POOHEAD189

esarus thar no'darador | a warcraft rp

Maybe, if I have time!

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

Torm and his men thundered down the hill with all the force of an avalanche. Even with sixty thousand zealots, a contingent of three score knights on barded destiers would trample through hundreds of men, anyone dumb enough to get in their way. Luckily for both the knights and the priest-queen's army, only small streams of the flood of men had crossed their path, most all too eager to make it for the walls rather than checking their flank. Perhaps in some small measure this would help the beleagured defenders. Once they safeguarded the dwarves, Torm would turn his men around and try and help as best they could.

Sir Draufkrieg felt his stomach clench, and Lycurgus raise his hooves, and then the turbulence of crashing into the body of a full grown man. His steed ran down three men before Torm's sword clove through the collarbone of a flagellant, splitting him open like a melon. He felt the tremor in his arm when his two handed sword struck the ribcage, but his strength and momentum sent his sword free of the body and ready for the next swing within the span of a second.

His men followed in wedge formation, so as to better penetrate through the swarm of men. He hacked the head off a second man, and he felt a small cut on his leg from a lucky zealot, but he did not tarry. All remaining zealots Torm left behind were run down seconds later. The men crashed against their horses like water on rock, dozens of zealots losing their lives every moment, screaming to their false gods. There was an occasional spearman in the horde, but even if they had the frame of mind to use it, they would need to have good aim to penetrade the steel armor the knights were clad in.

Beyond them, from the vantage of the horse, Torm could see the dwarves being set alight. Their hands bound by steel manacles and their burly forms set up against logs, pitch grasping at their proud beards. Torm cried in dismay when the first of the fires went up, and he called for his knights to hurry, though in his heart he knew it was too late. The dwarves stood stoicly, grimacing and giving out great roars of protest rather than squeals of pain, as a man might do. Perhaps they could save a few. Dwarves were known to be hardy against fire. Better to combat dragons with, Torm had heard. But they still had a stretch to go, and he knew he would see more dead dwarves than living when they got there.

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Galt had only been on a ship once in his life, prior to this trip. He was a small boy at the time, barely remembering it other than flashes of his cabin and a friendly interaction with other children on the ship. Now, with rain and wind slapping him in the face harder than Bonnie ever did, he sort of wished he had stayed off and kept the fond memories.

The red haired captain had told him where to be with a mysterious air, something Galt now recognized as mischief in her eyes. He was sure his disguise was alright, but he supposed if she believed he was an able bodied sailor, he would be a boon up here...maybe? Galt didn't know. All he knew was it was miserable, and ever creak from below or wave that send the Weather Witch flailing, he felt his teeth and ass cheeks clenching. It wasn't the heights that got to him, he had been atop many a building. But most buildings didn't sway like a sword being waved in the air.

"Oi! Newfish!" He heard below him. Galt squinted and look downward, clinging to the wooden mast for all his life. If he survived today, he would praise the sea goddess for her mercy. He saw a man wearing a bandana in the envious position of being just seven feet off the ground, clutching the ropes like a spider on some of the square-shape rigging. "Pull the lanyard! Do it or we're scuttled!"

"What!?" Galt cried, holding his hand to his ear. His hair matted across his face, rain running down every pore of his skin. The wind howled, the ship lurching to the left and he felt the air flee his lungs from fear. Truth be told, he heard the man, but he did not know what the bloody hell a lanyard was. Unfortunately, if he didn't do whatever this seadog said, it might lead to his death.

"The lanyard!" He cried, and when Galt still shook his head, the pirate pointed indignantly. Lighting flashed, showcasing a kraken tattoo on the man's thick arm. Galt followed his finger, eyes whipping to the point of origin and finding a rope he fancied was thicker than the others. The thief decided it was the best guess, and with an energy borne of fear, Galt swung like a southern ape and reached the rope, yanking on it furtively. "Other way!" He heard the man cry desperately, and Galt redirected his stance, pressing his feet against the mast and yanking for all his worth.

A belaying pin popped, and a small fraction of the sail tumbled downwards. The heavy bar struck through the rope Galt held in his hands, and instead of letting go, his fear had him holding on for dear life, and he was suddenly sent hurtling downwards, his feet losing purchase against the mast. Galt screamed, but his dignity was kept as the storm was a bit too loud for it to be heard. Galt was flung across the breadth of the ship, and he suddenly found himself very aware of the endless ocean beneath his feet, a dark wave slamming into the bow sending sea spray up his trousers. If the rope was cut or broken, he would have plopped into the briney deep and no one would even know he had died, much less mourn him. Luckily the rope was thick, and after a few, horrifying moments, he swung back, his feet hitting the rail, which finally gave him the shock he needed to let go of the rope. The thief hit the slippery deck and rolled across the floor.

As luck would have it, his head hadn't been banged up, and no bones were broken, though his skin was likely bruised to hell. He planted a hand on the slick wooden paneling and lifted his eyes skyward, to see the captain standing over him, holding the ship's wheel and keeping her aloft.

Return Announcement!

Welcome back to the guild, @TengenUzui96.

@POOHEAD189 I actually saw some modern copies of that exact LOTR part while I was shopping earlier. Was thinking of grabbing one but decided I already had enough books in my cart lol

@Kuro

Haha, responsible decision

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>
Hah! Thank you, this thing made my morning. x) Thanks, everyone!

@TengenUzui96

No worries!

Return Announcement!

Glad to have you back!

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.