POOHEAD189

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The cliffs were so tall they nearly reached the sun from the vantage point of standing amid the lapping surf. North and south lay endless beach under the towering drop of the rise. The aircar lay smoking, buried into the sand by a foot and sinking a fraction every surge of the tide. Any evidence the three had experienced a crash landing was long since gone save for the transport and the black plume that gradually rose higher into the sky.

The mercs' omnivisors were shut off, the material over the visor giving a natural shade to the sun, much like old terran sunglasses. They moved with synchronized, silent steps as they descended the ancient stairway. Nessor and his men had been given strict orders from Vorn to locate the renegade Inquisitor Hadrian Drakos and extract him, and were given permission to end the life of Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern and anyone else with them. The DF had informed them they had landed just down the cliff, and after confirming it with a visual from above, they crept down in squad formation alpha. Small green lights of confirmation blinked in their visors when they spotted the aircar once more, on a more even elevation. Agripinaa Pattern Type III raised, Nessor took point as his team waited, creeping to a rock still nestled under the bosom of the cliffs. He turned his monoscope sixty degrees, the visual on the aircar multiplying by a factor of six.

He saw no signs of the occupants or any survivors. The doors were closed with glass shattered, and trailing his scope downwards, it was hard to gauge if the ubiquitous rolls of sand were made by footsteps or were merely a natural occurrence. He gingerly moved his rifle to the right, and then the left. It stopped on a small bag, torn open with local seagulls picking at its contents. Idly he pulled his eye back from the scope, glancing left and right and then returning to gaze down. A bird had a nutri-bar in its beak, desperately trying to gobble it up. A few seconds passed, and he turned on his vox unit.

"Aircar is clear."

What Nessor thought moments after, I do not know. My minuscule psychic powers provided me with only the briefest insight into his psyche and experiences. I could gather quite clearly he, along with his team, were not heretics. They were not necessarily law-abiding, being a paramilitary organization hailing from the planet Luxor of the Segmentum Obscurus. I saw brief visions of them fighting an underhive gang on some distant planet, and the assassination of a planetary governer that had heretical dealings with the accursed Xenos, the Tau. I even caught a glimpse of a small campaign on an Ork-infested jungle world, extracting the daughter of a magistrate from an overrun fort. However, they had been duped by Vorn into believing I was a dangerous rogue bent on the dismantling of the Imperium at large, and I had not the time nor means to convince them otherwise. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong. And unfortunately for their lives, Vorn had ordered them to kill Emmaline and they accepted that contract.

Nessor and the first four members of his team to step into the sand were dead in an instant, ripped to shreds by a remote detonation of a rigged hopper mine, a mere flip of the switch activating its bio-sensors. Sand lifted and rock fragments riddled the landscape like bullets, the sound accompanying it following immediately after with a single loud crack. The four survivors were stunned, shouting into their vox and desperately trying to reorient themselves. I sprang from behind a crag, sand falling off me like loose water. A frag grenade in my hand, I let it cook for the moment it took me to reach the opening to the stairs and I tossed it into their midst. A burst of gunfire hit the sand of where I had stood a moment before.

"Frag! Frag!"

Two of them hit the sand as the grenade detonated, shrapnel scraping the cliff face and eviscerating two of the remaining four survivors. The aforementioned ones that escaped death rolled deftly, raising their weapons my way without delay and firing, shells popping as they clapped against more crags. Emmaline cried out to the Emperor on their flank, suitably tired from her psychic battle but able to provided a distraction as she rose from where she had knelt, her arms before her face so the inevitable bullets that struck her hit only her ornate armor, taking the worst and keeping her relatively unharmed. The driver beside her let off a few shots from an auto-pistol he held, but he kept well out of their vision or he would have been dead immediately.

I leaped from cover once again, my powersword thrumming to life. The heat and sudden dull noise caused the closest trooper to roll again and rise to face me, but I was the quicker. As he raised his rifle my sword cut clean through the barrel, and even as they sprang back and grabbed for their combat knife, my sword removed his head from his shoulders. I completed the spin, bisecting the distracted one with an easy flourish of the blade.

As soon as it had begun, the fight was over. Even as I killed them, I received no pleasure in it.

Emmaline's head poked out from behind her bracers, three small areas on her polished armor still steaming from the shots aimed at her head. The driver, a man named Gydwyn, wiped some sweat from his brow as he cautiously stepped before the stairway that led to a winding path up the cliff to the Cardinal's manor.

"Cettin' et a wee bit close, aren't'ye?" He asked, looking down at the dead men incredulously. He glanced sideways at the battle-armor clad Emmaline. "Why no' git the girl tae fight?"

"The hefty bint couldn't move quick across the sand. Too slow and dangerous for her." I said, having picked up one of the Agrippa assault rifles. I placed the stock against my shoulder and aimed down the scope, then ejected the magazine and checked the ammunition.

"The next time someone calls me hefty-" She started, but I interrupted her with a tossed belt of extra ammunition. Her armor whirred as she went to catch it, letting out an 'Oop! shit' as it hit the sand. She blew a fringe out of her face as she bent over to grab it.

"Strip the bodies and grab a gun." I told them. "Take whatever you can find that's useful. They'll know in half an hour, maybe less, that their team wasn't successful. We need to be in by then."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt did not want to admit it, but he felt a chill from the exposure of the rain. The ex-thief was certain he wasn't sick. He had lived on the streets in less shelter than the trees of the forest, he was sturdier than that. But it would definitely do to get out of the rain and if he tested his luck, he just might fall ill. Though Silke's health was his primary concern, as much as she would be loathe to know that. He dismounted his horse and happily gave the reins to the next stablehand, who's name he would find out eventually, he was sure.

Vincent's sudden appearance was not unwelcome, though it was very unexpected. Galt smiled when her brother came up and took charge, glad there would be two of them dealing with Silke's unwillingness to take care of herself. They might just make her comfortable, now. If we kept the pressure on her, Galt thought wryly. Galt inclined his head with thanks at the offer.

"I'll take you up on that. I think I'll take that bath first," Galt said, taking his jacket off as Vincent carried Silke away. Galt smiled like a fox, calling after them. "Silke, thank you for the lovely invitation, I accept most graciously!"

"My lord, if I might excort you this way." A servant said, wearing a sporting coat of the latest fashion, Galt was sure. He bade him lead on, and soon they arrived at a small washroom at the edge of the mansion where a porcelain tub had been filled with very warm, if not hot water. The steam felt nice, and he stripped and decided to take his time enjoying the bath for a couple of minutes before I really got to scrubbing himself with the lye.

After half an hour of washing and drying and getting thrown clothes through the door by the servants, Galt walked to dinner fresh, clean, and hungrier than he imagined he would be. The embroidered tapestries and carpeted floors were comfortable, giving the house a suitable aristocratic air whilst simultaneously being utilitarian. Galt passed more than a few offices and the layout of the manor was austere and pragmatically direct. He did not get the same feeling he had walking through the palace at the capital, where every keep or hall was built to expand organically over the centuries.

Once he arrived at the door to the dinner hall, Franz was awaiting him. The chamberlain gave a smile in greeting, and they exchanged a few words in casual conversation. He asked Galt if his bath was refreshing, to which Galt gave a simple 'yes' and a smile, feeling he could be very unlordly around the chamberlain. It was an odd feeling, considering this man expected the most from him, likely. With a bow, Franz turned and announced Galt's arrival.

"Lord Harrowmark," He declared simply, stepping aside and allowing Galt to enter. He wondered if Silke had arrived yet. It had grown dark outside, casting the windows in an inky color contrasting the pallor of the lamps within the hall.

Staring Back With Chrome Eyes

This seems cool, but idk if I have the time necessarily

At The Edge of The World

I looked around us, my senses honed as much as man's could be in the dense jungle. Birds chirped and small critters scuttled or stares with bright eyes amongst the trees and foliage, but otherwise there seemed to be no danger. My eyes then fell on Emmaline, her blonde hair like a beacon in the scant moonlight of the dark.

"Um," I said, pointing at the glorious jewel in her hand. "What is that, babe?"

"I don't know, I just found it." She said. We had only been together for perhaps close to a month, but we had also spent almost every waking hour together save for small trips to relieve ourselves, seeing as we had been in constant danger (or dates) since we met. And I felt I knew her fairly well, and for all my knowledge, even knowing she was a pretty capable actress, she wasn't lying.

"Oh... that is weird," I said, looking around to see if there was any trace or reason for her find. "Ok, just don't show anybody else at the campsite you found that ok? Did you find the source of the light, by the way?"

"Nope, but it looks like it's gone. Let's head back to camp!" She said, enthused. I laughed and shrugged.

"Sure, let's head back. We'll be in Darkwater tomorrow, I think. You'll like the city, I know. Plenty of places to take a bath." I turned to lead the way back, and she slipped the silver chained gem over her head to rest against her slim neck and bosom.

Amulet of Vanadessë

"Well Johnny, what do we have for the little lady, today?"

"Well I'll tell ya, Chuck! (Clears throat)"

Forged Ten Millennia ago beyond the barriers of the world, this amulet is granted to the most faithful elven servants of Vanadessë, elven goddess of beauty and light. The wearer gains an affinity for light and celestial magic, and grows more elven in form over time. Useful for blinding or searing opponents or causing things to get shinier, from dangerous to mundane. One might also enter the elven dream realm when asleep, as well as needing less sleep to function. More rarely, the elven goddess herself bestows great wisdom in times of need.

Side Effects Include: _{Longer lifespan, better eyesight, better hearing, random fey fits of rage or laughter or lust or sorrow, wounds made by iron are more grievous, able to piss off dwarves more easily, and you become very popular with small birds.}

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I stroked my chin, hiding my recognition behind a mask of surprise and contemplation. I did figure this 'Teritus Vorn' might try to impede on the election, but I could not have been certain. The string of possibilities on what his goal on Avignor was could have just as easily been to sow random calamity than to try and upend the election with any goal. It was still possible he was performing as an agent of chaos in the most basic sense of the word. How better to sow discord than to sabatouge the election after killing the prime candidate for succession? But no, he was entrenched too deep in these politics. He had a specific goal, I simply did not know exactly what at the time.

"Primate Fulstes, the Inquisition arriving at this exact time during the upheaval of the greatest Cardinal World after Holy Terra is very convenient, wouldn't you say?" I asked, hiding the irony in my voice. Emmaline kept her face neutral, though I saw in her eyes she wanted to laugh. Clara turned away as if patrolling the perimeter.

"The Emperor works in wondrous ways, my child. Had I not been ensconced in his holy light all my life, I would be suspicious too." The Primate said, bowing humbly. I glanced to my left and saw Emmaline bite her lip as if she considered something, but I knew she was almost too close to laughter. I half imagined I heard a snicker from behind me in Clara's direction, but the Primate did not notice. Thankfully Lazarus was able to internalize his mirth through his processes.

"Still, your holiness, even if this is true, why not still vote? Why not call your fellow cardinals and tell them this horrible truth? Surely locking yourself away is not the Emperor's will?"

"I was advised by our most holy inquisition to keep myself safe and to lengthen the election. It seems he is weeding out the heretics and requires more time. I pray for his success daily." He said, and for a moment I had an urge to reveal myself there and then. To show the Primate Fulstes the error of his judgement. But I realized that if I did so, this Teritus Vorn would likely elude us yet again. The greater good needed to be the primary objective.

"This is troubling news, your holiness." I said. "Sister Eudoxa, your thoughts?"

"I shall wait for the Emperor to reveal the truth to me, but we should tread lightly in these troubled times. Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens." She intoned, almost singing the words as she spread her hands. I almost sighed. A small part of me was endeared by her dedication to theatrics, but throne...

"I agree. Primate Fulstes, have you been in contact with any other Primate or Cardinal regarding this revelation?"

"Only one Cardinal, but he did not seem so convinced. Inquisitor Vorn has gone to convince him." The Primate said, flourishing his coat sleeve away to grab a pitcher of wine. The fat holy man looked as if he was in a near-constant state of drunkenness in one form or fashion.

"Where?" I asked, and to my surprise I used some of my will in the question.

Minutes later...

"Emmaline, you're with me. Clara, Lazarus, you both need to go back to Primate Osten Von Mandelbrot and replay the conversation we had just performed." I said, stepping down the long stairs under the towering arch of the Cathedral of Pentecostal Remembrance. Birds fluttered away from our approach, the only true fauna left on the planet.

"Replay?" Clara echoed, but Lazarus gave confirmation in binary. He had recorded the entirety of it and could easily regurgitate it with perfect voice modification. "Wait, where are you two going? You need me there!"

"No, you need to protect Lazarus. It is paramount he makes it to the Primate to warn him. After that, get Urien and get his men to follow us." I stepped off the bottom step and marched to the aircars, our drivers opening the doors as we were nearly in earshot. "Emmaline and I will intercept and catch the traitor, but if we can't finish him you'll surround him and purge him from existence. We'll be fine, but you have to hurry."

AI Art Generation: Beneficial or Problematic?

I dislike it. Three out of four artists are losing their jobs for art that just looks bad to begin with, and almost every time it's because it's a big corporation not wanting to pay rather than a struggling writer who can't afford to hire someone for a cover.

It's gotten to the point where if I see AI art, I cringe.

Swords and Silver: The Southern Contracts

"We cannot go back that way!" Adolphus cried.

"At the flanks! We must move south!" Nikos cried, the mail ensconced Cataphract waving his mace in the air.

"Commander, orders?" Sir Gregor cried, and Castor gave a warcry as his destrier kicked out, snapping the neck of a flagellant that had attempted to get a lucky kill. Blood splattered on his fellows, who finally seemed reluctant to swarm in without the use of polearms. Seven knights had been torn out of their saddles, and though they killed at least three zealots even as they went down, they were butchered nonetheless. The cohort had only survived by keeping on the move, trying in vain to move up the hill toward the town. A flash and a sound of thunder rumbled as Black Ryann attempted to clear the way, but it did little except send a score of fanatics to their screaming gods.

The Dwarf, Gardek he called himself, spat contemptuously onto the head of a fallen flagellant, his eyes staring listlessly into the sky as he lay shattered on the blood stained grass. The dwarf was strapped to the horse so as not to fall off, very much awake and cursing the gods he was from all the riding. Torm hadn't the time to make the ride easy for him, and even if he had, the dwarf had tried to kill him and the Silver Swords yesterday. By Torm's estimation he should simply be glad he hadn't burned to death.

"Nikos speaks the truth!" Torm cried, raising his lance. "Wheel right and move south! Follow me!"

He set his great helm back on and urged Lycurgus forward. The horse whinnying with barely suppressed aggression. Fighting and being surrounded by foes did that to even the best trained horse, and Torm knew they could not keep this up all day. Every charge into the enemy threatened to break the cavalry's cohesion, and without it every knight would be swiftly torn apart. Torm and Lycurgus stormed south, bowling over militant after militant. A spear cut across Lycurgus's side, and though the horse screamed in pain, it didn't go down. Horses were big animals, able to survive wounds that would kill three men. And Lycurgus was armored. But still, Torm felt sympathy for his destrier, his most constant companion. He took solace knowing that anyone who swung at him would swiftly be trampled by the heavy cavalry that fanned out behind him.

There was a cacophony of screams and war shouts, but the knights were growing tired of charging. Even something as bloodlusting as trampling down wave after wave of poorly equipped infantry could grow exhausting and monotonous after enough time spent, and Torm knew if they didn't break out of last wave of the army soon, they would be stopped and forced to fight to the death. A Mamluk wailed in pain and anger as an arrow pierced his shoulder, but he kept himself upright with the skill they were legendary for. Luckily, within the next minutes, the grinding charge hammered through the last dregs of the Priest-Queen's right wing before the cavarly broke through. The horses panted and the men could hardly shout out calls of thanks to their gods. Instead, they silently trod eastward, going round the hillock of the town to get to whoever might be retreating through the tunnels. Hopefully there were still some Silver Swords left alive.

Vaguely, Torm wondered how Bianca fared. He did not entirely know why. He had never been on the best terms with the Scout lieutenant, but he knew if she died, the number of skilled commanders grew very thin. He hoped she didn't blame him for the pitiable number of dwarves they saved. He already put enough blame on himself, he thought grimly.

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Galt didn't feel like anything was convenient at the moment. His face still stung from the powder, and the captain's mood and manner wasn't exactly welcoming. Overall he felt like if these pirates hadn't shown up at all, he would have felt entirely satisfied and convenient. As it was, he felt very much like his life had gone upside down.

"No, I don't have the map." He said, his tone not disrespectful, but it teetered dangerously that way. He brushed his shirt of sparks, wincing at the small burns, his eyes glancing up at her. "And before you ask, yes, I would definitely lie to save my own skin. Not that there was much question there. I lie a lot, actually. But I also tell the truth when it helps, and this is one of those times." He cleared his throat, shaking his hands to cool them off. "Don't believe me? Then reload that thing and let me bleed all over your floor."

He realized himself he wasn't bluffing. He knew for a fact he hadn't seen the map, but somehow the knowledge was in his head now. A vague sense of direction he could feel at the back of his skull. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but it was there. Which brought him to recalling the little miniature leaping into his eye. He guessed he did not look strange enough to comment on, but he supposed that had something to do with this innate knowledge.

"I'll give you a deal. Give me a month, and if I haven't found whatever's at the end of that road, you can keehaul me and cut me into tiny pieces. Or shoot me now, but you'll lose out on the treasure." He said, even though he really wanted to add that he himself would lose out on life, but she didn't care and he supposed he didn't blame her. Sometimes he felt too tired to keep going. Was survival really important enough for this hassle?

Looking at the gun, he decided it was.

esarus thar no'darador | a warcraft-based roleplay

Unfortunately, due to time constraints and trying to get a work promotion and having a deadline for a writing gig, I don't think I'll be able to complete my character sheet. Maybe after thanksgiving if you're still accepting players after you've started, I might hop in, but I just got a lot more on my plate than I realized :(

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

The cavern didn't shake, but still the rumbling and grating of stone on stone reverberated through the chamber. Beren smelled dust and stale air, and something unpleasant along with it. He placed the collar of his jacket over his nose, and Jocasta stepped behind him, holding her mouth so the free-flying particles would settle. The Dwarfs cheered, and there was something in their laughs and grunts that was very home-ey to Beren. Their deep, baritone voices were somehow wholesome, to him.

Unfortunately it was short lived.

Beren, Jocasta, and the cohort of dwarves peered into the darkness of the cavern. Gunir, his arm snug in the sling and his nose up, sniffed suspiciously. One of the dwarves gave a small wail of anguish, and Beren's eyes caught sight of what their dark-vision could make out.

The tunnel was immaculately carved, at least for a dozen meters. The low ways were well known for being the cleanest, most safe roads in all the world at one point, due to the dwarf's minute attention to detail. One could still see the gold filigree along the outset of the halls, like veins in the mountain. Past that, however, was a gaping, jagged hole in the corridor that marred its ancient beauty. And along the floor and walls before it were skeletons and battle armor, rusted weapons in crusted, bony hands.

Beren winced as the dwarves groaned, but he leaned in all the same. Osteoporosis and untold centuries without flesh had made the bones brittle and almost unbearably weak or cracked. Even the thick bones of dwarves. Beren had the misfortune of seeing dwarf skeletons in the past, and he could tell this was a fair number of the dead. However, unlike the stout, very human-like bodies of the dwarves with barbed arrows in their eye sockets or breasts, there were also lankier skeletons with a very alien look to them. He had seen these before too.

"Gundarogs," he told the dwarves.

A few of them cursed in their native tongue, Muragrim spitting on the ground. None of them seemed too surprised, but they were grim and sullen all the same. Radsvir and Muragrim gripped the handles of their weapons more tightly, and even Varin's hand moved closer to his broad short sword. Otar walked up and knelt by a fallen dwarf body, reaching down and brushing away the dust from a pendant the dead warrior had around his neck.

"Clan Balgrund," Otar said. Beren did not recognize the name, but he decided he would ask of it later.

"Gundarogs? They really do exist?" Jocasta asked. Beren glanced at her, nodding. Rogs were a known race of barbaric humanoids in the world, a bit smaller than orcs but even nastier, with serrated weapons and misshapen, ugly faces. In Andred and the wider north, Gundarogs were thought of as an old myth with only some credible evidence. They were a subspecies of rog, even more numerous and adapted to the dark. Unlike rogs, they were keen craftsmen of cruel and malicious weapons and armor, and though individually not the most fell warriors, they had a savagery and insect-like ruthlessness. The dwarves knew they were all too real. Sometimes rogs followed exiled dark elf sorcerers, vampires, or some other powerful being of the dark, but they also had their own chieftans and kings.

Luckily the bones of these gundarogs were long since decayed. But it was a small hope. The tunnel continued into darkness, and there was little telling what awaited them in the dark.