POOHEAD189

Gold & Glory: AU thread

No one escapes the clutches of the dreaded drucchi. Better to die than be caught by their cruel nets.
-Bos'un Herbert Fauchman

As Emmaline was busy losing the contents of her lunch over the side of the boat, Markus stared at the wooden planks on the rowboat, deep in thought. The churning sea rushed and shoved the craft gingerly, oscillating their position and filling their ears with the dull roars of the surf. The Captain of the Hammer clutched his sheathed, accursed sword, the scabbard resting over his shoulder. For miles in any direction, they were surrounded by sea. In the distance they could see a faded picture of land, but it would be hours before they reached the shore. The day was overcast and the wind tickled them, but it was not unpleasant. The vague sound of whispers that came with the wind were more unwelcome than the wind itself. Then again, these lands had been perpetually haunted in all the stories.

Mercifully, the Land of Chill was warmer than the rumors.

Markus had never been to Naggaroth, though he and his crew had an unfortunate run-in with Dark Elf reavers before. It was how he had acquired his black sword, and it was during that engagement he really started to respect Emmaline as more than a bumbling pair of tits. Unfortunately, he didn't foresee much more in the way of positive benefits when facing the dreaded elves of Malekith. It was almost guaranteed he and his lover would die here, on this strip of bare land on far end of the world. And yet there was nowhere else to go, and Markus was not going to die without spilling as much elf blood as possible.

The previous day, the Hammer had been sailing up the coast of the Sea of Serpents with all speed. Markus and his crew had been given a map from the Heinrich Kuaffhelm, the greatest loremaster of the New World. It was similar to most maps save one detail: the location of the fabled Tomb of Gold. After having survived the Lizardmen in their golden city, Markus had seen first hand the fabulous wealth the Lizardmen had in their hoards. It took very little to convince his crew and Emmaline to find the Tomb that was rumored to be unguarded by the scaled warriors.

On the ninth day at sea, the black sails appeared. Three dark elf sloops surrounded them and assailed the ship on all sides. Emmaline had been pitched overboard, and Markus could only dive off the ship and leave a rowboat untethered and floating upside-down in order to save himself and the sorceress. With clever magics she had kept them hidden from the sea-dragons that followed the dark elves, or the myriad of monsters that lurked within the 'sea of serpents,' but that left them stranded miles from the coast, idly floating with the wind.

If his men weren't dead, they would soon wish they were. The Black Ark they had seen in the distance had disappeared, and only by memory did Markus recall a dark elf settlement supposedly on the coast, by way of stories they had heard moored at Skeggi. They would go there and try to get his ship back, and if they failed, they would take the two small vials of poison Markus kept on his person to die swiftly and (relatively) painlessly.

Even if it came to that, Markus would kill for what they did to him.

"Your concern is wonderful," Emmaline said, finally bringing her head up and slumping against the side of the boat. She looked miserable.

"I'm not concerned," He said, aloof with his attention elsewhere. "You've gotten through far worse. We'll be on land soon."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"Hunting," he chuckled softly, listening to her explanation. He was accustomed to hearing all manner of stories about the activity. He, nor anyone he was really close to, had ever hunting anything more than a rat. But there were many barroom tales of men who tried to hunt on an aristocrats land and barely escaping, either the animal or the foresters meant to extract justice and protect the precious meat from all those save the land's lord.

"I guess I could give it a try and attempt to learn the bow or spear." He reasoned, and placed some of the hot potato dumplings in his mouth. Gods, he still couldn't imagine being unsatisfied with the life of a noblemen. Food was one of the greatest pleasures in life, save maybe a good woman. "It would probably be smart to become good at some form of combat beyond the knife and my hands. I suppose I'll never know when someone wants to duel me over something."

He continued to listen to her brief education on his behalf. Hunting would probably be the most prudent way to keep away from prospective daughters and suitresses, not that he was against getting to know a pretty girl. But he found he was increasingly interested in another, despite her reservations. Shut up, you won't compromise her, he tried to tell himself. He wasn't sure if he was lying to himself or not. Galt had the chance to eat the lunch a bit more quickly than her from her monologue, and so once she was finished he had some time to take a sip of water and contemplate.

"Your brother?" He thought aloud, wondering why she couldn't teach him herself. He wasn't entirely sure if her brother was keen on being around him, and Galt had to admit he did wish to spend more time with Silke. The fact she was an exceptional female hunter was no surprise to him. She was an exceptional woman, getting more impressive by the day. With that in mind, he would do well to listen to her, regardless of his reservations. "I'll do what you advise. Though I've heard the bow is sort of hard to learn. Would it be months before I went on this hunt of yours?"

The dark haired thief raised an eyebrow, and placed his elbows on the table, entwining his fingers together. Somehow he had heard elbows on the table were bad manners, and yet he felt very lordly doing so. Much that he had heard or thought was likely merely popular perceptions from those who knew the high class very little. "I guess I would ask who you had in mind for me to hunt with. I'm sure the Duke would love to have me, even if my skills were terrible. But I feel like people might think me attached by the hip or hiding behind his ducal robes from meeting my other peers, even if it is the safe bet."

What would they even hunt? Deer? Call him soft-hearted, but a deer had never done him any harm. He had seen a few on the road during his life. They were always majestic and graceful. He was a meat eater, but eating sausage was different than making it yourself. In some ways, he guessed it was like living on the streets. Sometimes you had to get dirty and even kill to survive. He supposed he just didn't like the 'sport' of it, like the high class envisioned the activity. Suddenly, he had a thought. "And how much does your brother really know about me? And what should I keep hidden from him?"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"I thought you said you had only been here a few months." Beren asked, hands in his pockets and curiously gazing over Jocasta's shoulder at the fireworks. He had been taught to forge and even fight to an extent in Thundrim Kadrin, but the warrior had never deigned to learn engineering, civilian or battlefield. It brought him memories of the maverick engineer, Sketti Hammerhand. He missed the crazed dwarf and his antics, but he guessed now he would see more traditional gunnery and fireworks rather than the experimental.

"It's the talk o' the town, lad." Gurin informed him, taking the explosives out of Jocasta's hands like a mother taking its children from a sitter. He was shorter than the comely woman by more than a head, but his hands were twice the size of hers. She gave a guilty smile and he was jovial enough to give a wink to show 'no harm done.'

"You'd know that if ye had been here longer than the day, I'm guessing." The elder, Otar, grumbled. Gurin handed him the fireworks and Otar stuck them in his pack. Strangely enough, the elder's beard wasn't as long as some of the others. It was thick and grey with age, but something must have sheared into it in the past. It was only the length of Beren's forearm, though it densely packed around his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Beren had learned some of the dwarven religion during his five years in the thundrim, but there were likely some sects he did not know of. Perhaps the shearing of the beard led the old one to join the clergy, or perhaps his the clerics of runar were made to ritualistically shave. Either way, it gave him the look of a stout norgardian war-cleric rather than an old dwarf priest.

"We got commissioned to make something festive," Varin added, but just after he spoke there was a hoarse hee-haw past the door that led to the forgery. Varin gave a bow to Beren and Jocasta, his blonde beard brushing the floor before he hurried away to tend to what sounded like a donkey. "I think ye'll like it!" He called over his shoulder.

"I know we will," Beren laughed, and then gave them a phrase in their language that brought a laugh. Even Otar chuckled. "Can you give us any more information on the place?-" He then turned to Jocasta. "You cool to go check out the library? We got time to kill, right?"

An hour later...

The inside of the stone library was massive, with cavernous spaces between pillars Beren easily believed was shaped by the Jygrim, the giants of old. The columns were embellished and the rib-vaulted ceiling was overlaid with ornate tracery that a few robed scholars on the floor looked at occasionally, sketching or writing in their notepads in study. In this fortress of lore, even the building itself was a mystery to unravel or dictate a thesis on. Jocasta looked around with interest sparkling in her eyes. Beren was similarly interested, always with a capacity to learn. Though he found his eyes drawing back to his shapely companion. She was even prettier when her interest was piqued.

Through the window on the right, one could see Lake Mearavon glittering in the afternoon sun. The bulk of it lay east of Iskura, the two companions having come from the southwest in their travels. Only a small inlet of the lake stretched south of the city, curling around its southern wall like a protective barrier. Had it been warmer he would have half a mind to swim in it, but every time he stepped outside he was reminded of the unrelenting chill.

"Anything I can do to help? I only speak three languages, and two of them aren't widely used in human scholarship." Beren admitted with a guilty smile. The shelves of books were like walls, some over twelve men high. Ladders were available, but they were wooden and heavy. Acolytes of Aulor, God of Lore, walked among the throng of scholars, curious onlookers, travelers, and aristocrats, helping where they could with questions. They were apart of the staff, though more traditional librarians and clerical workers seemed to also be present, helping people find books or making sure they were sufficiently quiet.

There were even a few elves scattered amongst the purveyors. A blonde she-elf of exceptional beauty and pragmatic, traveler's clothing walked brusquely, passing by a reserved, dark haired male elf in short, sensible robes that poured over a gilded tome. Slightly shorter than men, with toned and lithe bodies, elven ears were, of course, long and pointed. Beren had heard a lot of nasty things about elves by his dwarven friends, but he had known a couple of wood elves in the Black Delta. They had been good friends and dedicated wardens. What he did know other than the obvious, like an inclination to magic, was that every elf felt emotions far more strongly than men, and so they did their best to remain calm and ethereal.

"Glad the dwarves didn't want to follow us." He whispered as the she-elf passed them by. The oddity of the varied crowd faded quickly, and he turned to Jocasta, giving a sly, facetious smile. "These big arms aren't just for fighting you know." He flexed. "I can hold a mean ladder."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

The Dwarves looked at Jocasta with blank and grim looks, the very names of the monsters bringing disbelief or destroying levity. The Dwarves were ancient enemies of everything mentioned save humans in that list, though Beren imagined it did pique their interest if nothing else. The dwarves looked at one another in confusion, except the white bearded elder and one of the black bearded dwarves who stood in the back. They watched Beren and Jocasta with judging gazes.

"Why were we called from the bellows?" One of them asked.

"They spoke the tongue!" Buri cried.

"No, he did." Jocasta said, pointing at Beren.

"Well, she can speak a lot of languages." Beren said with a smile. "It's actually really impres-" But he was cut off by the looks of the dwarves, and he scratched his head. The Eru'Dai gave a bow in apology, and then unstrapped his drumengr axe and presented it before them, hilt first. The stout folk blinked and a few marveled in surprise, the eldest of them reaching forward and taking the axr by the haft, examining the runes with a sure eye.

"Baljiskur Runes..." He grumbled solemnly. He gazed up at Beren with a newfound respect, and gave the axe back to him. Beren took it gingerly, and the dwarves, once seemingly at odds with them, immediately turned congenial and even boisterous. They spoke in their archaic tongue in what was likely greetings and approached, surrounding Beren and patting him on the back. Beren looked overjoyed, much like how Jocasta might act were she introduced to a guild of arcane excavators who welcomed her with open arms. It was such a quick transition, it was like Beren had known these dwarves for years. They each introduced themselves with a bow, before they began discussing all manner of things.

"What do you got back there, a finery forge?" The warrior asked.

"If we could, but no." The one named Gurin complained. "Just a bloomery and a few workbenches to smooth out the impurities. We can barely make steel here. Cast Iron is what we can usually churn out. Men can barely tell the difference, anyway."

"We're looking to make a living while we comb the libraries." The youngest dwarf pipped in, his blonde beard shorter than the rest (though still nearly three feet).

"For what?" Beren asked, kneeling down conspiratorially with the dwarves. Every eye save his turned to Jocasta, and then Beren followed their gazes and laughed. "You can trust her. She's with me."

"We don't just trust anyone a dwarf-friend is sweet on." Radsvir said as if to remind him. A few of them bobbed their heads in unison. Beren blanched, his face flushing. It was true he and Jo flirted a lot, but nothing had been established. He wasn't sure if he should deny it or not, and eventually he decided to go with the truth:

"We're just traveling together, but I give my word you can speak in front of her." He told them.

"A great honor. She must be someone special." Otar reasoned, but they didn't linger on it. He turned back to Beren, speaking with a grave visage. "We're here because we are trying to find a lost hold. Thundrim Guldi of the Old Kingdom, in the Age of Reckoning. We heard there were books in the library that spoke of its whereabouts, but it might be in a language of men. Even if we found the book, we might not be able to read it."

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

The Dwarves Arrive

---

Southshore did not have long to wait. Even at that triumphant moment, a small army passed eastshore tower at a slow, inexorable pace, much like the movement of the clouds above or the currents of the sea. Grass was shodden under boots of leather and steel and small animals scattered before the wake of the force. Those civilians outside of Southshore and away from the center of the cheers could hear the low rumbling of over two thousand heavy feet.

The guards stationed by the road stood with surprise and shock on their faces once the armored throng passed over the hill and descended upon the town. Had they charged it would have been pandemonium, but they marched in slow and ordered ranks. Steel armor glinted as axes gleamed in the sun. Helms shined to mirror polish covered grim faces and heavy hammers bobbed up and down with the motion of their stout bodies. At the rear, cloaked units of huntsmen stalked in groups of a score each, rifles resting on their shoulders and keen eyes gazing across the hills of Lordaeron.

The advanced force of Khaz Modan had come.

Twelve hundred dwarven warriors grumbled and muttered behind their beards, passing the message down the line that they had made their destination. Thargas was pleased at their quick pace, even considering the craggy, rough ground of the Arathi Highlands. Dwarves could not move quickly, but they were swift marchers in wartime. A dwarven column made surprising speed by the simple fact of rarely ever having to stop and rest. The lads were grumpy for it, but they did it without argument.

Fifty dwarves armed with poleaxes rode at the head of the battalion on sturdy rams, and before them was their commander, Thargas Anvilmar. Aside him was Geradin, High Priest of the Light of Ironforge. Magni had shown great trust in the humans by providing such esteemed members of his court. Thargas only hoped the manlings deserved it.

The brown bearded warrior dismounted his steed and let a retainer take the reins, opting to walk at the head of an honorguard as his men made camp at the edge of town, eating a well deserved lunch and setting up sentries. Twelve dwarves, along with Geradin and a fellow acolyte, followed Thargas passed the dumbfounded guards and strode boldly down the street and into the center of the town.

Needless to say, when the doors to the War Council burst open and Thargas Anvilmar along with the High Priest strode into the chamber, it was likely far quicker than the Scarlet Crusaders had been expecting.

"I hear ye've been expecting us," Thargas said to Ashbringer conversationally. "That's good, because my arse is sore and it's been a long walk from Khaz Modan. Firstly, I would ask that ye let me and the lads take residence in that tower o'er yonder to the east. We can set up a headquarters right quick with a few materials. If that's settled, I'm ready to discuss war if ye are."

"The light blesses this meetin' as surely as the sun rises," Geradin said solemnly, a hand raised to the ceiling before slowly drifting down. The venerable priest cleared his throat, and the following silence was broken by. "Ye wouldn't happen to have any beer would ye?"

"Aye, let's have some beer if ye would be so kind." Thargas agreed, standing beside a chair and crossing his arms. He had ridden to far to sit down immediately now. He would stand and speak to the seated men eye to eye.

The 'Official' Elden Ring thread

I beat it and did a second playthrough, though I didn't finish that one. Great game, but I'm really waiting on some actual DLC. I did a str/end build first time, and dex/int the second.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Buri - Business Dwarf (blue beard)
Otar - Cleric of Runar and leader, oldest dwarf with a white beard.
Varin- youngest Dwarf, dirty blonde bearded and likes animals
Gurin - Soldier dwarf, black beard
Muragrim - Mercenary dwarf, black beard, doesn't speak often
Radsvir - brown bearded, tall and handsome for a dwarf

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Can we eat, at least?" He asked her, giving her his usual smile. He believed her without hesitation, but she seemed a little quiet, which he found kind of strange. She nodded her head quietly, but when he sat up she pushed him back down with two firm hands.

"Reeeeessssssst," she ordered.

"Okaaaaaaaay," He said. She seemed satisfied at that and made her way to the door, sticking her head out and waving a servant over. While she spoke, Beren had some time to look around the room. Clearly it was a guest chamber, well furnished and with rich oaken furniture. Oil lamps were set on the desk, and a great mirror was place to his left, beyond where Jocasta had been sitting. Her Sarong and their belongings were placed on a chair beside it or laid bestride it on top. He was worried about his weaponry for a second, not to mention his clothes and gear, but he found the axe and staff resting against the wall opposite the mirror, and his clothes, freshly knight and washed.

He looked back at the door and saw that Jocasta had disappeared. Briefly he wondered if he should try to get up behind her back, but he realized just how weak he was when he moved his arm to slide the covers off, and promptly slid them back on. Once he ate, he'd probably feel more energized. He wondered how long he had been asleep...

An hour later, after Jocasta had returned with the food, followed by two servants carrying further dishes, and after Beren had inhaled most of it, the doctor gave him the go ahead to get out of bed. No jumping and kicking for a day, but he could walk around at least. Beren got up, but Jocasta insisted she helped him walk. It consisted of her trying desperately to keep his muscled form upright, both of them waving to the servants and the steward of the house as they walked out.

Outside...

The air was crisp, but the sun was warm. The manor had been of pleasant design, but Iskura was very unlike it in style and architecture. The walls were massive cliffs of carved rock, twice as tall as any wall Beren had ever seen save for the very mountains of a dwarven Thundrim. The buildings around them were monuments of stone, baroque and almost sinister, even in the light of noon. Statues of wolves and gargoyles framed the keeps, halls, and temples that dominated what was the center of the city. From their point in the old quarter, the central Castle could be seen up the busy street, its high spire and robust defenses a testament to whoever had built it. If the stories were true, the giants had made the foundations of the city long ago, and only in the last few centuries had men dared enter the haunted halls and build around them, founding their colonies.

Jocasta let Beren walk on his own once he had insisted, seeing she was about to collapse from the weight. They made their way west, towards the great city's gates where the streets were less obstructed and the buildings were more recent (and comfortably human sized). Traders and laborers and carts wheeled past them. Every now and then a woman would pop out of a window and hang something out to dry, or an old man would raise his fist and bark at someone below him. So many sights and sounds and fragrances. Beren doubted the city was half as populated as the capitals of the Andred provinces, but it was a great change of pace from the sparse settlements they had dealt with the last few months heading north, where fewer and fewer men lived.

"Where are we going?" Beren asked Jocasta, who seemed to be leading them along.

"Hold on, just a minute more." She told him, dragging him along. He laughed at how strange she was acting, but down the corner and on the next street, Beren and Jocasta caught sight of a huge wall of wood. Racked on it was every weapon or iron, steel, or bronze you might think of, at least west of the Sundered Sea. Shields glinted in the sun, and a wicked looking bastard sword gleamed, catching Beren's eye.

"Holy shit, this is cool." He marveled as they waded through the crowd.

"Right?"

"I don't want to get it, but that's a nice looking sword." Beren said, nodding toward the blade.

"I didn't think you could use a sword," she said.

"I'm terrible with one," he admitted. "But I can admire good craftsmanship. It's almost dwarf-made, if I didn't know any better." Arms crossed, his words would die in his throat when he saw a heavy, squat dwarf walk out of the shop and place a mace on the bottom rack of the wall. He wore an apron covered in soot and grime, with a black hand print on his bald head. It took off a dagger and a small hanger, and walked back inside.

"Good eye," Jocasta said with a smile.

Beren grinned at her, and the two of them strode passed the crowd that browsed the wall and stepped into the shop. It fed into a smithy past a great curtain, and the heat of the chamber felt nice even in the accompanying room. Once they stepped in, the bell rang and a dwarf popped out from behind the counter. It was a short top, but the dwarf still stood atop a pile of neatly stacked books. He had a gleam in his eye and a beard so black it looked almost blue.

"Welcome to Buri n' Boys! I'm Buri and I'm here to give ye quality iron for your hard earned gold, how might I help ye?" He asked with a rehearsed pinache.

"I just wanted to know where you're from," Beren asked softly, in a grinding tongue Jocasta couldn't recognize. The Dwarf went from smiling to flummoxed, and he blinked and squinted.

"How do YOU know how to speak that, boy? How in Runar's little...HEY BOYS! COME OUT HERE!"

"Who's asking?" A gruff voice called back.

"Do it!"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"The xenos had captured an astartes. Thank the Emperor we found him." I lied to the Sergeant, and subsequently the men. The Angels of Battle were well known enough by name, but most men in the Imperium had never seen a true Space Marine in the flesh. Emmaline had seen two, and had been lucky enough to tell the tale, when I had first liberated her from the chains of the cultists. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"Ast-" The Thunder Warrior began, but I gave him a look that told him it was unwise to speak. He thankfully listened. I was not sure he would. From my readings, the Thunder Warriors had been mad, violent conquerors. Perhaps that was only when they were having their fits of rage from the gene modification. He decided they were in dire enough straights to take that chance.

The men saluted, looking at the warrior in awe. The Thunder Warrior didn't respond in kind, but rather gazed at them for an uncomfortable few moments of silence before the Sergeant bade them put their hands down. They did so, and I cut to the chase. "Status? Where are the chimeras?"

"Another one was taken down after you were...gone. Chimera B is missing. We got separated in the fight." Sergeant Radvek reported. "Some of our men might be alive somewhere in the facility, but this is all I have right now. Nine, including myself."

"The cultists?" I asked him, impatient.

"They were killed to a man. Larkin here attests to it. He was our rear when we retreated." Radvek stated, indicating a guardsman with a stony visage. I asked him directly and Larkin said so himself, and I saw no lie in his eyes.

"That still leaves Bahometus and the rest of his forces." I reasoned.

"There's more?" A soldier asked, but buttoned his lip when the sergeant glared at him. I nodded and stated what they needed to hear: "Much more, and not only cultists, either... Daemons."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren slowly opened his eyes.

He remained completely still, even his breathing had yet to be altered. But his eyes could see a partial view, though lidded. Before him was an empty chair, a small desk, and a painting on the wall. It depicted a vast jungle, with silhouettes proportioned to that of the shadows, giving them a living, ethereal feeling. If Beren wasn't mistaken, it was a painting by Ophelvol. He had learned a bit of art from a curator in Andred before he had moved north. Strange, it was a very bland wall for such an expensive piece to be on.

Once he realized he was in a soft bed, he felt he wasn't in immediately danger and let out a soft groan. He felt stuff and sore, but whole and very much alive. How could that be? Hadn't he just been beneath a mile of stone, attacked by some being. Hadn't he been with...?

"Jo?" He asked, trying to sit up. He could complete the move, but he felt awkward. Blinking, he looked around and found the woman sitting on the opposite side of the bed on a cushioned chair, asleep. Beren's heartbeat slowed when he saw her there, and he calmed and sat back against the cushions, breathing belatedly. "Good," he said to himself, sounding very dry in his delivery from just how panicked he had been for a brief second.

Somehow, he felt he had almost died. But he wasn't sure if what had happened was a dream or not. If it had happened like he remembered, there was no way he could have lived. But...there was no hole in his chest. Instead, he felt as strong as ever, albeit still quite tired. And so he lay there, watching her without thought. Even asleep she seemed cute, and he wasn't going to wake her. But her position had caused some blockage apparently.

She gave a resounding snort and shot up, blinking. Jocasta wiped her face and smoothed her hair, the window behind her making her blonde hair look almost silvery, and then she realized Beren was looking straight at her, alive.

"Hey pretty girl," He said, his voice hoarse and his eyes drooping. "What h-...wwhat happened? Where are we?"