POOHEAD189

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

The captain has taken his advice, though not enthusiastically. Torm couldn't blame him, as he had spoken under duress and had only thought of the plan that would give them the best chance of winning without capitulating. And so now they would live or die based on Torm's idea. Ultimately it was the Captain's decision to make, but if this failed and Torm somehow lived, he might actually think Bianca some sort of seeress and take away all blame of her hating him. He would hate himself right enough. A stone's throw behind the commander, the men and women of Palona on the palisade walls whispered worriedly, casting glances at the Silver Swords or out into the darkness as they made their 'rounds' with the torches. Some of them shook like wet dogs, it was a wonder they could hold the blazing instruments aloft. But if this saved their town from the butchery and depravity of a sacking, they would do it, if only for their children's sake.

Torm stood at the head of an unruly mass of knights in full plate, armed with heavy weapons of steel and iron. Sir Draufkrieg himself held a sturdy poleaxe in one hand, its spiked butt piercing into the earth. Helms and accents from all nationalities and fiefdoms had gathered together to form a conglomerate of warriors before him, ready to spearhead into the enemy or die in the attempt. It was juxtaposed by a score of grim, battle-hardened dwarves armed with surcoats over finely wrought mail, each armored like the last. Eleven of them sported dwarf forged axes and shields of iron, and the remaining nine held smoothbore, muzzle-loading donderbus rifles. The Captain had taken what he could spare from the sappers and ordered them to help in the initial charge to kill two birds with one proverbial stone. The dwarves could see in the dark, and their presence would deter Grimgi's boys from getting overzealous. While it wasn't unknown for a dwarf to kill another in mercenary work, kinslaying was a grave crime in dwarvish society, and even when it was lawful they felt their gods would disapprove. Now the had nearly a hundred in the vanguard, with Aeon given orders to sweep in from behind as soon as Torm and his men had broken through.

"No enemy movements sir!" A voice called from a rise at the wall, one of the few men they kept stationed as their patrol. Clad in a kettle helm and a brigandine, he stood there with a dwarf sharpshooter, resting a long rifle on a fashioned hole in the curtain wall, keeping an eye on the battle line. Torm drew in a deep breath, as it was just about time. He turned to the men, clearing his throat to hush their restless murmuring. Out of the crowd stepped a burly dwarf named Gunir. An ex-soldier of a dwarfish citadel Torm couldn't recall the name of, he usually worked as security detail for the sappers or one of its chief diggers. He was clad in a suit of lamellar, overlapping plates of steel, riveted together atop a thick coat to add padding. He bore the typical squat, brazen helm of the dwarves, with cheek and nose guard. Gunir found a place beside Torm, as the knight addressed the men.

"Knights of the Silver Sword! Tonight we break the enemy before they can even begin to assault us!" The men gave roars and laughs of approval. It was good the enemy wasn't close enough to hear. Silence was key very soon. "When we step over this wall, you will move with me. We will walk and be as silent as our honored dead until the horns sound. If you see a dwarf, do not attack him. Ignore them unless they truly wish you dead. Our goal is beyond their earthworks. Tonight, we drive them out of these plains with their tails between their legs!"

"We cannot hope to kill them all, sir!" Called sir Ector of Lanebridge in his hounskull helm. Torm recognized him immediately for the shield he bore, a rarity among fully armored cavaliers in this day and age.

"We don't need to. I know every man and dwarf here will kill three of the enemy, or more. But our goal is to break their center, ruin their camp, and split the siege down the middle." Torm responded. "That, we can do. And we will. Now who is with me!?"

"We'll slay the bastards!"

"Keep yer heads about ye. Rifledwarfs in the back, and the other lads stay astride the manlings." Gunri said to his boys, and he patted the horn at his hip. A horn every axe-wielding dwarf held at their belt. "No unit tactics, too few of us. We're going with the buddy system, at least until we make it to the camp. Pick a group of manlings and keep them in yer sights. Ye know the tune to sing, so do it when I give the signal."

"Aye! Aye." The bearded folk responded, nodding. A few of them grinned or gripped their weapons tightly in anticipation. They might be sappers, but every dwarf male was taught how to soldier unless they were born in a human settlement. The stout folk had a martial tradition past human memory.

Suddenly a loud cranking was heard, the gathered throng turning to the gate as it began to swing open. Two Palona men pulled at the wheel mechanism as the five dwarf sappers left began to push the arbalest out, the fifth one gently cradling the barrel of phosphorus that was pivotal to the plot. Torm had seen this sort of munition fail before. All it needed was to be exposed to air and it would combust like a steam engine rupturing. Any chink in the barrel or sudden, unexpected nick might make it go sky high and potentially destroy their only artillery piece. As they moved, the patrols walked in practiced unison, coincidentally moving away from a small portion of the palisade, leaving room for Torm and the dwarves to approach it and get over, stepping on the pre-planted crates and hauling themselves above and past the palisade. Every curse was met with a whisper of silence, every grumble was smacked out of their mouths.

As Torm landed in the dirt and turned to help his fellows over, there below the wall in the gloom of the night, he wondered if the scouts were doing well. Bianca was savvy, but she was a firecracker. The knights and the infantry can drive the enemy off, but if the scouts didn't hit them at their weakest, the plan might go from victory to absolutely nothing. Jon Hangman reached over and Torm took his arm to help haul him across, the man-at-arms holding his curious eastern sword in his off-hand and using his elbow to help shove his weight up and around. The dwarves hit the ground the hardest, but they kept as quiet as they could and made only the barest grunts. Only one dwarf tripped, bouncing off the earth, but his fellows silenced his groans. Once all of them were over, they waited a minute, still as statues.

"Anything?" Torm breathed quietly to the dwarf at his side. It wasn't Gunir, but it didn't matter. A gruff cadence replied with. "Nay, no' a sound."

With that, Torm moved forward. Small commands from the dwarves were issued, and in an uneven wave, the contingent waded through no-mans-land, their armor making soft bumps and scraping noises, and though Torm knew it was just his nerves, it sounded like right clangor to his ears. He himself nearly fell first into a hole, quickly using the poleaxe like a walking stick to keep himself from pitching face first into it. He felt sweat beading on his chest and back, but taking solace in the fact the plan hadn't yet ended in disaster. The merciful lady would watch over them, this had to work.

"My bloody leg!" Someone cried. Torm's breath caught, and the next yell was muffled by unseen hands in the dark. He tried to squint, looking at the silhouette of the uneven ground to see the cause of it, but all he could ascertain were vague shapes moving. He glanced back at the well lit palisade walls, the patrols marching their torches this way and that, save for the gate. He needed to keep moving, the Knight Lieutenant stepping past the pothole and keeping his poleaxe before him, bumping the earth with it like a blind man.

"Oi! Who's that!"

"Enemies! Fuckin' attackers!"

The voices came from up ahead, and a few spans to the left a dwarf spoke in his native tongue to them. Damn, they still had another ten yards! Torm began to run in a trot, pulling every man he came across to join him. Now that they neared the earthworks, they could see the gleam of dwarvish eyes in the soft moonlight and the embers on their cigars. A few gunshots rang out from the ditches, flashes in the dark, but more shouts came in dwarvish by Torm, pleading and calling for what was no doubt a reassurance. A clamor of voices began to rise from the trench at the front, but it was drowned out by a sudden, powerful hornblow that shook every eardrum within two hundred yards. A mere second later it was joined by nearly a dozen more horns of similar quality.

"KIG'VOREN!" Torm heard Gunir cry in the din, a common dwarvish warcry that roughly translated to 'hew their necks.' Torm was no expert, but the Captain had every commander learn certain dwarvish calls so there was no confusion when battle began.

"Death and glory!" Torm roared, hefting his poleaxe into the air like a beacon as night suddenly turned to day. Above the battle line, an explosion of hot white illuminated the battlefield like a miniature sun. Torm could see the trench just in front of him and the cannon barrel he was looking straight into. The knight ducked and rolled, but the next thought he recalled was he saw no dwarf at its station and he felt the fool. Streams of fiery brilliance cascaded like missiles of flames into the front of the camp, piercing tents and scattering on the ground like burning sand. He saw Priest Queen patrols, close and with their spears leveled, suddenly turned and look in shock and horror at their own pavillions. The curs had no doubt heard some of their cursing and had been told to investigate, no doubt the commander having thought Grimri's boys having run into a few Silver Sword scouts or deserters. Torm smiled grimly, knowing they wouldn't expect a full scale attack until it had already come.

And it had.

Dwarf rifles fired across the trenches, cutting down three of the twelve or so spearmen and sending the others in a panic. Torm could see the camp clearly now, and all the shapes of the men that had tried to have a go at his knights. He vaulted over the trench, his men following suit. Heavy footfalls and crunched earth audible in their ears as they clambered past Grimri's battery line to start running, charging through the last stretch of ground before they hit the enemy camp with fury and bloodlust.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

"Well, the men are ready for a fight. In fact, they're getting so restless we might have a problem soon." Torm reported, though that wasn't precisely answering the Captain's question. Torm crossed his arms and looked at the map on the table, small black and silver blocks set up along the perimeter of the town to showcase the positions of the enemy and their own troops. A few had been knocked over due to the uneven table and the constant setting down of varying flagons of drinks, but it was as accurate is it could be thanks to Bianca and her scouts. "Do you think they'll just let us walk away?"

"We could choose the first of three." The Captain reminded him, watching Torm. The knight seemed very far away, eyes glued on the table as he considered the question. "Would be easier."

"The men wouldn't like it, and I don't think I'm only speaking for my lads. And it might tarnish our reputation." Torm reasoned. Perhaps 'tarnish' was a strong word, but victory brought loot, fame, and a potential bonus. This last year had been very lean for them, having fought wars of maneuvering more often than any real fighting. It served Torm just fine, but he didn't want to do this forever. He tried to think, but something wouldn't come to him. He couldn't...

Torm gave a start, his eyes darting around which betrayed his developing thoughts. He opened and closed his mouth, and shook his head.

"Out with it, boy." Cadger rumbled, smoke wafting with every word. He shoved off the wall and stomped over to the table, crossing his burly arms, the dwarf's beard now hugged to his barrel chest. Torm saw the Captain was of agreement, and he sighed, placing a hand on the desk and drawing a line over the front gate of the town with his index finger.

"A night attack." He said, and the words fell out of his mouth like lead. He felt the idea would be accepted by no one, but he continued. "We could take them tonight, a few hours before sunrise. That would neutralize their crossbowmen and hit them before the cannons fired."

Bianca looked at him like he had given the dumbest suggestion imaginable. He had expected that. The woman didn't seem to like him, though likely because of his role rather than anything he had done to her. For Torm's part, he barely paid attention to the First of the Scouts. As long as she did her job, he didn't give two shits. Cadger and the Captain's opinion he valued, and they remained quiet for the moment.

"It's not exactly my field of expertise, but a night attack only works if we have an advantage in the dark." Black Ryann remarked. There was no love lost between he and Torm, but they could at least work together professionally.

"Cadger, dwarves can see in the dark, right?" The Cavalry commander asked.

"For the most part, aye. Wouldn't be good sapping tunnels, otherwise."

"Then why doesn't Grimgi hit us at night?" Torm asked, knowing the answer but wanting to relay it simply to everyone else.

"Because his artillery is meant to support an attack from the manling infantry." Cadger replied, brow furrowed. "Without the army he's with, it'll only be a half-assed measure to fire at us. But his boys are right up front, they'll see us and tell the camp before he made it fifty yards out of the palisades."

"And you wouldn't even be in the attack. Convenient." Bianca quipped at Torm's expense, trying to keep herself from speaking like she was talking to a particularly slow five year old. "Unless you want forty of your precious horses to get a broken leg or three."

"The good thing about heavy cavalry is they can be repurposed into heavy infantry at a pinch." The Captain said. "But I still don't see how this would end in anything but a slog all night, and they have the numbers."

"We use the arbalest." Torm explained, placing a finger on the entrenched siege engine. "Once we hit twilight, the sun will be behind us. We pull it down from its position and bring it to the gate. We load it with one of our last barrels of phosphorus. Once it's time, we get some of the townsfolk to hold torches up by the walls to make the illusion our patrols are still moving, and we use the glare to get us over the wall. Once we're on the ground, we move forward fifty yards, and that's when we blow the horn. The gate opens, Cadger and his boys fire the arbalest. At its longest range, it should make it into the front of their camp, right?" Cadger considered the question, then nodded. "The light will give us something to see, but every man in their army still can't see us. Then my men and I spearhead into them, followed by Aeon to hit them hard once we force our way through."

"The Dwarves will be right in front of you. They might not be specialists in close combat, but they're tough. They might hold you back long enough to keep you." The Captain said.

"They're not even being paid. Will they really try and fight us?"

"They'll keep to their word, no matter what." Cadger assured him.

"Was it their word to fight in a melee, or to do dig and fire the cannon?" Torm asked, and Cadger mulled it over in his head, and then shrugged. "I think they'll keep to themselves as long as we don't attack them directly."

"They don't have any love for the Priest-Queen, you might be right." The Dwarf conceded.

"Once we're in, we'll have them. Bianca and her scouts can go round and once we have the main force bogged down, she can hit the camp from behind and take whatever commander and reserves they have. Worst case scenario, she retreats to the hill the crossbow sit at when morning comes and slip away at her convenience. Even if we fail, we can pull back into the town and ruined the bulk of their progress."

"And we could also lose half our forces." Ryann said, weighing the consequences.

"I don't think that will happen, but it's the Captain's decision. It's the only idea I have. Hit them at night, set their camp on fire, use it to see and help our charge, and make them run into Bianca and maybe a few of Aeon's men he can spare. We'll surround them." Torm said with finality, raising an eyebrow as he considered the room.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

"Forget it. Even with the river bed, it's suicide." Torm said dismissively, trudging along the banks of uplifted dirt that served for battlements in this small patch of land at the edge of the Shimmering Sea. The western wind carried the scent of smoke and death to waft into the Palona streets as if to remind the citizens they were a mere two hundred paces from a thousand men who's only goal to kill them and relieve them of all their mortal belongings. Even if they survived the siege, it was going to be a hard winter for Palona. The Knight wanted to help, but his duty was to his company first, and that dictated he not make foolish decisions because his subordinates were overeager.

"But-"

"I'm not giving that order, Carston." He said with a tone of finality. "It's not my decision to make."

The contingent of Knights and their war-steeds had been the most restless of the Silver Swords since their encirclement by the soldiers of the Priest-Queen a month ago. They were men trained to fight from adolescence, that is to say, at least the 'real' knights among them. Out of their number of five dozen, Torm was one of only sixteen that had actually been knighted by a lord and granted a title. Most of the others were men-at-arms, Cataphraktoi, and even a few Mamluks from the warrings states of the endless sun. It didn't matter, at least. They had been trained together, practiced drills, and fought together in over eighteen pitched battles and skirmishes. They were all Knights of the Silver Sword to sir Torm Draufkrieg, the Grey Wolf.

"But The Captain listens to you." Sir Carston argued, having not bothered to fully remove his bascinet helm, likely in case of stray projectiles. Torm recalled he had been raised in far Wildevalt, over the Karkasson Mountains across the sea. He was one of the deadliest with a lance, but he lacked strategy and still had more than his fair share of useless fretting from his time at court, before his long exile that led him into the mercenary life. On his tabard, a red flower was being cut in twain by a silver blade. He had insisted one be made for him to. Torm's had been gifted to him, with twin silver swords behind the head of a snarling wolf. Once the Knights had seen the embroidery, all of them had wanted their own personalized tabards. Of course, the Captain didn't deigned to gift any others, and so those that cared enough paid for it out of their own pockets.

"The Captain listens to everyone. That's why he's a good Captain." Torm said with a tone that warned this was the end of the conversation. The two walked past a group of sentries playing cards, their eyes widening when they saw Torm regard them sternly. They hastily pulled away the dice and the cards and stood back up, trying to appear as if it never happened. Torm remembered his time as a page, scrambling to erase away whatever he had just done wrong as if it could just cause it all to disappear. The commander turned to Sir Carston. "We'll speak no more of this. The Captain says we wait, we wait."

"Yes, sir. It was only an idea, is all." He said by way of retreat. The problem with anointed knights was their arrogance. Even an errant had a hard time keeping his pride in check, making them dangerously close to believing they were above their superior officer in certain matters. No one knew where the Captain was from, but he had never introduced himself as an aristocrat or one of the gentry. Some openly whispered Torm should lead, but sir Draufkrieg had punished any who suggested it in his presence.

The two stepped over a small embankment where the Silver Swords only real artillery piece lay. A siege arbalest they had obtained a year ago in at the Battle of Belhold. It was as large as two horses and had to be drawn by three oxen. Tough it couldn't effectively crush a stone wall like a trebuchet or a cannon, it had a simple loading system that allowed the company to arm it with a number of different alchemical concoctions or explosives, or even a bag of the heads of a besieged city's dead men. Whatever worked. More than once Torm had watched, amazed, as a slow fuse in a barrel of phosphorous powder had exploded over an enemy line, showing them in flames.

Passing it by, the sappers saluted Torm and Castor who gave curt, returning gestures before they stepped up the slope and into the first tent, one of the many that had been pitched up near the edge of town. Some of the men had been given quarters provided by Palona, but Torm had insisted his men live outside of them and make their own dwellings, to remind them they were apart of a team. He followed his own advice as well, his tent just half a mile up the road. Shoving aside the flap, he and Castor stood before two of their number, on their knees and bound. Both sported bruises and dried blood. The man on the left was Sir Montague Blakeny, and it looked like stitches were in order. He had a nasty black eye that swelled like an unwanted pregnancy. The right man was Aeneas Mirkanto, a Cataphract with a penchant for womanizing and screaming his own name in combat. His nose had been reset, but his jaw had seen better days.

Sir Robert Longfellow and a Man-At-Arms named Brightshot, dubbed so for his shiny white teeth, stood behind them, waiting patiently with their arms crossed. Torm was glad Longfellow was there, he always had a way of mediating between the boys. He was surprised to see Brightshot there, but then again he didn't know much about the man other than he liked to dance any moment he could and was a good saber fencer. Apparently having been raised and trained in both in one of the Free Cities along the coast to the east.

"What happened?" Torm asked.

"What do you think sir? It was over a woman." Brightshot remarked. Torm was already planting a palm on his face when Sir Longfellow began speaking. "A local girl named Clarissa promised she would meet Blakeny behind the tavern for some fun, but he found her and Mirkanto in the act. By the time I got there a few tables had already been broken. I got them off each other, but they had already roughed each other up something fierce."

"I let him get his pants on first, sir," sir Montague remarked. He couldn't look his commander in the eyes, just glancing Mirkanto's way. "Wouldn't have been decent otherwise, even if he is a cur."

"Thee would have had a thad night with you, quithquilian." The Cataphract managed to say with a noticeable lisp.

"Shut up!" Torm ordered, and all four of the men snapped to attention. Even Castor seemed perturbed. "Over a woman?" Torm asked incredulously, slowly shaking his head. They both opened their mouths but Torm held up a hand, his grey eyes wintry in their disdain. "No, stop. I don't care what your reasonings were. If this was over some expensive booze or a game of cards I might get it. If one of you had stolen some money, sure. Though you should come to me for such things, but a woman? There's millions of them. You cannot throw a stone without landing in the lap of some farm girl who sees a coat of mail and thinks you're from the legends. You two, you're both taking double shifts in the stables for three months. I want to be able to see myself in the shine of those horseshoes. And the tables you broke are coming our of your pay. I would reduce your rations but we need every man at peak fighting strength."

"Do you know when we'll be fighting, sir?" Robert Longfellow interjected. Torm looked at Castor as if daring him to speak, and then regarded sir Robert.

"I don't know. Any day now, I'm sure."

"Sir!" A voice rang out, the tent flap billowing open. A courier from Palona, one of the men the master of the town had given to the service of the mercs. "The Captain wants to see you. Now, sir."

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"An you got a cute lil nose," Neil said, poking her nose gently.

After her words sunk in, just after she had finished sucking on his chest, he came to terms with her parent comments. "Is it because Altdor is so hoity toity? Here-" He placed another bar of candy in front of her face, this time the crunchy kind of chocolate. She bit into it greedily. "Look, Marnburb is just like an imperal city, just less Sigmar and Franbz flags. You'd like it, lots of opportunity to-" He started laughing, already tickled at the idea of swindling people in Marienburg with Emmaline. She would be dangerous there, though it was also a dangerous city in turn.

"Lots of space for us to have fun, and lotta money, and the ships to go whereverelsewhere we want to be, ya know?" He paused, his mind stop working for a good moment. "My momther would think you were ok, probably. She died few years ago. My sisters would think you were somthing. I dunno, haven't thought of them in awhile. They're probly gone to live in stirlan or something. You-...what you laughing at?" Neil asked accusingly, and he started laughing too. Emmaline downed her mug, a small stream of ale sliding down her neck and onto her chest. Neil had finished his third mug already, and he knew if he had another, he would be gone from consciousness. Still...

The rogueish and very drunk thief drew close, and lapped up the bit of alcohol running down her bosom, licking her bare skin. Emmaline squeaked and snorted and then giggled, dropping the empty mug once it was done.

"Tastes evem better this way. It's ok, redheads are ok with it," He said, not even knowing what he, himself, meant at that. He made sure to nibble a bit of her skin with his nice teeth.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Marienburb?" He asked, not quite catching on the incorrect pronunciation of the name. "Me too! I mean, haha. I mean, you should have told me bat! Because I'm from there...!" He placed his hands against his chest, or one hand and a mug, the brew sloshing onto his shirt. He was vaguely aware of it, rather his mind preoccupied with concentrating to the best of his ability on Emmaline's lamentations. He looked crestfallen she would even suggest such things! Baby!?

Of course his eyes bugged out when Emmaline lifted her chest in his face, but he shook his head despite his gaze never quite leaving them. "No, no, no, no...no, babe. No..."

He placed his mug down, blinking. "No, because those peeble don't get it. They're just jealous you want, you wan smart enough to take their stuff. But you need brains for that kind of thought work. And I love both of you." He patted the top of her chest, and then patted her cheek. "Both the head part and the body part, because together they make my girlfriend which is you who are. Who you- uh, who you are!" Yeah, nailed it. "Me? I'm just some engineer in a city full of fucks like me! But you got the thought and acting and the magic and the scehems and the just amazingness."

He pressed his palm to his chest, as if he were making a great confession at a trial to decide the fate of his life. "I-I love all! The entire all of it. All that and the tiddies too! Jus like how you like me for me but also my handsomeness, because I'm-" He started nodding, as if it were time to admit it finally. "-really cute. It's true. Mmmhmm, I might be waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay worse than you, but I got pretty eyes and a good smile. Would be mere hubris if I did not think so, right?"

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Yes, dreadful business," Neil remarked snobbishly, taking a bite of his own chocolate bar. It was heavenly, and it melded well with the wonderfully potent Bugman's. The brew burned satisfyingly as it went down, and yet it had a deliciousness about it he couldn't really appreciate to the fullest extent because he had nothing else to compare it to. Weighing it up against other ale was just cruel. He almost broke character, but he managed to retain his effete manner. "Seems the whole city is in an uproar! Darling, did you say you needed more drink?"

"Don't change the subject, but yes please." She said, holding out her mug for Neil to scoot over to the table with his longer reach and refill the mug.

"Luckily, the city is-" He groaned and pulled back, handing her the mug and refilling his own, before reclining back into a comfortable position. "-even more expansive below ground as it is above."

"Hmmm?" She wondered, her mouth filled with chocolate. Neil wiped a smudge from her cheek with his thumb.

"The sewers. I know a sewerjack that knows the undergreound top and bottom. There are tunnels that make it miles out into the countryside. We just need to take them." He explained, biting into his chocolate bar once again. His left cheek was half-full as he chewed. "You know, it'll suck to see this place go. But it's for the best. Plus in a month or two the usual tenants will be back anyway and kick us out."

Wow, Neil thought. He had a sudden realization that one mug of Bugman's was already causing him to feel loose. Another one might knock him into inebriated. This stuff was powerful. He was suddenly fascinated by Emmaline's new hair, running his fingers through it. "Where do you want to ko... uh, go after this, hot stuff?" He asked her, and he hiccuped. Neil blinked, his lips unbound by even his normal, low supply of inhibitions. "Hey, did I ever tell you I think you're too good for me? You outta be... you uh, you should be someone important and like, w-where? I don't know where I'm going with it, but you're amazing and I love you."

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Whoa..." Neil said, a bit overwhelmed by his admiring of her. She was no more pretty red headed than blonde, but there was something about variety that sparked a fire in a man, and he didn't think he would ever be disinterested in this mischievous woman. He smoothed his hair like one did when talking to a pretty girl, without thought or intention. "No, uh... wait what?"

She waved a hand in front of his face, and the nimble thief caught it. "Hello?"

"Sorry," Neil replied honestly, sighing. She had been through a lot today. Fun later, after their anxieties were alleviated. "They did come asking about the Golden Kettle." He saw her eyes widen, but he held his hands up. "They didn't think we did it, just that we should find out information about possible chaos incursions within the walls. They think cultists had something to do with it."

"So my theft got them to be extra alert in dealing with the subterfuge of the ruinous powers?" She asked, smiling.

"You can spin anything, can't you?" Neil grinned. "It was my idea to go looting by the way."

"I never said it wasn't!" She remarked innocently, her eyes going to the stash Neil had accumulated for them atop the table. The wrapping of the chocolate looked so very peelable, and the drinks were incredibly expensive. Neil had actually done quite well, despite Emmaline's escape being the talk of the southern district. Neil smirked and grabbed the keg of Bugman's. There were two pewter mugs set aside on the desk, the thief procuring them and pouring each one to the brim. Emmaline took one mug in her hands, and they both settled on the couch in their usual positions. Neil on the cushion and Emmaline snug on his lap.

"I suggest we leave the city in three days. Just long enough to enjoy what we have before things go tits up. Sound like a plan?" He asked her, awaiting her answer with his mug held out so she may bump it in response. He grabbed a large, sixteen ounce bar of chocolate and opened it, holding it just before her to bite down on.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil poked her skin experimentally, eyes boring into the tattoo his new girlfriend now sported. He admitted it looked pretty cool, and he would have definitely asked who gave her the ink if he hadn't seen the snake-demon thing leap into the two dimensional space. He shook his head, perplexed. He wasn't drunk enough for this, he decided. Luckily Neil had bought a myriad of drinks for he and Emmaline to imbibe in throughout the coming evening.

"So... this doesn't hurt, right?" He asked, stroking his chin.

"Uh... no? But I'm still wildly confused?" Emmaline said, fretting. The snake thing remained unmoving, but Neil didn't trust it. Would it pop out of her skin and bite or strangle either of them? It seemed like a dumb way to go, but he had seen more humiliating and strange ways to die before. Neil and Emmaline exchanged looks of confusion, but as the woman began to shake her head and part her lips to say something, there was a distant knock. Neil lifted himself up and turned his head like a meerkat, another knock following.

"_{Neil Edwards!}" a voice called.

Neil sighed. "Great, it's Inspector Leizbauhnor." He muttered.

"You don't think..." Emmaline said, uneasily clutching her bodice.

"ONE SEC!" Neil called through the open balcony door. He turned to Emmaline and shook his head. "Nah, I doubt it. Even if it's the case, I'll just shoot him and we'll get back to drinking."

"Drinking is a good idea," She said, the blonde thinking back to the chase, the crash, and now this weird serpent familiar embedded into her body.

"Wait, wait." Neil held both index fingers up. "Before you drink and before I go out there, I have an idea. In the closet there's some dye."

"Uh, yeah?"

"Look, they're going to be looking for a blonde woman. You might want to think about changing your hair color. Wait! Just for a few days." He reasoned. "If this Leizbauhnor guy is here, he's either here with that description of you or he's wanting us to go back out and do something for him, in which case someone might spot you. You can't really hide that banging chest and that big butt, but you can look different with the hair..."

"Some guy saw you too!" She protested. She didn't seem disturbed by changing her hair, but it was still likely a hassle.

"Some guard saw me steal a few bottles of the good shit and some chocolate. Em, you have an entire city looking for you. Just change your hair to whatever we have just for a few days, and by the time it's out of your hair we'll be sailing to Tilea or Stirland or wherever, alright?" He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her. "I'll go see what the walking stick wants and then we'll get to drinking. One second."

Neil departed out of the bedroom, hurrying down the stairs to the hall in the second floor, opening up the wide window to peer down at the tall, thin man with the wide brimmed hat and the spectacles. Beside him stood a man that looked carved from granite, grey eyes staring out just below a bronze circlet with the twin tailed comet emblazoned at its apex. He wore great plate armor, and in his hand was a large, ornate warhammer that looked more than adequate enough to break through the tower door if the man felt so inclined.

Neil leaned over the side. "You boys missed the parish by about two miles. Just head right down that road and keep walking until you hit the wall. You won't miss it, it's full of beastmen."

"Mr. Edwards, where is your plump companion?" Leizbauhnor asked, adjusting his glasses. He looked to have gained a new scar since last they met. Perhaps the man did more than bookkeeping for the Order of the Fiery Heart.

"She is currently indisposed my good man, shall I bring her a message?"

"Were you two near the southern docks, anytime recently?" He asked, betraying no emotion. The warrior priest remained silent, just staring at Neil.

"We were just out, but no we were up near the palace. We were just helping some of the common folk, putting out some fires. It was the priest-er, the least we could do. So many looters, nowadays. This city won't hold together if we don't stick together. Anyway, could you get to the point? It's been quite a day, sirs."

"Very well. My companion here, Warrior Priest Valkar Baudenhal, is tasked with stamping out all corruption in the city. Rampant magics and such. He asked for my aid, and I knew just who to requisition for help. My two lawless initiates who happen to be quite useful at sniffing out trouble. A number of notable families, including a very prominent one just the other week, have been accused of heretical practices. I believe are familiar with one case that was infested with mutants..."

"-Yeah, shit's messed up-"

"-and it is paramount that we remain vigilant. So, I would ask you and your...friend... to keep an eye out and have a few names to add to our list when I return in three days time."

"Uh... well, I'll see what I can do. Is that all?" Neil inquired.

"For the moment." Leobowitz said. The grim-faced Warrior Priest finally opened his mouth and said. "I look forward to working together."

"Yeah, me too! Ok! Thank you! Goodbye! Goodbye-" He closed the window and superfluously locked it. Immediately he was thinking of the family Emmaline had stolen from, but that would put her in the crosshairs of the law. No, no, the best option was to just somehow leave the city before three days time. He would talk with Emma about it, and so Neil walked back up the stairs to make sure she hadn't guzzled half the keg of Bugmans.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

They were located on the southern bank of the river reik, near the docks. Neil didn't want to make for the bridge straight away, and so he prowled through the alleys and lesser used side streets, moving further south so he could then make his way round and meet Emmaline at the bridge. Neil padded along a small street, keeping his eyes skyward to dodge any civilian dropping spoiled porridge or refuse into the gutters from a window above. Just as he suspected, a portly woman with a wart the size of a rat poked her head out to gaze at the weather, not the street below, and she unceremoniously dumped the contents of some chunky, smelly concoction out of an iron pot right atop Neil's position.

Neil leaped to the right, the filth missing his dark head of hair, but it splattered onto the cobblestones and small droplets flecked his ankles. His skin crawled, and he waved a hand upwards and shouted. "Hey, be careful with that shit!" Though the woman had already retreated into the apartment. He shook his head, backtracking into the main street. He gradually became aware of a loud screeching, an odd wailing of metal on stone rapidly coming closer. Neil turned up saw a carriage, unbound by horses and wheels, rocketing towards him like the twin tailed comet itself.

"Fucking balls!" He cried, sprinting across the street and hitting the wall just before he was crushed. Neil looked around and then back at the departing carriage, watching it slowly unravel into a thousand pieces of kindling and metal rivets. He had seen a lot of crazy shit in his day, but that was something new. He sighed. "This either has to do with the war or Emmaline. If it's her..."

His question was answered almost immediately. What little crowd there congregated at the street, all gazing at the flying carriage and the guards chasing after it. All save one person, a shapely woman with blonde hair Neil could never mistake. She was at the lip of an alleyway, getting to her feet and looking away from the street, speaking to someone. Neil looked both ways to make sure there wasn't another projectile, and he hurried over to the otherside of the street, but she had begun to depart immediately. Neil followed her down the alley, the scent of human waste mixing with the aroma of freshly cooked meals from the windows above.

Emmaline hustled away into a cross in the backstreets, next to an abandoned shed and a restaurant that had been converted into a closed shop of knicknacks. She suddenly stopped and turned, pulling out a dagger and glaring at Neil, her eyes glowing as the steel of the knife was transmuted into three smaller slivers, all floating in her hand, ready to plunge into her pursuers chest. Neil watched her intimidating manner dissipate like morning dew when she realized it was him.

"You've got some explaining to do." Neil said, raising an eyebrow.

"About what?" She asked, her eyes big and doe-like. Neil wasn't fooled, but he did smile. He waited until she knew he wasn't going take the bait. "Look, I had a little accident, but it's all solved now. We're away and we have uh... this!" The woman presented the case, fluttering her lashes.

"I'm not mad, but next time you hop into something that starts careening down a street, I want in on it." He told her, jealous she got to fly out of that thing like a goblin doom-diver. Though his train of thought was interrupted when she showed the case, and he tilted his head, curious. "What's that?"

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil laughed to himself, the sort of evil chuckle one gave when they were facetiously performing for themselves. He had hit the eye of the ungor, as they said in middenland. Neil had even found some Ulthuan Dreamwine, which might be a pit too rich for him but he would try anything once. The chocolate wasn't stashed in his pack yet, nor the drinks, but he was making a pile of 'to steal' things in the corner of the storehouse so he could just sweep it all in and flee in one go. It might be a bit superfluous, but he might climb out of the window, though glancing up at the portal, he wasn't sure if it was feasible.

"Ok so," he whispered to himself, taking stock of the stash he had accumulated. "This should be enough for three days, even considering Emma's bottomless pit of a liv-"

"Hey! Who the hell are you!?" A strong voice asked, Neil spinning to see the gateway opened, a burly 'clerk' looking at him with accusatory eyes. He pulled out a cudgel, gripping it so tightly Neil saw his knuckles whiten. The man approached, Neil stepping to the left to keep away from his picked stash. Especially the chocolate. It looked easily smooshable. "Answer me, drawlatch, or I'll silence you for good!"

"I'm just inspecting the stock, I promise." Neil said, holding up his hands. He idly stepped closer to the racks of alcohol. "I got hired last week."

"Oh, last week, eh?" The man echoed, mirroring Neil's movements to make sure the thief had no escape route. Luckily for Neil, he wasn't looking for an escape, and instead nestled himself just beside the crates and the rest of the alcohol stock. The man gave a practice swing of the blunt instrument in his hand. "Last week Karl Franz gave me a runefang and kissed my arse. That's about as likely as you being hired by the Golden Kettle Company!"

He gave a wide swing at Neil, the thief ducking, cudgel swinging wildly over his head. Neil was going to kick out, but the man wasn't hired just because he was big. He stepped out of Neil's reach and came back in, this time slamming the cudgle into the ground, Neil barely having time to dodge. The guard hadn't noticed Neil's hand gripping the neck of a bottle, and as he stepped to the right his arm swung, the thick glass cracking over the man's head. It shattered, blood and alcohol sliding down his scalp. He cried out, catching himself as he near lost his balance. Neil saw the man's eyes listless and unfocused. Unfortunately, he didn't think the fellow had the frame of mind to swing again, but he did. Neil was hit by a surprise strike, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Ack!" Neil hit the crates, just as the guard was charging in at him, wanting to press home the advantage. Neil leaped up, pulling himself above the charging man. His balance still a bit untethered, the alcohol he slipped on didn't help him the next few moments. He hit the crates like a bull, only he had no horns. Neil winced when he hit the wood with his already bleeding cranium, the man falling back and slipping into unconsciousness, the cudgel falling from his limp fingers.

"Shallya's mercy, that was close," Neil marveled, slowly climbing down. He stepped over the fallen guard, nearly slipping on the alcohol himself, but managed to make it over to the pile he had gathered and shoveled it into his pack like a dwarf shoving precious stones into a minecart. Carefully, he hefted the sack behind his back and left the man there, closing the gate behind him and walking back into the thoroughfare, climbing over the wall just as another group of men walked past. He would circle round to the front and wait by the alley for Emmaline. He hoped she was alright.