POOHEAD189

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I recalled yawning. I only had a small bit of sleep at that point, and the constant running for my life was not doing me any favors. Luckily Camilla seemed to have concocted up a solution for our aching feet and now we had a nice, if a bit rough, seat as the miles began to roll by. The horses were churlish from their evidently long journey, and I could not blame the poor beasts. If I was not so exhausted I would have blessed them, but I felt I should perhaps wait until the next stop. Camilla sat close to me, the two of us pressed together, careful not to bite our tongues from the occasional large bump in the road that felt as if it sent the carriage careening across the path.

"So signor, where is it that you go at such a late hour?" I asked the coachman, wanting to make small talk so as to keep the man from suspicion. Even if we had done nothing wrong, the mind wanders at night, left to its own devices.

"Believe me, it is not by design, sir priest." The coachman said. His blunderbuss hanging just beside him, stacked on a small rack just below his seat to his left, built into the carriage for quick and easy access. "I had left Verezzo, making my way through Pavona and to Remas the great, and I had planned on camping this night until I saw unsettling things in the wood. Strange lights and the screams of men. I barely had time to piss before I was back in the wagon, and that was some hours ago. Now I believe I will go to the Bajamonti Villa in the hills and wait there, by leave of the Duc De La Rochefoucauld‎. I am known to his son and have made many stops there over the past decade."

"A Brettonian noble?" I inquired, my interest piqued. I was curious on the Brettonian, but I was very interested in the 'noble' aspect. A large villa meant good food and soft beds. "Strange that, I wonder why they would be so far south. Would we be able to secure a room for the night there as well, or would that be too intrusive?"

The man thought for a moment, eyeing myself and Camilla for a brief second before answering once satisfied of our motives. "He might take some convincing, but it is worth a try, signor. He may want something in return, and I cannot tell you what. It is always something different each time, when I approach. Usually he merely wants a package delivered to Luccini or Remas, or to send a parcel to a ship set for Brettonia. He and his family are nice enough hosts, as long as you give due respect. If you can speak their tongue, they will welcome you doubly."

"Luckily I can," I said, and Camilla raised an eyebrow. I winked. I could not speak Brettonian nearly as fluently as Tilean or Reikspiel, and truth be told I would need a small refresher. But I could manage the accent well enough so as not to offend them, and perhaps a greetings or two would go a long way. For once, I was glad my professors and tutors at the church found such promise in me. It was almost too bad I disappointed most of them, in some form or fashion. I turned back to the driver. "Why is the villa called Bajamonti? Are villas not named after the family who resides there?"

"You speak the truth, signor. The estate has been there many generations, and legends say an old curse lies over it from when the Bajamonti family resided there. No one dares change the name now, or face the wrath of those that once dwelt and are now buried in the crypts."

"Ah." I sighed, tired at the prospect.

The coachman laughed. "Tonight has made me think there could be some truth to the supernatural, but fear not from these ghosts, signor. I have been there many times, and never have I seen a spectre or ghoul feasting on the flesh of men. Just some old servants tripping over themselves."

At The Edge of The World

The night was still full upon the land, the shattered remnants of the moon only bringing in scant light upon the jungle floor. I blinked away the sleep, rubbing my ribs. Emmaline leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, and I decided that whatever happened that woke me up, nothing was permanent so it was water under the bridge. I leaned in to hear her whisper, and I followed her finger as she pointed into the gloom.

I peered past her where she pointed, but I couldn't see a thing. For awhile, I thought my vision was obscured by the large fern leaves that surrounded our small campsite, and so I slowly got up. Most thought my muscled bulk meant I was loud, but I had lived in these jungles for most of my life. I was almost cat-like in my movements, and I let Emmaline lead the way, barely brushing a leaf as we left our companions sleeping soundly just behind us.

I smelled the pungent, sweet smell of euchavest trees and the wet that accompanied the moistened leaves above, the ground soft beneath my feet. Something small scurried away in the undergrowth, Emmaline hopping away to bump into me. I smiled and steadied her, endeared by her manner as usual. Another few minutes passed as we searched, but there was nothing we found. I didn't have dwarf eyes, but my vision was good, and we simply could not see anything that glimmered in the darkness. Just blackness and the scattered moonlight.

"I tell you, I am almost sure there was something here," Emmaline remarked, though she wrung her hands, embarrassed she might have just been seeing things, I imagine. She should have known I wouldn't blame her. I wasn't bothered by most things that couldn't be immediately fixed, particularly from a friend, and apparently lover. Only having one lover before, I wasn't an expert, but it seemed I was patient, which made me happy.

"I believe you," I told her, peering past some brush to check if I missed anything. "How about this, we haven't checked south of our position. Let me go back to the camp real quick and see if everyone's good, and I'll be back here in less than a minute. You ok?"

She nodded, seeing the sense in me giving a quick look without making a sound whereas she might wake them up if she tripped. Emmaline waved me away and bade me to hurry up.

As I went to check on the Basileans, Emmaline stood under a tall jungle tree and kept hidden, her hat hiding her golden hair. The sounds of insects chirping in the boughs above drowned out her breathing, and clouds passed over the moonlight, obscuring the shine. And yet, almost as quickly as it had disappeared, the glimmer appeared once more. But not as it had before, faint and distant. It returned, almost just under her nose. The shade from the clouds above dispersed, and before her, just past the brush, was a small shrine that gleamed from a mystifying treasure.

Two, small statues stood, facing one another. They were roughly hewn, and yet intricately designed. The statue on the left was beautiful. It was wrought in the shape of a regal griffon, standing on its hindlegs, it's beak opened wide as if in a warcry, and on its head was a diadem. Its wings folded as if to ward prying eyes from what it held in its taloned paws. Within its clutches was a precious stone, a diamond as clear as springwater, yet it glowed like a distant star. A thread of silver wound around it, steel clutching its body, connecting it to the silver as a necklace piece.

To the right was a monstrous opposite. A cobra, or something with the head of one, reared up, maw open in sinister aggression. Its serpentine neck flowed down into a body not unlike a scorpion, and yet its tail was unhooked and serrated, curling around its limbs to provide the base of the statue. The enigmatic serpent had two hands, almost human, just above its great claws. Within their fingers was another stone. Where the first was clear, this multifaceted jewel swirled with darkness, indigo and what seemed like the crimson of blood sliding in and out of view within the ensconced shadows. A golden chain was attached, held by a brass crown around its form.

Behind her, leaves rustled as I made my way back. But I was not there yet, and she had a choice. Whichever she grasped, the other statue would melt before her eyes, swallowing up the gem it held and leaving the jungle floor unmarked as if it had never been...

Mechanicus (A Warhammer 40k Admech, squad based RP)

Hmmm, maybe

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"Look, buddy" Neil warned, stepping closer to Gerk. "There is no war, but you know the value of these guns. I'll accept twelve thousand, no less, or I find someone else."

"Zen find someone elze," The paunchy salesman said triumphantly, turning away from the two young customers. Neil knew the lowly pawner sought to reel Neil in with an aloof act, and Neil wasn't going to fall for it. But at the same time, Jocasta was expecting this to work, and while he did not feel he owed her anything, it was hard not to want to please an attractive girl. Particularly one whom he could tell was usually more silly and congenial, when the circumstances called for it.

"'Zen find someone elze'" Neil mocked, looking at Jocasta as if he was sharing an inside joke with her, and as if the merchant couldn't hear him clear as day. She smirked, finding the humor in it, though her eyebrow raised at what Neil was playing at. "I guess we'll just take these VAPADON BLASTER RIFLES AND HIGH YIELD LASPISTOLS WITH US. I'M SORRY I COULDN'T ACCEPT YOUR CIZNEX AS PAYMENT, BUT I AM A MAN OF THE LAW!"

The merchant gave a start. "What are ze doing!?" The salesman cried, eyes wide at the sudden theatrics. Jocasta would know Ciznex was a potent narcotic and illegal substance that could ruin a business, even in such low quarters. Not only that, but Neil suspected old Gerk likely did put his finger in the business. A lot of low-lifes did, despite the risks. "I deed no zush thing! Ok! Ok! I'll buy your blasteed guns! Twenty thousand!"

"Oh, he's cooperative now?" Neil ask Jocasta in awe.

"Wonder why..." She mused facetiously, one of her drones buzzing around Neil.

"Excuse me," A voice remarked. All three of their heads turned to the sound, and a blonde gentleman in a servants garb stepped out of the stalls. He had a wide face and a large jaw, but kindly eyes. "Did you mention a Vapadon blaster rifle? It wouldn't happen to be model-series 7, would it?"

Neil gave the newcomer an inquisitive look, and then rechecked the rifle's stock, though he already knew the answer. "Yes it is, who's askin'?"

---

The next day...

The previous night had been a curious one. The man that had inquired about the rifle Neil and Jocasta were about to sell to was an aide of one of the upper nobility. An antique arms dealer and collector of limited munitions, looking for new weapons to add to his collection. Despite the heart attack Neil had nearly granted Gerk, they ended up not taking him up his twenty thousand credit offer, after all. Instead, they had left the stricken man and had allowed the servant to take them to one of the upper levels, past the main presidium to the patrician suites.

Within, they had been granted a spartan room where they were met by a large holoscreen projector placed upon the wall. On the table before them was a glass of expensive gin, with two glasses. The servant had left them by themselves, and after a few seconds of confused silence, the screen powered on and they were face to face with a man who introduced himself as Lord Henry Byrecroft, who wished to pay thirty thousand for the rifle, along the accompanying blasters.

Neil had a counter offer, and after some swift negotiation and a bit of advice from Jocasta, the two had found themselves sequestered past an audience of twelve thousand, deep in the bowels of the Rekker Ring, though that was a colloquial name. The spaces cordoned off for the fighters and their teams were located dozens of meters under the floor in a clockwise placement, with full kit, a small workshop for repairs and modifications, and even a small break area with snacks and a mini-fridge. Lord Byrecroft had not thought the Blaster Rifle was worth a top of the line Rekker, but his patronage and expensive offer for the rifle and the accompanying firearms gave them something to work with, at least to Neil's eyes.

Standing on the moveable platform, awaiting its turn in the ring was the Rekker, which Neil affectionately called 'Hunk' to tease Jocasta, as she had immediately called it a hunk of junk when she first laid eyes on it. The humanoid mecha was 3.7 meters tall, with outdated hydraulic systems, peeled off paint, a gun that looked as if it would jam by the slightest bump, and a bowed leg, which honestly confused Neil as he could not see how that would occur without it being a conscious design choice. Still, as soon as Neil had stepped inside it's central control placement, he had a vitality to him. And considering Neil was usually quite animated, that was saying something.

The light above turned red and flashing, indicating it was now time to fight.

"Ready Jo?" Neil asked Jocasta as she stepped onto the platform with him.

"So how exactly am I supposed to hype this piece of rust?" She asked. "This better work, by the way. And if you die I don't get paid."

"If I die I don't get paid either, so at least we have equal stakes." He said, straight enough to make it indecipherable if he was joking or he hadn't thought the statement through. "And I don't know..." He leaned over, smiling flirtatiously. "You can talk about me? Anything to get the crowd going. We want bets, after all."

The platform began to move backwards, air escaping the once-sealed walls and the two lurched as they were dragged backwards into a dark corridor, before yellow-safety lights chimed around them and they slowly rose.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I was assailed by a wave of incorrigible unease suddenly, and somehow I knew the feeling was not new, but increased in volume. How foolish I felt in that moment, that I should have foreseen the arrival of such wraiths an hour before. I had assumed my sense of foreboding was jealousy over the merchant's interest in Camilla, or perhaps my anxiety over the constant threat of death the past week. But now it was a vivid, very real cascade of nausea and filth that only a priest can feel when confronted by something unholy and unnatural. I would have chided myself further, but Camilla's scream rent the very air and pierced my eardrums. My hands went to my ears, the thick wool of the cloak still held in them. I rose and tried to flee, but my long legs were immediately caught in the folds of the cloak. I stumbled and caught myself, grasping for my staff.

"No more stooping!" My lover cried at me.

"I'm aware!" I yelled back with some alarm. Our other traveling companions stared in mute shock or scrambled every which way. I was lucky in that Camilla had the good sense to run to the tree line. With my staff helping me rise, I finally got my feet under me to sprint to her, the both of us racing into the woods as another scream rang out, followed by a terrible, unearthly wail that seemed to permeate the very air. Camilla cried out in dismay, stumbling into a tree. I nearly toppled, but kept my feet this time. I helped her right herself, and swiftly stole a glance behind us.

I only saw one man left running, and a rider swiftly pursued him across the small clearing. He screamed in primal fear, but the rider followed in eerie silence, a scythe clutched in his right hand. Even as I watched, he raised his cruel weapon, the blade almost glimmering from some untold power, and with a swift cut that looked almost theatrical, the man fell in two pieces as if it was the most natural change to the human form. His top half hit the dirt with a disturbing, heavy weight to it. Blood pumped from both halves, but that was not the most horrific thing to transpire. I saw two more men, one of the travelers and the young merchant, get up once more. Their eyes glowed a faint blue, like cold stars in the night.

The other horsemen galloped past them, horses emaciated and gaunt, bearing down on our position.

We fled into the darkness of the woods, Camilla ahead of me at my insistence, my hands ever pushing her forward. We crossed a glen and a copse of evil-looking trees in the gloom, before she leaped down a small drop that was shielded by vast roots from an ancient fir. Camilla stumbled, but my staff kept me upright. As we hit the ground, I swiftly grabbed Camilla and pulled her backward, enshrouding ourselves under the overhanging roots. My hand clamped over her mouth, and I gave a soft "ssshhh." I expected her to be smart enough to keep silent, but after the scream I was going to let her insult me later rather than risk it, now. Truly, I don't consider myself a brave man. But my staff pulsated gently, thrumming with some kind of vibrancy. I chalked it up to Sigmar. Camilla calmed a bit, though we both felt taut and ready to spring from barely suppressed fear. Hoofbeats rose and fell in distance, and a soft mist clung to the ground before us.

I held my breath, holding Camilla tight as we waited for safety.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Wife," I responded imperiously, placing my hand out for her to take. She regarded the gesture for a few moments as if she considered refusing me, but she acquiesced and placed her hand in mine.

"Madam Deckard, you are positively radiant." The confessor complimented politely, and to my delight he did not leer at her. Whilst I believed in the holiness of the faith of the God Emperor, I was not unaware of the corruption of abuse in the adeptus ministorum. Confessor Leibowitz seemed so far to be a just man, though perhaps he was merely trying to keep his head on his shoulders. Offended lords could easily demand punishment on someone not sufficiently high in any hierarchy, even in the Ecclesiarchy.

For her part, Emmaline only gave him a hint of a smile. I decided to interject when no response was forthcoming. "My dear, we are ready for the procession if you are."

"I am a bit peckish..." Emmaline responded, and I could not tell if she was merely trying to be difficult.

"Once we arrive, there will be food brought to you and your husband, I assure you." Leibowitz promised, a kindness on his visage. "Your seats will be on the Alpha Seira, overlooking the munificent square of the Vicarus Cathedral. You may sup and eat at your leisure as the pilgrims and citizens ready themselves for the festivities. I must admit I feel blessed to be accompanying you. It will be the best vantage point over the entire affair."

"What festivities are those, if I might ask?" Emmaline inquired, her accent excellent, I noted. She had told me she had been to Gudrun in the past, but still impressive nonetheless. I inclined my head, smiling to the priest. "We will, of course, attend. But we are sick with grief over our boy. We were not expecting a large to-do, you see. Apologies if we offend with our ignorance."

"No, of course, of course." Leibowitz said, bowing lower to show hospitality. "We recently lost one of our chief cardinals some months ago. The cardinals have finally chosen a successor to add to their ranks, and will be inducted after the procession. Truly, the Emperor has blessed you both with a timely arrival. Your son is safe in his loving embrace, and he brings you at a time of great change and hope to his holy church."

I gave him a nod, and bade him to lead on to the aircar. He did so without complaint, and I led Emmaline out of the lobby hand in hand toward the transport where Clara, Lazarus, and Elektra waited.

"You do look nice," I admitted, keeping my eyes forward.

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Galt tried to calm himself down.

He had hurriedly thrown his dark thieving clothes into one of the crew's crates and commandeered some deckhand's wardrobe. He had on a pair of workman's boots, some loose fitting breeches, a worn leather belt, and a low cut sailor's top. The thief wasn't particularly hairy or muscular, and felt a bit exposed waltzing about in the garb. He had no time to chuck his knives, specialty items, or garb overboard. He heard the boots above, and through the fixed glass porthole he saw the pirate ship not a dozen feet away. Cries of fear and dismay were heard above, and the stow away went to grab his valuables.

He took the gilded knife and kept it hidden within his sock, while the silverware was wrapped at the center of his cowl, able to pass a rudimentary inspection like as not. The only wildcard was the map, the one his comrades had died for. He wasn't particularly sad about their deaths, though an annoying melancholy had not yet left him. The projected value of the Map of Algorab quickly stole his attention from the distant grief, however. He had heard wild tales of Algorab, though he wasn't sure if that was a place, a person, a bloody language even! But images of mountains of diamonds and rivers of gold coins passed through his mind. Magic artifacts that could ensnare one's mind or give one the power to be a king. Galt wasn't a particularly power hungry or ambitious man, but his life had been pretty shit for as long as he could remember. An unimaginable treasure would be something that would definitely lighten the thief's mood.

He unlatched the brass mechanisms, and opened the case carefully, expecting some form of toxic gas to spew forth. He was relieved when nothing occurred, and found he was looking at a plain bit of rolled up parchment. It was so unassuming he was disappointed for a brief moment. Blinking, he grabbed the scroll-like item in the effort to unroll it. When his fingers gripped the parchment, he felt there was something hard hidden within. A shout above drew his attention for the moment, but he looked back down at the mysterious paper and decided it was now or never. He unrolled the map.

It was blank.

"That pisses me off." He breathed to himself, but his thoughts halted when a small bronze charm wrought in the shape of some kind of weasel tumbled out. No, a mongoose, he thought. He had seen them sold in the Bazaar in Visipirya. He plucked it out of the case, eyeing it closely to appraise the piece. Maybe he could salvage something from what was clearly a ruse for dumb thieves.

The mongoose unraveled between his fingers, and before he could move, it leaped into the iris of his eye. Galt yelped, his left eye suddenly dark. He grabbed at his face and pawed at his left eye, crying out in alarm. His back hit a crate and sent bottles of rum spilling out, rolling across the floor of the cargo hold as he panted in confusion and fear. Slowly, he pulled his hands from his face, blinking in abject surprise.

His left eye could see fine.

"What the fuck?" He breathed.

"Oh, we got a tardy crewmen, do we?" The voice of a lout asked facetiously. Galt turned, and realized a pair of pirates had already made it halfway down the stairs during his confusion. One aimed a pistol his way, and the other carried a twin pair of horrendously sharp axes, smiling as if he itched for Galt to give him a reason. Galt wouldn't, as far as he could help it. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Come on, pretty man." The pistol wielder said, indicating Galt go up the stairs. Galt did not consider himself overly handsome, but he guessed anyone without a cleft lip or a thrice broken nose was considered princely in the realm of pirates.

"Aye, aye, I'm going." He assured them, walking briskly to the top as they followed closely behind. He made it topside with a musket barrel pressed to his cheek, and he squinted from the sudden sunlight. Before him, the merchant crew were on their knees, swords, muskets, and boarding pikes aimed their way. A few were on their feet, but the rest seemed distraught or grim. The pirates were a rough assortment of ugly and burly. He noticed a dwarf among them smiling cruelly, and a woman at the center. She had thick red hair and an intelligent glint in her eyes. He took quick stock of her face and body out of instinct, and Galt might have bought her a pint at a pub if he had seen her anywhere else. Here though? He was pretty scared shitless of her, as she was obviously the captain. It took a tough as nail's woman to live among a band of odious brutes, much less keep them in line.

"Found this'un below decks! Spilled some good rum, but most of its intact." The axeman announced, and Galt felt like the woman would call for his death there and then.

"Next round at the next port's on me if I can join your crew, Captain!" Galt remarked, before anyone could really comment on his appearance.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I was surprised my eye was not twitching.

"You look nice," Lazarus complimented, fixing my collar, despite the fact I had fixed it not a minute ago.

"I did not realize your skills included accurate critique of apparel." I remarked, taking a deep breath as the voxx went deaf again. It seemed Emmaline was having a bit too much fun in there. I supposed I should let her enjoy herself. She had been through a lot, and honestly we had scant time for us, recently. At least I could let her act the part of a wife, if we did not have much time for being lovers. Not that I felt we were growing distant. Far from it, actually. Working together brought us even closer, but that only made our busy schedule all the more frustrating.

"Inquisitor Kronus stipulated certain conditions before he deemed me fit for service. The appropriate camouflage for an inquisitor is to appear unremarkable, even if that very role is in and of itself, remarkable. You must look every inch the imperial lord. And might I say, you already have the handsome features and unrelenting arrogance down."

I glared at the tech-priest, and then rolled my eyes. "How kind of you to say. But rather than fix my collar for the third time, why not allocate us some transportation?"

The two of us stood in my newly acquired bedroom, in an immaculately furnished apartment. I knew my sizes and had Emmaline tell the courtier to send me back something presentable. For her part, my lover decided she needed a bit more time for herself while I got dressed and prepared for the celebrations. Apparently, there would be a procession in the early afternoon this very day, our arrival having coincided with what passed for early morning on Avignor.

"Already done. It's hours away but if we had to walk the length we would already be late," Lazarus said, following by a digital beeping from somewhere on his person. "Our aircar will get us there within half an hour."

"Excellent." I said, turning to the mirror once more and straightening my dress jacket. A knock from the door drew our attention, and with my consent to approach, the door opened. Clara, her hair in a bun and her outfit tactical military fatigues, stepped in to hold the door open for a member of the ministorum. He looked somewhat young, though likely at least a score of years my senior. Meekly he performed a short bow, and gave a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Hello and welcome to Avignor, I have the honor of speaking to Blasius Deckard, lord of Gudrun?" The priest said. He had green eyes, but the conical hat hid his hair.

"You do, sir. And to whom do I attribute these greetings to?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"I am Confessor Leibowitz, assistant to Deacon Talhouser of the western wing." He said, and I knew he meant the western wing of the central cathedral, which was the size of a continent on this most holy of planets. "I have been tasked to be at your disposal, granting you access to sites of worship and directions for your stay. Erm, I don't mean to pry, but is uh, one of these fine ladies your wife?"

He gestured to Clara and Elektra, who stood in the central chamber behind the confessor in similar garb to Clara. He had a bewildered look when he had entered, and I had to hide a grin from the realization he had never seen a woman so muscled in his life. Clara hid her own smile as best she could, but with less success.

"No, unfortunately. My wife seems to be missing in search of a wardrobe. Perhaps we shall go and greet her ourselves?"

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Stonebane bolts punched into the walls with audible, metallic bites. Three in unison, two meters apart in a vertical line from top to bottom. The connected laminated fiber was wound tight by the turning of a small wheel at the base of the crossbow, leaving a solid line of rope from the wall to their belts. Methodically, the crew attached their threads to a joint-thread, realigning it with a specialized bolt before it was loosed. The joint-thread slid along all three laminated fibers, closing them up and making them a part of a single, securely fastened three pronged rope. Galt waited until the rope was as tight as it could be, and yanked on it for good measure.

Bonnie and Steimos shouldered their crossbows as Galt vaulted over the lip of the building, taking point. He landed rougher than he wanted to, but he did his best not to cry out. Instead he cursed. Cursed himself and his Gods damned luck. He neatly leaped over some ornamental brush, silently sliding under a fence placed only for aesthetic purposes. His slide stopped right behind a walking patrolman. To Galt's credit, he didn't make a sound or even looked distressed, even as his heart banged in his years. The sheath at the watch's hip held a wicked sword, Galt had no doubts. The blades of Stauldin were infamously sharp and well forged. He only allowed himself to swallow nervously before he hopped up and slipped behind a garden wall, eyes soaking in the dim collection of foliage. Two seconds and he began to move again, finding purchase on the far wall of the building, following the line of the rope and ascending, grabbing lines and flaws in the stone of the wall. The whistling of the rope sliding through the steel ring of his belt.

Behind him, he felt the rope shudder, suggesting further weight was now burdening the line. He glanced downwards and saw the other two members of his crew following. He was glad they had followed so closely, but knew without a doubt if he had aroused the guard, they would have left him to die. Couldn't exactly blame them, but he would be far happier with more loyal friends. He cleared his throat as silently as he could once he reached the fifth floor, taking out a glasscutter and pressing his sweaty palm at the center of the window, pushing off the wall with his feet until he was standing vertically, using naught but the thread to keep him from falling. Luckily, the three bolts held up his weight.

Galt held his breath, the quiet deafening as he pressed the blade to the glass and pierced it, cutting a circle big enough for a man to shimmy through. It was slow going, the scoundrel certain it would snag and stop halfway. He almost wish it had. Bad luck could be traded in for good fortune. When everything went right, that was when you needed to be most careful. Once he was nearing the end of the cut, he dipped the blade beyond the circle of glass to tip the material toward himself, pulling with his sweaty hand in a common albeit less-than-sure trick.

He placed his cutter back in his belt and grabbed the flat edge of the glass circle. Galt's eyes flicked to inside, the darkness permeating the room obscured his vision beyond the vague shapes of bookshelves and a large desk. There were no signs of anyone inside, but Galt hesitated. Galt wasn't first in because he was brave or foolhardy. Galt wasn't a brave man; some might even call him coward. He ran from every fight he could. He let others go before him, took chances only his arrogance would allow, and he never bet on a losing horse, no matter how much he liked it.

But they had drawn straws, and his had come up short as a cold cock.

Stepping in, he let the rope swing him within until half his form was through, shifting his weight to plant his feet on the floor, finally unhooking the thread from his belt. His eyes did not linger anywhere too long, searching the room for any sign of trouble. It was an office of some kind, a book-keeper's den of little worth but much information, like as not. Unfortunately, it wasn't what they were there for. Next in was Bonnie, silently sliding in head first as Galt surreptitiously hid the glass pane under the desk.

She searched the room as if she was the first one in, Galt side-eyeing her with little patience. He let her do her thing, stepping to the door and checking for any traps, spring loaded or weight activated. As far as he could tell, none were present. He slowly gripped the handled and held his breath as he turned it, the door swinging open silently. His foot followed in its wake, placing his weight of the hall tile. It creaked ever so gently, but it wasn't loud enough to raise any alarm as long as they played it safe. Galt glanced behind him, Steimos wheeling the rope up, a grimace on his square face. Bonnie rolled her finger over and over like a wagon wheel, glaring at Galt, clearly impatient for him to move. The thief never knew what he saw in her, and regretting breaking the first rule of business.

Don't mix it with pleasure.

The corridor was rich with fine tiled wood the color of burgundy. Small lights gleamed from doorways, but any novice could tell it was the moonlight filtering in from open-curtained windows. Galt went right, and while he would have preferred to think of himself like a stalking tiger, he felt very much like a deer, instead. Quiet and frightened, ready to scream at the slightest hint of discovery. He had already been run out of his previous city, and he couldn't stand living out of garbage or stealing pocket change for another year. His stomach and psyche couldn't handle the shame.

"Pst," Galt heard, just as he was about to step into a luxurious dining room. A stolen moonlit glance showed it was connected to some sort of library, well stocked and ornate from the looks of it. A glint on the table reminded him of the silverware, and not a misleading name if their information was to be correct. The forks and knives were reputedly true silver. But he had to rip his eyes away from the delectable prize, catching Bonnie mimicking a jackdaw with her hands, subtle movements of her fingers displaying the thieves cant.

'Not that way. We stay together!' She signed irritably. Steimos was behind her, stepping out of the door and checking for pressure plates along the floor with a surgeon's precision.

'This room connects to the other' he flashed, and continued forward without bothering to wait for a reply. By the luck of the Gods, there was a carpet in this room, and he could walk about easier. The opposite wall held a large window, where the light poured in and gave the forks a glittering, mesmerizing quality. Expensive porcelain dishes were arrayed on a tall cabinet to the right, and doubtless more utensils were stacked within the drawers. By the door stood a desk, and atop it, an archaic dagger sat on a stand. Its hilt gilded and the leather sheath arrayed in silvery patterns. Galt took it gingerly, knowing it was probably useless as a weapon but dangerous expensive. He then plucked every piece of silverware he found off the table and dropped them into his belt sack. Across the way, he caught dark silhouettes moving through the small library, opening cabinets and fishing through drawers. Bonnie, or what he assumed was Bonnie, knelt by a crate, no, a safe? She began to wheel the lock, ear pressed to the steel as her rump lifted in the air.

Yep, definitely Bonnie. He would recognize that ass anywhere.

He turned back to the table, wondering if he could file off an arm of the golden candelabra at the center. Already, this seemed to be a sizeable score. The dagger and silverware alone could feed him for weeks in a comfortable inn, and he didn't have to tell Bonnie or Stiemos all that he found. Galt felt no remorse for any deceit either, because he fully expected the same of them. He had worked four jobs and been given a pittance of the split because he had no idea that's how the game was played. No honor among thieves is right!

As Galt rounded the room, he was nothing but a shadow against the wall. His black hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin helped him blend in with the dark cowl around his form. He glanced out of the window, watching something ethereal move from somewhere across the courtyard. It wasn't until the very last moment that he realized the movement was not from something outside, but a reflection of a gun barrel rising behind him, catching the light as it moved.

"Shit!" He cursed, feeling blood pumping through his veins as his heart rate spiked, the click of the gun followed by an ear-splitting crack. It was so loud Galt wasn't sure if the sound or the bullet shattered the window he dove past. Vaguely he heard Steimos swear in his native tongue, and suddenly the creaky hallway was clattering as footsteps thundered down the hall, the sound of swords unsheathing mixed with the cocking of pistols.

Bonnie threw a small sphere into the hall, smoke billowing from its pores rapidly. Steimos, stronger than the other two, pulled down a towering bookshelf, books and wooden shelves crashed to the floor, pummeling the first soldier as he rounded the corner, coughing from the smoke. Galt turned and saw the man who fired on him round the corner with a saber. He wore a tricone hat and the handsome coat of a military man. Galt kicked the chair at the end of the table into his feet, causing him to stumble just before he was to give a thrust. Rolling across the floor, Galt smoothly made it to his feet just as Bonnie shoved a case into his hands. Galt felt the expensive wood, smooth on his skin.

"What is this!?" He cried as Steimos threw a knife into a soldier's thigh, his gun firing into the ceiling. Dust and kindling fell onto his head.

"I don't know! Just get to the rendezvous poi-!" Bonnie yelled, before a bullet punched into her lower back. The woman's body hit him, and Galt felt a wave of odd emotions as she clutched his form. Fear, anger, confusion. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but did he want her dead? Should he stay and fight? Steimos took a cut to his shoulder, crying out in pain. Bonnie's hands on Galt's cowl yanked at him one last time, and he saw her look right into his eyes as she mouthed 'go, you idiot.'

Galt did just that. The window was no match for a ball of leather, cloth, and terrified thief, and as Galt plummeted toward the tall hedges, he remembered one man cry out in despair.

"He has the Map of Algorab! Find him!"

---

The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but apparently so had his luck.

Galt watched the churning waves with a new set of worries on his face. Gunsmoke and the spray of the sea filled his senses as the merchant vessel threatened to overturn. The ship was a brig, if Galt knew his ships, and truth be told, he really didn't. The ship was just not well guarded, and he had been dodging patrolmen all night. Several times he had been spotted, and like a fox on the run, he ran back and forth, doubling back to keep men off his trail as he circumvented the city, and once he felt relatively well-off, he went straight for the docks. The gates would be well guarded and roads traveled by the king's men. Apprehending a cloak from a warehouse, he had donned it and bribed his way onboard the merchant vessel just before it set off.

Now he had to deal with sea bandits as well as the law.

"Bloody pirates, just go the fuck away." He prayed, clutching the case in his hands as the battle raged on.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

A cardinal world was not too dissimilar from a hive world, though the Ecclesiarchy would certainly take offense to such a comparison. Untold billions lived, worshiped, and died in the vast halls, holy citadels, and pilgrim apartments of the opulent world. From the sky, the planet looked like a great beacon of gold, lights that could be perceived from beyond orbit gleamed brightly even on the dark side of the world. They ruled entire systems, sometimes whole sectors, utilizing resources from hundreds of other worlds to maintain the infrastructure for the billions of men and women who flocked there to give thanks and find guidance from the all-consuming light of the Emperor.

I had only been to a cardinal world once, on Ophelia VII during my youth as an interrogator under Inquisitor Kronus. I still remember how small everything on the planet made me feel, from the statues to the spires to the holy relics set within immense chapels where millions bent in prayer.

We were a full two weeks ahead of schedule. The warp was unpredictable at the best of times, and evidently a month's journey had been cut in half from some fluke that I could, perhaps ironically, credit to divine favor. I figured we arrived when we needed to. I had already had discussions with Selencia and Clara on the aspects of the Mors Logicae, and once they realized it changed very little, particularly for us, they had understood. Once one perceives the ward, one could pierce its veil, and it can not hide physical evidence. The enemy, whoever they were, would hide their true nature from the Ecclesiarchy with or without the ward, so asking an official what they knew served no point regardless. We had them, on their world, weeks before they would anticipate us, if they even anticipated us at all.

The only worry, other than the cabal of chaos infiltrating the most holy Inquisition and the Ecclesiarchy, was the addition of the Mors Logicae meant that there was a greater daemon of tzeentch at work, which was a complication. So far our primary enemies had been of the dreaded and bloated followers of nurgle. Either the two factions were aligned in goals, or one was using the other to further their own ends. But to what end? That was my primary concern as the shuttle with Emmaline, Clara, Selencia, Lazarus, Elektra, and I, entered the planet's atmosphere.

Our arrival could not be announced or perceived, and so we made a fiction, Emmaline and I masquerading as nobles from the planet Gudrun, wishing to find solace for the spirit of our child that died at birth. Emmaline was overjoyed we would be able to go shopping, as our plot required more gowns and finery than the Caledonia tended to carry. Once we made a 'beachhead' so to speak, and found leads to the whereabouts of this so called Teritus Vorn, we would invite down Lucius Raj and perhaps Urien and his men.

The problem, as always, was finding our quarry. Unfortunately, that struggle would cost countless people their very lives...