Penny

The Hyborian Chronicles: Of Sword and Sorcery

"I don't ...have much left," Sythemis gasped as Amal half carried her up the pillar. Her skin had lost some of it's lusture giving her a wan and sallow look. A gasp left her lips as Amal's hand closed around the diamond, lifting it down from its pedestal. The bells hammering was so intense it could be felt deep in the stomach, physically painful against the eardrums. With shocking suddeness, the sound ceased and was replaced by a rumble. The pillar shook beneath them as though an earthquake rocked the tower. THen the soild stone disintergrated into gravel and slumped downwards in a shower of stone that swallowed at them like mud. Sythemis held on to Amal, spreading her body wide to keep from sinking to her death in what was now a mountain of small perfectly circular pebbles. The thief, by the grace of all the gods, kept hold of the stone as the careened down towards the forested floor. There was no dust and the grinding of stone on stone was like the hiss of a thousand blizzards. It took an oddly long time for the pile to come to rest.

"She is no man's queen thief," a cold voice declared from the portal by which they had entered. Antiachus stood framed by the arch. His body was nude and oddly mis-shapen, as though growths of some kind were stretching the skin beneath. Thin traceries, like old scars covered him from the neck down, forking and spreading like thin ivy. Only his face was whole and human, handsome and terrible with black eyes that gleamed with malice.

"Not that it need long concern you," the wizard declared, lifting both his hands palm upward. The jungle began to pulse and throb. Great humps began to appear in the forest floor. Clawed, skeletal paws, burst out in showers of dirt as creatures, like the one Sythemis had dispatched but long dead, dug themselves free, empty skulls glowing with red eldritch lights.

At The Edge of The World

I watched somewhat dubiously as Beren cocked back an arm and tossed his hook. Anti-climatically it fell to the ground and he hauled it back and tried again. The second cast succeed, catching in a branch. Beren hauled back twice, making the foliage shake and stiring up a flutter of brightly plumed birds. Beren handed me the rope and I stepped back, getting a grip, then I took a running leap. I sailed out over the water like a pendelum. For a moment I thought I would make it without difficulty, when suddenly there was a huge erruption of water as one of the log things, red jaws yawning open to display finger length teeth, launched itself up at me. Instinctively I kicked out, my boot connecting with its snout with a crack. The force of it struck up through my legs, knocking me off the rope and tumbling me into the shadows on the far side. I hit the water with a splash and rolled up onto the bank, scrambling up onto the bank while the water boiled behind me.

"I'm alright!" I called back, heart thundering in my chest. "I'm alright!"

Beren managed to recover his end of the rope and was pulling it back for his own swing.

"Try not to get eaten!" I encouraged. Beren made the swing without difficulty, the log thing apparently having been discouraged by my accidental kick to its face. He retrieved the rope by whipping it back and forth till the hook fell free.

"Well that was interesting," an accented voice called from the brush. We both turned to see a figure clad in mail of overlapping scales stepping out from behind a violently green bush. He wore a high nosed sphangelhem and faded red cloak. A powerful crossbow was held in one hand, cocked but not pointed. There was a long bladed cavalry sword at his hip.

"Do you make a habit of beating up crocodiles?"

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Emmaline gripped the lock and whispered her incantation. Nothing happened. The strange elven metal indifferent to her magics. Sighing she gripped the bar instead, and splintered it to rust. The crew burst free and grabbed their weapons. The approaching dark elves might have been taken aback as their former slaves rushed at them from two directions but they reacted like professional soldiers. With a shout the approaching elves pivoted into two echelons, locking their shields against the rush. For a moment they onrushing crew faced a wall of evil sigils and glittering spear points. There was a tremendous crash and the formation flew appart in a spray of metal, blood and gore. One of the carronades on the Hammer had evidently still been loaded and had been used to good effect. The elves had no time to regroup, the crew, all experience sailors, weren't phased by the roar of cannons the way landsmen were. They tore in with desperate fury. The elves were grabbing for swords and swatting with shields but the shock of it was too much. Emmaline saw one elf go down with a split skull, another lost a hand to a hacking blade. There was curious sound of deforming metal as a length of chain smashed the side of his helmet deforming the metal and whipping his head sideways with a crack. The fury of the crew as like the sea in a storm. Their fear transmuted into blind rage. One of the crew, already spitted on a spear, grabbed his killer and wreched his neck sideways.

With nothing useful to add to the developing rout, Emmaline hurried up onto the Hammer, feeling an odd sense of security despite the fact the ship was in such dire straits. The Hammer was a home of sorts, for all of its complicated associations. She looked at the rigging and tried to figure out what needed to be done to get it sailing. Then she realized there was no wind to drive the sails. How were they going to get out of here? Emmaline wracked her brain for a minute trying to think of a solution. There was a sudden hissing at her wrist and she looked down to see that the snake bracelet she had aquired in Tobaro had roused itself. It slithered down onto the table and turned to look up at Emmaline with its emerald eyes, hissing in a complicated cadence.

"Huh, that is a good idea," she agreed, "but how would I..." She was interupted by more hissing. Emmaline nodded her head as the snake made a guesture with its tail. She opened the draw and drew out Markus' navigational instruments and hurried up onto the deck. She retreated to the poop deck and knelt down behind the wheel, pulling a set of brass dividers from the leather case she started scratching at the deck, marking out arcane sigils on the dark timber. It was difficult to know whether Markus would be angrier about the defacing of his deck of the damage to his instruments, but she figured she could worry about that later.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"My family has thousands of Gelt invested in your company! How dare you refuse to allow me to retrieve my goods!" Emmaline raged, thumping a small balled fist against the top of the table. The clerk was fully awake now, and possesed of the panic of any low level official who suddenly found himself in well over his head.

"Your family...frauline... who is your family?" he stammered, knocking over his ink bottle in a panic and making a desperate grab to contain the mess.

"Who are they?! WHO ARE THEY?! Who in Sigmar's name do you think they are?!" Emmaline demanded all but shaking in simulated rage.

"The.. the Van Gelders?" the clerk stammered.

"The Van Gelders!" Emmaline agreed, seizing on the information provided with an actors fluidity.

"I am Margaritte Van Gelder and I demand you turn over my family's property to me immediately," she snapped. The clerk picked up his ink stained ledger and brushed at it, flipping pages desperately. Emmaline made a face and took a step back to avoid flying droplets of ink. The clerk peered owlishly down at the page.

"What property are you talking about, our records show you as investors in coin and in lumber," the clerk read. Emmaline narrowed her eyes as though she were just about to begin shouting once again.

"Do you think I cam here looking for lumber?!" Emmaline demanded. The clerk gave her a panicked look and frantically turned a few more pages.

"Are you refering to the 'special' order," he asked quickly, brightening considerabley.

"Of course I am," Emmaline snapped, stamping her foot pettishly, relived that she wasn't going to be forced to walk out of here with a few tons of lumber. The clerk relaxed, obviously pleased to have found a solution to what a moment ago had been an insuperable problem. Unfortuantely that newfound confidence made his officiousness return.

"Frauline, it isn't our policy to simply release goods without..."

"Policy? It is your Policy?!" she stomped to the window and threw up the window. It didn't actually look out at the walls, but it served as a good reminder about what was going on beyond the compound.

"Do you see what is going on out there?! There are hordes of beastmen at the gates! I demand you release my family property to me now. At any moment the Countess might demand these storehouses might be emptied for the war effort. Where will my property be then, pawed at by soldiers!"

"Ummm..." the clerk temporized, a look of panic entering his eyes at the idea that the Countess might seize the contents of the compound. Such a calamity would be ruinous to the company, even if the Elector Countess reimbursed them, that would be months or years from now and probably for coppers to the gelt.

"One word to my father..." Emmaline threatened, feeling victory beckoning. It was a mistake, the clerk frowned, his eyes losing a little of their panic.

"Your father... but he passed away..." the clerk interjected. Emmaline cursed internally, but was too practiced to simply give up. That would have been more dangeous than pressing on.

"My grandfather dumpkoft!" she snapped in exasperation. "who is as close to me as my dear father. How dare you bring up my families tragedy!" The clerk threw up his hands, to the snickering of the guards behind her. He pulled open his desk and retrieved a pair of brass keys. Then stood up and lead her through the door and into the nearest of the warehourses. It was dark and cool and smelled sharply of spices and teak. They passed bales of wood and indigo stacked on shelves, and barrels of preserved meat, currants, and spices laid out on wooden palettes marked with chalk and parchment notations. The rear of the warehouse was a stone structure with a large door of metal banded wood. A pair of guards stood dicing on a barrel, but they swept up their dice and coins as the clerk approached. The clerk either didn't see it or ignored it, taking the key he unlocked the door and swung it open. The guards on the inside, warned by the noise outside, were standing at their proper stations, heavy clubs and pistols thrust into their belts.

"One moment," the clerk told her, and opened a cabinet to retrieve a heavy ledger. He pulled it open and turned the pages till he found what he was looking for, then retrieved an inkbottle and quill and made a notation. He turned the book so she could read it. An entry said 'special order' Van Gelder. The clerks signature, Heinkrick Sclemov, was beside it with a place for a second signature beneath it. Emmaline picked up the quill and signed Margaritte Van Gelder. The clerk scrutinized it for a moment, perhaps expecting to find some error in the script, but Emmaline wrote letter perfect in the Altdorf style, down to the exaggerated flourishes that were in fashion. He grunted, then opened the rear door with the second key, leading her into the strong room. Three walls of the windowless room were lined with shelves, piled with boxes. Some were simple wooden affairs, others carved and ornate. A few were wrapped packages to oddly shaped to be easily boxed. Each was tagged with a name and a date. The clerk took a large cherrywood box a shelf and passed it to Emmaline.

"I acknowledge the release of goods to you Frauline Van Gelders," he said formally. Emmaline flared her nostrils.

"Do you expect me to carry it like a servant sir?" she demanded. The clerk sighed and hefted the case.

"I will take it to the gate for you Frauline," he admitted in a broken tone.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

There was a fell taste to the air, the way it sometimes did when the wind came off Illiac Bay. It made Graunille an odd combination of twitchy and nostalgic. It swirled around Graunille's feet as she tread the flagstones towards the Dancing Donkey, reminding her again of the dark gray seas of her youth. She thought of the murders in the city and was momentarily excited by the thought of a killer stalking through the mists, knife in hand. Her fingers flexed invoulntarily, tingling with magicka held in check by the narrowest margin. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a grin that would not have been out of place Lamia, partaking of nothing so begnin as humor or good cheer. Wild light flickered in her eyes as her breath swirled the rising mist. Just for a moment she felt like Merceda again, wild, reckless and intoxicated by the night.

The moment crumbled as the door of the Dancing Donkey banged open. A nord stood there, muscle bound and square jawed like most of his race. Graunille's nostrils flared involuntarily with memories of the old smell of burned pork. She shivered slightly and forced the magicka down. Suddenly chilled, she pulled her cloak around her shoulders. Judging by the old burn scars and the overdeveloped musculature, this one was a smith. She had seen him before she thought, Haskin?

"Something is wrong out here," she agreed, turning to watch the fog rather than moving through the door.

"Something unnatural about the fog... like Baliera," she elaborated. Thinking of the wind blowing the scent of the island onto the rocky shores of Wayrest.
@POOHEAD189

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

The compound of the Golden Kettle Company of Altdorf was impressive. It was fronted by a handsome gatehouse built on a stone arch and topped with half timber and plaster construction. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, black and shiny with new paint and taller than a man. Piers and jetties reached out into the Reik like fingers, summounted by cranes and masts hung with limp cordage. Two beamy barges swung idly, bumping against their painters in the sluggish current. Three long warehouses fronted the water, behing which were silos, a stable and a large counting house that served as the main offices. There were no guards visible, but a number of suspiciously fit 'clerks' were lounging about with sack wrapped bundles. Whoever was in charge was clearly no idiot, having realised that any fighting men were liable to be pressed to the walls. As Neil had suspected, the guards were clustered around the counting house and one of the warehouses.

"Well this looting is kind of new to me," Emmaline said, "do you have a plan?" Neil shrugged eloquently.

"First step, reconioter," Neil suggested.

"So no plan, got it," Emmaline concluded. She hiked up her skirts and marched down the street with Neil following in her wake. She stomped into the archway and into the compound with her nose held high. One of the 'clerks' started at her arrival and moved to intercept, but she marched straight past him and into the office.

"What is the meaning of this!" Emmaline demanded in an outraged Altdorf accent. The ink spotted clerk, a real one by his stained fingers, started wake from where he had been dozing. He spluttered for a minute eyes wide with panic.

"Ma'am?" he asked blearily. One of the guards stepped in, saw that someone one in authority was dealing with the issue and leaned against the door jam. Neil had already vanished, though Emmaline had no doubt he was usefully occupied somewhere.

Penny's Pencils

Penny's Pencils

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Emmaline sat up in bed, warming to the idea. In truth, she would have been glad for any excuse to dwell on something other than the low grade fear of the city's possible fall and the sharper fear of what she had seen on the barge the previous night. The fact they hadn't yet received a visit from their new found 'friend' at the Order of the Fiery Heart, suggested that their work had been appreciated and that their right to squat in the tower was at least not officially refuted. A harmless bit of looting seemed just the thing to start of the morning and she suspected that the salted fish she had stored in the lower levels would get pretty monotonous if the siege dragged on. Of course monotony might not be such a bad thing when compared to the excitement that would ensue if a horde of ravening beastmen managed to break the walls. Emmaline tried to imagine what the odds of that happening might be. Nuln was a mighty city and well defended. Beastmen rarely took walled towns, having not the skill to construct siege engines. And yet why try if it were doomed to failure. She brushed the thoughts aside.

"Can I wear my looting clothes?" Emmaline asked excitedly. Neil gave her a look, cocking his head and arching an eyebrow.

"Do you have looting clothes?" he asked. Emmaline sniffed hautily.

"A proper lady has clothes for every eventuality," she declared.

"Right, but what about you?"

Her pillow bounced off his face.

The streets of Nuln were not quite empty. Here and there people tried to go about their regular business, though there was a furtive aspect to them. Occasionally soldiers could be seen tramping through the street towards the walls. More than once Emmaline saw men in splendid armor and fine cloaks with polished weapons being chivied towards the walls by the rough and ready city watch. Someone had obviously decided to strip the nobles of their personal guards and send them to defend the city. Evidently this met with some favor from citizens who had only ever seen the noble's personal bullies swagger and swive in taverns and shove their way through the markets. Their forced patriotism was greeted with cheers and cat calls and the occasional handful of thrown mud.

"Do you have a plan for where we should begin?" Emmaline asked as they walked through the twisted streets. Much as Neil had predicted there were guards set on granaries and mills but as yet little care had been taken for private stores which traded in foodstuffs. For the most part the toughs who policed such places were being swept up to defend the walls. Emmaline saw several stores protected by nothing more than 'closed' signs.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Reading people’s minds is harder than you think. It isn’t because of any innate psychic defenses or anything like that, nor any trick of training or willpower, it is simply because most people don’t go through their lives thinking about anything that is particularly profound. Two of them were thinking carnal thoughts about me. One of them was thinking carnal thoughts about me and Clara together. This was not particularly useful information, as in frontier camps like this women were almost always in a minority among men of an age to still be troubled by testosterone. Hadrian was trying to make my job easier by using keywords like ‘off worlder’ but strangely it was Clara who took the trick. The scope had been salvaged from a Carnadon kill nearly two hundred miles south of us. The mangled body was still in his mind and I could make out what I thought was the face of Hadrian’s agent. I probed gently. Even the unaware can detect too much in the way of overt mind probes and the man shivered and pulled his mind back inside of harder defenses than I could breach without notice. I did manage to snatch enough information to know where to look.

“Your friend’s dont feel like talking,” the would be threesome asked, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained with some plant based material.

“Lady Sark has no words for the likes of you,” Clara replied, setting the scope down on the table to keep her hands free in case of trouble.

“And why is that?” Red teeth leered.

“For ze same reason lion’s do not speak to curs,” I replied in a Travensal accent. The Ordo files included voice recordings of Ammaretta Sark and I had done my best to imitate her mode of speech. My voice dripped with contempt, which was both appropriate to the situation and to Sark more generally. The man reeled back as though slapped, though his companions laughed good naturedly at his chagrin.

“Melton, ve have vat we need. Prepare us to depart, weeks on board ship with nothing to kill leaves me out of sorts,” I snapped and turned to leave. Clara took point in front of me as a life ward might, leaving ‘Melton’ to cover my back.

Outside we found Lucius growing agitated and drawing stares from everyone who passed. I had intended for him to remain in stasis until we needed him, but Hadrian had decided that having him on hand might prevent hostility from breaking out. Assuming Lucius wasn’t the cause of the hostility of course. I reached out and touched his now familiar mind, calming him with the exercises we had practiced back at Agesola House. It didn’t always work, but this time it did.

“Ve vill need transport,” I told Hadrian as he exited.

I fear your agent is dead. I saw a body on a beach south of here.
“Porters as well, perhaps half a dozen,” I continued.

What do you propose? Hadrian’s thought came back to me.

“It shall be as you command Lady,” he said out loud.

We travel to the kill site. I may be able to learn more there.

Was it wildlife? Hadrian asked in my mind.

Not unless they learned to use las rifles.

_____

We left camp two hours later riding in a pair of cargo tens which had their rear four tires linked into tracks for off road work. Lazarus had been able to piece my mental impression of the kill site together with orbital imagery he had pirated from the shuttle on the way in and we had a reasonably good guess as to where we needed to go. We hired six locals for fetch and carry, one of whom claimed to be a tracker, though in truth this was all for show. The sort of thing a rich off world hunter would do. Lazarus cunningly disabled their vox unit so that it appeared to remain functional without actually sending and receiving. It was probably overkill for a low level operator like Nagrip, but he had been underestimated before, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities that he might have paid some locals to take an interest in any off world visitors.

For the first two hours we drove eastwards away from the caldera, following an ancient rutted path through the forest. The trees were colossal, some nearly a hundred meters tall with large bulb-like canopies. Direct sunlight was almost completely absorbed by the time it reached ground level and so the undergrowth was more mycologial than arboreal. Our party rode in the forward cargo ten where we could speak freely. The mood was grim. I had only shared the image of the agent, little maw than a gnawed skeleton whose head was still attached, with Hadrian but no one had any trouble imagining it. We reached a small river just before sundown and turned south. This irritated our local help considerably but we passed it off as having picked up auspex readings matching carnadons. In truth, Lazarus was scanning for big game and other threats, but the true reason was that we could make reasonable time along the river bank. Seasonal floods had swept most of the undergrowth aside and so we could make bumpy progress southwards. Even so we had to pause once the first of the two moons set. We parked our vehicles in echelon against the side of the river and made camp for the night.

“We should be there by midday tomorrow,” Lazarus told us as we sipped amasec and ate our expensive trail rations around a fire constructed for us by our now surly locals. The would be tracker, a one eyed brute named Kelden, insisted that we would have had better luck finding carnadons to the east. I ignored him with aristocratic disdain until Clara had put her hand on her autorifle to let him know that he had crossed the line. He threw his hands up and went back to his fellows, making a wide curve around Lucius who sat gnawing at a haunch of grox.

“Then all we have to do is find a grave site a sex addled psyker pulled from the mind of a local drunk,” he groused.