Penny

At The Edge of The World

I clapped Beren on the butt as he ran giddy with whatever I had inhaled and was happy to be alive.

“Let’s do that,” I agreed, sliding off his back and getting my feet back under me. I still didn’t feel great but the odds were high that Beren was going to need to fight shortly and would do better unencumbered. Now that I had time to think about it I could admit we had been insanely lucky. My little stunt might as easily have transported us to someplace under water, or where the air was filled with cyanide. It doesn't take much imagination to come up with horrible scenarios, but fortunately it had taken more time than we had to spare.

Beren led the way through another corridor and ahead we heard the sound of soft, rhythmic, murmerings. I felt fear coil up inside of me as I trailed along behind Beren. I had drawn my own sword as a show of good faith as much as anything, and I trailed my hand along the strange material of the wall to anchor myself and stop from flying apart in panic.

“I’m not sure we should be running towards the eerie chanting,” I admitted but even as I spoke the words we stepped out into a large open space. It was a strangely inverted and flattened version of the the exterior, descending on four sides in smooth planes to a central pit. It wasn’t too steep to navigate but it wasn’t somewhere I necessarily wanted to be running. The pit itself was circular and fringed with gold and what might have been polished jade. The edging spiraled out and up the pyramidal declivity in oddly circular ways, as though a circle was somehow at war with a square. The old foe. A shaft of light descended into the pit from high above. The very point of the pyramid must actually have a hole in it, because although I called it light, I could see rain drops from the storm that had been gathering falling in the murky light.

The Dre Costan’s were ahead of us, forcing the travelers toward the pit. It looked like Herronhob had taken a nasty blow to the jaw and his face was purple and swollen. Serpent men stood around the fringes hissing and chanting with red tongues darting back and forth. All held weapons but seemed to be held back by something. One of the Dre Costans was holding a symbol aloft that seemed to compel them to wait. Personally I’d have been down for making a run for it and to hell with the others but there was no way we were getting out of this city without the symbol.

“We have to save them,” I whispered earnestly.

Ill Met in Ostland

Konya whickered in disapproval as they headed south, along the dusty road. The warhorse was offended by a second rider and she kept pinning its ears back and baring its teeth to communicate her displeasure with this insult to her lofty station. Marius was in a fury of indecision, apparently having never ridden two to a horse before. He seemed unwilling to put his arms around her waist and was trying instead to grip the saddle with his hands and hang on to Konya with her knees. Natasha patted the warhorses neck. She sympathized but she couldn't leave the boy in the dirt with night falling.

By the time the reached the gates of the city faubourg the moon had risen. Cheery fires glowed in the windows of the neat houses that clustered outside the walls.

"Are zey not vwaried about rayders?" Natasha asked in surprise. This was her first time south to the Empire and to see so many houses beyond the protection of the walls seemed strange. In Kislev farmers fortified their homes and townsfolk lived inside palisaded ramparts. Marius shrugged and nearly fell of the horse for his troubles.

"Do not' do zat," Natasha advised.

"They take their chances I guess, this close to the city there aren't likely to be beastmen, if that's what you meant," the youth replied. It wasn't quite what she had meant but it conveyed the point. These Imperial's were crazy.

"Even' missus," a man said from beside one of the cottages. Natasha's hand went to the butt of the cavalry musket but she pulled it away before it was more than mildly embarassing.

"Dorrby v...ah gut avening," Natasha replied, getting a confused look from the man. He appeared to have been answering natures call against a tree stump when they road past. He peered back at her in shock.

"She says good evening," Marius translated having had time to make the mental shift to her accent at least somewhat. It amazed Natasha that people spoke such bad Riekspiel here. Perhaps when you got down to Riek it was better.

"If your looking to head into the city, they close the gates at sundown, ain't nothing short of the Reikmarshall himself that will get em to open up," the helpful man provided. Natasha frowned.

"Ve mast hav ladgings," she replied.

"What?" said the old man at the exact same moment as Marius. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut and then tried again.

"Loudgings," she said, drawing out both syllables.

"Oh, lodging," Marius said brightly.

"Is vat I sayed," Natasha replied.

"There is an in just before the walls yar ladyship," the man supplied helpfully. "Called the Last Stop!"

"Da, thank you," Natasha told him and road on.

"Well piss on you then!" the man shouted angrily.

"Why he want piss an may?" Natasha asked. She could see the inn ahead, a battered sign depicting what might have been a stagecoach hanging before a stone walled courtyard with a couple of sad looking pear trees in it.

"He probably wanted you to pay him for the information," Marius explained. Natasha shook her head, why would she pay for information she would have discovered herself in a matter of seconds.

"Vat you say, we drink, you vil tell me about about Golden Kettles da?" she told Marius, feeling expansive now that she had reached the end of her long ride. In the morning she could see to her fathers business in the city.

"Gold AND Kettle company," Marius corrected.

"Da, vat I say," Natasha agreed.

At The Edge of The World

I followed Beren up the winding stair gaining a scholar's appreciation of his backside as I did so. It seemed we climbed for an improbable time, the city growing smaller beneath us than seemed likely from our glimpses of the exterior of the tower. I was just about to suggest we turn back when we abruptly reached the top and entered a large circular room. In the center of it stood a vast brass basin covered in some waxy substance that I presumed to be oil.

"It's like a lighthouse," I surmised as I glanced around and saw that the tower was open on all four sides though protected by the largest sheets of glass I had ever seen. Having worked with a few glaziers in order to pass fake gems, I knew that it would have taken magic to create such large sheets even today.

"Not just a lighthouse," Beren countered, scuffing the dusty floor with his boot to reveal a portion of what looked to be a map. I followed his gesture and saw that it was indeed a map, a huge circular one centered on the basin at the center of the room. I was no cartographer, but was reasonably certain that given the scale of some of the recognizable landmarks, these people had voyaged to lands far beyond any anyone in Andred had ever imagined. I stared in wonder as I realized that there were tiny gem stones set into the floor, marking the position of cities that had existed in eons past. On an instinct I looked up towards the ceiling and found a map there as well. This one was made of black nacreous shell, laid together and polished to a shiny backdrop. Artificial stars of amber and pearl winked down. I picked up a long stick of what might have been ancient bamboo, or perhaps the milk tusk of some enormous beast and reached up to touch one of the stars.

"What are you..." Beren objected but as I touched the star the floor seemed to flow. Suddenly it was a wholly alien map with unknown continents and strange geography. I touched another and the process repeated.

"Some kind of magical map?" Beren asked in stunned amazement.

"I think... I think these are maps of other worlds," I admitted, scarcely believing it. My eyes went back to the basin.

"And if I'm not wrong, this might be meant to signal them." We both stood silent as we contemplated the enormity of what, I freely admit were basically hunches and educated guesswork, but I thought I wasn't far off. Were there remnants of this civilization in the stars? Or trading partners waiting for this fire to be lit? I took an involuntary step towards the basin. Beren hastily blocked my progress.

"Lets not jump to any..." we heard a distant scream. Beren swore and ran to the edge of the tower, looking out. Far below we could see tiny figures moving. Even from this great height it was obvious it was the conquistadors and the other travelers. The armed men were herding the others at sword point.

"Fuck! What the hell are they doing?!" Beren cursed, but I could see from the line of travel they were heading towards a large circular pit ringed by smaller temples. The panorama of the city made me momentarily dizzy even though some portions of it were overgrown with jungle. This place must be huge. I saw towers rising up in the distance, temples that would have shamed Black Cally's palace. Great amphitheaters that sat empty and crumbling.

"They are taking them to the Temple Pit," I told him. I had a queasy feeling I knew why but I didn't volunteer it.

"Let's go!" Beren shouted and he rushed down the stairs, retracing out steps. When we reached the door to the lower chamber we found it was closed. Beren heaved against it but it wouldn't budge. He pounded he door and then pulled out his axe and splintered the timber. Behind it the tables were piled up to block our transit. Beren heaved at the door, but even his mighty strength couldn't shift it.

"Back up," I told him, turning and running up the stairs. He might not have followed me but he did, apparently trusting me further than he should, which is to say trusting me at all.

"What is your plan?" he asked. I picked up the stick and touched one of the stars at random.

"Hold your breath," I told him and then whispered a word. The world exploded into shards. Suddenly I weighed twice as much as I should. My skin tingled and my eyes burned. We stood in a chamber almost identical to the one we had just left, except this one looked out over a city of burnished silver. Strange things I couldn't make out whizzed through the air beyond, perhaps birds, or flying lizards. I lurched into action, all but falling as I dragged Beren down the identical stairs for the second time. We reached the bottom and Gods be praised the door was open. My pulse was pounding in my temples from lack of air, the incredible weight of my body, and the strain of holding the spell. We ran through the door into a room packed with strange artefacts whose purpose I couldn't even begin to fathom. I shove Beren into a space in the room I remembered being empty and with a gasp let go of the spell. I feel the fabric of the universe shove us back into our world with an audible crack of displaced air. We stood beyond the tables in the room we had left the others in. Both of us steamed with a gas that wasn't air and smelled like salt and ammonia. My eyes stung but I blinked them clear.

"What now?" Beren asked, his eyes wide and shocked at what had transpired. I sucked in great lungfuls of air, trying to get the vision of silvery birds of living metal out of my mind.

"How...about... you take over the planning for a bit," I gasped.

Ill Met in Ostland

"It's cold, It's barren, It's overrun with beastmen. The food is bad, the wine is worse, and that vodka they make will dissolve the teeth right out of your head, and if the winter don't kill ya, the women will."

Konrad Bitchen- Imperial Diplomat

"We will leave you here Boyarina," Ivan said lifting his fist to his chest in a formal salute. Ivan Kariska was typical of his breed, a landless kossak adventure, bandit, trapper or herdsman as the season and lady luck required. He rode upon a sturdy Kislivte steed, wiry looking and good for many days without rest. He wore leathers over a suit of chainmail that was old when Ursus was Tzar and had grown no younger since. For all that it was in good condition, oiled and well cared for.

"Tor go vith you and your rviders Ivan Kariska," Natasha Andropolovskya replied. Clashing her own hand to her chest. She was a slender woman, shorter and lighter than Kariska by a considerable margin, but she had a quickness about her that manifested in the way her ice blue eyes darted constantly across the landscape. Her black hair was drawn back into a long braid that swung behind her like a tail. In contrast to Kariska her chainmail shone with the recent polish of sand and vinegar, and her leather and cloth gamberson was embroided with galloping horses, and wrestling bears. An expensive but well used cavalry saber hung from her waist and a plain looking cavalry musket was tucked barrel down against her saddle. Her horse was a glossy black mare with a blaze of white across her nose and fetlocks, and she pranced with eagerness despite a week of hard riding.

"Peace Konya," Natasha crooned, rubbing the impatient steeds neck with a gloved hand. She adjusted the short spear in her stirup cup, rattling it against the buckler strapped over the top. The steed stilled, though still quivered with restive energy.

"Remember us to your father Boyarina, in case we ever have cause to call," Kariska said.

"He vill give you the good vodka befar he hangs you," Natasha promised, and all five Kislivites laughed as thought his were not a literal truth.

"Tor go with you too Natasha Andropolovskya," Kariska called, and then wheeled his mount around and trotted away towards the north. Kariska and his kossaks were probably wanted by the local road wardens, but they had been more than willing to escort her this far after she had encountered them to the north. Bandits and killers they might be but they respected their countrymen. The horse bristled beneath Natasha. She laughed and patted the beast again.

"Yes Konya, now ve are free of zem, I vink ve can manage a gallop."

_____

The bandits were just reaching for Marius' purse when the galloping of hooves was heard. All six of the bandits froze. Even in this rural district, Marius threat of the roadwarden's was not idle.

"Might be a courier, often have gold," one of them said hopefully.

"It might be the law, we should kill this one and get off the road," another argued.

"If you kill me you wont have time to deal with my body," Marius stuck in. Further conversation was interrupted as a rider rounded the switchback and reigned in her horse to avoid over running the band.

"Blimey, its a bleeding woman," one of them gasped. Natasha stared at them with surprise, having not expected to met anyone on the road this far north and this late in the evening.

"Geyet out of my vay," Natasha said haughtily, her eyes scanning the scene in front of her. Six men in leathers, all armed, two with bows. One holding a shiny sword that must have belonged to the well dressed young man on the ground. Ivan Kariska could have eaten the whole lot for breakfast dead drunk, as he was most of the time.

"Who are you to give us orders on our own road!" one of the demanded.

"You haven't even paid our tax yet! You got any money girly?" the leader called.

"Vy vould I give you mahney?" Natasha scoffed.

"If you've got no money, there are other vays a pretty girly can pay the tax," one of the others suggested, thrusting his hips lewdly and taking a step towards the horse, grubby hand reaching for the bridle.

"I see," Natasha said and quick as lightning pulled the spear from her stirrup. In a smooth motion she reversed the weapon and cast it overhand. It sunk into the throat of one of the bowman with a sound like a butchers cleaver hitting a bone. The man nearest the horse screamed and started to turn, but the Kislivite war steed needed no encouragement. It reared back and delivered a bone shattering kick that sent rotten teeth, blood and spittle spraying from the mans shattered jaw before bounding forward in a graceful leap that caried it directly over Marius. Before the horse could straighten, Natasha whipped the cavalry saber free, riding the horses leap with bent knees as she neatly severed the sword hand of one of the stunned highwaymen. With a spray of blood she swung the sword around and sabered the man to her other side, striking a deep cut between shoulder and collarbone that spurted arterial spray as he dropped screaming to the ground. The remaining two men bolted in terror, one ran down the road and went down under the horses hooves with a crack of bone and moan of pain. The last bandit, lucky rather than smart, took off through the trees to the side of the road. Natasha unshipped her carbine and fitted it to her shoulder, aiming through the crude sights. She lowered the weapon without firing and then turned. The handless man was sobbing and clutching at his stump. Natasha slid from her saddle and retrieved her spear. Without a pause she stabbed the weeping man through the heart, twisting the blade and pulling it free before it could stick in his flesh. The man with the maimed face was crawling away, blood pouring from his ruined jaw. Natasha stabbed him through the neck just behind the skull. The road was suddenly quiet save for the increasingly distant crashing of the lucky bandit as he struggled through the woods. The fine layer of dust kicked up by the charging horse settled onto the corpses. The whole place stank of blood, bad hygiene, and the voided bowels of the dead bandits. Natasha stooped down and picked up the shiny sword, extending it pommel first to the youth still laying on the ground.

"Zeez bandeets, zey stink vorse than za cesspool da?" she said conversationally.

At The Edge of The World

I cursed myself for an idiot for speaking, but something about all that gold was making me feel funny. The fake map I had sold to my Northen friends had purported to show its location. I had found the legend while helping myself to the library of an old duke whose title I had been attempting to scam. Unfortunately the old man's heart had given out during the final stages of negotiations and I had found myself with a dead duke and a very limited window to escape, out the window as it happened, before I was discovered. The only items of value I had been able to steal were a few old books and a diamond necklace. One of the books claimed to be a journal of a long ago expedition that had stumbled across the place. The legend went that the city of Tzecholitchi had once been the seat of a great Empire before civilization came o the Northern Continent. It's black sailed ships had sailed across the world, and even if the tale was to be believed to other worlds, brining back riches and slaves beyond counting. For a thousand years the city had prospered but during that time they neglected their tribute to their Goddess, a strange deity who was half woman and half serpent according to the hasty sketches I had seen. Eventually their empire had collapsed and their slave states rebelled, marching on their former masters and putting all they found to the sword. Beset on all sides and hopeless, the people of the city had cried out to their goddess begging for mercy and aid and casting all the wealth left to them into her temple pit. To show her contempt for their riches, the goddess turned their entire city to gold. It was only when they began to throw themselves into the Temple Pit that the Goddess had finally relented. Jungle had sprung forth across what had once been cultivated land, consuming in an hour what had taken a thousand years to build. The armies had been turned back by the serpents and the fevers that stalked the jungle and the name Tzecholitchi had been all but forgotten.

But not apparently by all. Both of the Dre Costan's knew the name.

"What is this place," the timber merchant asked, his eyes alight with avarice as he ran his hand along the golden wall.

"No where we should be," I muttered uneasily, both Dre Costan's pretended to relax.

"We are just going to stumble onto a city of gold and walk away?" One of them demanded. I had to admit that the feeling of unease in my stomach was the only evidence I had for wanting to flee. The wall alone would pay the Andredan army for a year. The Merchant, Herronhoop or something, pulled a heavy knife from his belt and struck the wall at a glancing angle, attempting to shave off some of the precious metal. There was a dull clang but nothing happened. He frowned and tried again, this time attempting to drive the point into the gleaming wall. It glanced aside without a scratch.

"Maybe if we had some heavier tools," he pondered, glancing back towards those of us with swords. No one volunteered to try it.

"There must be an enchantment," one of the Dre Costan's said. "I bet we can find some gold inside, something small enough to carry away."

"Gold is heavy," Beren pointed out, "do you really want to carry it through the jungle."

"I do if I'm going to be rich when I reach the other side," another of the travelers said. It was nearly nightfall and the sky to the west was low with heavy looking clouds.

"I suppose we can at least shelter for the night," Beren capitulated, though I could tell he was as uneasy as I was, and probably a little less struck with gold lust besides.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Emmaline was queasy. She had just killed a half dozen slaves whose only crime was being afraid of their Dark Elven masters. She squeezed her innards into compliance, certain that no sentry would be deceived if a supposed Druchii corsair started puking their guts up. With difficulty she dreged up one of the few lessons Albrecht the Magnificent had ever bothered to teach her. Education hadn't been his priority when it came to his pretty apprentice, but a few things had stuck. She focused on the golden wind, allowing it to blow through her and carry away her anxiety. Idrin grabbed her arm.

"Stop it!" he hissed, "My kind aren't as blind to the flow of magic as yours." Emmaline heroically resisted the urge to elbow him in the pit of the stomach, but she ceased the meditation, her momentary anger having purged her churning guts.

"What is wrong with you," the elf demanded.

"I never killed anyone before," Emmaline replied to the evident confusion of all except Markus. They assumed her to be a seasoned cut throat by association.

"Keep it together," Markus grunted as they approached the tunnel. It might have started out as a natural cave, but the dark elves had carved pillars out of the living rock. It wasn't pleasant to look at, all sharp eyes and leering faces that reminded Emmaline of the worst clown masks she had seen in Altdorf as a child. Two elves in plate cuirass with skirts of shining mail stood guard. Each wore a tall pointed helmet and carried a long spear with a wickedly convoluted point. Both bore shields marked with the symbol of a sea dragon. It was clear they weren't expecting trouble, both were back inside the cavern to avoid the rain, but as they approached they stepped out to take their places.

"Kalawan indrad us'the?" one of them called to Sulandar who had strode to the head of the group. He called a response in his own language and made a gesture. Emmaline steeped to make sure Morek was between her and the Druchii sentries.

"Ene'we, Ene'we astaralai?" the second sentry asked.

"Farinduril Drakan taris," Sulandar responded. Whatever it was, it was the wrong thing to say. Both elves tensed and began to lift their weapons. Sulandar stepped inside the reach of one of them and stabbed his sword into his opponents neck, using his own bodyweight to drive the Druchii back into the cavern and out of sight. As he passed Sulandar slashed backwards with his sword, intending to decapitate the second elf, but he turned with unbelievable speed and got his shield up. Sulandar's blade bounced from the laqured wood as the Druchii dropped his spear to pull his sword. Morek's ham sized fist caught him in the neck. The elf's helmet whipsawed sideways with an audible crack as the blow propelled him into the tunnel after his fallen comrade. Morek chuckled madly and sucked his fist, which now bled from a pressure cut to the knuckles. They hurriedly moved into the tunnel and paused, waiting for some alarm. There was nothing but the roar of the storm and the illumination of the now spreading flames. Emmaline looked back and saw something large and winged highlighted against the moon. The figure of an elf was bestride what looked like a vast horse with the wingspan of a gryphon.

"A sorceress," Idrin muttered, though how he could tell sex at this distance Emmaline had no idea. For the moment it seemed she was focused on the fire, though with magical assistance it wouldn't be long before the blaze was damped.

"You had best hope your ship can fly," Idrin muttered to Markus.

At The Edge of The World

I laughed around my mouthful of dinosaur as Beren stammered his apologies. I have heard hunters say that no meal tastes better than one you catch yourself, though the filet of dinosaur tail was probably not the most eloquent proof of the argument. For all the travel I had done I remained a city girl, but I wasn’t without my analogues. I touched Beren on the wrist before he could flee.



“We didn’t just meet,” I contradicted him, leaning back against the meager comfort of a log that I had draped my cloak against. Not coincidentally the pose cocked my hips slightly and pressed my chest out the tiniest bit. The effect was to tighten the white cotton of my shirt around my breasts, just enough to allow the slightest blush of the flesh beneath to appear at points of maximum contact. It didn’t appear like a deliberate provocative action, not to an ametuer, but a priest couldn’t have argued that the resulting ‘accidental’ pose wasn’t sensual. Judging by the way Beren’s eyes widened, holy orders were a ways off. I felt a little ashamed of myself, it was like spearing fish in a barrel, but the trek had been filled with terrifying incidents in which I felt like I had clung on by my fingernails. It felt good to practice a skill I was good at.



“You saved me from my kidnappers.” Rather my dupes. “You saved me from the tentacle thing.” Definitely true. “And you saved me from the raptor.” Partially true though admittedly it looked like it was going to go the other way altogether. I had been scared out of my mind when I charged in, but it didn’t look like any of the others were going to do it in time. I took another nibble of dinosaur and chewed contemplatively. I couldn’t imagine ever getting a taste for the stuff, but there was a slight seasoning in the fact that it would have enjoyed eating me more than I was enjoying eating it.



“I’d say that makes us at least social acquaintances,” I teased. Beren was brave and I had to admit wasn’t hard on the eyes. For various reasons my historical type tended to be somewhat less muscular. Afterall, every dock in the world is overrun with muscular men without two coppers to rub together. I didn’t imagine Beren had a great supply of coppers either but he was certainly the best prospect here in the wilderness. Besides, it hadn’t escaped me that the Dre Costan’s might try and bash my skull in while I slept and Beren was my best chance at forestalling that possibility. Not being bludgeoned to death is sexy. I gave a calculated yawn and stretched just slightly, shifting the fabric over my chest.



“Do you think the rest of his pack,” I waved my slice of tail around to emphasize the dinosaur, “is out there looking for us?”



“It is or was a she,” Beren corrected me, “the females are larger and do the hunting, the males tend to be solitary unless they are in rut.” I eyed the meat speculatively.



“I suppose I didn’t have time to look for any identifying equipment,” I admitted.

At The Edge of The World

I discovered in short order that all the tales of romantic adventure in the Southlands conveniently left out the bugs. Probably dashing heroes were a deal less dashing after a pint or two of blood had been removed by various flying stinging insects. We hacked our way through the trail in what Beren assured us was a northerly direction. The snakes too were a problem and for me particualarly, not because I was stung, bitten?, or anything like that. My problem was a bit more complicated. After about an hour of chopping our way through steamy jungles, Beren struck a vine with his axe and as it parted a large greenish snake fell to the ground. By this point the party had become rather used to avoiding the reptiles that seemed to lurk in every bush and behind every rock. This one landed beside Beren who backed rapidly away, spreading his arms to ward the rest of us back.

"It's an emerald viper," he hissed, "invariably deadly. Very aggressive." The snake didn't seem immediately aggressive, but it reared back like I had seen cobra's do in Arad Lund and scanned the front rank for a likely target. It's eyes fell on each of us in turn until it fell on me and paused. I stifled the urge to yelp, thinking the thing was about to attack. Instead it seemed to bow its head at me and then turned and slithered away into the brush.

"What in the hell..." Beren muttered, "never seen one just back off before."

One of the conquistadors rounded on me and thrust out a finger as though about to decry me as a Mervegian heretic.

"She is a witch woman!" Which was true. "She has power of snakes!" Which was demonstrably not. I scoffed, more for the need to say something than from any real plan.

"Our mighty friend here is a teensy bit scared of snakes," I told the party at large, earning myself a murderous look from both men.

"Not to worry fellows, I'll protect you from the scaled menace," I boasted then stuck out my tongue and made a hissing noise. Both conquistadors flinched and then colored, earning a smattering of chuckles from the rest of the shipwrecked, raftwrecked?, passengers.

"The trail isn't too far ahead," Beren interjected, clearly eager to forestall a fight, an instinct I was all to pleased to see given I'd be fighting two armed men with a gun that didn't have any ammunition and a sword I was barely competent to draw from it's scabbard.

"Then lets get onto it by all means... if you gentlemen are quite ready?" I asked the fuming conquistadors with elaborate patience.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Emmaline was thankful that her time on the Hammer had hardened her stomach against sea sickness. Even so she would have happily spent the day casting her accounts to Mannan if it meant she didn't have to walk into a Druchii citadel. She had asked Sulandar during a brief moment of respite whether she would be better of pretending to be a slave. The High Elf had pronounced they were all doomed anyway, but on balance a pretty human slave would attract more attention than a slightly short elf wrapped in a heavy cloak. Morek of course had no option, and had nearly punched Emmaline when she mentioned it was a shame there were no Dark Dwarves to disguise himself as.

"If your ship is here, it will be in the slave pool," Idrin sail as he pulled his own disguise into place.

"Slave pool?" Emmaline asked in confusion. The harbor around them was filled with sleek raider, but nothing that looked human, or with the bulk of the Hammer.

"It is a secondary harbor in the caves below the city," the elf explained, "your crew will be there too, those who are still alive."

Emmaline tried to picture a harbor that was underground but it was hard to imagine.

"Why dont they..." she began but Idrin made a chopping motion.

"We are on borrowed time already, I haven't time to explain every detail," he snapped. The elf was trying hard to look serene, but his waspish tone and the tightness at the corner of his grey eyes betrayed his fear. That was only to be expected, a High Elf could expect horrors far beyond death if he were caught in this place.

"Why don't we just sail in there?" Emmaline persisted. Idrin drew in a breath to snarl a response but Morek and Markus both took a step towards him and he quieted.

"There is no reason for a corsair to sail in there, it would raise the alarm. They take ships in there and force the crew to rip them apart for scrap and timber. Its one of the ways the underscore that you are never getting out." Forked lightning snapped overhead to underscore the remark.

_____

Emmaline walked in the middle of the group. Sulandar was at the front with Markus and Idrin at the rear, their pointed ears a better disguise than the stolen arms and armor would be. Emmaline kept her cloak drawn tight and kept close to Morek, reasoning that her plumper than elven form might be somewhat attenuated by comparison to the dwarf's bulk. They were moving away from the docks past what seemed to be warehouses for naval stores with a heavy smell of hemp rope and seasoned timber, moving roughly paralell to a canal that Indrin thought lead to the Slave Pool. There were a few Druchii around, but they were distant sentinels huddled in dark cloaks and staring out to sea, watching for enemies or perhaps hoping to see the ships of rival founder in the fury of the storm. The arched windows of some of the buildings were lit, but no one seemed to be on the street.

"What in Ranald's name?" Emmaline whispered as they began to round a corner that took them away from the docks. By chance she happened to look back to where their stolen vessel, nameless as far as she knew, lay against its dock. Ragged figures had emerged from the hold, they were shouting though over the wind and the rain she couldn't tell what. Not that she needed to.

"Ranald's balls! The slaves are raising the alarm!" she hissed. The ragged survivors were willing to sell out their would be rescuers in hopes of gaining some kind of mercy from their dark masters. Fortunately the deserted nature of the docks was working against them.

"We have to run for the ship, we wont get a dozen feet," Sulandar breathed, tensing to run.

"It is too far for me to burn," Markus growled. Emmaline glanced at him with a question in her eyes. He gave a stern nod.

"What are you..." Idrin began.

Emmaline whispered the words to her spell, drawing a sigil beneath her cloak. Two hundred yards away the masts of the nameless ship shimmered as their tips transmuted to silver. Instantly lightning stabbed down out of the sky directly down onto the conductive metal. Three bolts crisscrossed within a heart beat of each other. The top deck of the ship blew apart in a spray of burning debris and pieces of bodies. The flaming rigging seemed to fall in slow motion, slapping across the deck flaring up as timber began to catch. Emmaline looked green and unwell at what she had done.

"A fire at the docks is a good distraction, and the only way out is with my ship," Markus said with grim satisfaction.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"I hope you are better at small talk than telling time," Jocasta said snippily. The redhead didn't respond. Not only didn't she respond, she made no movement at all. In fact, now that Jocasta's attention was drawn to it, nobody was moving. Not that they were standing still, they weren't moving at all. Beren stood with a pastry half way to his lips. A servant was pouring wine which hung between bottle and goblet, a dark haired woman whose partner had whirled her fast enough that her hair had flown out was crowned by her now gravity defying locks. The entire feast was frozen in place, right down to the flames refusing to flicker. It was a moment of deep cosmological terror.

"Holy fuck," Jocasta observed curiously, "have I broken the fucking world?"

"You have done nothing," a sinister voice declared. Jocasta spun around to find herself face to face with the human form of the demon she had last seen in the wizards lair below the earth.

"If I'm being honest, not quite as much of a relief as I was hoping," Jocasta admitted backing away from the demonic being. It followed her unhurriedly, plucking a goblet of wine from the hand of an unmoving party guest and sipping at it.

"Quit squirming mortal, if I wanted to harm you..." the demon made a gesture with one hand. Pain exploded across Jocasta's midsection. She could feel taloned hands clawing their way through her insides. She feel to her knees, clutching at her midriff and squealing in agony. The demon examined its manicure for a moment and then snapped its fingers.

"I wouldn't have to chase you down to do it," the thing concluded. Jocasta lay in the fetal position for a few moments longer and then managed to pull herself up. Despite having collapsed on the mossy flooring her dress was unmarred.

"Then what do you want?" she demanded in what she had hoped to be a belligerent tone, but came out much squeakier than seemed reasonable.

"All I want is for you to live up to the agreement we made," the demon said in a calm tone. "If you'd like to reneg I can return your friend their to the state he was in back at Ikathan's dreary little study.

"What do you want," Jocasta demanded sullenly.

"Why only that our red headed friend show your stiff necked monk there a wonderful evening," the demon replied.

"Why?" Jocasta asked, moving over to the frozen redhead and flicking her in the nose. The woman didn't so much as flinch.

"It is enough for you to know that I wish it, do it for me and your friend's intestines stay on the inside, I might even see fit to reward you," the demon went on.

"Aren't they going to see me teleport out of position when you ... start time again?" Jocasta asked. The demon gave a superior chuckle.

"I haven't actually stopped time mortal, rather we are holding this conversation between moments, but your point is taken." He snapped his fingers again. Jocasta' body was wrenched back across the floor as she was ripped back into the exact position she had been in before she tried to speak, her hair smoothed itself out and her tears slid back up into her tear ducts. The red head suddenly arched an eyebrow and flinced as though to touch her nose. There was a confused gasp from behind her as one of the guests found that he was missing his drink.

"Go... go right ahead," Jocasta managed and then turned and headed for the liquor.