in the middle of the dirty flagstones.

Gobskag straightened himself up, reclaiming the crumpled invitation. About time these gits gave him some proppa respect! Mork, but being a mercenary was right tuff. There was slings and arrers, and some other stuff. Not the best start, but sod it, he was alive and finally getting wot was coming to him! And if nothing else, hey -- At least he could be confident the evening wouldn't hold another little man coming at him with a meat cleaver.