POOHEAD189

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Will give a reply in 24 hours!

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

"Cruel witch!" Amal spat, his sexual frustrations going to new heights. He rolled around in bed for awhile, until he decided he couldn't take it anymore. He tore the covers off himself and told her he was going out for some air. The thief did not intend to be gone long, just long enough for the frigid temperatures to cool himself off. The picture of Charynrae straddling him and kissing his neck a bit too much for him to bear whilst he went to sleep.

The night was late, now, and the barroom below their shared suite was only sparsely populated, a few men and dwarves sat in disparate groups, whispering to one another as they nursed their drinks. The telltale smell of pipeweed enriched the air, but Amal did not stay. He merely glided past the murmurs and stepped out into the cold. Immediately, he saw the steam rise from his lips, his keen eyes catching the tossing and turning figures and stacks of items set within the tents just a few dozen yards before him. Many would-be adventurers looking for their fortunes set tents just before the gate to prepare themselves for their sojourns past the walls. He was almost tempted to sneak in amongst them and steal a few trinkets, but he had just gotten out of the wilderness. He was not about to risk it, at least not right now. Instead, he let the cold seep into him. Now that he had a room to go back to, it was not so bad. Well, it was, but it did not have the same psychological effect.

He needed only stand there briefly before he decided he had felt enough. How anyone but a frost giant could live this far north was a mystery to him, and he turned to go back inside. However, something caught his eye.

He had glanced at the crescent moon, admiring its light for a moment, but he felt something had obscured his vision for a moment. Some winged shape passing by the far light. The thief wondered if he had been seeing things, but knew that such thoughts were generally lies wrapped in plausibility. He knew he saw something, something vast. But waiting in the cold for another minute brought no more answers, and when he realized how frozen he was becoming, he cursed in calishite and strode back inside to his warm bed.

All thoughts of Charynrae had been expelled for the moment, replaced with an unease he would have rather gone without. Oh well, Ibrandul curse it all.

Whatever horrors Faerun was planning to bring him, it could wait until tomorrow.

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

He supposed he should feel fortunate for some clean clothes and food, but it did little to make him feel better. He was not a woman, the bread and cheese would sate him for a moment, but he would need something more substantial if he wanted to be of any use after some rest. Idly, the thief-taker wondered if the One Power could exhaust an Aes Sedai like hard physical labor or a lack of sleep. Despite finding himself in the prime spot to ask, he decided not to poke the bear's flanks. While the sisters sat and discussed, he remained standing, leaning against the back wall and keeping an eye on the doorway.

Eventually, the conversation died down, and Maddy gave Davian a look, before tugging at Zoya's sleeves. Davian could feel her almost tangible amusement from there. "I assume you did not tell him you would be meeting a sister." She said softly. She had guessed correctly, of course. Davian was a man of the world, but one Aes Sedai was enough, much less two. Even if he was beginning to trust Zoya enough to not feel uneasy traveling beside her. Perhaps not enough to see her as the pretty woman he might otherwise think, but still.

"I find men are like mushrooms." Zoya said back, covering her mouth with her hand conspiratorially. "Feed them dung and keep them in the dark."

The two women burst into raucous laughter for a brief moment. Davian wasn't put off, or at least, he could see the humor in it, but there was a sardonic way about his smile that sobered Zoya up. She cleared her throat and smoothed her dress. "I was a bit too worried on other things to give a warning," She admitted to Davian. "And you can trust Maddy as much as I."

"More so." The portly Brown remarked. "I won't take the shoes from under you feet."

Davian grinned, much to Zoya's chagrin, but she chuckled after a moment and sipped her tea, unwilling to concede embarrassment. "That's good," the rakish man said. "I've enough trouble traveling with one pick-pocket."

"Before we continue," Maddy remarked before Zoya could retort, placing a hand on the brunette's leg to forestall any interruption. "I must give you some small warning. There is some small trouble with the Children of the Light." Zoya and Davian perked up, suddenly more attentive. Davian was not someone that would be targeted like an Aes Sedai, but he had seen the Children operate enough to be wary all the same. Tell them you've fished with the Atha'an Miere and a white cloak would claim you a darkfiend. Maddy waved at the two to to calm them. "It's not as you believe, they don't have a big presence here. But they will soon, from what I'm told. They have spies in the streets. One tried to masquerade as a merchant and was swindled of all he had, loudly proclaiming he was of the Children in order to get his clothes back from a disastrous bid. He said soon they would come in force. It was a laugh, but ever since I've noticed men loitering, watching. I would not stay in Godian for longer than the night, if I were you, and keep to yourselves."

"What about you?" Zoya asked, concern on her face. Davian was not sure if Sakura Sedai was poor at hiding her emotions for one of the shawl, or if he was simply able to read her better from their shared time together. Perhaps she was more at ease to be herself around him at this point? Maddy chuckled at her obvious worry.

"I've dealt with far worse than White Cloaks. I'll be fine. I have no doubt you're both slippery as eels, as well, but if they do come in force, best you're gone before that happens."

"Agreed," Davian sighed, opening the curtain of the far window slightly to peer out in the busy street. Peddlars and locals intermingled and went about their day, a stray dog wandered between the bustling carts. Nothing suspicious from what he saw. "Speaking of slippery, is there a place I can find something more to eat before the sun dies?"

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

I put on a good face for the men, and truth be told I did have a small bit of mirth for this relatively boring (and safe) assignment. The cold was unbearable, as always, but I knew I would likely spend the majority of my time in the spacious, warm manor. At most I might step down into the utility levels beneath it that housed the power systems and the void shield generator. Even now I could see the phosphorus dome in the midst of this latest snow flurry. I was always both wary and comforted by void shields. Passing through one was a strange experience, feeling like a hot shower of ozone and static electricity, but once you were on the other side, it lifting of morale was almost as tangible as its effects on defense. Void shields were designed to halt kinetic and energy weapons traveling at a certain velocity, displacing the projectile into the immaterium. Sparks told me we didn't even know fully how such devices worked, only they did, which was only slightly discomforting. Fortunately, void shields larger than half a kilometer in radius also provided an insulation effect which would keep the ambient temperature inside the shield warmer than the surrounding environment and be relatively effective at stopping precipitation from getting in. Which meant, even outside the manor, it would go from unbearably frozen to merely frigid.

The heights around us rose like the waves falling off an ancient god, giving an archaic, almost mythic feeling to our surroundings. Before I closed the hatch, I fancied I saw a loping hirstus, one of the four legged wooly herbivores that inhabited many of the iceworlds in this segmentum. While Balor was not technically cold enough to be an iceworld, the temperatures were low enough to still accommodate creatures suited to the tundra and frozen forests of less habitable planets like Valhalla.

We passed through the barrier without incident, beyond a small chill that run up my spine. Luckily my mind was on other things, recalling what I had told the platoon before we had set out. This was likely to be an eventless limbo with the seduction of skating one's duties likely high, but it was better than getting your head blown off. They were still the 2nd Gendermes and they were in the presence of aristocracy, and they needed to keep their boots shined, their lasguns primed, and their hustle doubled timed for any problem. It was a good platitude, along with 'do your best and let the emperor do the rest,' but it had worked on him during the academy, and one thing you can count on with the Imperium. It did a hell of a good job at getting men and women ready and willing to serve and die for something. Hopefully, the latter would not be necessary, especially for a glorified kitchen patrol duty like this.

The Chimera group rolled just to the edge of the estate gardens, having already been pre-briefed there was a designated area for the armor so the treads did not sully the cobblestones. Unfortunately, when our Chimera stopped so I could disembark and direct the armor to the cordoned off area, there was a long, exquisite ground car sitting in wait. I felt I could play stupid, but anyone with any sense knew the car was waiting on myself. A butler in a black suit stood vigilant, seemingly unaffected by the weather, ready to open the door. I had to politely decline, having to say it twice so he might hear me. Even inside the shield, the wind whistled and snaked across the cold.

"Tell the Lady Arsenault I thank her for the offer, and I extend her my sincerest apologies, but I must see to the distribution of my men for her own safety, something I believe is paramount." I explained. If the Butler recited it to the letter, then she would likely be pleased, as well as not take offense. As much as I would love to be in the height of luxury, I could indulge such a vice later on. I needed to stay with my soldiers, lest I lose respect in their eyes. A lieutenant with men that neither loved nor feared them did not last very long, or at least, did not rise the ranks with any speed.

The butler was a good man, merely inclining his head and granting an 'of course' before taking the stylish vehicle back to the estate. What followed was a handful of uncomfortable minutes managing my men as they disembarked, the platoon hustling out and unloading their supplies on the small convoy that had followed in our wake, food stuffs, electronics, munitions, all set in uniform crates. Morek stood in the freeze not feeling a throne damned thing, I realized. Well, he could sit out here all he wanted. It took a good twenty minutes before I was able to find the excuse to walk inside and introduce myself to the lady, and when I did I ordered Sel and EGS1 Spade to join me. I left Morek to help the sergeants, and though Private Harmarck and Corporal Bickers were trustworthy men, they also couldn't keep their mouths shut, so I left them to haul. Pvt Elara...well let's just say I wanted to keep her out of sight from the Lady Arensault, or perhaps vice versa. Either way, I could not trust her presence either. Beyond our constant saving of one another, I knew I could trust Sel completely. Say what you will about Corporal Seldon, but she knows how to button her lip with the best of them.

The face of the estate was wide, with a short, grand stairway that led to polished white pillars framing the stained windows and grand entryway. The manor did not look as baroque as I was expecting, but to my approval it was surprisingly palladian in design. Past the carnodon statues and buttresses of cherubs, it looked surprisingly uniform and pragmatic in both expediency and defense. Speaking of which, I knew there had to be a household guard here as well, I needed to make a good impression on their captain immediately. It wouldn't do to start a fruckus on that arena either, as there was no telling how long we would be stationed here.

With a deep breath, we climbed the stairway to the oaken doors, and before we even reached level ground, they swung open.

"Corporal?" I said to Sel as we ascended, my eyes catching sight of the delectable baroness. Even in the cold, I felt my body heat rise. Even were I not to...indulge, in her advances (and that was a monumental if), I would have to entertain her or face political backlash.

"Sir?"

"Keep an eye on the men as best you can, if I am indisposed." I ordered, and sighed. "I have a feeling matters will demand my attention."

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Quintus casually laid his heavy blaster on his big shoulder, striding forward and watching the ensuing hijinks with a mild interest. He exuded the philosophy of 'not my problem unless I'm getting paid,' however the Ur-Bot escaping did meet that criteria. He was about to take a shot before Ijin hit it in the leg.

"Noooo, that's not racist. Now callin' him a Clanker on the other hand..."

He noted Silas didn't seem too concerned about Cho, and with that problem more or less solved, Quintus began to whistle as he meandered on over to the Ur Bot. The thing tried to drag itself like a wounded animal, but it was clear it couldn't get far. Meanwhile, Quintus's movements were slow and languid, as if he enjoyed it and didn't much care if there was more of a chase. However, his eyes were locked on the small android. If it made any sudden movements, he would be on it in a flash. "Well, I'm not a veterinarian, but I think your pug needs an oil change, Cho." He placed his boot on the side of the small bot, and tipped it over so it had even less ground to find purchase on. It scrabbled helplessly, and he had to fight the urge to crush it. With one, strong hand, he grabbed it by one of its legs and lifted it up to hold at arm's length.

"Better be something valuable about this guy. If not I can scoop 'em out and use 'em as a money pot."

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Will make a post within 24 hours!

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

My eyes snapped to the side when I heard the name Lady Arsenault. Just why the Emperor, in his wisdom, wished for me to fight his strongest battle, I certainly did not know. Sel, though we had grown closer in our relatively brief professional relationship, did not know me well enough to read my look.

I knew as soon as the Major mentioned the Baroness, that I would not only be assigned to her, but I would have to put out all of the stops to not put out in other ways. I also knew I was likely to fail, and thirdly I realize I was both dreading and looking forward to it. Briefly I wondered just how well I could keep her at arm's length, but then my mind fled into Pvt. Elara's supple arms and I was again at a dead end. Of course, none of it showed on my face, and I had no way to object without sounding like an arrogant dog, so I kept my lip buttoned.

"Major, may I ask how far we'll have to travel?" I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. Even then, he gave me a look of disapproval, answering without missing a beat.

"Why, do you have somewhere else you need to be, lieutenant?"

"No sir, I just want to know how much I should pack." I said, hiding my smile. "I'm also concerned on the length of the insurgent's reach. If it's close by, I should keep both eyes open."

Major Sour peeled the bottom layer of the next page, giving it a quick glance before dropping the papers entirely. "You can keep one eye open. It's three hundred kloms outside of the city. You and your platoon should have adequate room, and I am told it is situated on heights that give you a good layout of the surrounding terrain." He said, his usual demeanor evaporating when speaking on tactics. Anyone could see he was a fine officer, just too stubborn to do what it took to rise above his station. A mistake I would not make, if I could help it. "You and the 2nd will be transported via Chimera at 0700 tomorrow morning. You are to stay inside until you arrive at the destination. Since your pretty face is on every holovid, not only will the insurgents recognize you, but any damned nobody could call you out."

"Yes sir," I said.

"Dismissed. Both of you."

Twelve hours later...

In my long years of service, I've learned one important rule. The worst thing about responsibility is being responsible. If every PFC and trooper were to rise at 0500, I was to rise at 0400. Fortunately, I had an aide that could sleep and rise seemingly without much baggage on annoying biological matters like hangovers and lack of stamina. My alarm, though unfortunate, did allow me to appreciate the fresh smell of recaf that Morek had been brewing. Squats had a particular knack for brewing drinks, alcoholic and non. It was also not in his job description to make my recaf, however he made sure to brew me a cup, and I made sure to not notice the amasec (and at time, much stronger drinks) he mixed within his own cup.

Before I knew it, I found myself in the only marginally heated garage, which was merely the lowest level of one of the large, oblong structures the locals utilized to work and live in. Morek was with me, dressed in full kit and carrying my own bags as well. Our lead Chimera, usually emblazoned with the KC of our colloquial name, which to my chagrin I found out meant 'Kayden's Conquerors," had been repainted to keep out platoon's identity a secret. However, Morek and I merely needed to follow the smell of fresh paint, and as Morek stepped into the vehicle to place our bags in, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but I realized it was only Sparks, our enginseer. "I didn't meant to frighten you, sir."

"You did no such thing." I lied, pinching the bridge of my nose to act as if I was merely tired. Well, I suppose I was not acting. "Did you not sleep, Sparks?" The redhead still looked very human. I briefly wondered if she had been granted any mechanical parts as of yet, but thinking of my female troopers anatomies was the last thing I should be musing on. She had her lasgun on her, but her uniform was slightly disheveled, as was her hair now that I looked at her. "Were you sleeping in the chimeras?"

"I was told to inspect them sir, and it got so late, I knew I wouldn't make it back to my bunk in time to get any meaningful rest, so..." Her voice trailed off. She almost fell asleep on the spot, but then her head shot back up again. "They're tip top shape, sir. I can help with whatever else you require, sir."

I looked at her for a long moment, wondering what on Terra I did to earn such loyalty. I shook my head. "What I need from you is to rest, private. Go back in the chimera, sleep for another hour or two. Morek will wake you when it's time."

"But-"

"That's an order," I insisted, but when I placed a hand on her shoulder, she gave me a smile and nodded. As she turned, I recalled back when I first met her and the other women on Kaurava III, in fear of their life and virtues. It came to me then that she might explicitly trust me after I helped them. That was bloody ironic, normally I was the last person to trust with a bunch of women. I shook my head, and went back to prep the chimeras.

At The Edge of The World

I woke up with Emmaline in my arms. I vaguely remembered a thunderstorm the previous night, but it was obscured by the ravenous lovemaking we'd been busy with. She murmured when I stirred, and I stroked her hair as I pulled the sheet up to cover her slim shoulders a bit more completely. Honestly, I was not usually so effected by a woman, let alone carnal pleasures, but as I came to find out, Emmaline and I were influencing each other in more ways than one. Even as I woke up, I felt like going for round three once she was rested, but if we did, I knew we would end up on round six and be in the room all day. Oddly enough, despite my immense stamina, which I was glad to see translated into the bedroom, Emmaline somehow flipped. She would complain after walking for the shortest length of time, but she could outlast me in the bedroom by an insane energy that I guess she was saving for just such an occasion. I could go hours, but she could go days if I let her, and I might if there weren't errands to run. However, she did seem fairly tired still, or at least married to the bed, so I yawned and closed my eyes. As I did, I opened one and peered down at her, certain her ears were slightly more pointed than I remembered, but eventually dismissing the notion and shutting them again. I idly stroked her hair and the back of her lower half for what I believed was another half an hour before she, too, yawned and began to look like she might be ready to get up.

"Stay here babe," I whispered to her, and though she clung to me, and made mewling, annoyed sounds when I slid out of the bed, she curled up in the sheets almost vindictively. I put on some trousers, as well as a linen shirt, and after my boots were finally on, I went downstairs to get us some breakfast, before I brought a tray of hot food. Spiced but sweet pastries wrapped around berry sausage, as well as some blueberry tea. She finally sat up once she smelled the food, and after she ate her fill, she brushed and styled my thick, black mane with her fingers as I had my turn to eat. Oddly enough, despite her refined palette and style, as well as her being from an entirely different continent and an unimaginably different upbringing, Emmaline and I were alike in a lot of ways. This morning was a good example. We were both very animal-like in a lot of ways, for instances. Something we each no doubt saw in the other and found endearing.

After an hour or so, Emmaline and I were ready. Darkwater City was ready, too, something we would have to reckon with multiple times. There were a few clouds in the sky, but the sun was not to be denied, piercing through whatever meager cover the scattered coalitions of gas could give, and that was a rarity this particular day. Even as we stepped onto the street, we could hear meandering music and the scent of spices was in the air. Plump pigeons and storks cried out, breaking through the low murmur of the street talk.

"For the ass end of the world, this place is quite cosmopolitan." Emmaline whispered to herself, before spinning to me. Her hair had been wrapped into a ponytail, the bind made from a piece of my dogi she had clawed off last night. Despite myself, it made me feel almost as special as when I had been given my necklace by my father, or was gifted my Drumngr axe at my Krýning Senaktas when I had turned eighteen with my dwarven mentors. She crossed her arms. "So, what's on the docket today?"

I also crossed my muscled arms and placed a hand on my chin, watching a stray dog walk in a picturesque gait across the the cobblestone street, ducking between two buildings to find shade. "Well, we could try and get your papers for the enclave, we could visit the soldiers in the infirmary, we get new clothes for when we make it inside Old Town, we can-"

"SOLD!"Emmaline exclaimed, hand in the air. "To the handsome man with his third idea!"

I gave two extravagant bows to an imaginary crowd. "Thank you! Thank you!" I said with my smoothest voice. She giggled, and then bounded away. I saw she was halfway down the street by the time I was done with the charade and I raced after her.

Before I knew it, we were down basilisk street where the heaviest market area was located. The stench of sweating men and women intermingled with the scent of fresh fruit and the spray of the nearby wetlands, a cool breeze bringing momentary relief to the hot day. Emmaline scampered into a shop just as the breeze died down, and I had to duck and dodge through the crowd, even jumping over a child, not to lose sight of her. By the time I had leaped into the door and ducked through the curtains that served as a barrier, she was in the dressing room with four outfits picked out. Briefly as I passed under the sign, I saw the store was called the Threads of Fate. If memory served, this was one of the more expensive boutiques. Luckily we had coin to spare, but it was not limitless. And when I saw Emmaline flinging dresses, I knew there was going to be a dent.

The first was a scarlet evening dress, strapless and laced around a plunging backline, with a slit for her legs. The next was a blue halter neck dress with arm slits to hold it up, both silk satin. The next was an abyssal black v-neck sheath dress of velvet, and the last was a dark indigo party dress made of elven silk made specially for large busted women, with an oval opening above the breasts to give a risque view whilst remaining classy. And those were only half of what she was eventually going to get.

As her outfits increased, so did the bags she accumulated. I found myself carrying six of them in my arms, along with a brass coronet chased in silver that she just had to have. I busied myself by trying some of the local cuts of beef a vendor was selling just outside the Threads of Fate, but I walked back in once I had my fill, and by the time she was done, we both stepped into the hot sun with my body loaded down with merchandise. Emmaline bounced with every step.

That is, until she was shoved out of the way by a man-at-arms that had suddenly materialized out of the crowd. I saw a few onlookers gasp and desperately try to move away, but they were shoved as well, likely but other soldiers. The one that had borderline assaulted Emmaline bore a spangenhelm, but the entirety of his armor was hard to determine from the silver and blue surcoat ensconcing his upper body. I could see he did wear mail from the chains draped along his arms. Luckily his hands were not covered in iron, but the man was not gentle when he moved her, one step short of backhanding her out of the way. She yelped and fell, but I caught her before she hit the stone. She pouted in the midst of my arms and the bags she had gathered for her hoard. She was about to tell the man off, but I beat her to it.

"If you touch her again, I'll rip your face off and throw it in the drink" I warned him. He gazed at me with a look that seemed half incredulity and half derision, as if he was seeing for the first time that the ants he stepped on might bite. My eyes never left his, and I added the next part to try and embarrass him. "You just shoved the Lady Von Morganstern."

It gave him pause for a moment, but another look and he sneered. "I've never heard of anyone by that name, and no lady would have an escort except a mixed breed wretch like yourself." He said with a dark humor. Before he could order us to move again, a voice like a ringing bell called from behind the man.

"Sergeant Baird, keep moving forward. This heat is insufferable."

He turned abruptly, his rough face was now all smiles and kindness. "Yes, my lady D'Albon," he responded before he removed the curtain, bowing in reverence. I helped Emmaline to her feet, and a few other guards went to move us physically, which had me bristling like a feral dog before Emmaline placed a hand on my cheek to let me know she was not wishing me to fight on her behalf for the moment, and we stepped back. The crowd parted, and a regal woman stepped into view. I blinked, and almost snorted at the irony.

She was everything Emmaline was not. Where Emmaline was prone to clumsiness, she glided like a swan on water. Where Emmaline was curvaceous, she was slender. She was even a brunette to Emma's head of gold, her eyes green whereas Emma's were blue. She was accompanied by multiple men who sought her protection based on loyalty, and Emmaline had gone into the wilds alone, and found myself out of mutual attraction and even care. Emmaline garbed herself casually (at the moment), this woman looked like she had just stepped out of a ball, her dress shimmering. She was tall, almost as tall as I. For a moment, I thought her imperious air would have her either ignore us or give a platitude, but when her eyes snapped to us, her lips curled in distaste.

"The only thing more pathetic than a commoner is a commoner that acts like an aristocrat," she chuckled snidely, and then stepped into the Threads of Fate, lifting her nose as if Emmaline had a particularly odious stench. I clenched my fist, not even aware she had pegged Emmaline's situation correctly, just taking offense for the insult on her behalf. But again, Emmaline placed a hand on my forearm, and motioned for us to go. I hesitated, and then nodded, making sure all the dresses were in my arms before we moved. "We'll talk about it later," Emmaline told me. I was surprised, but a little impressed, admittedly. Usually I was the cool headed one in most conversations, and Emmaline tended to let her emotions show on her face when she was not in one of her 'roles,' but she held herself well, so I conceded and pushed it from my mind.

We passed the wharves, where sailors with bowling gaits swathed in exotic clothing bartered with local merchants and stockmasters were checking off their lists of stacked crates. A huge crane was slowly lifting a pallet of barrels by a clever pulley system over a rise in the dock to settle down near the street, next to one of the warehouses. Carracks, Cogs, Sloops, and even a royal Andredian Galleon were docked, and the assortment of men and women and even non-humans were too numerous to describe. As we passed the docks, a dre costan sailor popped up from behind a warehouse, smiling at us with ivory teeth.

"¿Quién quiere pulpo? Octo?" He asked, holding up slimy, indigo colored, eight tentacled things from the deeps. Their heads bulbous and their cat eyes like saucers.

"No, gracias," I informed him, ushering Emmaline along.

"Was he expecting us to just buy them?" She asked.

"I hear some old legends say you can dry their legs into charms and it's a ward from daemons and water spirits." I informed her. "Sailor's superstition."

"I keep forgetting you're an amatuer scholar. Anyway, where do we turn for the scribe?" Emmaline asked as we reached another fork in the street. I scrounged up my old memories, and thought about tapping my chin before I realized it was physically impossible without dropping a bag. I nodded to the left, and said "this way, I think."

She snapped her fingers and ushered me to move, playing at being my liege lord. Technically, she kind of was as far as I knew, still believing her to be of northern nobility. Though, I also suspected this was just a part of the task of being her boyfriend, and I decided there were far worse fates in the world. Even after all of the daemons, conspiracies, lies, and all the blood that was yet to be shed, I find myself admitting I wouldn't change a thing in the world about us.

The street, called Westwood, which used to be Hook Street (likely changing the name to be more accommodating to newcomers, as was Darkwater's attempt to change its freebooter reputation) was what I considered to be a more traditional, Andredian style of build. The street was tiled with grey stone, stacked in squares. The buildings were thatched, with earthy colors and made of sturdy oak, eschewing the local cypress and driftwood aesthetic many of the other shops and homes sported. Emmaline, as she told me later, still spotted the differences between the traditional makes and styles, the signs and doors made with a more effervescent style of woodwork, for instances. However, we soon found the scribe's office, a handful of ruffians slinking off from the nearest alley at our approach.

"Let me do the talking," Emmaline whispered to me.

"So I'll play my usual role," I grinned, and she winked at me before opening the door. A bell jingled, and a portly man in spectacles shot up from behind the counter at the back of the room, having apparently had his head down for a nap. The walls were stacked with scrolls and parchments, bottles of ink and quills of various lengths and birds were at the ready. A few areas were cleared of merchandise so letters of marque and charters could be displayed, complete with heraldic symbols and the correct flourishes depending on the nation and subject. At the highest point of the back wall, a blue and gold tapestry depicting the sign of Aulor, God of Scholars and Perspicuity, hung.

"H-Hello," the scribe said, taking his spectacles off and wiping them. His pockmarked face scrunched up as he tried to see the two of us, before planting the spectacles back on. I set the bags down across from the door and stood in front of them protectively. I made it clear I was not going to speak with my buttoned lip and crossed arms, and Emmaline approached the counter. There was a small, woolen table-cover of crimson atop it, along with a laminated standing parchment of a historical manuscript. To the far right was a dias, where an ancient tome was open, displaying a flowing. illuminated script you might find in a monk's scriptorum. "May-May I help you?"

"Yes, I am the Lady Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, and I am inquiring on what sort of scripts I can commission a scribe to create." She said with a patrician inflection, placing her hands on the edge of the smooth counter.

"W-Well as long as you have the proper authority, we can make whatever you wish. Missives, love letters, edicts, letters of marque, histories, charters, patents of nobility, alchemical manuals, and the like."

"Excellent. I am newly arrived in your lovely city of Darkwater, and I am without patents of nobility. My ship had an...unexpected accident. How much would I owe you to form them for me? And how long would it take?"

He swallowed. It was hard to tell if he was normally shy, nervous for a mysterious reason, or the heat was simply getting to him. "Uh, well, we would need another aristocrat or person of rank to vouch for you, as well as three other witnesses, in order to get the verification we would need to make such a script, but once you provided that it could be finished in a matter of days. They unfortunately do not come cheap, my lady. F-Five gold royals, depending on the type of parchment and the family history, is uh, the usual fare."

"Oh, that will simply not do." Emmaline remarked, with just the right mixture of disapproval and civility. "You're an apprentice, are you not? I wish to speak with your master."

"Um," the portly man hesitated. I felt like he had a kind face, which had me empathize with him. Luckily, it seemed it was only his usual hesitation and not a pause out of fear. "Yes, right away. Master Ludwic!... Master?"

A few moments passed, and nothing seemed to stir from the back. The apprentice looked about to apologize before a grumbling erupted. "Yes, yes, what is it?" An elderly gentleman said, stepping out and blinking. He bore a robe of tan colors, and a sleeveless, embroidered green vest with an Aulor sigil on his breast. His apprentice quickly informed him of the perceived problem, and Master Ludwic cleared his throat, dismissing his pupil with a wave one might use to swat a fly. The apprentice made his leave, nearly tripping in the process, but shutting the door behind on as he went to the back. The master placed his hands together and rested them on the table as he regarded Emmaline. "Er, where do you hail from, my lady, and what family is yours?"

It was Emmaline's turn to hesitate, blinking. "I..." But she cleared her throat and tossed her fringe out of her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. "My family hails from Kaedamer, the Von Morgansterns, a vassal of the marchwardens of Arbormark. I also have a great uncle who has distinguished himself as a knight, sir Falhurst of Krue, in Duxerly."

The master scribe bit his tongue, and though Emmaline did not see it, shock momentarily showed on my face. Ludwic looked past her and into my eyes, but my surprise had been erased by then. Both he and I knew that meant Emmaline shared, albeit distantly, blood with the legendary Torm Draufkrieg of Andredian history, reputedly Anderlon Reborn. Master Ludwic thought for a moment, and pursed his lips. "Can you not provide proof of your claim of nobility? I must inform you, 'my lady.' Even if you do, I will need to know your family history for the previous four generations for you to gain the patent that will allow you into the Enclave."

"You know..." Emmaline began, sliding her hands together, her arms squeezing her bosom until they were on display. She fluttered her long lashes, her voice honeyed. "My memory is a little short, but I'm certain we can come to an arrangement." She tossed her hair back again, this time with less pride and more style.

It had absolutely no effect. I bit my lip so I wouldn't laugh.

"If you cannot provide your family history, along with the required proof, the best I can do is a personal family history. Although, I might be persuaded to give you your patents of nobility if you prove your wealth by paying two hundred golden royals. If you are truly a noble-" The man prattled on, clearly not believing Emmaline's story, and she bargained back, but I could tell it was not going to go her way. That was when the Evergod intervened, as he always did in pivotal moments. The door to the scriptorum opened, the bell ringing again. Emmaline was too busy with the discussion to glance back, until the scribe's face went white, and he audibly exhaled in distress. Emmaline finally looked over her shoulder.

I had a great view of the newcomers, actually.

Three unscrupulous looking fellows with short black tabards, along with chaperon hoods had stepped in. On the back of their hands was the mark of the Ignis Anael, a strange bastardization of a holy Omerist symbol, with the appearance of two fish hooks, one longer than the other, bisecting, along with the number 4 written within it. The member that stood out was the last one. The short concealing clothes could not hide his red skin or four arms. I knew he was one of the Stranded, an Onin. As much of an alien to this world as the daemons, though onins were not spirits or pure evil like daemons. However, they were tough to fight, and as ferocious as sharks.

"Weeeeell," the one at the front said with a sinister voice, patting a knife against the shelves he casually passed them, clearly making his way to the front desk. The other human kept back, eyeing me threateningly. He bore a mace he kept in his crossed arms. The onin held no weapon, but growled menacingly. I was not sure if he could fully close his mouth with those small tusks. The leader continued, giving a few glances to Emmaline: "Sorry to interrupt your business here, Ludwic, but we expect our payment today. You can discuss with the pretty lady once we're done here."

"I-I still have another three days!" The scribe protested, stepping back from the counter warily. "You told me I was guaranteed a full fortnight! How can I pay you if you don't give me time?"

The ganger made a show of perusing the various documents he had no real interest in, speaking as if to a friend. I couldn't see his face well, but he had a thin, long nose. "You know how things get, master. When the need arises... Don't worry, we'll extend your next tax by another three days, unless something else comes up, of course."

He had turned to regard Ludwic by that point, smiling wickedly. Emmaline took a wise step back, but suddenly a thought came to her. I could tell by the way her blue eyes lit up, and she turned once again to Ludwic.

"Master Ludwic." She said, her face serene. I was always impressed with her poker faces. Right now she looked every inch in control of the situation, as if she were a queen protected by a dozen knights. I wished I could act like that. "Let us make a deal. How about we buy you the time until your next payment is needed? If so, would you be willing to make the documents I require in short order?"

The scribe looked at Emmaline in shock, and the bandit's face screwed up in bemusement. He gave a confused 'what?' but Ludwic was too taken aback to even look at the threatening man at that exact moment. It was clear to me now, in hindsight, that he believed Emmaline was offering to pay out of pocket to make the men go away. I also now believe that was how she wished to appear. At the time, however, I was completely sure we were on the same wavelength.

"Yes, thank you most graciously for your assistance, my lady." The scribe said with the most deference he had shown her since he had walked out to bargain with her. All three members of the gang looked at each other in confusion, and the leader looked like he was about to say something snide. Emmaline ignored him and smiled delightedly, and then spun to me.

I pointed at myself with my right hand, and at the three gangers with my left, a questioning look on my face.

Emmaline nodded.

There was a group of fishwives walking just outside of the scriptorum, giggling and chatting together like old friends. Even after a long morning and noonday of working, they were likely now heading to grab a bite to eat. Their laughter turned into startled screams when the door burst open and two of the gangers suddenly flew out of the scriptorum like they were launched out of a mangonel. The women scattered like mice as the men hit the pavement. Next, I stepped out, grappling with the onin, having managed to get him from behind as he desperately tried to attack me with his second pair of arms. I shoved my knee into his back, and it gasped in pain, before I lifted him into the air and let go, and snapped my foot forward to strike the humanoid before it hit the ground. It flew half a dozen feet to land with his comrades.

"Don't bother the master again, please." I said to them, adding the please because I felt in their haze, they might find it sincere, and I turned to the women who had bothered to glance back, giving them my apologies before I closed the door.

If Ludwic was white earlier, he was now ivory, as if his soul had fled his body. Emmaline, however, looked composed and as pleased as I had ever seen her. She smiled politely and placed her hands together in the same manner Ludwic had done when he had walked out to deal with her. "Now where were we?"

Salutations

Hello, I am eugalB. Player in his late 20's. I used to dwell on RP forums in my teens, kinda fell out of it towards the end of High School. Got a bit of very casual TTRPG in university. Now I am feeling like getting back into it.

I'm mostly used to fantasy but I'm also looking to try new things, probably sci-fi, maybe a bit horror focused.

Anyway, nice to meet you all. Hoping we'll have fun.

@eugalB

Nice to meet you