POOHEAD189

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

This sounds pretty good actually

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal gave a smile that showed his teeth. It gave him a handsome, if feral look. "Well, you don't need love to be a lover, but I can see your point. Your word choice just confused me, I think." He wondered if she had known that surface-dwellers also had bedfellows. It was usually Amal's experience, truth be to the gods. He reclined, however, and listened to Char's story, surprised and pleased she was so ready to share. He thought he would have to wait.

He found himself smiling again as she spoke, particularly when he heard the inflection in her voice, her arrogant disdain so venomous he could feel it in his veins. There was something about her when she became animated that was incredibly attractive. He began to think it was just the thrill of seeing another side of her, which caused him to realize he already enjoyed her general cool demeanor. And then when she was horribly gleeful, he was enthralled. He found he was interested in the story, you could see it on his face. He laughed when she described the destruction and the idiosyncrasies of the horrific literature devouring creatures.

"How difficult?" Amal asked, a sly look on his face, rubbing his well-formed chin. "Are they valuable?..."

He took a swig of his drink, a single bubble floating up its neck as he gulped twice before he dropped the bottle, and he scooted closer. It was almost imperceptible, a smooth movement that was as natural as breathing. "How much would you be willing to pay to get one? Perhaps, I could steal one for you?" He grinned, giving a subtle wink. "I would not usually offer, but I find I have a thing for pretty drow that help me escape a lich's dungeon. You don't find that everywhere."

Blackguards!

Amal was a man of immense tastes, one might say.

A normal thief loved gold for what it could give them. Amal loved gold for its own sake. He loved the way it glittered, the way it clinked together, the power it held over men. Yes, he was interested in how it could grant him women and comforts, but he also wished for it for his own pleasure. And so when the blue woman, for he did not know her name, promised him wealth beyond his dreams and a ravenous look, it was like leaving out a fresh steak for a wild dog. However, he was a wild dog with cunning. He wasn't about to trust her completely, but he did give a wink in response.

As for Sulfrey, he did not know where that was. Amal was from far away, he had to guess. These lands were verdant and bountiful. It was lucky, despite their stupidity, that he awoke with northerners. At least someone knew the lay of the land in some fashion.

He was unused to Orcs and Dwarves, but they were acting less unhinged than the men in their group. Amal was somewhat unhinged himself, but not at the expense of his survival. He also knew the non-humans were not in the process of trying to kill him. That tended to sour burgeoning relationships, he found. His musings were cut off by the arrival of the easterlings from the valley below. The Gray-Dwarf's pronouncement was well said in the face of the cloaked riders. They had come out of nowhere, as if summoned by a djinn. Their cloaks whipped in the air, the wind cutting like a zephyr. Swords gleaming in the afternoon sun, Amal cursed at the sight.

Well, at least there was a wall of flames and a transmuted Ogre on his side.

Usually he was the impetuous one, but his companions were taking a lot of liberties with their lives. He cackled, unable to help himself at the sight of the chaos before the riders had even arrived. Minutes after waking up, and pandemonium ruled the day.

He was not averse to violence. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. However, he was a bit confused on what was occurring at the moment, and tired besides. Still, perhaps he could improve his mood by slitting a few throats, and so he unsheathed his scimitar and pulled his dagger out, hefting both in a deft stance. For a brief moment, he wondered if the riders were there for him, and decided not to taunt in case they announced their reasoning and his newfound 'companions' abandoned him to save their own skins.

Amal rolled to guard the witch-turned-Ogre's left flank, steel weapons bristling and readying to hack at a horse or to block a sweeping sword that tried to take his head. He grinned like a jackal, his bloodlust rising. Perhaps this was just what he needed to sober up from this strange situation.

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

Neil touched down quietly, his feet barely a whisper after the dozen foot drop. He had left the arbites behind him, feeling the rush one got when they made a successful escape. The only illumination for dozens of meters was the light above him, but he had good eyes, and he had been here before, days ago. He rose from his crouch and rushed down the decline into the dank corridor. He looked over his shoulder and let out the softest of chuckles, before he ran into something solid that should not have been there. It wasn't a wall, though it was so thick Neil's momentum practically made him bounce back.

He kept his feet and turned back, gazing up at a wide, smiling face and eyes that glimmered. The figure's arms, neck, even his face was etched in symbols that flared, but not with light. He did not know how they were burned into his retina, but somehow they were. Neil was not one to take anything serious, but he did feel a flicker of fear in his breast. If it had been anyone else, they would have been frozen, and then dead. However, even with all his skill, he wouldn't be alive without a bit of luck.

The figure, clad in rags, raised a makeshift axe that looked as rudimentary as an ork choppa. As it pivoted to strike, its foot slipped on the puddle they stood on. It was only a small stumble, but it was all Neil needed. He gave a short kick to his foreleg, sending it skidding back, which caused the large figure to topple forward. Neil grabbed his head and brought it to his knee, shattering bone and cartilage, blood spraying. To his surprise and disgust, the thing was not unconscious, even as it hit the ground. It wriggled and tried to rise, but Neil stepped on its back and sprinted forward. As he did so, he saw shadows move amongst the soft light against the wall, and footsteps clapping on the stone as numerous pursuers gave chase. Soon their whoops echoed across the baroque sewers as they followed his fleeing form.

His greatest advantage was he knew where he was going, and he was nimble as a squirrel. He left the maze of corridors and found a sloshing brown river flowing underneath him, concave ledges and alcoves with angelic busts standing vigil. He was impressed by the artistry in something no one other than daemon-men and thieves would be able to appreciate. He did not stop, leaping over with the desperation of a man fleeing from a Carnodon. He wasn't sure if he would make the five meters, and as he launched himself over the drink, he noticed a dozen stepping stones to his left he could have taken.

"Aw, Saint Celestes ti-!" He cursed before he crashed, torso first, into the wall. He flailed his arms to grab the inlet at the edge, the air driving from his lungs with his eyes wide. Neil finally grabbed a handhold, and pulled himself up right when his pursuers arrived behind him. He rolled over and looked at them. There were five crazed cultists with what looked to be butcher knives and blasphemous sigils, three men and two women, at least he thought. They were too covered in dust and shit and all of them had manes that had not been washed in years.

Neil cleared his throat and brushed himself off, holding a hand out as if to say 'time out' before he straightened his button up. "Sorry, gemstone's mine?" He asked, raising his voice into a question.

For a long moment, they stood there silently. He could see in their eyes they could not see him. They did not look at him, not really. There was something else there. It was creepy, but he was not expecting them to speak in unison: "Edwards. Give it to us. You cannot escape, Edwards. The void calls to you. It drinks of your essence."

It would have made a normal man shudder or freeze in horror. Neil scratched his nose, pursed his lips, and then shot all five of them. Heads, necks, heart. The echoes of the autogun crashed across the stone, flashes lighting up the shadows, and all five toppled into the muck below. Neil blew the smoke from the gun barrel and turned to leave. He stopped midstep when he heard light splashing below, and groans.

"Goddamn, these guys are hard to kill." He deadpanned, and kept going.

Five minutes later, he jogged into a spacious chamber, octagonal, with a small sewer stream through the middle. Past it, there was a rise where his men waited, along with a civilian model OSV transport, and behind them was a dark opening that led into a runway that ran two miles until it reached just beneath the space port. They had set up lights days ago, and Neil slowed his running down as he stepped into the lumen's glare. He heard Orm sigh and Gantz laugh as he came into view, and Zale stood there as unemotional as ever, his pupil-less eyes seemingly taking in everything. Neil waved at them nonchalantly, catching his breath.

"Knew you'd make it," Orm declared, though Neil could tell it was bullshit.

There was a loud crack, and a flash of smoke from underneath the OSV. It was too fast for the captain to see, but he felt the slug fly past him. He spun just as the cultist that had lurched out of the shadows from behind lost his head, blood, brains, and bone flying. Neil flinched from the viscera, then turned to see Skit reveal himself with his long rifle. Neil yelled at him. "Little to the left, you missed my jugular!"

"You're welcome boss!" The ratling said, not catching the sarcasm.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Balor was cold as a Drusian.

The 2nd Gendermes had been carried off the troopship by two shuttles, carrying roughly 5 companies, each with their own associate and auxiliary forces, along with what armor we had. The ride down was shaky, but we landed safely and disembarked in relatively good order. However, as soon as the doors open, I knew I was not built for this weather. I felt like I had stepped into the void of space, except it might have been a mercy, because at least amongst the stars I would not have to breathe in the translucent ice they had the temerity to call oxygen on this world.

The Colonel awaited with his aides and top Commissars in a Salamander as each individual captain and lieutenant brought their units forth from the shuttles' gaping maws. The starport was small, and luckily for us, merely gathering out of the shuttles brought us to the precipice of it, just before the short highway that led to the city of Batranle. I had my chainsword out, more to make myself visible than anything else, and had my men and women form up and follow until every unit was neatly tucked into formation, our chimeras rolling up right behind me. The sky was grey, but I could see a small sliver of the local sun through the hole our jet engines had ripped through.

"Reporting for duty, sir!" Sel had announced with a clipped salute after her wave. I had waved back, but quickly sobered up in front of the men. It hurt to look at her, because she was my driver, and I had been bade to present myself in a different fashion. Instead of being allowed to stay in the relative warmth and comfort of the three Chimeras, my injury along with my reputation had given the colonel a fascinating idea. He had suggested that I lead what footsoldiers I had by use of one of the few equines we were granted as a regiment. It was an honor, he had declared to me. Normally I would have quite liked the idea. I was quite a rider from my earlier years, and the warhorse was a beautiful thoroughbred. But the cold and my injury caused half the jerks and clops of the steed to make me ache. And so here I was, the only man in the regiment not on foot or vehicle, directing my men to keep in formation. Private Harmack and Corporal Bickers had been too busy gossiping over some damned thing, but when they saw my gaze they snapped to attention.

"Move out!" The Colonel said over the Loudhauser.

An entire regiment moving was not a simple endeavor. There were hundreds of officers and units and thousands of men working in unison to make the small army into a single, moving beast. Cries in a dozen different accents of low-gothic rose up, and men and women stepped to. It was a two mile march to the city proper, and though it was cold as a spurned lover's heart, it did the men and women good. They had been bored after the whole ordeal with the Langeroths had been settled, and the fresh air tasted sweet. Even I felt my spirits raise as we moved on, Morek and Seldon in the Chimera to my left, the first of the three in a short line. I felt eyes on me all around, and the feeling only grew once we reached the immense archway at the cusp of the city. The streets had been cleared, but the civilians flocked to the towering, thick minarets that reminded me of some odd, industrialized beehives. They watched from every window and orifice, some towering above us hundreds of feet. The horse I rode was a trained stallion, and I decided to show off a bit, maneuvering the horse so it raised its legs with an exaggeration, giving own goose step with the men. I heard laughter and whispers even outside my platoon. To the civilians I waved when I could, but periodically I looked back at the men to make sure they were keeping their steps rhythmic and in line. Their eyes were either forward or on myself, looking at me like a dog would wait on its master. I caught the eye of Private Elara, who gave me a smile I had seen before and a subtle wink. The audacity almost caused me to blanch, but she turned away as if ashamed. It was only later from overhearing the troopers talk that I was told Corporal Seldon was giving her a look from over my shoulder that I had not seen.

The cheers and clatter of the civilians rose, and normally my pride would let me bask in the moment, able to cut through the cold. But my paranoia was rearing its ugly head again, and I felt completely exposed. My reputation, my equine, my incredible looks and fashion sense, I wondered how many of the eyes I felt on my person were looking through the scope of a rifle aimed at my head...

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

Despite the danger he was in, the nervousness that could grip a man and make one frozen on the spot, Neil had to admit he really, really liked a good chase. For one, his legs were quite long. Not as a nice as green-eye's upstairs, but they were good for sprinting. That, and it was his general experience that most people simply did not take care of themselves. Running a mile was a day's work and leaping over a balustrade was a fever dream, and even the ones that did make good time still had to keep on him.

Neil knew where he needed to go, at least with relative confidence. And even if he was cut off, there was a secondary entrance below, in cell A24 where he had escaped from not an hour ago. The problem with that was he would need to bluff his way past two checkpoints of security, so that was for last resort. Instead, Neil careened down a long gallery, wind whipping his hair and tie as he ran. In fact, frak the tie. The color clashed with his belt anyway, and he tossed it into an adjacent room on the left to confuse them, right at the feet of an adeptus sororitas saint of some name before he sprinted right down a corridor. The manor opened up, it's light colors turning warmer, red banners framing a great hall where a few of the more elderly and ambitious guests, unaware of the commotion upstairs, had met for more quiet conversation.

Neil stopped sprinting just at the cusp of the great hall, fixing his hair, but everyone had noticed him by that point. The guests in their suits and the servants in their livery and silver trays of porcelain. Neil stood there awkwardly for a moment, before clapping his hands together once.

"Attention everyone! There is a fire!... The arbites are coming here to escort you out, but there's only a few shuttles leaving the gate. Best petition them when they arrive." He said, before picking up speed again and sprinting out of the room. That ought to buy him a moment or two of time, he thought. Unfortunately, as he passed the great hall and made it to the lobby, he saw armed men in unmarked flaks and visored helms already rushing up the flagstones out of the baroque window framing the door. If he stepped one foot out of the mansion, he would be detained or shot. He spun around, only to be confronted by a household guardsman.

It was surreal. Neil saw him notice the small-time Rogue Trader, and as if the world slowed down, he saw the barrel of his submachine rose. Neil could pull his sidearm like zephyr, but he had the shock baton in his hand. He knew he couldn't fire on him, and so he thumbed the shock baton and slung it at the man's head. It spun end over end and struck him in the face with the force-charge. There was a loud, disgustingly wet squelch as his faced literally popped in a pile of blood. Neil grit his teeth like he noticed a coagulation of roadkill, and then ran past him. Another security guard rounded the corner, but he was stunned at the sight of his bloodied companion, and due to his crouch and his pause, the next sight he got was Neil's boot in his face, launching the rogue trader over him to reach the marble floor.

He sprinted past the way he had come, only passing the entryway to the great hall and rushing up a sweeping central stairway decked with a red carpet. Above, a crystal chandelier shimmered, casting the vast portrait of Auclair's distant ancestor above in a flecked storm of light and shadow. Two smaller steps went left and right, Neil turned right and then pivoted into a library. Behind him, he could hear a number of boots thundering up the stairs. He raised an eyebrow, was the gemstone bugged? Did someone bug his suit? He whipped his head left and right, the room full of towering bookcases and tall casement windows, handsomely furnished with desks and wooden chairs decked with soft cushions. The tables were decks with tablecloths and candles, likely only used for show.

"Oh, solves everything," Neil remarked sardonically, pulling his autogun and firing four times at the closest window, cracking the glass. He then grabbed a chair by it's back, spun and tossed it at the window, shattering it. As the shouting grew louder, Neil had to grin. Granted, he was not supposed to be up there, by why follow if Neil would have to go down again anyway? He ripped the red velvet tablecloth out, the candles wobbling but staying up. He grinned. "Nice." Wrapping the cloth up to a smaller, thicker cloth just as the arbites and guardsmen hustled in, some getting on their knees and raising their firearms and others standing tall behind their comrades, all happening right when Neil stepped up to the pane.

"Freeze Edwards!" One of them bellowed. Neil blinked. Unless Rasa spoke to everyone, he doubted they would know his real name. Maybe they were talking about the Orb. He didn't have the time to consider it, though.

"Sorry fellas, gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat." Neil declared, before he stepped backwards and dropped like an anvil. Even the hardened guardsmen gasped, and they sprinted to the edge of the window. They saw Neil sliding off the verdant bushes just below the three story drop, the carpet hanging from a pipe he used to slow his fall. He left his jacket there as well, in case it was bugged like he suspected. The last they saw of Neil, he was rushing to the eastwall.

Neil himself ran into the car tunnel beneath the wall, where the underground gateway was located. That was suicide, of course. However, he opened up a door forty meters in that led into the sewers, that would feed into the abandoned Undercity beneath Chateau Aclair and the greater city surrounding the manor. Unfortunately (and fortunately), there were eyes that watched him.

Blackguards!

I'm a sucker for Dwarves and Dark Elves, particularly with human-made art, so I adore Skimobile and Proxy's additions

Blackguards!

I shall try to post this weekend as well

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

"What do you suppose is happening there?" Neil asked with feigned, aghast interest. He felt it was lucky that it was quite unlikely the arbites knew what he looked like. As usual they were making a mess of things, and as long as he made sure to remain cool and collected, he would get what he came for. Plus, once he escaped, he doubted they would look for him down below again. His hand, carefully placed against his breast in shock, placed a small amount of pressure on a button he had sequestered into the jacket.

White flashes and gunfire-like clattering pops erupted in various places throughout the room, Neil having slipped a few stun-grenade cores in a multitude of places throughout the party, ranging from underneath food trays, atop busts, and in men's jackets. It looked like a rogue militant had burst into the room and opened fire with a submachine gun, and whilst some likely believed that had to be the case, others thought the arbites had opened fire in anger. The toughs themselves, as Neil predicted, did in fact open fire wildly a moment later, lasbolts striking men who looked their way funny, singeing exquisite paintings, and crashing into glass panes. An extremely fortunate lasbolt struck a mirror placed on the opposite wall of the arbites, and the projectile actually bounced off of it, to Neil's amazement. Neil had heard that was possible, but he had never seen that in all of his life. He owed Skit a few gelts, in fact. What's more, the lasbolt that pinged off the mirror redirected and slammed into the glass that covered the Edwardian Vigil, shattering it and sending the orb careening to the ground.

Only instead, it fell in Neil's hand.

He had thought Rasa Blanc would be too busy cowering like the rest, but instead she made herself a small target and kept her feet, and her eyes met Neil's just as he caught the gemstone. Neil gave her a subtle wink, and pocketed the artifact. He grinned when he saw her eyes widen in recognition of some sort. To his credit, he gave her a bow, aggrandizing his accent. "I would love to trade more puns with you, madam. But it seems I have overstayed my welcome, do have a lovely evening. Please tell the host I apologize, but an Edwards belongs with an Edwards."

At that, Neil ducked and dove through the chaos of the crowd, sliding past rotund bellies and screaming damsels. It was a work of art, the way he dodged like he had foresight on when to swivel and when to slip. He had nearly made it to the edge of the room when an arbites stumbled into his way, likely accidentally, but saw Neil as a prime target once he was there. He had dropped his lasgun, wielding a stun baton like a cudgel. He raised the weapon up, igniting the weapon as he did so. Neil slid to the left, but the arbites' downward chop was redirected to his right, only for Neil to duck, slip past him, and kick his leg from behind. The armored man fell from his own weight, and Neil grabbed his arm, elbowed his wrist, and took his baton for himself, before striking the arbites on the head.

He fell like a sack of potatoes, but not before a square-jawed sergeant cast his gaze Neil's way from across the room. Their eyes met, and Neil gave a lewd gesture before he turned and bolted down the door they had burst out of just a minute before, heading downstairs in a mad dash.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Part 2

I had to act the part of an injured man for the remainder of the journey. Well, a slightly more injured man. However, with the aid of Morek and Sel and two weeks of rest, by the time we entered the Charadon Sector, I felt well enough to walk on my own and even laugh without doubling over. Emperor curse my wit and plans.

Speaking of curses, the more I learned of Balor, the planet we were to make berth at, the less enthused I was. Balor was almost that of a class L planet, which meant nearly all year round it was either chillingly cold or freezing, yet due to the fact that most of the planet is covered in less than 97% water, it fits into the N category according to the administratum. A mining world rich in mineral resources, it's fortunate the cities are situation amongst rocky outcroppings of volcanic activity, keeping the urban zones (relatively) warm and habitable.

I was aware there were a small collection of Valhallans aboard, and after Corporal Seldopn gave me a full report of the trial, I asked Morek to call upon Commissar Petrovska to inquire on how to better equip men for winter conditions and to thank her for presiding over judgement dutifully and without bias. Perhaps I laid it on too thick, for I waited a standard Terran day, only for Morek to return with a carefully sealed letter. I broke the commissariat seal, opened it, and read it aloud.

"Perhaps Later"

-Commissar Petrovska.

Fortunately, we arrived in the material plane with no incident, and began our slow descent to join the Merchant Fleet ships of Carracks, Tarrasks, and Clippers orbiting the planet. By this time, word of my miraculous survival had spread, only further enflaming the rumors of our victory on Kaurava III. This ran through my thoughts as I stood there, joined by Corporal Seldon by the observation window on the portside recreation deck. Morek stood with us, chewing some jerky as always, though today he must have felt festive, for he had a mug of Raenka in his hand. Squats were known for holding their liquor like no other, so I allowed it, at least in the recreation area.

"Another mining world..." I mused aloud. It seemed I was destined to be nothing but a guaruntee of the imperium's corporate interests. Granted, I suppose it was better than getting my head sliced off by a nob's choppa, but it did give much room for the romantic or the glorious.

"Cold, not much to do..." Sel said, and to my surprise she was chewing a bit of jerky too when I glanced at her. Seems she and Morek were friends, or implied ones. He doubted they had spoken more than three sentences to each other.

A faint vibration shook the deckplates beneath our feet, too familiar even to register consciously, and we watched one of the shuttles break off from the troopship and approach the planet. Engines flared brightly and corrected its course, before it disappeared amongst the thousands of other shuttles traveling to and from the starport below. Oddly enough, despite its frigid conditions and industry, it was quite a populous planet. Twelve billion souls lived on its surface, either in the cities or in underground hab-blocks, or more rarely traveling nomads that scratched a brief living amongst the snow and rocks. I was curious on what it looked like landside. Our regiment was second in line to go, in four standard hours from now.

"Better go collect the men," I said, turning and tapping my cane on the ground. I had requisitioned one be made for me, mostly for appearances, but I found I liked it. An imperial eagles head at the top, it was made with durasteel and fashioned with the blue and green of my office, courtesy of the injustice done to someone of my stalwart reputation. Together, we made our way to the barracks to make sure all the men were ready to move out. We were known for being over eager. I was not about to ruin that reputation but us lagging behind.