POOHEAD189

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Ali felt numb, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body had begun to meld with the snow. He knew, vaguely, that he was freezing. But he hadn't the thought to get up, and he was growing warmer where he was, or so he thought. Somehow, he also felt more cold. A sticky, warm liquid coated his hand and leg, unaware it was his own blood. Ali lifted his head once, surging to life for a brief moment in defiance, before he collapsed again into the snow. That was when the woman found him.

His world, dark and grim, became one of bright light when he opened his eyes and saw her. He did not know who, and very nearly couldn't guess what, he was looking at. When his blood-drained body had granted him the ability to think, he did not ask for help, or for warmth, or thought of his own mortality. Strangely, he idly thought she was quite pretty.

Ali did not have the self awareness at the moment to understand the absurdity of the thought, and so he just thought it for awhile until he nearly passed out again. He felt her try and warm him, pleading with him to get up. After a minute of this, he groaned. He forced his eyes open, and snow hit him in the eyes. He grunted in discomfort, but it woke him up enough to stoke a flame in his heart. "What?" He gasped, and at her insistence he managed to sit up, and then stagger to his feet.

He nearly fell on the woman, his weight almost bowling her over. But she wasn't as weak as she looked, and with his help he managed to get walking, stumbling down the road. Ali was not certain how long they walked; likely only a few minutes. But he would never forget the walk, the wintry countryside and the woman holding her up, to unaware to feel the fatigue gnawing at his limbs. In his memory he would think himself floating. Soon, they entered a building, one he would later learn was this woman's shop and place of residence. The carpets and fetishes among the decorum were bright and colorful, but he soon passed out after that, fading into oblivion until he next awoke, seeing her once again.

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Neil just laughed. She'd said she was good and he was finding out in real time. She just might win, if he wasn't careful. It would be the ultimate trampling if he lost this. But of course, on the other hand, Neil had nothing riding on this game other than bragging rights. They were playing for shots that they needed to drink anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. He supposed part of him also wanted to impress her, even if an even smaller part of him wondered why since he was now here under duress, or at least previous duress.

He stopped the contemplation and shook himself out of the thought.

Neil grabbed the pool stick, twirling it between his fingers deftly before he settled down where the cue ball had been laid to rest. Neil closed his left eye, lowered his face to the table, and took his shot. The white ball hit a blue ball, knocking into a red and a black ball. The trio spun and flew aside like shrapnel. Neil grinned when the blue went in, but his brows rose when the black ball knocked into another red ball and then went into the pocket.

Neil's eyes went up to Jocasta, and he gave her a wink. It was nice seeing her look dumbfounded, if only for a moment.

Cygi fell onto her knees in abject distress, and while her head was in her hands, a marker popped up behind her with a number switching from "13" to "24", which meant he had the majority of the points for the game. Jocasta was just three points behind.

"A deal's a deal, drink those shots." Neil said with a smirk, leaning on his pool stick as if he was used to winning with nonchalance. "Pass me the bottle once you do though, I need a victory chug."

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Neil wasn't going to admit it, but he was having fun. Not that it was difficult for him to have a good time, but there was fun and there was genuine fun, and he felt it was getting close to the latter. The dark haired ne'er-do-well eyed the table for long seconds, losing himself in thought as he formulated a strategy. The seconds dragged on, and Jocasta waved a hand in front of his face.

"Are you buffering?" She asked jokingly, but when he didn't respond her once smiling visage cast a worried look. "I think I broke him..."

"Have you tried turning him off and on again?" Cygi remarked, popping out of the pile of bottles. No doubt she meant it as both a pun and an innuendo, but Jocasta only gave Cygi a glance before returning to Neil, snapping her fingers before his unresponsive dark eyes.

Moments later, it was as if a ping had sounded off in Neil's head, and he suddenly blinked and tilted his head slightly, finally awake. He looked her way and gave a wide grin. "Alright baby, time to win."

"Yeah, right." She said skeptically, though now that he was back in the land of the living her smile bloomed again. Neil twirled his pool stick casually as he approached his spot, breathed in deeply, and settled into his stance. He took his time, lining up the shot and moving to two different vantage points of minuscule difference compared to his first spot.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the ball and wiggling his hips to get comfortable as Jocasta watched, Cygi now sitting on her shoulder, watching in rapt fascination.

Thunk. Neil hit the cue-ball from a high vantage, the point of the stick smacking into it. The white ball bounced, brushing against Jocasta's ball and causing it to sway precariously, but otherwise remain still. It hit the table again on the other side, smacking into a brown ball worth four points. "Yes! Yes!" Neil celebrated, fist pumping as the brown ball hurtled to the pocket, only to spin from the unorthodox hit and veer off course, hitting a red ball that slowly slid into the pocket.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck dude!" Neil groaned, smacking his face. Had the brown ball slid it, it would have been quadruple the points. Instead, the red gave him one point. Still, enough to get Jocasta to drink, and even the view of her full bosom burgeoning as she swilled it back didn't completely fill the void of losing his well planned maneuver. Neil's forehead hit the edge of the pool table, and Cygi slid up to him.

"Hey, not bad! I calculated you had only a 4.3% chance of even getting out of that position."

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"-and here we see Varkin charging forward, coming in strong while Edwards is clunking along-" The commentator narrated, the camera panning over the two valks as Neil and his opponent barreled at one another, the flash of the machine gun bright on the holovid. He watched, his arms crossed and his pool stick in his hands.

"That's right, Chet, and like a true master he gives his opponent a false sense of security and makes his weakness his strength, this match will go down as a mastercall of-"

Jocasta snapped her slim fingers in front of Neil's face, causing the rakish pilot to blink. "Hey, you got a mirror I got a holovid, let me appreciate this for a second." He said, but it was clear he was being playful. He already had a grin on his face, eyes now on Jocasta and the table. The sixteen balls were stacked and meticulously left at the center of the table, Neil grabbing the white ball and spun it on his finger before underhand tossing it to Jocasta. He took a shot glass from the table and downed it as she casually caught it and put the ball down, swinging her head so her ponytail flipped fully down her back. Jocasta bent over as she lined her shot, the pole sliding back along the small tunnel made by her fingers. Neil hadn't expected it, but he got a very good look at her generous, shapely back-end as she readied her shot, and with a thwack, the cue-ball struck the center. Neil whistled appreciatively, not sure himself if he did so at her pool shot or her ass.

"And it's a strong hit!" The commentator said from the holovid, his pronouncement working in tandem with the game even bereft of context.

Balls rolled in an explosion of inertia, bouncing this way and that. Two balls slunk into the pockets, and Jocasta smiled at the results brightly. She smirked, pushing herself off the table. "What do you think, wrench monkey?"

"Hmm? Oh uh, thas- yeah good shot." He said, and before he went to the table he poured himself another drink.

"I got two in, that's two shots." She said, referring to the liquor.

He held his hands out wide as if a referee made a wild call. "I just drank one before y-" He started, but her look showed him she wasn't going to give him any mercy. He sighed and poured himself another. His previous liquor shot was before the fact, he should have kept himself from drinking before she went. "Yeah yeah, that's on me."

Behind him, Cygi popped up. She still wore her button down blazer but out of view, someone tossed her a funnel and a bottle opener, playing herself as a newscaster trying to juggle the items in surprise. Soon a hail of bottles piled on her like cartoonishly

"You're cute but that's not going to help you win," Jocasta toyed, stiffling a snicker from Cygi's antics. "Win one fight and you think you're Kragzalor the Destroyer."

"Looks who's talkin'" Neil remarked on both counts. She quite clearly caught him because she was cute, and one good shot and she was getting smarmy. He knew she was being ironic though, and after his second shot of liquor, he gave a satisfied 'aaah' and set the glass down. The magnetism stuck it to the table neatly. He strode to the table with purpose. "You think I'm good at mech-fighting, let me show you how a wanted man plays pool."

The Hyborian Chronicles: Of Sword and Sorcery

"By the dripping shit of Set!" Amal remarked acidly, secreting away the jewel into his pantaloons and rolling his head along his broad shoulders. His tanned torso dripped with crimson from the wounds, his defined thews and abdominals slick with sweat and blood. Amal had not climbed into this hellpit and braved shadow beasts and serpent gods to be baselessly slaughtered by a cheap conjurer! "Crawl atop me, woman!"

Sythemis balked for a moment, wondering if the shemite had gone mad from fatigue. But he knelt down, even as a skeletal hand clawed its way out of the ground a mere stride from his nose. She slithered atop him, placing her two thick legs along his shoulders. The deadly thief rose, his stygian priestess a yard taller than she was familiar with. Amal felt her put her fingers in his mane of thick hair to steady herself. He hoped she had some secret to hill Antiachus, or if a knife to the heart would do. Either way, he would make sure the man was dead.

"We must kill him!" Sythemis hissed with such venom and fervor, Amal was taken aback. He had thought she would order him to flee, but this would do. He was tired, but adrenaline pumped through him and tigrish rage enveloped his powerful form.

Amal leaped over the half-submerged skeleton of a dog beast, nimbly dancing past the specters that continued to rise from their ancient graves. The wizard cackled, his gnarled hands slowly floating upwards as he called forth more skeletal fiends to rise. Sythemis grabbed Amal's head and turned his gaze to a fallen tree trunk. "There!" She called, and he sprang for it. He felt claws rake his leg, but one more shallow wound did naught but fuel his ire and blood-lust. He scooped up the branch, and twirled, shattering the next skeletal beast with a powerful blow to the chest. Bones scattered and witchlight was snuffed out of the dirt-caked eyesockets. Amal grinned grimly, sidestepping the sailing skeleton of a tiger, the beast's form raking into the rubble of pebbles.

"Fool! You have destroyed one in ten dozen!" Antiachus cackled like a squawking bird. "How long can you keep it up!?"

City of Thieves

Galt hit the boat with an unsteady roll, jarred from the wriggling craft. He reformed into a crouch with the grace of an experienced thief, and he lifted up his left pants-leg to retrieve his collapsable short bow. Folded in half, the brace in the middle made it slightly weaker than your average composite bow, and it could barely be said to harm anyone wearing something thicker than a few layers of clothing. However the fold-bow was a useful weapon any good archer in the guild did well to buy. An arrow hitting any vitals was still potentially deadly. He reached into a small slide sequestered within the fold of his vest and retrieved an arrow.

With a deft movement, he loosed. His arrow caught one of the pursuers in the neck, and Galt fancied he could hear the gurgle from his bloodied throat from that distance. He wasn't used to killing, but somehow he felt less poor about it when he did it to someone who was looking to do the same to him. The man tumbled into the river as his compatriots decided to scramble for cover rather than chase them along the side of the canal, at least for the moment.

"Galt, row!" Kashvi snapped.

"Uh, right." Galt dropped the fold-bow and grabbed a paddle. He doubted the pilot cared, having leaped into the canal just after the dead man flopped into the drink.

The small craft slipped into another small canal, sliding under a bridge where the three found a couple of beggars to switch places with them with some hard looks and flashing a few coppers. It was barely half a minute before a different trio rowed out into the open again while Galt, Kashvi, and Joe huddled under the bridge next to a small iron grate that connected to the sewer. Galt held a hand out to keep his two companions there as he peered out, careful not to expose any of himself in the sunlight. At first glance all he saw were a gaggle of dandies and fops cajoling a handsome woman and a couple walking past for a day about town. He caught a glance at a few street toughs engaged in cards by another gondola, unaffiliated no doubt. But his keen gaze caught eyes looking his way just past them, a flash of red below them before they disappeared.

"We need to move," He said urgently. "We got Dogs of Disfavor on our tail now, too."

"Halleth," Kashvi sighed.

Galt groaned, dropping down next to the iron grate, guessing it couldn't be helped. He had spent months and months climbing out of debt and bartering for the best toys in the business, but here he was using it all up in one afternoon. He fished out a small vial from his pocket and plucked the top off, carefully bobbing his finger atop the bottle so two, clear liquid drops fell on the hinges of the iron. "So what trouble did you get me into?" Galt asked. Immediately the material began to sizzle and corrode, dissolving before his eyes. He firmly put the top back on and slid it into his pocket again.

"What did I do!?" Kashvi asked incredulously, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Someone is hitting our whole guild, you pennyweighter!"

Galt was up in a flash, a finger almost pressed into her nose. "That was one time!" He said, then realized they were still standing there. "Come on, help me pull this grate off. If we take the sewers we can at least get away from here before we're swarmed."

At The Edge of The World

Chapter 2

Dread in Darkwater

The bird calls and hoots from strange simians were ever present, even as we passed over the rickety rope bridges and sturdier, timber built ones crossing the small stretch of wetlands to reach sight of the city. On the last stretch of road, the trees were cleared away and there were only a handful of varying tufts of grass on a road that fed into towering, impressively ornate iron gates. The mosaic depicted on their front was the rising of a great, wingless dragon from the depths of the sea. They were set on huge hinges, connected to tall walls of dark swampstone. Posted at the gate and above were men in green surcoats and iron mail, with parma shields and winged spears.

Their stoic faces broke when they saw the ragged group stepping off the last bridge, passing through the ferns and wide leafed palms onto the open stretch. Nicodemus's arm was around my shoulder, and I helped Archimedes walk on the left side. The other two protostates used roughly fashioned canes to trudge their way. Emmaline was at the vanguard, and she gave a great walloping gasp of finality when the city walls came into sight, but the baroque nature of it gave her a thoughtful pause.

"It is like you said," She remarked carefully, placing a fingernail to her bottom lip. I could easily read her thoughts. It seemed a foreboding place, but the size and apparent wealth mean there were plenty of places to eat, rest, and bathe. Other than the distant sound of a crowd, music wafted through the open games. There was a guitar playing a tune almost conversational, with licks and lines playing over the beat of a variety of drums, and though not very regimented, the riffs were pleasant to the ear. I smiled tiredly, glad to be so close to the city after such a long time.

"Where do you hail from, and what is your business here?" The watchman on the left called, lowering his spear and approaching us. Emmaline stepped in front of the iron spearhead, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the man past her nose. It couldn't have been she was too frustrated or exhausted to care, no I felt it was bravery as usual. She sometimes bungled and tripped and she had a love of comforts, but gods she was dangerous when she wanted to be.

"Survival, if you must know. My companion and I came upon an outpost of men three days ago, and the jungle swallowed it up. These men, my lover, and myself barely survived. But let us in or run us through, but be done with it! A lady of my station has no patience for this." She remarked, one manicured hand resting on her sword hilt now. "Yes that's right," she sneered at their questioning looks. "I am Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, of Vysamirce nobility!"

"We've heard that one before, beggarwoman." The left said, "Fancy name, who'd you steal that from?" But as they approached they got a better look at her.

The two gatemen looked at one another quickly, and back at the buxom blonde. Her boots were caked and her traveling garb was cuffed and scratched, but it did have a distant aristocratic air to it, and even if her stately looks and outfit weren't enough, the gleaming jewel snuggled into her bosom was enough to convince them. The one on the right with a cauliflower ear spoke up. "Forgive us, Dame Morganstern. You can take these men to the magistrate, down the main drag. If you would like, we could also announce your presence to the Enclave."

She seemed less than enthused they had no offered to simply take the wounded, but the last bit gave her pause. "Enclave?" She echoed, but her words died on her lips as she saw me cutting my hand across my throat and shaking my head just over the guardsman's shoulder. "I mean, of course, the Enclave! Yes, do announce me. Us! I require a bath as well-"

I placed a palm on my face, sighing. It was my fault, she wasn't to blame. I had hoped to bring her to Darkwater without the attention. The city played politics like men played dice, and the Enclave was a collection of disgraced aristocrats, second sons, daughters who refused to marry, or landless gentry having traveled south to find more power where they could. It was a cutthroat ruling body all gathered in one place, and though the city was relatively well run, I would have rather paid for a quaint spot and find baths than be put under the scrutiny of sneering lords and ladies. I guessed it wasn't the worst in the world and other than a few questioning looks, we could leave to our devices. But I knew it would be seen as suspicious. Emmaline, on the other hand, likely would enjoy being pampered amongst socialites and comfortable accommodations.

"Bath and lodgings will be available for you, my lady. Just keep going down the way until you reach the counciler's office a quarter mile down past the gate."

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

The forest had been dark and cruel as of late, even at the cusp of winter. Only the birds still appeared, and they only appeared when the sun did, which was infrequent at best. In fact, this was likely the first sunlight Ali had seen in weeks. The winter had been harsh, and there had been talk of Wolves and Bears appearing in the Westwood. Wolves were rare, but he had not heard of a bear in seven winters, yet here they were, attacking livestock and men. Ali wouldn't easily forget having to fight off a small group of wolves after two sheep had been taken naught but a month ago.

The day was crisp, and the sun's warmth had barely begun to lessen the cold of night as Ali left Fulton's Ferry to head southward toward the town, taking one of the lesser known roads to make better time. Old folk would say it brought you dangerously close to the Mountains, and Gods know what sort of spirits haunted that dreaded area. But there was many miles of forest separating the road from the mountain, and the young adventurer had taken the road many times in youthful rebellion of going against his elder's advice. What was one more trip?

He whistled with the birds. The plump little creatures hanging in the trees above him as they sang, and though he whistled a tavern tune, they almost seemed to be singing with him. Ali wasn't one to be merry all the time. He took life for what it was. But it was a fine day, even with the chill. And he could hear the words in his head, from when he heard the song first all those years ago by his nan.

"The fields are sewn and the winter's done.
Celebrate the Raven and await the Sun.
Keep to your kin and love shall win.
Whistle this tune until the demons are gone."

He was just about to whistle the second verse, when something happened.

There was a terrific snarl, and the growling roar of a large canine. Ali turned, just in time to see a flash of fire and the visage of a fanged mouth. Ali was no stranger to combat, nor safety on the road. He ducked under snapping jaws, but the weight of the big animal bore him down. Be tucked his legs under him and kicked out, even as his back hit the road. The beast fell off him, but it scrabbled back onto its feet in an instant.

Ali rolled and reoriented himself, seeing his attacker plainly.

It was a Varghulf. A malevolent species of wolf, intelligent and huge. The grey furred thing leaped at him again, Ali grabbing his staff and shoving it into the thing's mouth to keep it from clamping on his throat. But he couldn't keep the claws busy. They raked against his body, tearing off bits of clothing and skin. Ali cried out in pain, but pushed back against the beast, shoving it off him as he tore out the knife at his belt. The Varghulf wriggled free and snapped at him, but Ali managed to stab the beast thrice, causing it to squeal in pain. Another stab, and it howled and ran back into the woods, limping and shrieking.

Ali stood there, panting, until the tall man collapsed to the ground, blood seeping out of the wounds on his leg and stomach.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

The light of the wyrm's tomb faded into nothingness, and save for the small ball of light Jocasta had conjured, the darkness was complete. It crept behind them and gave way before their feet just enough to cause a feeling of claustrophobia. The air was stale and old, and the small connection to the outside world from the chamber behind them was small comfort and too minuscule for any sort of change in the air. It was hard to gauge if any air was moving at all, actually. Beren knew that was a good indication of direction in the underworld, at least in the shallows.

Muragrim had checked the fissure in the path and had given it the all-clear, but they decided not to take that as a trail of yet. Otar trusted the 'Lowways' the dwarves had dug out millennia ago, even though their integrity had been breached. Otar was not only the elder, but a priest. He knew, even with the collapse of the system, that the dwarven pantheon watched over it from both above and below. Beren had never been further than a mile below the surface, but he knew of the pilgrimages dwarves still took into the heart of the world.

The group passed by numerous other rends and tears in the walls, and at one point the well crafted floor had grown grooved as water ran from the right to the left across their path. Every now and then they would find a fallen dwarf, but more common were the skeletons of gundarogs from skirmishes amongst themselves, and occasionally they would stumble upon human-like corpses belonging to dorcha. Once, we heard something living amongst rubble. The light never caught it, but it gave a disturbing 'hreeeeeeor' sound as it scrambled into a hole in the wall, what Beren imagined as a tail being the only part they could see slipping into the shadows.

Jocasta stuck close to Beren, who stood protectively beside her. The dwarves marched in a rough formation, shields always in the direction of the walls and eyes always open to the dangers. Eventually, the groups march was halted by an unfortunate but inevitable dead end. Rock and broken pillars had fallen and blocked the way as sure as any iron gate, but whatever had caused it, it seemed natural. They discovered no bodies at the scene.

"We might need to double back," Beren suggested, hands on his hips. The dwarves muttered to themselves, Gurin making the suggestion they could potentially dig out. Beren was glad no other humans were here, lest someone might suggest it was easy for Gunir to say when he wouldn't help with his shattered arm, but everyone present knew they would have to tie him down to keep him from helping. All dwarves were purpose built for labor, but a dwarf soldier had a sense of duty that put the andredian kingsguard to shame.

"Look here," Jocasta said, and as all of the males turned around, they noticed she was gone. Her head popped out of a small fissure, beaming brightly and waving them to follow. For some reason, the sudden appearance of her face was a memory Beren would never forget. He truly did admire this girl. The warrior monk followed suit, and the dwarves filed in behind them. Beren slipped into the small crevasse, and once through he found himself in a large, elongated chamber. The breathe was taken from him as he realized Jocasta no longer held her magical light. The walls were tinged with blue lights, giving the tunnel a look of serenity. Upon closer inspection, the lights moved gently amongst the rockface.

"They're worms." Beren said, scratching his chin.

"Good find, lass." Radsvir said.

"Haven't seen lightgrubs in years." Buri marveled.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Name: Alidrin Baldyr
Age: 24
Physical description: With dark locks of wavy hair that neared his shoulders and an athletic body, he was not unused to the attentions of girls. To the passerby, his eyes were as dull brown as the earth, but in the sun or shining by firelight, it showed their true maroon hue of color. He wears a red vest over a tan linen shirt, and brown, loose fitting trousers, with a very dark brown belt and shoes. He's a tall man, and fit, with long legs and strong arms.

Bulletpoints for a background:

• Ali was born the only son, with two younger sisters and an older sister. His maroon eyes were gifted to him from neither parent. They were a curiosity, but none questioned his heritage.
• A plague swept through their town, and both Ali and one of his younger sisters became ill. His sister died, and Ali barely made it, but experienced terrible nightmares for many nights.
• When he was eleven, Ali found a wounded hawk in the woods and brought it home to take care of. Once it was good enough to fly again, he released it, and it would occasionally return to him for many years to come after.
• Having grown up tall, with a penchant for mischief and exploring the woods, he found he liked to travel. At age 15 he was granted a journey apprenticeship in the next town to a blacksmith, but found that though he did learn a thing or two of the trade, his favorite aspect was fetching tools from different towns for his master. Soon he dropped the apprenticeship and became a courier. Learning self defense by the captain of the local guard after Ali had done him a favor.
• Has spent the last five years of his life traveling and surviving encounters with bandits, transporting important parcels or escorting merchants or men who will pay handsomely.