POOHEAD189

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt had found a comfortable spot, and the highbacked chairs that were cluttered around the hearth ironically serving a good barrier in which to lean against. The blankets were soft and warm, and Galt had to tell himself not to think how inviting Silke was as well. He knew circumstances were one thing, but he still felt like he did not belong. Here in this high class house in the middle of the woods, a lowly thief and a pretty highborne maiden. He sat upright unconsciously, not wanting to get too comfortable, even if that was very hard considering the fire and the blanket. Her thanks warmed him more than either, however, and he gave her a smile.

Alistair. He had never heard of him before. Losing siblings wasn't an uncommon occurrence when one grew up poor, and so he assumed that's what happened. Galt's parent's were lucky, in a fashion. None of their children had died in their early years. If one was dead now, Galt didn't know. He hadn't seen either in years. Thinking now, he wasn't sure he would even know where to look if he found he wanted to see them again. The thought did not make him sad, but gave him a certain bittersweet melancholy he did not quite know what to do with. Silke's story brought him back to reality, and he tried to imagine her as a little girl running into the cabin, chased by her brothers and laughing without a care.

"I have a brother and a sister." He admitted, looking into the fire, his dark eyes alight from the reflection. "Gregon's the oldest. Always thought he knew best. We used to wrestle and even make up stories together. And Mary is my younger sister. She was shy when she was young, but she got real mouthy as she grew up." He said with a smile that could have been a very soft smirk. It was clear he said it out of familial love rather than describing a talkative woman in any demeaning way. It sounded like something he would have told her because they were so close, or at least had been. "I haven't seen either for about twelve years. Our family couldn't pay for the home we lived in anymore, and one day we were evicted. The men that came for us took me away."

He glanced at Silke, and then got embarrassed at his choice of words. "Just to scare my parents, I think. But I escaped and made my way into the streets. It was stupid. I would have been back home in a week if I had sat quiet. I spent about five years alone before I found my folks again, but by that time my brother had moved out and my sister was getting married to some baker out in Heathsford. I didn't stay long, and I couldn't anyway. They were getting by well and couldn't afford another mouth, even if my ma cried when she saw me, and my dad probably did when I left. But I visited them when I could. Last I saw them was about half a year ago, but not my siblings. They're off doing Gods know what...."

He cleared his throat and was almost afraid to meet Silke's eyes. It was clear he took it all matter-of-fact, the damage so long ago it was a dull, familiar feeling. Even were he to find out one of his family had passed last he saw them, he probably wouldn't truly mourn until he came back for the funeral, and that was assuming he would even hear about it. "Sorry, I don't mean to bring the mood down. I did have a best friend. Stendan. He ran a schemes with me for years. I bet I could find him again, but ever since this whole...everything, it's not been at the front of my head, you know?"

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt's dark hair dripped onto the wooden tiles, though he ran his hands through his thick head of hair to help shake the water loose. For a single moment he was going to fret over his clothes, before he realized just how different of a worry that was from anything else in his life. The clothes were expensive, but remembered he could afford it. Galt had to tell himself he was simply glad to be in out of the rain and that his suggestion had some merit with Silke. She was right though, if their marriage proposal was going to work, he needed to be as careful as he could with her family, as well as anyone watching.

"Alright, I'll be right back," He informed her, making his way into the hall and beginning his task of fishing through the closets for something to wear. He wasn't going to fuss over it, wanting something simple and comfortable. Eventually he found a linen shirt and a handsome pair of dark breeches, along with a large roll of a blanket for Silke. He was a tad cold from the wet, but once he stripped the tunic and undershirt off, he felt better. Tossing them on the bed, he placed the stack of clothes he had gathered beside them and turned to look into the mirror.

He had the same lean, fit look to him. Old scars from past troubles ran along the ripples of his physique, glad to see his comfortable living hadn't really added on the pounds yet. He needed to be careful about that, if he wanted to keep the same look (and skills). He wasn't so sold on this life that he felt his old knowledge and abilities were now meaningless. He turned away and put on the simple outfit, glad for the soft, dry touch of the attire. Galt picked up the blanket and stepped back into the living room just as the fire began.

"That feels good," He said happily, and when he saw Silke he gave her a smile and held out the blanket, gesturing at it with his head. "I figured you could use it. It's pretty big, but it's soft. I guess it's one of the covers they use if the bedspreads are in need of washing."

Once Silk had done what she had to do herself, he set himself down before the fire, finding some cushions to use as a base for their lightly sore bottoms from riding. Or, perhaps it was only his rump that was sore, since he still needed some more experience on that aspect of high life. If she joined him, he would drape the covers over her however she would wish, and save a small bit for himself to appreciate the softness of it.

"Did you use to come here as a kid?" He asked, wanting to break the silence. Somehow, he felt slightly awkward. He still felt he could be himself around her, but being alone in a cabin with her, he was slightly nervous. Was it because of the proposal? Or just because of the locale? The romantic fire was not helping, which was an oddity since with any other woman he would find it a great benefit. The rain outside still hammered down on the house, but the sound was a welcome, rhythmic noise that quickly faded into the background.

'ELLO GOVNAH!

@POOHEAD189

I'm gonna be honest you caught me I've been slacking with my British duolingo lessons! Take me to jail officer!

@Returner

Don't worry, just takes some practice

'ELLO GOVNAH!

@POOHEAD189

Ello chap bloody hell that's a warm welcome! Grab this lass a cherry bomb and we'll be best wizard friends for life! (Though we won't tell the muggles lol)

@Returner

Righto I'll grab ye a pint it's only a coupla quid after that imma go get sum petrol for me jag

'ELLO GOVNAH!

'ELLO 'ELLO 'ELLO WELCOME TO THE PUB

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt found he quite enjoyed the ride along the estate. Despite the occasional jumping of his steed, he felt confident in the saddle. Perhaps he really was getting used to being a rider. Before his heroic escapades in saving the duke, he could count the amount of times he had mounted a horse on one hand. Silke was a good teacher, slowing when he needed and speeding up to challenge him. Galt was nimble enough to be a fine rider, but it was hard trusting someone not himself. Somehow with Silke it came naturally, but with a beast it wasn't a sure thing to his eyes.

They really had grown up in different worlds. He felt the scenery was beautiful and undeniably alluring to something primal, something deep within him. And yet, every copse of trees or every tangle of bushes did not seem something to marvel at, but a potential hiding spot for either him or some unseen assassin. He knew it was a useless worry in such a well-manicured landscape, but old habits died hard. In fact, he believed the last time he was on a horse in the woods, it had been when he was fleeing for his life. He had an intrusive thought that, if he had never saved the Duke, he could be out in any of these bushes right now, and if Silke spotted him she would cry out and call for the rangers. He did not know why exactly he would be in this estate, but it crept into his thoughts periodically as he rode.

He felt more serenity when they came upon the lake, as if breaking the spell cast upon him by his more cautious self. He felt his horse snicker, the steed shaking its head gently. He wondered if the beast was thirsty, but he wasn't confident enough to guide it to the water.

"The rain?" He asked, turning his gaze upwards. The picturesque sky was certainly downcast. Perhaps it would rain. The ex-thief was surprised she was asking him, and he could tell she was doing so for his true opinion rather than simply being polite. He trusted her judgement in this more, but he would provide his thoughts if she wanted. "Hmmmm, I guess we can..." He trailed off, wondering if it was a real consideration. After a moment, he continued. "Maybe we can go to the cabins and wait out the rain? It would give me a chance to see it and it would grant us and the horses shelter. If it lasts too long, we can always just ride back in the downpour and I can take the blame."

He gave the last sentiment with a grin, and he hoped it did sound as logical to her as it did to he. Briefly he saw an almost romantic scene of the two of them, alone in the cabin and watching the gentle rain patter across the leaves. He doubted that would turn into anything beyond a simple monotonous wait, but it was still just compelling enough to entice him into being confident of his opinion. Of course, if she said it was perhaps not the best idea, he would listen and go with her lead regardless.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"Yeah, they did a background check, and they found issues." Dirk added, drawing a look from Jocasta. Valgrane let the statement go by, but decided it more prudent to interrupt before Jocasta and Dirk had a verbal sparring match.

"As I was explaining to your associate, we have two million credits each for a simple job. No need to captured him. It's just a kill mission." He said, letting the requirement sink in. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a holo-slate, sliding it to the center of the table. He pressed a single button at the bottom of the device, and a holographic image erupted from the screen. Hundreds of thousands of light tendrils formed to create the likeness of a slight man with sharp features, a small scar on his nose and deep, sunken eyes. It was hard to appraise his age, but he seemed around thirty to forty standard years.

"This is Voldargu 'Vol' Hyrakeraen. A petty thug who has.... insulted my master."

"Phyraelon Deadstar," Dirk said, letting Jocasta hear the name. He didn't look her way to gauge her reaction, but if she knew anything of the urban legends she would be intrigued.

"Correct. If you accept the commission, I'll place the coordinates in your datasheets, but I can tell you the planet is Tarsus." The aide said, referring to a world of with an atmosphere comprised of more than 96 percent carbon dioxide, with molecular nitrogen and other lesser gases summing up the rest. Dirk knew this because he had gone hunting on the planet twice before. You couldn't go out on the surface. Tarsus's population were house in what the locals called 'Spires.' Great towers that breached the clouds, with the tops spreading out into large domed plateaus where the wealthy lived. Other platforms reached out all across the tower's length, but they were smaller and less regulated, and certainly less sanitized. "If you accept, I am granted to give you each five hundred thousand credits now, with the rest being provided when you offer proof the job is completed."

"And if we were to take the money and run?" Jocasta asked, a smile on her lips.

"Then I'm afraid, I would need to turn this unofficial contract into a guild problem." He reasoned, and Dirk knew that while it would be his reputation on the line, Jocasta would not be safe from reprisal.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I reassured Emmaline with my mind. Not out of any sort of force of will. I likely couldn't have done that if I genuinely tried, but I assured her we wouldn't be here long. We ascended two levels, my estimation being that moving in the center of the manufactora would save us time. Untold amounts of liquid metal poured from rockcrete ladles into crucibles, water drawn through clever piping quenched the steel, sending superheated steam into the air and making the entire, vast facility feel like the ancient terran idea of hell. Faceless men and women in heat-resistant masks worked with a tirelessness borne out of need.

Varying gangways led to platforms for workers to occupy, some guiding the ladles, others cutting and spooning the steel to make pipes, others bundled steel, and it seemed the workers both hot rolled and cold rolled their product here. Efficient. I made a show of approaching one of the platforms to watch more closely, my eyes flicking between the four workmen's exposed necks, but finding no sign of any tattoo.

One saw me and regarded me through his visor, and I could tell he was going to tell me to piss off until he eyed the Arbites standing behind me, as well as the retinue. I supposed Ortega's presence was good for something. I walked back, a thoughtful expression on my face. "Nice work. I'll need to examine most of the sections on this floor to maintain accuracy, however."

Arbitrator Ortega grunted, falling back into the usual mood of remaining silent from the dull routine and likely griping later to his fellows. I waved Emmaline over, and she approached, trying not to flinch from a sudden uproar of steam a few meters from our position.

"Do you remember the exact tattoos from Havenos?" I asked her quietly. "The tribal tattoos?"

"Yes," She said after a moment.

"Good. We cannot afford to make a mistake here. Take the four bully boys and go below." I ordered, glancing down through the small rivulets in the walkway. "Even if Ortega insists we stay together, do not stop. We need to find these men. Try not to draw more attention to yourself than you have to, and be careful."

"Alright," she agreed. Had Ortega not been watching, I would have kissed her. I merely stood as she made a show of sashaying away, gesturing for the four men of the Caledonia to follow. She had reached the stairs when the Adeptus Arbites stepped forward.

"Where is she going?" He asked, a harshness to his tone.

"She is just as fully capable of checking the stock as I am. I merely wish for her to examine the lower levels where they twist the iron. It will not be a problem." I assured him, and turned to stride down the gangway before the Arbitrator could formulate a rebuttal or response.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I had been on outings before where I had pretended to pay and told my date to wait for me outside, and then I slipped out as best I could. Regrettably, this would not be one of those occasions. Luckily I had taken a handful of the one hundred thousand gold pieces gifted to the triumverate for myself. I called it a tithe for my services, and no one would be any the wiser, regardless. Still, I wouldn't profess that to Camilla. Better to let her think I was a man of means.

"It's too bad none of them have commented on your thrilling ability to make a brettonian run away," I said, teasing her back. I laughed melodiously. "A musician? Well I can play the lyre a bit, and I daresay I'm a good singer, but I wouldn't call myself a musician, no."

"Well Riekland is actually quite pretty. You might wish to visit it one day," I said by way of stalling. I considered her question thoughtfully, wondering how to begin. I was not going to lie, but I lived so much in the moment, it was difficult of me doing so without turning it into a quip. "I've always been fascinated by knowledge, particularly ancient knowledge. I was raised by the church, actually. But I did not wish to be in its shadow forever. I was impetuous in my youth and traveled a fair bit. I've seen most of the imperial provinces, though I skipped Hochland and Stirland, unfortunately. I've seen the Grey Mountains, realm of Estalia, Brettonian, and the famous Blackfire Pass. But I decided to go to one of the more famous universities outside of the Empire, and so I came to Pavona. I was hoping my degree would help me return to the Empire and gain me entry into the Imperial Colleges of magic, but apparently my travels, studies, and degree amounted to very little to the greybeards. I found myself without connections or prospects, save the Church of Sigmar, and so I pledged myself to its service. I suppose it was meant to be, and to be fair I've done well for myself. The study of a God is much like the study of arcane forces, and I feel like it's a good inhibitor to my less desirable traits. I am actually grateful to the organization and lifestyle as a whole, save for a few hiccups here or there-" The waiter placed the porcelain plates down before us. The breaded chicken was soft and satisfyingly hot, with cheese that swam from every poke of the fork and sauce that snatched at one's tastebuds. Camilla had brought us to a very fine establishment, indeed.

"And for my good work they saw fit to reward me with escorting the chamberlain." I finished, finally adding a small white lie. I felt a twinge of regret, but I wanted to convince myself, really, and what better way than by doing so here?

Also, I wish to record that champagne with spiced chicken is amazing.

I gesticulated with my fork as I dined. I did not stare or try and snatch glances. I looked at her only when the conversation made it amiable, but I enjoyed every second of it. She really was beautiful, and call me a romantic but my (stolen) flower in her hair did make me feel quite nice. In a way only a man can really feel, I think. "So long story short, I walked a lot of places, failed to join a school, and fell back into a stable job... Did I tell it well or would it be better to maintain some mystery next time?" I asked slyly.

"And I have a feeling you've got a story too. I advise you tell me now before the champagne sets in." To articulate the point I drained my glass with one dip and refilled it myself.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"That was on purpose, Arbitrator Ortega." I remarked, eyeing the pict screens for any sign of useful information beyond slogans. I was greeted with an advertisement for Adrastus Stimms, no doubt a must-have for the laborers of the district and the work that ruins their bodies by a mere 40 standard terran years. It flickered in an out for a moment, switching to a slogan for High Paradise, a pleasure hab. A girl gyrated against a broken crease in the pict screen before fading away to another Marcello Collective showcase. I spied the manufactora and the poor souls filtering in and out of it, as if that would tell me something. I expected to be here for some days, extending the three day lease through some excuse or passing of payments. "My masters are quite careful, and they expect the same manner of discretion from myself."

"Well I do need to know where we are to stop next." Ortega replied stiffly.

"Stop here," I ordered. For a moment I thought I had used my will, so quickly did the Arbites oblige my command. Horns from ground cars blared and swerved as we immediately turned into a small area cordoned off to park. Emmaline nearly bumped into the seat in front of her. The ground car behind us followed suit. The grey rain had transformed into a small drizzle.

"Out of curiosity, do you know where we are?" He asked me.

"Manufactora XLII-C. This hab block is utilized for the production of Chromium Steel." I had taken the liberty of memorizing the symbols of the hives of Gravemire. Above the yawning doors was the carven numeral figure. "The materials of which is of great interest to my employer." I opened the car door, taking off my gloves and placing them in my jacket, an innocuous gesture, but I was doing it so I might better grip my autogun.

What is it? Emmaline asked me within a short mindlink.

I saw one, I said. I sent her an image of what I implied rather than transferring the information in what one might call a dialogue. In her mind she would see a man amidst the crowd marching into the manufactora. His skin mottled and browned from the sun, his gait undulating, his eyes scanning back and forth. A small tattoo on his neck, a mark I had only seen once before, less than two months ago on Havenos. If I was not mistaken, I had just spotted a tribesman of the Son's of The Fen. The tattoo even looked made of the red ochre they had utilized on-world.

Emmaline eyed me, and then spun to the Arbitrator who was just getting out of the vehicle, shockmaul in easy reach at his side. She regarded him with a chill gaze. "Is there an alternate entrance to the facility? We would like to be discreet and see the product without much interference due to our presence." She inquired. Ortega hesitated, and both of us could sense a small inkling of suspicion behind the iron wall he called a mind, and acquiesced.

"This way," he bade.