Penny

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Jocasta was still enthusiastic about the idea of lances at dawn, but she had to admit that Beren's suggestion had alot of merit.

"We have been hoping to aquire charters to explore the ruins and the barrows," Beren said.

"And letters of introduction that will let us examine the libraries of noble families," Jocasta stuck in by way of twisting the knife and advocating for her own interests while she was at it. That might be useful if they needed to get access to the noble estate which sported the dwarven rune in its coat of arms. It wasn't likely that a noble family would welcome a group of rag tag adventuers to explore their land, essepcially if most of them were dwarves.

"I'm sure that a ... noble lady like Lady Giroux will be able to furnish us with the proper writs," Beren wheedled. That 'noble lady' looked like she was about to have a cornary on the spot, her face turning an almost eggplant shade of purple. Jocasta had no skill with lances, but her confident choice of weapons had clearly upset the woman. Jocasta wondered what her game was. It seemed unlikely that she was tangled with the demon, but whatever she was playing at must align with its fell purposes.

"I..." Giroux stumbled, but her liege lord was giving her a stern look which argued strongly against continuing to swim against the tide. She glowered but the aquiesced.

"I shall have the papers deliver by way of... appology," the last word hissed out from between her teeth, and she spun on her heel and stalked away.

Penny's Pencils

Ill Met in Ostland

Natasha collected a handful of twigs and stacked them in a square before adding some larger sticks. She crouched down beside the timber and began to spark the flint of her carbine, sending showers of sparks down over the tinder. It stubbonly refused to catch despite her best efforts. The powder in her pouch was no help, having been soaked to slurry during the river crossing. She bent down and blew, coaxing a few whisps of smoke from the pile, then cursed and sat up straight, pushing her hand to her side.

"Are you alright?" Marius asked.

"Da, ze vound opened," she hissed, feeling the warm dribble of blood run down her ribs.

"Here let me..." Marius said, making his way awkwardly towards her. Natasha suddenly looked alarmed.

"Stop!" she hissed. The merchant made a dimissive sound and kept coming towards her, reaching out with a hand in comfort.

"Stop!" Natasha repeated, more urgently.

"Seriously, you'd rather bleed than let me take a look? I promised you its nothing I haven't seen back in Altdorf..." he cut off as Natasha lurched across the cellar and clamped a gloved had across his mouth. Marius struggled for a moment and then stilled as a sound came from outside. Natasha held up a finger in front of her lips and, when she was certain he wouldn't make a sound, let him go. She pulled herself up to the lip of the cellar and peered over the ancient stonework. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but at the edge of the scrubby wood were a trio of figures. They were humanoid but they weren't human. All three were covered with fur and mixed the aspects of humans and beasts. One of them had gnarled antlers protruding from his skull, another cloven hoofs and backward jointed knees. All three carried weapons that had once been farm impliments but had been hammered into crude polearms by the most basic of methods.

"Beyest meen," Natasha hissed. The beastmen picked their way along the treeline. Suddenly one paused and snuffled at the air in a disturbingly cannine way before braying at its fellows. Their eyes turned towards the ruins of the mill.

"Can they smell the horses?" Marius whispered.

"I thynk eet is my blood," Natasha replied. Under normal circumstances the scent would have drawn them in moments but the rain was obviously providing them some cover. After a few minutes they lurched off down the hill and away.

"Soo mich for fyr," Natasha breathed in relief.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Dawn broke to find Palona wreathed in a pall of smoke it billowed thick and black from the shattered remains of the powder magazine bespeaking something more potent than simple gunpowder. Dozens of fires burned along the axis of attack and along the line Bianca and her scouts had ridden, adding to the omnipresent haze that rendered the enemy camp half invisible. Every now and again the wind gusted enough to drive away some of the cloud, revealing bodies laying where they had been hacked or shot, burial detail apparently still not having been arranged.

"What are they waiting for you reckon?" Cadger asked as he laid down two towers and scooped the pot. Bianca scowled but if the dwarf were cheating she couldn't detect it. He had fetched a blow from a mace in the night fighting, partially deflected off his shield, that had laid open a cut on his scalp. Nambi had tried to heal it, but as with all things dwarven the cut was partially resistant to magic. A paste of Bianca knew not what had been laid over it and hardened like plaster, save where serum had seeped through and colored the center a pale yellow, making it look for all the world as though someone had dropped a fried egg on her uncles liver spotted pate.

Torm and Nambi tossed in their own cards and Bianca began to deal again. It was a company tradition to play cards after a battle, the theory being you had been lucky enough to survive so you would probably be lucky enough to win. Bianca sucked at her teeth, irritated that she couldn't be out there answering that very question, but the Captain had flat forbidden it as too dangerous. She had three dead, Kali, Rivens, and Marcs, and she had yet to broach the topic of replacements. There were a couple of Aeon's infantry she was considering but it would be impolitic to ask so soon.

"Probably killed too many officers, takes time to sort out he new shitting order," Aeon opined, his smile brilliant against his dark skin. Aeon was technically the watch officer, and so the game was taking place in a guardhouse by the main gate. Bianca grunted. That was always a possibility with foes like this, particularly if a big wig contracted a bad case of sword to bowels without a clear successor. There was no way they could bring up enough food to feed their men, but they might not have realized that just yet. With any luck they would dally for a week and half of them would starve on the march back south.

"If I'd seen Torm and the Nargard come screaming out of the night it might take me a few minutes to find my balls too," Nambi said, opening the bidding by tapping two fingers on the table. Cadger growled and tossed his cards away. Bianca examined her own cards and followed suit, triggering a redeal, much to Aeon's evident displeasure. The rules of the game were arcane, a company tradition imported from the Gods knew where, and involved a sophisticated system of calling your shot with a certain suit as trumps. Torm grunted but didn't respond directly.

"You should have seen those Nargard, frothing at the mouth and slamming axes on shields. I think I saw one of them kill a man with his teeth," Cadger cackled. Black Ryann slithered into the post, his uniform neat and clean as always. The wizard rarely took part in the game, and was a notorious and obvious cheat, somewhat ironically for a wily intelligence broker.

"Cadger, Captain wants you," he barked, drawing a sigh of resignation from the dwarf who stood up and headed away towards the temple.

"Surely the mercenaries will tell them which end of the sword is sharp," Torm speculated, laying down a run of staves that was capped with a Hierarch, leaving the cards exposed for a second in case anyone had the Wisp of the Throneless King. No one did and he swept the pot, flicking Cadger's share back to his pile chivalrously.

"Ha, those sanctimonious bastards would say the sky was red if a lowly hireling tried to tell them," Aeon laughed. Play continued in a desultory fashion for a another few minutes. Bianca was getting ready to make her excuses and go find some company when Roni, a lanky scout hustled in looking troubled, his eyes scanned the room and then settled on Bianca.

"First... where is Cadger?" he demanded eyes wide. Play had already stopped all the participants too seasoned to ignore the interruption.

"He is at the Temple, whats up?" she asked, not in the most friendly of tones.

"I don't know, there is a dwarf and he wants to talk to Cadger," Roni blurted. Bianca stood though she was still confused as to why Roni was acting like the sky was falling.

"You speak dwarf don't you First, can you come talk to him? He is over at the Taproom," Roni asked, desperate to pass a potential problem up the chain to someone who knew what they were doing. Bianca did speak dwarf, having grown up among the hardy race after her own parents had been killed. It was vanishingly unlikely that the dwarf in question didn't speak a human language, but they were a clannish folk who often didn't trust outsiders.

"Sure, you head up to the temple and get Cadger. He is with the Captain but don't be afraid to barge in," she directed. She turned to speak to the others but Torm was already buckling on his sword belt, evidently having anticipated her request. Aeon was stowing his winnings preparatory to heading up to the wall to make sure all was well.

The dwarf in question was filthy, dressed in battered chain and a vast surcoat that had probably once been red but was now stained so badly it looked a rich brown gray. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, but judging by the uneven soot deposit over both eyes, it was an aid to limit a delvers eyes rather than a covering for a missing organ. Dirt was caked on him to an almost ludicrous degree but even so Bianca recognized him.

"Thossak Ironballs as I live and breathe," Bianca blurted out. The dwarf turned and peered at her in confusion.

"Cadger kon kanak gur?," he growled in equal surprise, then flipped up his eye patch, grinding at a reddened eye with a balled fist.

"Cadger kon gur macton Bianca," she replied. The dwarf seemed to relax, almost visibly deflating.

"You know this dwarf?" Torm asked, his tone showing that he didn't understand but expected to be made to shortly.

"He is one of Grimgi's Gak, his lieutenant actually," Bianca supplied.

"You mean, the enemy artillery company?" Torm asked, "how did he get inside."

"Time for that later," the Thossak broke in, demonstrating he could indeed speak Kindan, the common trade language of Shimmer Sea.

"We need your help, you and your company's," Thossak rumbled. Bianca arched an eyebrow, it was unheard of for a dwarven company to turn coat without a formal surrender.

"Ummm... I can take you to our Captain," Bianca temporized.

"You don't understand lass, those lunatics are about to assault the walls with everything they have, all sixty thousand of the bastards are whipping themselves up into a frenzy," he growled, "and they are going to launch it right after they burn our lads to appease their mad god!"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Jocasta let snort of delighted laughter at the gift and the poem, more than a little taken aback that Beren had found time to go out and find such a wonderful item. She opened her mouth, to say she knew not what, when the red head from earlier marched across the roof top to where the two of them were standing, a stubborn set to her jaw. Jocasta opened her mouth to tell the woman to go about her own business when a ringing slap took her across the jaw. Jocasta rocked back in shock, her hand flying to her face.

"You harlot, you lead me on about him to embarrass me!" the red head raged. Jocasta tensed her muscles, preparing to show this scarlet haired slut that you couldn't just go around slapping people but Beren was already starting to move between them. Suddenly Jocasta realized that getting Beren into some kind of trouble must be what her demonic patron had planned with the whole charade, the woman was trying to get into an altercation. Without fully thinking it through, which was to say the same way she did most things, Jocasta stepped between Beren and the red head.

"I accept!" she declared her voice ringing uncomfortably in the sudden silence following the slap. The red head reeled back, confused and frustrated that her plan was not going well.

"What?!" the strumpet demanded in alarm.

"I accept your challenge," Jocasta declared, "you have struck me in a demand for satisfaction." The remark was met with a low muted buzz, as the Baron and his party hurried over, the look on his face suggesting that he wasn't best pleased to have his founders day celebration devolving into farce twice at the hands of the same duo, even though Beren and Jocasta were technically blameless.

"Now Mistress Jocasta, I'm sure that Lady Giroux will withdraw her challenge and apologize for her reckless behaviour," the Baron said, a touch of steel in his voice. The red head Giroux apparently gave a thankful nod.

"Of course, I uhhh, beg your pardon," Lady Giroux said insincerely. Jocasta stepped forward and delivered a slap of her own, no theatrical tap, but a full armed slug that snapped Giroux' head sideways and raised a red mark on her cheek. The Baron let out a frustrated sigh.

"It is not our custom for ladies of the court to duel," he said through gritted teeth.

"How dare you you lowborn bitch!" Giroux raged, "we will meet and I will gut you like a ..."

"I get my choice of weapons right?" Jocasta asked, short circuiting everyone's prepared outrage. There was an awkward pause before the Baron sighed again.

"Lady Giroux did strike you so I suppose..." he began.

"Great," Jocasta interrupted, "lances it will be, on horseback and everything!"

"I don't know how to use a lance," Giroux spluttered in rage. Jocasta crossed her arms.

"Might have thought of that before you went around slapping people," she snapped.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

(Penny and Poo Colab)

Some instinct made Granuaile turn and look back into the mist. Perhaps it was the recent murders, or perhaps it was merely an old soldier’s sense for standing a watch in the moments before a night attack. There seemed to be something in the fog, a faint shimmer, almost a reddish hue. Granuaile watched it, fascinated in spite of herself, her eyes following the shimmer of color. Instinctively she took a step forward to the light, her mind growing empty and calm. Then the Nord drew his sword. Granuaile’s left hand snapped up and a blue shimmer blossomed from left hand as her mind screamed at her that Hakon was about to attack her. Red light swirled and eddied against her shield and she recognised the enchantment for what it was. Her right hand came up, magicka surging, but before she could unleash her power, a pair of boots crashed through her shield and smashed into her hip, sending her spinning off her feet with a cry. She hit the side of the building with a bone jolting crack as her attacker rolled to his feet. The enemy was tall, a mer of some sort, with skin a pale unhealthy gray and burning red eyes. It’s face was bestial, as though a snarling animal skull were crammed beneath a Mer’s musculature. Hakon let out a Nord warcy and leaped forward, his sword arcing down like a meat cleaver. The Mer clapped his hands together, catching the flat of the blade between them and twisting so hard that Hakon was flung sideways like a rag doll, somehow retaining his grip on the blade. The Mer-thing reached down and seized Granuaile by the neck, lifting her into the air. The smell of saltwater, mold, and grave-dust burned in her nostrils, stinging her sinus. A strong hand grabbed her hair and wrenched her head sideways exposing her neck. With a snarl of hunger the creature drove its fangs down at her exposed jugular. There was a crunching sound, like porcelain hitting mail, and the Mer-thing reeled back in shock. Granuaile staggered to her feet, the shimmer of iron on her neck, and blood running from a gash on her arm. The Mer-thing screamed in rage and lurched towards her. Granuaile lifted her hand and summoned her shield. Rather than face the power of the charge head on she turned with it, smashing the magikal barrier into her attacker, swatting him sideways as her right hand came up. Her eyes gleamed with an excitement she hadn’t felt in months. A beam of flame as hot and white as the heart of a forge roared into existence, she whipped her hand around towards the staggering Mer thing, the beam of heat raking across the field stone of a building. Stone screamed and cracked, running red hot. Mortar exploded from the joints and lit in a low order explosion, the same way hair oil burned when it met the flame. Trash and detritus flashed into fire, adding the stink of burning organic matter to the sharp sting of burning lime. The Mer dropped, a moment before the spell would have cut him in half, and turned the momentum of its fall into a spinning kick that took Granuaile’s legs out from under her. The spell flickered out as she hit the ground, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. The Mer-think rolled atop her and pinned both her hands with its clawed talons, it’s mouth opening wide to show razor sharp fangs that glinted red in the light of the fire’s Granuaile had just kindled. It lunged down to rip out her throat, eyes filled with hatred and terrible hunger.

Hakon’s boot caught it in the side of the head with a crack that sent the thing spinning across the alley and into the wall Granuaile had partially immolated. The rock was so hot that the ancient salt crusted clothing the thing wore began to smolder and peel like burned skin as it pulled itself to its feet and launched itself at the Nord. Hakon barreled towards the pale Mer, unsheathing his steel sword and realigning his footing, putting his right foot forward and left foot back as he led with a thrust that merely kissed the neck of the vampire, who dodged with preternatural speed.The vampire spun, arms out and claws extended in a movement that looked little more than a blur, but Hakon managed to dance back from the assault and defend himself while continuing his offensive, cleaving his sword through the Mer-thing’s center mass. The steel cut cloth and nicked the clammy, cold flesh of the accursed creature, but it moved with the fluidity of a fish in water. The beast pivoted and dodged, and the next thing Hakon knew, a claw had raked through his fur clad shoulder and shed his blood on the flagstones beneath his feet. He did not stop to think of the wound, roaring a warcry and barreling forward. The sound was hoarse and unfamiliar. He hadn’t called to the spirit of Talos in nearly a decade, but it lent strength to his limb and set a fire in his breast. His steel sword chopped at the spawn of Molag Bal from every angle, and even as the beast continued to give him small cuts, the blood did not stall him. The vampire, quick and deadly as it was, had expected the attack to stagger Hakon rather than send the nord in a berserker rage. Soon it felt the bite of steel on its arm and a ferocity that matched its own. It hissed when Hakon’s pommel struck it across the face, sundering its nose in a sickening crunch. The thing riposted impossibly fast, hitting Hakon in the chest so hard it lifted the nord off the ground to land on his hands and knees, his breath expelled from his lungs. As Hakon wheezed, the vampire moved in for the kill.

Granuaile pushed herself to her feet, tasting blood, smelling gravedust, thrilled with the touch of destructive magicka. The nord who had saved her was on his knees as the vampire closed. His cry to Talos, so often whispered in Legion camps and screamed in Stormcloak infested defiles, steeled her resolve. Lifting both hands she called on her magicka and screamed a single word. Burn. The fires she had kindled with her spell, the heat she had blasted into the cracked and smoking stones, the latent heat of burning trash was sucked into a magicka fueled vortex beneath the things feet. The entropic effect was strong enough that it coated the alley for a dozen feet with a rhyme of ice. Wind rushed down the alley from all directions as air sought to supply the flames that nature alone could not have created, sucking a backwash of swirling mist into a flaming shroud that glowed like dawn in the fog of Elsweyr. Fire, pure and white hot spurted upwards in a column around the vampire. Granuaile heard its eyes explode and flash to steam as it screamed in unearthly rage. It staggered back away from Hakon, flame dripping from it’d body as it shed burning fingers and teeth burst from its shock compressed skull. Still, somehow, the thing kept its feet howling with fury and filling the alley with the quick lime scent of subliming calcium.

His rasping inhalation audible, Hakon clutched at his chest as he rose to his feet. His world spun, but he kept the grip on his sword. The nord’s eyes watery from the pain, he felt he had gone to Sovngarde when all he saw was the white hot of Granuille’s flames. Hahon blinked, suddenly realizing she had set the vampire aflame like a funeral pyre. Its unearthly screech filled the street, but it’s piercing wail cleared his senses and he cried out once more in battlelust. The nord hefted his sword and charged headlong toward the stumbling thing, raising his blade and hacking into the putrid creature’s neck. The steel buried itself to the fuller, striking bone with the sensation of striking a gong. The vampire wheezed as pitifully as he had done, the flames licking away its flesh as it weakly turned to regard him. Hakon did not curse it or spit on the thing, he simply drew his sword back and aimed at its neck again. His sword sliced through the flesh and cracked what little bone there was left, lopping the head off to spin onto the ground. The body lazily staggered as if still animated, and Hakon wasn’t sure if it was truly dead. However, a moment later its loathsome form collapsed onto the stones, its flames a dull beacon in the midst of the wretched fog. Granuaile pulled herself to her feet and shook smoke from her fingertips where the nearest hint of keratin had burned away, the odor unable to add anything to the unforgettable aroma of burned corpse. Of the vampire all that remained were a few blackened teeth whose dentin was too tough even for spell fire and savage steel to completely discoperate. The fire gutted and died, all natural fuel combusted so completely that hardly an ember blew on the guttering wind.

Hakon took the hem of his cloak and wiped his blade, looking at the smoldering ruin of the thing with distaste. “Wretched thing. Nearly took my head,” He said, and then finally looked over to Granuille. “You’re skillful with that fire. Thanks for that.”

“Just a little trick I picked up,” Granuaile replied modestly, brushing the ash from her fingernails.

“He’d have had me for sure if you hadn’t been so quick with the sword,” she admitted by way of reciprocity. “I wonder if this was our killer?”

Before they could speak further a scream echoed from the night, the fog making its direction uncertain and pain and despair robbing it even of gender.

“Dibella’s Tits, are there more of these things out there?” she demanded.

“Well if there is, better to take the fight to them.” Hakon said, a fierce gleam in his eyes. He gave a practice swing with his sword, making sure the blade hadn’t been loosened from the pommel. Ironically enough, he hadn’t made this sword himself. Hopefully it would keep. “Tsun figures I’d leave my shield the night we’re invaded by the Legions of Coldharbor.”

He took his father’s pendant and gave it a small kiss, before dropping it back into his furs. “Let’s go. We’ll get our answers if we make it through the night.”

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

A crossbow bolt whizzed past Bianca's head and was lost in the night. The camp was in uproar as the scouts charged through it, striking left and right with their long swords. Camp followers and non-combatants ran in all directions. The ill disciplined levies that made up the bulk of the Priest Queen's armies were filled with zeal, waving their weapons and screaming to their God to bring his vengeance upon his enemies. Though it was clear that the God had not provided much information in terms of where those enemies might be or what their disposition was. The fires were getting out of control as panicked men stampeded through the camp, booted feet dragging trampled tents into the flames. More than one soldier was caught in the flames, dropping to the ground and rolling, or running screaming off into the night. The scouts slashed not just at men, but at tethers of picketed horses, the panicking beasts adding their own chaos to the nightmare as they bolted away from the scent of steel, blood, and fire.

Their second target loomed ahead of them, a small compound in the camp hemmed in by a low wall of sharpened stakes. Bianca had hoped that the guards might have been caught up in the ongoing disaster but Lady Luck was not so kind. Troops were gathering at the improvised fort that served as the main food store for the horde. It wasn't a tactical decision, merely the natural result of men fleeing from an uncertain terror to find their courage bolsted by walls and a squad of men still under discipline.

"Halt!" one of the guards screamed as Bianca and her riders came out of the darkness. She shot him through the chest at the same instant a flight of crossbow bolts swept from the fort. A horse screamed and went down, spilling its rider and Kali took a bolt full in the throat, snapping back against her saddle and slumping to one side, her stiruped feet keeping her corpse upright as her horse wheeled right and off into the darkness. Bianca fired her second pistol though she had no target beyond the mass of men infront of her, the sharp points of pikes bright with reflected firelight. She wheeled her little troop around the side of the fort and out of the direct path of more bolts.

"Lanterns, lanterns!" she shouted and three phosphor laced lanterns sailed over the wall and into the compound beyond, detonating with the crack of breaking glass and the low whump of chemical ignition. One was misjudged and hit the top of the palisade, spilling a brilliant trail of fire across a ten foot length of wall. They curved around the fort and raced back towards Palona in a gallop that lathered the horses in sweat and risked a broken leg if the beasts fond rabit borrow or privy trench in the dark. It was tough to make out what was going on, but it seemed from movement in the dark that shoulders were forming around Torm's attack, as fleeing men who had been put to flight ran into men rushing forward to see what the disturbance was. A half dozen pikemen appeared infront of Bianca only to go down in a welter of blood as a score of iron shields, wielding long hafted axes and murderous expressions leaped from the darkness to hack them apart. It seemed the Silver Swords were not the only company putting in a good night's work.

Maverick Malediction

They came out of the fire. Three mages dressed in black desert robes marked with golden runes that blazed as they held their hand aloft, keeping the hungry flames at bay. A half dozen men clustered around them, sheltering in the flickering magical shields that stood between them and immolation. Other figures, merely dark silhouettes against the flames, too far to be protected by the hasty wards, fell to the floor as the fire burned away their flesh and cracked their bones. Calliope lifted both her hands, but before she could speak the armsmen clustered around their masters saw the two foreigners and lifted their carven teak crossbows. Neil dived sideways as a trio of crossbow bolts scythed through the air, clicking off the tile covered column behind them. Calliope let out a cry of pain and stumbled back in a flash of red falling back into the pool with a splash.

“Calliope!” Neil shouted, but there was no time to do anything other than take cover. Clear of the flames the mages let their shields fall and began to chant. Bolts of energy flew through the large arabesque doorway, blasting fragments of mosaic from the walls, as the thief scrambled back looking for cover and a weapon. With a war cry the armsmen threw aside their crossbows and rushed through the door, pulling evil looking scimitars from their belt. The water in the pool began to boil furiously as though a volcano were erupting beneath its formerly calm waters. The frothing water rose in a column bearing Calliope in the center of a column of roiling water, both arms held wide. A red stain twisted and coiled around her left arm where the first missile had struck, blood slowly diffusing like a drop of paint on a pool. Another crossbow bolt flashed, but the quarrel struck the water and slowed before it could reach the witch, sinking away and out of sight. Calliope’s lips moved but the word was lost in the sound of the churning torrent that bore her upwards. A column of living water lashed upwards like a great tentacle and then smashed down, swatting one of the armsmen into a wall so hard that the crack of his spine breaking was audible even over the near deafening surge of the now animated pool.

“Get the book!” Calliope’s voice boomed as two beams of golden light lanced from the enemy mages into the watery barrier that encased her naked body. Great gouts of steam blew out from the points of impact without any visible effect on the sorceress within. A second great column of water sprouted from the pool, now less than half its original depth and they lashed out in tandem. One of the mages lifted a shield of shimmering light and the water cracked and boiled away as it struck, the second wasn’t so lucky, taking the force of the blow smashing him from his feet and back into the fiery conflagration beyond. His robes burst into brilliant copper green flames as the fire took him. With incredible strength of will the wizard managed to stagger to the doorway, falling across the threshold with a blackened charred hand reaching towards the water that had killed him.

“It is in the fire!” Neil shouted as he snatched up a scimitar from one of the fallen armsmen, the weapon twisted into a snake in his hands and turned to strike. The thief swung it like a whip, cracking one of the survivors across the face before letting go. The sword clattered to the ground, a simple weapon again. Clearly the Seven Princes took no chances of their weapons being turned against them. Blashphemous chants from the two surviving wizards sent twin lances of force hammering into Calliope. The water around her exploded into droplets at the first and the second sent her sailing out of the pool to crash into one of the mosaic covered walls in a spray of brightly coloured tile. Staggering to her feet she shouted a spell, fallen pieces of ceramic knitting themselves into a rainbow hued shield that deflected the next two lances of force up into the glass roof, blowing it apart in a rain of fragments. The surviving armsmen, well trained in fighting wizards, rushed forward to menace her, but with a flick of Calliope’s wrist the falling glass became a whirlwind, whistling down in a storm around her attackers. All three of the survivors came apart in a spray of blood and winking white bone. Blasts of arcane fire stabbed through the red mist, setting it a flame in a low order explosion which shook the diaphragm of everyone in the room. Calliope caught both blasts on her mosaic shield, though the second one shattered it to sand.

Sensing victory, both enemy mages were stalking forward, one of them twisting his hand in a calling gesture that gathered shadows into something humanoid. Snarling in defiance Calliope made a ripping gesture, and the surviving mosaic shattered, as the glass depictions of a pair of tritons pulled themselves free and launched themselves at the two enemy wizards. One was blasted into colored ceramic shards as the shadow thing cleaved it in two with a sword made of inky darkness, the second one buried its trident into the belly of its target, lifting the screaming wizard overhead and tossing him into the pool on streamers of his own entrails. The shadow demon flowed forward cutting down with its blade and driving the triton back. With liquid speed it knocked the trident aside and bisected the mosaic construct in two with a single mighty blow before turning its dark fathomless eyes on Calliope. On the verge of succumbing to spell burn, Calliope readied her next spell, but before she could speak the shadow thing exploded into motes of twinkling darkness and then dissipated like wisps of smoke on the wind. The mage took a staggering step forward, bright arterial blood jetting from his severed neck. He clapped both his hands on the great wound and then fell to the floor. Neil stood behind him, naked having lost his towel, with a bloody shard of ceramic in his hand. He tossed the fragment onto the dead mage and stood backlit by the flames.

“Great,” he managed, surveying the ruin of the once beautiful bath house, “now we will never get our deposit back.”

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

"Is it time yet," Kali asked, for what must have been the thousandth time. Bianca lay on her stomach in a grove of Cim trees watching the bustle of the evening camp. The rest of her troops, having peeled themselves off from the Horselords once they reached upon country, were among the trees on the lower slope of the small hillock, dismounted but ready to ride at a moments notice.

"It is not time, on account of the fact their hasn't been a huge fireball and a bunch of screaming just yet," Bianca replied tartly. Kali shrugged and muttered. She knew it wasn't time, she was just nervous, which was a sensible way to feel when you had twenty men with you and an army of scores of thousands infront of you. The enemy camp was in shadow now as the sun had dipped below the horizion, but it was lit by thousands of cook fires and watch flames. The wavering firelight reflected of canvas tents and lean tos giving the place an infernal aspect that prayed upon the mind. Figures were only dark shadows moving against firelight, like the souls of the damned. Despite Bianca's qualms about Torm and his insane plan. It wasn't quite as bad as it might bee. Sure, the enemy had nearly twenty to one advantage, but that advantage was diluted somewhat by the fact they had to ring the city, and further more by the fact that the mercenaries were in some cases in their own encampments. The actual number of enemies in front of the company was still high, but not suicidally so, at least not for the few minutes it would take the camp to rouse and start pressing in on their flanks.

"It must be getting about..." Bianca began, but before she could finish a great sheet of fire burst in the sky and rained down upon the enemy camp. Screams sounded and like an avalanche the camp began to stir to life. Men grabbed for weapons and rushed towards the sound and the sudden rain of fire. Screams and curses rang out as they fell over each other in the dark or saw phantom enemies wherever they looked. Alarms began to sound, bells or simply men hammering on shields to alert the rest of the camp. Bianca stayed down, peeking over the slight rise into the chaos. A minute passed, then two, stretching out on her nerves as she waited for the right moment. The enemy needed to know where the attack was coming from but not yet be ready to crush it.

"Alright," she said at last. "Kig'voren."

The scouts swept in out of the darkness without a sound beyond the hammer of their hooves, which was a trifle to the boiling confusion of the camp. At first they must have been taken as allies, for no arrows flew. The first target was a large log building built partially into the side of a hummock. The nervous looking guard gripped his pike as Bianca reigned up before it.

"Who are..." his voice trailed off as Kali's crossbow bolt punched into the mass of veins above his heart. He took a step and stumbled sideways. Around a fire nearby someone screamed, but Kali and Welsh were out of their saddles, running across and reaching for the door. It burst open before they could touch it, a surly looking dwarf stepping out and knocking the two scouts to the ground.

"What is this?!" he demanded. Bianca had already unhooked a shuttered lantern from her saddle, now she hurled it over the dwarfs head and into the building. It burst with a crackle of glass and a wooooshing sound.

"You idiot this is the powder...." the Dwarf began and then took off as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Kali and Welsh were leaping into their saddles also. The fire in the building was spreading, Bianca had stitched a bag of phosphorus to the base of it for just this purpose.

"Halt!" cried the men rushing toward them from the fire. Bianca shot one of them through the face with her pistol as he reached for the bridle to her horse, dropping the weapon so it swung from the chain around her wrist and pulling the other one. A pike stabbed up at her and her horse reared, forcing her to stand up in the stirrups and fire the second weapon into the pikeman's chest, dropping him with a spray of blood.

"Ride!" she screamed as Kali and Welsh regained their saddles. They bolted back into the darkness, nearly reaching the rise before a colossal explosion almost through them off their horses. The powder in the magazine had caught. Bianca hunched as a spray of splinters pattered off her back plate and then turned around to see a column of smoke reaching high into the sky. The magazine and thirty feet of camp in all direction were gone, leaving a smoking crater filled with smoldering splinters. She hoped the dwarf had made it, having had the sense to run the second he saw fire in the powder bunker. Bianca worked her jaw to equalize the pressure and then spurred her mount, racing around the perimeter of the camp. One target down, one to go.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Of all the hair brained, idiotic, cavalry schemes. There were sixty thousand of the Priest Queen's fanatics out there, maybe another fifteen thousand battle hardened mercenaries. Behind the walls, with the other mercenary companies and the locals, they could hold out, probably for months. Out in the field, even with the other companies it was liable to be a massacre. How was it that knight's never met a problem to which they didn't try to solve with a headlong charge. Worse yet the Captain seemed to be considering it. Black Ryann snorted.

"Even with the other companies, we can't hope to overcome them in the field," the sorcerer disparaged. Bianca didn't much like the man, few among the company did, but for once he was speaking truth.

"I concur," the Captain said, in a tone that didn't signify agreement. There was a murmer among the assembled officers, some in favor of Torm's plan others against. It was true that after months of march and countermarch, the men were eager for action.

"A spoiling attack.”

___________________

“Of all the shit for brains, moronic, knightly notions,” Sanchel spat. There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the scouts. They were sitting around a cookfire built in the cleared out stable of an alehouse. It kept them close to the ale but kept them out of casual knife fights and earshot of the locals. The Palonans seemed like decent people, but war would make spies out of anyone if circumstances permitted.

“The Old Man is in a tight spot,” Bianca told the score of scouts. “If we just sit here, or if we take the First, our employers can claim that we didn’t fight.”

“Fight?! Shit First, we have been fighting these bastards since snow melt,” Kali groused, taking a bite from a stick of smoking meat she had just removed from the fire. The scouts were divided roughly fifty fifty on gender lines with almost double the percentage of women in the rest of the company.

“Yeah well, marching around don’t look much like fighting to a bunch of rich merchant princes in Altaraea,” Bianca explained.

“Well what the fuck would they know about it?” Kali bitched.

“Nothing. But they are the ones paying,” Bianca said tiredly.

“Girl!” Cadger’s gravelly voice boomed. Bianca stood up and moved out into the alley beyond. The dwarf was already in his battle harness, heavy chain hung with medallions of the dull metal that humans called eversteel. Bianca glanced at it reproachfully. The hard planes of Cadger’s face split into a grin.

“Someone has to come along to spike that gun, assuming your lordly friend gets that far,” he graveled.

“I get that uncle Cadger,” Bianca said in a measured tone, “I just assumed it was someone who could ride a horse.”

“I can ride a horse,” Cadger objected defensively. Bianca folded her arms.

“I can stitch a wound, that don’t make me a damn seamstress,” Bianca groused. Cadger winked at her, it was a human gesture he had learned, one that always looked comically exaggerated on a dwarf’s heavily muscled face.

“Not a debate lass. I came to tell you that the Ironshields have come in on the plan, so that will give us another heavy infantry element. Tough lads the Narguard, better odds of us all not getting killed,” Cadger said.

“What about the Horselords, I’d have thought they were more use than the footsloggers,” Bianca said. Cadger laughed.

“Aye, no doubt they would be, but they are taking the First, riding out right now the bastards,” Cadger sneered. Bianca grimaced, that was a blow, though not a surprising one. Cavalry weren’t much for jobs that might require they wind up eating their horses. They also could make good use of a days head start, especially when the enemy was investing to siege. They could probably just ride out and away west without bother. She suddenly straightened up.

“What is it lass?” Cadger asked.

“I’m a genius uncle Cadger!” Bianca grinned and clapped both hands on the dwarfs shoulders. Then she spun and started calling out names.

___________________

The Horselords rode out of the main gate under the striped flag of passage. The Ironshields and Silver Swords were both stood to. It was bad form, but it wasn’t unheard of for an army to try charging the gate while a company departed. Luckily the enemy wasn’t willing to chance it today.

It wasn’t a parade, the mercs were, kitted down for travel, their horses hung with bedrolls and panniers of food for the ride. Their swords were tied, ornamentally, with strips of white cloth to signal they weren’t combatants. Behind the armored men were wagons hauling the forges, medical supplies, and other gear needed to keep cavalry in the field. These might be lost if the enemy sent fast cavalry after them, but that wasn’t likely as any cavalry the Priest Queen’s forces had would be hard pressed to fight the Horselords in open country. It might have been a surprise to the Horselord’s officers to discover that behind the wagons rode a rearguard. Ten men and nine women on rangy horses, wearing the yellow cloaks of the Horselords. The fact that their weapons weren’t tied was easy to overlook in the dust and grit kicked up by the wagons. They rode straight through the besieging army, enduring the jeers of the attackers. It was only after the column crested the rise beyond the city that the rearguard peeled off and shed their cloaks. Bianca and her scouts were in position behind the enemy.