POOHEAD189

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Beyond the sensation of intense wrongness upon my psychic senses, the structures connected to the spires were fashioned with an intense meaninglessness that gave it the appearance of the place being made in a mad child’s dream. The only right angles we saw were happenstance, and even the lithe towers that loomed above us swayed and curved like undulating dancers, initially simply just being too large for us to easily notice at first glance.

The deeper we moved, the fouler the feeling. A rank smell of putrid rot was in the air, and the ground began to grow more…organic as we walked. It was still hard and made of some weird stone-like substance, but it had the feel of striding upon a great carpet of some hairless, bestial skin. Odd mushrooms bloomed along orifices along the walls, and soon I stopped us from continuing further in, certain we were merely walking into a pocket dimension in the warp.

I knew that to be impossible, but humans were not safe to traverse further, even with our psychic powers, and whatever was happening here, the guards outside knew we were to meet with someone and survive the tale. We backtracked, moving past the almost living architecture and turning into one of the larger ‘archways’ if one was generous enough to call such a blasted hole that particular term.

Luck was with us, as no sooner had we entered that we heard voices. I don’t know if I was relieved or not that they sounded like locals, and around a ‘hall’ in the bend of the first warped chamber, two men appeared, speaking to one another in their bastard tongue. Immediately I recognized them. They were the men we saw on the first boat, before Garm’s village found us in the murk.
“Cha skota,” one of them said, indicating me with a wave of his hand. He waved it over to another opening in the melted stone, and I gave a few quick words to acknowledge him. I stepped forward, Clara following suit closely. I moved past the two degenerates, but the one who spoke eyed me. I knew he could not recognize me, as he had not spotted me within the reeds. However, he placed a hand on my shoulder and peered deeply into my face. “Ey, wah co fo bata?”

Lazarus had timed me before on my quick draw. My fasted on the gun range was firing three shots accurately at 1.37 seconds. I wish he were here now, because in my desperation I believed I beat my previous high score. In the same movement I drew my sidearm, I batted his hand away and fired three shots. The first two burst through the first dreg’s chest, and the last shot went clean through the head of the second man before his eyes could widen. The rapport of the shots was loud, but the stones seemed to absorb the noise rather than multiplying the echo as one might have feared from the spacious curves. I had observed the phenomena when we first entered, and I had counted on that here.

“Why did you do that?” Selencia asked breathily, too cautious to scream at me.

“He saw through me.” I remarked simply. “It wasn’t what he said. I saw it in his eyes.”

“Hadrian is right. I could feel it…I think.” Emmaline remarked without extreme confidence.

“So now where do we go? Not where he pointed us to enter, surely.” Clara said.

“I think we should. We’re here in the belly of the beast. If we aren’t here to cut the head off the snake, we might as well leave.” I said. I also had the sinking suspicion that it wasn’t necessarily a trap, but boatman would have exposed us when we entered. However, it was just a hunch. We would have to see if I was right in my assumption.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

It would be remiss of me to begin this account without asserting my innocence. You no doubt know that my part of this expedition was not merely because of my fluency in the Tilean language or my short time at the university of Verezzo, but my alleged hand in the debacle concerning Father Bierschenk and his sham of a scheme. I would never be so callous as to be complicit in such a low-brow scheme as selling a faux artifact in the Altdorf Auction and finding a mark to perform the so-called Estalian-Prisoner’s Scam. ‘Sigmar’s Girdle’ does not even sound real.

But alas, I was suspected with absolutely no evidence. In fact, I am accused of having relations with the Countess Droessler the very same day, another alleged malfeasance of which there is no evidence, save my comment I apparently uttered before the arch-lector. The esteemed elder can barely hear, I simply do not see how he could have overheard my wishes to ‘ride her like a brettonian destrier’ but, it seems with two crimes at the same moment with, again, no evidence for either, saved my proverbial hide.

But enough of my past, needless to say I am quite happy with how things turned out, despite the perils on the road and what mayhem transpired in the ostentatiously palladian city-state of Remas. I recalled it as vividly as if it were yesterday.

The yawning gates of the Republic of Remas were as welcome a sight as a breath of air to a drowning man. Its three great walls enclosing the docks, the city, and even the lagoon were monuments to the genius of Leonardo De Miragliano. The gate, now bustling with rural tileans from Ciarascura to Catrazza, almost leaned over the expansive moat. Its ornate towers were made with an ingenious seven pointed star design, granting virtually no weak points in its defense, allowing interwoven fire from all angles and granting little purchase to any cannons attempting to topple the lofty spires.

“Magnificent,” The fat chamberlain breathed in gathered awe. Hortiman Schulz was a simple man blessed with good fortune. He wore a cap of the finest doeskin to hide his bald head, his impressive white beard covering all his lower face save his rosy cheeks, and his paunch was resplendently adorned with the finest satin coat and breeches. Upon his thick neck and the swell of his chest was a livery collar made of gilded steel, emblazoned at the end with a griffon that represented the greatest house in all the empire. Yes, Hortiman Schulz was an esteemed courtier to Orcbane, the Prince of Reikland, the illustrious ruler of our great empire, Karl Franz. How that occurred I still do not know, but evidently our sovereign trusted him a great deal. I found I trusted his earnestness, I suppose, but he was a bit slow on the uptake and a little bumbling in countenance. He practically bounced as he looked to myself and the grim captain Muller. “Isn’t it so?”

“I never tire of Tilean architecture,” I told him with a smile. Despite my lack of confidence in his abilities, he was a jovial man and hard to dislike. Muller merely grunted, eyeing the commonfolk passing through the gate with suspicion, almost scorn. I found Chamberlain Schulz was easy to sway, but Harold Muller was the living embodiment of the term “stubborn as a mule.” He did not trust easily, and I found he liked my company not at all. The twenty four reikland state troops under his command were fine men, now spread out as sentries overlooking our baggage train. They and I were on fine terms. I drank with them, joked with them, even prayed with them when asked, but their commander was a bit too conservative with his ideas of priesthood. He had heard of my alleged crimes and made certain I was under no pretenses on what he thought of the validity of my innocence.

“You have been here before, haven’t you herr Cran’Darrack?” He asked, and then realigned his phrasing. “I mean herr Priest.”
“No, but I was in a city much like this before my induction into the priesthood of our blessed lord Sigmar. Luckily I was able to procure a map when we passed through Monte Negro a week prior.”

“By gambling,” Muller growled disapprovingly.

I hide my grin heroically, providing a solemn, pious look upon my visage. “I simply made a deal with my brothers from the Fellowship of the Shroud. If holy men of different faiths cannot break bread and deal with one another on their terms, then I fear chaos truly has won.”

“Now don’t fight you two. Let us go in and meet with the princes!” The good chamberlain suggested, his simplicity sometimes perilously close to wisdom.

“Remember, they are the triumvirate of Remas.” I said guardedly, leaning down to give sincerity to my caution. “There are three of them, and we should gather our gifts to the front to be presented immediately. Do you have the scroll?”

“The scroll? Oh yes, yes.” Schulz said, reaching into his coat pocket and producing a roll of parchment with the imperial seal unbroken upon it. If I could have held it for him, I would have. But by Imperial law it was his burden to carry. No doubt I would still provide the brunt of the dialogue with whichever of the three rulers we happened to meet, whether by way of translation or by means of elucidation.

I was often given such tasks by my peers, it was almost second nature now. I had a smooth cadence to my voice that people enjoyed listening to, and my education provided me with a vocabulary most cannot match on the fly.

Ah yes, and I will add without shame that I am extremely attractive. It’s not a boast, merely a fact. I am tall and lean, fit but not bulky. My face is finely featured, and my dark tousled hair fashionably tied at the nape of my neck. I was blessed with dark eyes of blue and a sculpted nose of perfect proportion. Despite my fair skin, I look much unlike most of the heavily bearded stoutly built men of the empire. I don’t remember my childhood very well, but evidently I was taken into an orphanage in Marienburg after being found on the beach by a sailor. Upon my neck was a torque with a script of my name in crude riekspeil upon it. My colleagues believe I am from Albion, and I concur out of habit, but I could not tell you.

And now, a supposed son of Albion found himself standing at the breadth of the great city-state of Remas to broker a deal between the triumvirate and the Empire. I suppose if I thought about it, I could turn that into a joke. But it had been a long road and honestly, I just wanted a fucking drink.
@Penny

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

He did not know what to say.

Well, of course he was elated. He knew in his heart she was making the right decision and he felt she knew it too, despite her fears or misgivings. But contrary to what he would have seen her act when she accepted, she was almost mechanical in her acceptance. It was underwhelming, even if it did not deter him. Galt wasn't disappointed, however. He merely felt sympathy for her. What could have her feel thus, after he knew she was as fond of him as he was with her? It worried him, really, for her sake.

And yet her acceptance made his smile bloom, even as she said it breathlessly and with only slight animation. He supposed she needed time, and at the moment, he felt anything in the world was possible. Her blush was all the encouragement he needed, though he made sure not to bounce for joy. He gave her a nod, smiling. "Purple it is. I'll see to it."

With that, he gave a half turn and offered her his hand. "We do have a ride to go on. Shall I help you on your horse, my lady?" He inquired. With or without her acceptance of the help, he would have a slightly rougher time getting on his own steed. She was a much better rider than he, truth be told. If it wasn't for his acrobatic skill set, he would make a complete fool of himself, but he could vault over pretty much anything, including a horse's back. Once mounted, he awaited her signal.

"This is your estate, I'll follow your lead. Though don't go too fast," He laughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. He would refrain from speaking of the engagement for as long as he felt it necessary. He didn't wish to overwhelm her, or make her feel trodden by the decision anymore than she might feel now.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The fatigues were rancid and wet with sweat, and I wasn't entirely certain they had not soiled themselves at one point out of sheer laziness. Gritting my teeth, I donned the garb without complaint as Clara did, leaving our folded clothing with Emmaline to place inside her pack. Clara kept her carbine, but I took a fallen lasgun and kept my power sword slung across my back, donning a small, stained tarp over it as a makeshift cloak.

I lead us out of the docks, moving with a laziness and looking around with disdain smeared across my face. I found the dregs of society had a way of walking. Men who would gut you as soon as greet you moved with a subtle loathing and a bowling gait, as if gravity itself annoyed them. Clara was not a field agent, used more for security detail on Pacitus and the Caledonian when I needed her presence there, but she did well in copying my movements. The two in the back were partially cloaked by our presence at the fore, and the upended ground and constant puddles of fetid water only deepened how tired they were of this whole expedition, which was good for our cover at the current moment.

"Ska, id got the hagk!" One of the guard called, asking what I had brought them today, curiously not posing it as a question in the traditional sense.

"Jama, jis fen wobs fo boz," I remarked derisively. Hopefully if he thought the two trailing Clara and I were meant to meet their leader, they wouldn't be stopped on the way to the city.

Three of the guards glanced over at the group, but only in passing. One of the guards was squatting like a particularly ugly ape, and he peered at them suspiciously, but a slave suddenly dropping a bucket of water drew his attention back to his work. I kept myself from breathing a sigh of relief as we sauntered past the guards and made our way into the mouth of the first towers wrought of eerie looking basalt. As we stepped under the first blanket of shade, the coolness was contrasted by the feeling of anxiety that shot up my back and prickled my psychic senses. I felt very much I had stepped out of the cook pot and into the fire.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

It was hard to gauge just how long they had been running. It had been hours of walking before the skaven had attacked, and now they ran with a hurried desperation. Neil led the way with the torch, wanting to remain behind to protect Emmaline but unable to get passed the sincere fact that he was the only one who knew where to go. Gods, he hoped he knew where they were going. Once they reached the flush, go down a level and continue northward until you reached the causeway, and if he guessed correctly, it was just up ahead.

The two glanced behind themselves too many times, but so far they hadn't seen any real pursuit. Perhaps the rats had all drowned, and the last two did not want to take their chances against them. As Neil ran, the implications of what had just happened hit home. They had fought things from urban legends and lived to tell the tale. Wait until Neil told the public! He and Emmaline would be....

Disbelieved, probably.

Heinz had told him they were real, but no one trusted sewer jacks, and it was one thing to hear about it and another entirely to actually see it. A part of him didn't want to believe it. He wanted to pick Emmaline's brain on what had happened, but a light around the next corner stole his thoughts from him. They both stopped, panting hard and looking aghast at a beam of illumination breaking through a hole to the right of the stoneworks. Neil could smell wet soil and heard the trickling of water. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever experience, and he breathed in deeply for a long moment.

"We're free, Emma," He started to say, turning around just in time to see the light glint off two beady eyes and a flashing sword. Neil shoved Emmaline aside and thrust his torch into the ratman's face. It squealed like nothing he had ever heard, dropping its shield and wriggling on the ground, it's paws batting at its scorched snout like the flailing of a dying cockroach. Another ratman was there, chittering and leaping over its comrade at Neil.

Emmaline screamed an incantation, and the ratman, sword leading, suddenly dropped like the scimitar in its hand had become an anvil. It was actually hilarious, Neil thought. But he would laugh later. The thief kicked the skaven in the head once, twice, thrice, continuing until its small skull was covered in bloodied fur. He stomped on its snout for good measure, and then kicked the other flailing one too. He almost felt sorry for the vermin, but he didn't stop until Emmaline pulled at his arm.

"Neil, Neil! Let's get the fuck out of here..." She pleaded, and he nodded in agreement. He couldn't tell if the things were still alive or not, but they wouldn't be following them anytime soon. Hoisting their sacks, they made their way to the light. Emmaline groaned, complaining about the weight. "Ranald, I never thought I would have sympathy for mules, but I can't imagine carrying these any longer."

"I thought you'd handle it better than me, they're only half as big as your..." He grinned, and she pushed him. A moment further, and they were under the light of the tunnel hole. It was at Neil's eye level, and he knelt down, cupping his hands so she could step up and pull herself through, into the next chapter of their lives.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I felt a similar feeling if disgust at the sight, but I had seen many such atrocities in my short career. It never got easier to feel, but it became easier to handle and I did not skip a beat as I slid from the skiff with Garm, helping Emmaline out to mute any noise she might cause. She was brilliant but I did not think her repertoire included slinking through wetlands. We knelt beside the veritable wall that loomed between us and the blasted landscape, small rivulets in the ferrocrete between the blocks a convenient window to peer within. I waved for Clara and the others to approach, indicating with my hand signs it was safe but stealth was required. Clara acknowledged and lead the others closer a few blocks to my left.

"It did not look like this when I was last here," Garm said softly, horror in his voice.

"When were you last at this location?" I asked him, not looking away from the scene before us. I estimated there was perhaps a hundred slaves, and a quarter of that number in guards, though they were scattered over what looked to be half a kilometer. There was virtually no way beyond some psychic miracle that we could approach without being detected. Perhaps Clara could shimmy through and use her new scope to good effect, hiding in the trenches, but that would only give us a very small advantage in what would likely be a prolonged firefight.

"Three times of the sleeping moon," He whispered, squinting as he gazed up the almost eidetic spires that nearly pierced the sun. Even as he spoke, a group of five men approached from the south, across the landscape of interchanging wet and dryness. They carried lasguns and wore the same fatigues we saw of the men on the boat. It was hard to gauge from our position, but they seemed to have a much short range of open ground to traverse. If they were boat men, that meant the docks were closer. An idea began to form in my head, though it was foolhardy.

"Lazarus, I need you to remain here with Garm and Lucius. Do you have your rifle?"

Lazarus approached, unfortunately having a rough go of it like Emmaline, though it was for a reason far more similar to Lucius. The steel arms and mechanical bits on his form made him decidedly more heavy than the average man. Luckily, he had kept his transuranic arquebus in pristine condition despite the geography.

"Good, Emmaline, Selencia, and Clara are going around to the docks. You will slip in and hide in one of the trenches. I'll need your fire support if things get hairy, and I believe they will before it's all done. Lucius, protect Garm and Lazarus. If people assail your position or if you see anything beyond a man going at any of us, unleash hell. Understand?"

"Beyond a man? A xenos?" Lucius asked.

"Er, possibly." I temporized, not wanting to explain the entities of the warp to someone who had been sleeping before the Unification of Terra. "Garm, remain here. Keep your boat safe. We might be needing it soon."

"Sky one, they do not use skiffs like us. If you approach in one, they will think you are of my tribe."

"I will convince them that I have captured one." I said, looking at the women and gauging their reactions. They tried to look unworried, save for Emmaline who did not seem particularly excited. My visage softened for a brief moment, and I placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll need your help to convince whatever guard is at the dock. We'll look dirty, but we merely need to be at the dock. When he step off, we kill the guard and take their fatigues." My eyes flicked to Clara, who nodded.

"I suppose I'm coming with you because...?" Selencia asked.

I grinned. "Why, you're our doctor. There is a plague about."

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

At first, Neil thought they were beastmen. Incredibly foul smelling beastmen, Sigmar's Unbridaled Balls Neil had never thought he could smell something so rancid on a living thing! It made the sewers smell like fresh springs in a wissenland glade. Even as the light flickered and danced, illuminating mounds of fur and beady eyes streaming towards them, he wasn't sure what he was really looking at. They were rats, but they were the size of large dogs, and some moved on two legs. He saw a few carrying knives and shivs, and there was even two ratmen at the back with shields and rusted scimitars.

"No way," He said in disbelief, or was about to before the first one launched himself at he and Emmaline. Neil saw its trajectory was more aimed towards his girlfriend, and that was a big no to him. Neil shoved the rat mid-air to fall along the side of the stone's edge, as they two humans stood just at the height overlooking the huge pit where the water congregated and was redirected below, perhaps about two dozen feet. Emmaline screamed and his back foot went over the edge as the ratman tumbled and then fell headlong into the murk below, nearly skewering itself on the spike of a tall statue of Sigmar at the center of the water.

Neil grabbed her arm. She squeaked and was pulled back to a balanced position, though that left the problem of the dozen or more ratmen scurrying toward them. Neil dropped his sack, pulling out a bottle of bugman's. They had a few bottles left and it was just his fucking luck he took that and not the scented elven mead. He made a strained "ugh," before he tossed it to the floor and dropped his torch onto it. Flames leaped before the rats, but to his surprise the first four ran headlong into it. Neil picked up the back end of the bottle even as the first one jumped at him, and he sunk the glass into its chest as it scratched him, both of them dripping blood from the scuffle. Neil had the benefit of its weight sinking onto the 'bar knife' He pitched the thing end over end to fly the five strides below. Neil heard something solid hitting something solid and figured the rat didn't make it to the water.

He swung the sack at the next three rats who couldn't decide if they should put the fire on their fur out or attack, and the thief redirected the sack to land over his shoulder in readiness. "Grab onto me!" He told Emmaline. She balked for a moment, but he was proud how quickly she put on her game face and gripped him. Neil turned, hiking her legs up to wrap around his waist. This was going to hurt.

"Watch your head!" He told her.

"Ok! Ok!"

"If we die here I'm in love with you." He said quickly, and even as she cried out 'what!?' he leaped, her question turning into a scream as they sailed over the water. Even as they flew, Neil question if winging it had led to their doom. She still held her torch before them, and as the light was nearly snuffed out from the sudden rush of wind, they had a good vantage point of seeing the broken skaven below.

Skaven. They had to be skaven! Fuck me, he thought. Neil's arm shot out, and his callused hands grabbed the upraised handle of the hammer of sigmar, slinging their legs forward and giving them another boost fling their weight to hit the next floor down in a collapsing heap, their bodies and belongings shoving Neil into the wall. He felt blood leaking down his nose and his cheek smooshed against the stone, but they were alive.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Like the Sicilian Expedition of ancient Terra, we sailed to almost certain catastrophe, to ground we only marginally knew into what could be a trap. Luckily the water was not too deep for Lucius, at least the majority of the time. He was given a pair of ropes to tug on if he was in need of speed or more likely, we were in need of stopping. Garm rode at the head of our skiff, with myself and Emmaline aboard behind him, in that order. He was a hale man, but rough living and the constant struggle against his now-distant kin had made him look far more aged than his thirty years might normally tell you.

We were given a bit of supplies. What fresh water they could grant us refilled our canteens and containers, and we were gifted small fruits wrapped in leaves with the vague shape of plantains, with coarse outer skin that coated a bitter but filling meal. Before departure, our small skiffs have been sprayed with a strange musk that felt almost viscous to one's senses, but we were told it kept the bugs away and it proved a relatively truthful claim.

"Describe the landing we seek." I told Garm, who looked at me with a muted fear.

"It's an island twice the size of the one I live upon, with an area for docking on the far side across from our approach. Ever since they have been given the boats without paddles they have cleared the waters around the island of reeds and the small trees, where the ganda lizards lay their eggs this season." Garm said, sounding reservedly forlorn at what was likely a terrible tragedy to his people.

"What manner of beasts does Nagrip have in his employ?" I implored, not wanting him to dwell on the lost traditions just yet.

"Beasts that hurt the eye to see. I could not describe them if I tried." Garm said, and he shuddered at the thought. I felt a cold chill run down my spine, and my eyes dropped to my blessed power sword, the hilt protruding from our packs beneath my legs.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Neil knew the sewers as far as a few streets from experience, but his old friend Heinz had told him there were old, antiquated sewers that reached miles away outside of the city. Most had been demolished over the centuries, but Heinz had told him he and a few of his lads had found an exit that led past the river one day, a couple of years ago. Of course, Heinz had been drunk when he had told that to Neil, but it was either that or go back up and fight an army of thirty thousand beastmen, and Neil would rather protect Emmaline than do that.

They passed a few alcoves and grates that streamed light into the darkness, guiding their path. A few times rats scurried beneath their feet or scuttled across the narrow walkways. Neil stiffened and Emmaline squawked, but the rats were less worrisome than the shadows of violence that played against the walls every few blocks like hellish puppet shows. Only when they had made it further than Neil had ever traveled did the light fade entirely, and Neil took out a torch and lit it, illuminating the stones around them. The water had a sickly green tinge to its murk, and a few rats scampered away into the darkness.

"I could have used a spell..." She said.

"Don't want to tire you out. You've done a lot of legwork recently, remember?"

"Wasn't just my legs," she grinned, taking the torch he gave her gladly.

"Don't worry," He said, stepping in close as he placed his unlit torch against hers, the cloth igniting a great euphemism for the suggestiveness in his tone. "I'll give you another work out as soon as we're out of here."

---

Scritscrit was surprise these manthings knew where they were going. No doubt the ruckus above had led them down here, but it was by the blessings of the Horned Rat that he had discovered them with that unmistakable scent coiling around their forms. He had followed them until they had lit the dreaded torches, and he nearly expelled the musk of fear, as he had thought they had discovered him. He had silently scampered back into the shadows and listened. Clearly the male and breeder were conversing of something important, but he could not tell what it was.

He needed to go and tell a few others of his brethren, perhaps some slave rats and Ekit Scatclaw his fellow clanrat that they were heading into the old catacombs. If this manthing knew they way, they could make it into the sunlight in only a few hours. Scitscrit couldn't risk letting them get away, but the way the manthing moved, he knew it would be a fight for his life. The breeder herself just complicated things, especially with that torch. Scitscrit faded into the darkness to fetch his brothers, knowing there was only one way for the manthings to go to find freedom.