POOHEAD189

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Mik-tik the Goblin halted his cart of gruel in front of the cage where the man-thing was chained. Muscled and tanned, the filthy human was bound with his hands above his head, hair over his eyes as his head hung limply into his chest.

"Food now, man!" Mik-tik the goblin called, banging a elf's femur bone on the cage to get the fighter's attention. It seemed he was asleep however, because the street-rat did not move. Narrowing his pig-like eyes, Mik-tik banged harder on the cage in anger, calling for the man to wake up so he could eat. But it seemed that the man could not hear the goblin's cries, and Mik-tik knew if he did not feed all of those in the dungeon, his master, Fel'dregar the Archmage, would obliterate him.

Mik-tik, like a number of goblinoids over the past few months, had been compelled to flee the mountains and bogs to swear fealty to the master of this fortress, where the Witch-King once dwelt. Castle Perilous, the citadel was called, and it hugged the mountains blocking Vaasa from the Sea of Frozen Tears and it's horrible, scything winds. Not that the desolate land south of the mountains was warm save for a scant few months during the height of summer, but all manner of humanoids were stubborn. Orcs, goblins, trolls, and ogres made what life they could, raiding and picking the land for what little sustenance they could find when they could not rip it out of the hands of men or dwarves.

Mik-tik grimaced, remembering being hunted by mercenaries in the mountains a few winters ago. The men and elves and other putrid civilized peoples in Damara filled his little body with immense hate. This thief did not appear to be a local, but he was human. Mik-tik spotted a rock, and picked it up. With a wicked smile, he tossed the stone into the cage, striking the man on the crown of his head. Still, the man did not move or flinch at all. Mik-tik blinked. Even if he was asleep, he would have been awakened by that! Unless he was not asleep...

Grumbling, Mik-tik planted the cart of gruel next to the cage, and rummaging through the many keys at his belt, he found the keys to this cell door and opened it. The door swung audibly with a creaking screech, and Mik-tik wandered into the cage. "You! Are you dead?" The Goblin asked, approaching the still form of the man. Inch by inch, Mik-tik drew closer, until he poked the man's leg with his elongated fingers. The man's muscled calfs were strong, but still he did not move.

The Goblin seemed satisfied that he must be dead, and with a 'tsk' he turned around to walk out of the cage, and that was when the man exploded into motion. Long, powerful legs whipping out and wrapping around the now surprised and terrified goblin. It took only a few seconds (and a calishite curse) for the man's legs to snap the goblin's neck, and Mik-tik found oblivion in Maglubiyet's realm. It took considerably longer for the man to maneuver the goblin's keys with his feet to reach his hands.

Once he was free, Amal stretched, his aching limbs freer than they had been in what seemed like weeks. He sighed, satisfied, and then greedily ate some of the gruel the goblin had brought. His stomach rumbled, but he found it soon calmed as the food slid down his gullet and filled his belly. Even for a thief, the gruel was not a desirable meal, but he felt as if he had been starved. His keen eyes found a small bucket of clear water and a ladle, and he drank to his content, small drops of water slipping down his fine chin, sliding down his neck to wet his chest.

Once his thirst was quenched, Amal found there was only one corridor leading out of the dungeon. Along the walls, strange mushrooms glowed, providing an ethereal blue light to contrast with the spare torches along the wall, posted every now and then to provide a more familiar lighting. He grabbed one torch, and as he walked with the keys, the next room had another cell in it. The man drew closer, and inside this cage was something slim, beautiful even. She looked severe, but exotic and terrible in a way that only a Drow could be, for that's what she was, Amal realized. The calishite cutthroat was intrigued, but he also had to admit privately he was a little intimidated. Dark elves were legendary in not only their cruelty, but many aspects that spelled doom for men.

Amal found that quite sexy.

Still, it would be best to leave her in the cage, right? He did not escape and take a rock to the head to be stabbed in the back by a drow. However, the presence of something vast weighed upon him, and wherever they were, he knew this was no slaver's pen. Against his better judgement, he decided he was too desperate and admittedly curious to leave the elf there. In one outstretched finger, the ring of keys jingled enticingly. "Can you understand me, witch?"

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

By the grace of the Gods, it seemed as if the universe wanted Galt to get the shit end of whatever stick was beating him that current day. He would feel far better once he could set foot on land and do some solid thieving again. Perhaps he would live long enough if they survived the ghosts and the forsaken waters they were now entering. Galt clutched the balustrade of the ship shakily, eyes locking on the distant sails.

The ships, if they could be called something so simple, were closer now. Even as the pirates ran, screamed, hauled lines, Galt watched the ships like a hunting cat, or more appropriately a deer fearing for its life. Even the churning of the sea beneath him and his twisted stomach was lost to his fear and rapt fascination of their ghastly pursuers.

Galt had a sudden realization; an appreciation of the sea. Man was not meant to travel across it. We try to convert it to our purposes, and in some mad way we are successful, but at the end of the day it is an alien place with a strange purpose, one that did not care if whole cities were swallowed up beneath its bulk. As lightning wreathed the sky, he heard a crack like a whip, and yet once the bolt had dissipated, he still heard the dreadful sound. It suddenly dawned on him that it came from behind him, and he pulled his eyes away from the roiling horizon to see Jesse hanging from ratlines and cackling into the storm like a sea banshee.

"I think that's enough pirate for one day," He said to himself sardonically. He began his descent down the aft castle, only to slip after a burly pirate shoved him out of the way. Galt spun in the rain, keeping himself from the edge of the ship, but the wild flailing could only do so much for him, and he must have struck his head, for the next he knew, he now lay under the stairs, soaked to the bone. Yet the clouds were glowing with the dim light of dawn, and all was far quieter.

He blinked, grabbing at his head. Galt wanted to cough, but he kept himself quiet. Some roguish instinct kept him silent. Cautiously, he crawled forward, to just under the steps, to see if any of the crew were about, or if ghosts would be walking deck, having slain everyone else on board.

Jesse's face suddenly popped between two of steps, eyes wide. "Boo!" Galt cursed, hitting his head again, though luckily this time it was cushioned by his thick head of hair. Jesse grinned wickedly. "Still among the land of the living?" She asked.

"Apparently. And the ghosts?"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Is this?..." Jocasta asked, her voice hushed with wonder.

"I don't know." Beren whispered back.

Thw dwarves, for their part, gasped and whispered amongst themselves, but they did not say if this was the ancient stronghold they had originally gone in search of. It had not been a short trek, but it was not nearly as long of a journey as any of them had originally thought, if it was so. Beren placed his hands on his hips and peered out over the chasm to the settlement beyond, illuminated by some form of refracted light from above. Perhaps there were shafts that reached the surface, as that was how many dwarven settlements only a hundred meters below the surface kept alight so they might not expend so many torches. Jocasta giggled, and she planted a bright grub on the tip of Beren's nose.

He crossed his eyes trying to see the little grub, but the small thing merely inched upwards until it lost itself in Beren's thick head of hair. Beren couldn't hide his smile, Jocasta's laughter infectious.

"Got the best seat in the house," She said, knocking the side of Beren's head as if it were a door.

"Yeah, til I bump into something." Beren joked, though truthfully there was little chance of that. Despite how short dwarves were, they tended to make walkways and buildings quite tall and spacious.

"There," Otar said, pointing from their vantage at a structure overlooking the vast chasm. Unlike the other buildings, this one looked disconnected with the others, nor was it attached to any of the natural walls of the cavern. It almost seemed built for overlooking the settlement itself, save for the runes emblazoned along the archway that led into its inner sanctum, and the built-in pool of water at its front.

It took the troupe around fifteen minutes to trek to it, Otar determinedly at the fore while the others followed. Beren took the rear, not trusting keeping Jocasta out of his sight. But they arrived in short order, as small blessing as it was. Gunir was in the middle, protected with his broken arm, though he was loathe to be coddled.

The Temple was large, overbearing and filled with grim splendor. The walls were adorned with mosaics of ancient battles and the pillars were carven with crimson and gold symbols of sharp, crossing angles. Unlit lanterns hung from the ceiling, however Beren, Jocasta, and even a few of the dwarves were surprised to find a lit brazier at the center of the temple, crackling as if someone had tended it not minutes ago. The flames danced along the stained glass windows, each wrought in the shape of a dwarven paragon of ages past. Between each window was a weapon, stout spears, battle axes, and the like. Below them were rows of stout, stone benches to sit upon which were made more pleasant by thin cushions one could use when kneeling or sitting. Beyond the brazier were three statues, each with space at the base of their feet for offerings.

The statue on the left was a fiercesome, barrel chested warrior dwarf covered in runes, his mohawk and twin battle-axes making him seem even larger than his ten foot height might appear, the intricate detail of his visage so realistic, one might think he would leap out and slaughter the one prostrated beneath him at any moment. At the center was a solemn, wise dwarf adorned in fine mail and a tabard with the sigil of the hammer & anvil upon his breast. He wore a great helm, and though in his left hand he bore a hammer and on his back was a round shield, his huge right hand reached out as if to aid whomever called upon him. The last image on the right was a beautiful, albeit matronly dwarf woman. If one looked closely, she wore mail under her skirts and apron, but she bore a simple, albeit elaborately designed, staff. Her hair was tied in braids that cascaded down her rounded shoulders. With her free hand, she looked to be hearkening to the heavens.

It would have all seemed perfect, if the stench of decay were not in the air. The water in the pool outside was blackened by some unknown filth, and within the temple, the central walkway was covered in a thick coating of some sort of greasy, slimy material. It was growing hard even as they stepped along it, sucking at their boots and threatening to overwhelm them with an unpleasant odor that seemed almost a mixture between entrails, grime, and spoiled chicken.

"What filth desecrates this sacred place!?" The old priest cried, rushing up to the head of the wide temple. The pillars stood framing the left and right, almost separating the wide space with what seemed various corridors. At the end of each were smaller busts of lesser gods and ancestors, but many had been cracked or defiled with blood or excrement. At the feet of each great statue, dwarven bones and shreded garments were left as if in mockery of tribute. It was clear this temple had been ransacked, but whatever huge thing had left that trail of mucus... it had been quiet recent.

"Take a guess," Buri said with a smile, looking at the bones with distaste. Radsvir and Varin had taken it upon themselves to warm their hands by the ever-burning flame, kept alit for thousands of years by the old spells.

"Over here!" Beren called. The others turned to see him at a smaller door at the back right of the temple, where the remains of something that been vomited up right at the door, as if the stench alone would ward any any tresspassers. Jocasta grabbed her nose and wretched. "What was it?"

"Not that," Beren remarked, pointing out the door. "That."

The archaeologist blinked and squinted, at first noticing nothing. However, as the moments passed, something immense moved through the streets below. Beren had a good vantage point, seeing the serpent-like body slithering against the once immaculate stone street, and the scaly form rearing up into the upper body of a horrid, enormous batlike monstrosity. Its two curled, wicked arms were held close like a tyrannosaur, and its mutated bat-like head opened its mouth and let out a soft, gasping hiss as it hunted.

Beren silently pushed Jocasta and the dwarves back, closing the door. "We can't camp here tonight."

"I will not leave this place to that abomination," Otar growled. Gunir and Muragrim nodded, hefting their weapons. Beren would normally not have a complaint, but he almost felt like he had two lives here tugging at him. One with his dwarven companions and the other with Jocasta, not that she necessarily needed much protecting. He just doubted she was so keen to battle every horror there was that lurked in the deeps.

"Any ideas?" He asked them aloud.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I spat a curse as my rounds ricocheted off his blessed armor, wondering why in the emperor's wisdom this chaos filth had been able to attain such a sacred item. I managed to get off four shots in the time it would take an average gunman two, but still Vorn managed to get away. I was thankfully Emmaline was alive, at least. When he had flashed us with whatever device he had discharged, I had foolishly encouraged Emmaline to pursue. I was so used to having more team-members, I had always signed my lover's death warrant. I caught up in short order, sliding over to my aide and embracing her.

"Are you hurt?" I began to ask, but she sneezed wildly, her shoulderguard striking me in the upper lip. Blood burst from my nose and gums, flecking my lips. I was stunned for a brief moment and Emmaline's eyes widened in shock and guilt. 'Had-' She began, but I shook my head. "Don't worry on it now. I had Gwydyn fetch the car. But we have to hurry."

"He's gone, we need to make it back to Fulstes," She lamented, but with my pride she did not seem perturbed by nearly being killed a minute prior.

"No, we can still catch him." I remarked, getting to my feet. She blinked curiously, lifting herself up as well. I reloaded my autopistol with a swift execution and kept it unholstered. "That was a personal teleporter," I said with distaste. Despite my liberal viewpoint on psykers and metahumans, I shared my ordo's disdain for certain practices and technologies that were theorized to bring one closer to the warp. Teleporters were one of those loathsome feats of engineering, but as all things heretical, Hadrian had studied them. "He could only travel one hundred meters with it, and that's without taking warp disruption and landscape into account."

"Then let's go," She said, hefting her bolter.

"Aye sister," I said, granting myself a small smile. She returned it a thousand fold, and we moved as one, past the long gallery of the now-ruined mosaics and into an antechamber furnished with busts of now long dead cardinals. Had I time to pause I would have almost thought it a form of righteous masturbation, as the bust of the recently dead Cardinal was at the very center of the room, all eyes gazing in his direction, his arms outspread to accept all praise to his person. We slid past his holiness and entered the tail end of the compound, hurrying down a large stairway, pilgrims screaming in surprise at our brandished weapons.

I believed I caught a flicker of movement turning the corner out of the archway at the far end of the chamber. Emmaline saw it too, springing off the last six steps, hitting the ground without pause as she raced ahead. I was not going to be left behind, making my own jump and landing in a roll, sprinting just behind her. As we ran under the arch, I holstered my gun and grabbed my power sword, getting the sudden thought that it might be the better weapon if we caught up to him once again.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"It seems my reputation precedes me," Galt remarked with an easy smile.

He did not know Lord Bryne very well, but Silke had mentioned him once or twice. He was an owner of a moderate estate just short of the country, which to Galt's sensibilities meant he was the proud owner of a veritable kingdom. The size of Silke's manor was already hard to imagine. Living in the city you were always tresspassing somewhere, but it all seemed so abstract. Speaking to and eating with the men and women who controlled the vast swathes and buildings was something else entirely. This was definitely not his first instance in the presence of nobility, but whenever he was around a less familiar blue blood, he still felt out of place. The lord in question had an amused, witty air to him, without any of the half-hidden malice many of his peers were so keen on. That was a welcome change, if Galt's estimation was correct, at least.

"I always enjoy my time with Lady Kasper, even if my horse doesn't agree with me." Galt chuckled in good humor. "The weather did kick up a bit but we made it back in good time, and while I am certainly used to going without food I must say I am positively starving."

As Lord Bryne and Vincent verbally sparred, Galt spied Silke approaching. He returned her smile, noting how radiant she looked amid the candlelight and the shimmering silverware its reflection danced upon.

"Why do you not pick apart Harrowmark? He's more resourceful than one might expect." Vincent rumbled to Bryne, idly gesturing to Galt with a slim glass cup.

"I'm a guest, same as Lord Bryne, my lord. Perhaps another time after the food." Galt replied almost apologetically.

As if on cue, the serving staff waded into the dining hall from the back of the chamber, carrying trays of hors d'oeurves to start them off. There were wedge salad skewers on little bits of wood and artichoke wanton wrappers with cut up bacon that made Galt's mouth water, and sun-dried tomato basil roll-ups to finish off the appetizers. Wine and water were carried in, the former in bottled and the later in bronze pitchers with gilded embroidery.

Galt glanced at Silke, recalling the lessons she had granted him in etiquette at banquets. He wished to dive in and be greedy, but instead he took small amounts from the trays as they passed, gingerly allowing them to be placed on his plate. He did not mess with the silverware kept his hands in his lap with a small towel over them to keep himself clean once the meal began in earnest. Everyone else did the same, and he hoped he made it seem as natural as breathing like they did. Once Lord Kasper cleared his throat, everyone moved to dine. Galt went for the wine, so as not to appear over-eager with the foods.

"Much of a wine drinker, lord Harrowhawk?" Bryne asked idly, a twinkle in his eye.

"No, my lord. But it's growing on me." Galt said after a sip, deciding to finally get a nibble in next. "I'm used to more...solid drink. Mmmm! But these appetizers are quite delicious. I erm, might ask for seconds if that is not too forward." Galt suddenly wondered how tonight would be viewed later on, once their marriage had been announced. Gods, would Silke tell people here? Should he? Galt took another sip of wine to ease his nerves.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The crowd had not grown hushed nor stopped its penitent clamor, but I could feel multiple eyes on us as we halted at the center of the nave. Once glance at Emmaline and I could ascertain she was nervous, though she hid it well. Gwydyn hid it less well, but whether a blessing or not he could not quite tell what exactly was occurring at the moment. The vast gilded halls flecked with patina and the prayers echoing across the cavernous architecture was quite a lot for one of Urien's men, even considering the size of the Caledonia. A loose but ardent faith in the emperor and a large home did not prepare a feral-worlder for the overwhelming presence of a cardinal world cathedral. I decided he would not be reliable over the next few moments, despite knowing he was likely competent in combat.

"Your holiness, Cardinal Molmenieu," Emmaline began, stepping forward and raising her golden head high.

"These are the wretches I have spoken of, Cardinal!" Vorn spat, well-practiced zeal in his eyes.

"You have a heretic in your midst!" She declared, imploring the cardinal to see reason. I gave a small, psychic nudge to Emmaline and she followed my lead, in a manner of speaking. She fell to her knees and threw her hands out, prostrating herself. I knelt next, and throne be praised Gwydyn did as well, though he looked flummoxed and somewhat frightened. Emmaline looked up at the Cardinal even as Vorn withdrew his pistol, her eyes impossibly large and glistening with humble virtue. "This jackal has wormed his way into your counsel! I beg you not to listen to his lies!"

"Do not listen to them, your holiness. The fiends of chaos are unimaginably depraved, using your most sacred charitous heart against you." Tertius Vorn remarked, lip curled back as if he gazed at a nurgling dripping with venomous pus. "I will end them here so they may not taint this sacred place any longer."

"If this man is truly an Inquisitor of the Imperium, how have we bypassed his efforts to keep us from you? Is he not supposed to be the word of the one and his shield?" I added with authority, my eyes hard. The multitudes around us were still largely unaware of the confrontation, but a few dozen now watched, ranging from mild interest to rapt horror. The priests watching were an amalgamation of emotions ranging from disgusted to curious.

"If I am a Cardinal of the Emperor, how could I have allowed such a man into my circle?" Cardinal Molmeniue asked, trying to appear more sure of himself than he was. No doubt he was taken aback by our lack of aggression in his presence. More than not Vorn had instilled in him more than his fair share of horrific details on our supposed motives or methods.

"Everyone was fooled by the traitorous duplicitous Goge Vandire, but the Emperor himself sent forth Sebastian Thaw to uproot his evil and purge it from the most holy imperium." Emmaline remarked, her face a mask of soft determination. By the Emperor on his throne, real tears were streaming down her cheeks if I was not mistaken. I knew I was going to spend a considerable amount of our funds buying her icecream after this performance.

"She is not Adeptus Sororitas, your holiness. This is a witch and a trollop, and the servant of that one." Vorn hissed, pointing at myself. He cocked the hammer back on his pistol and aimed at my chest, a small dot of red settling over my heart. Luckily I woke carapace armor below my jacket and uniform, but it could not withstand more than two shots of a large caliber weapon. "I will end this here-"

"Wait, Vorn." The Cardinal said, placing a hand on the man's pistol barrel, lowering it. He tried to speak, unsure of himself. Vorn glanced at the Cardinal, and I knew at that moment what was about to occur. Tertius Vorn seeimgly acqueised, and quickly turned, ramming the gun barrel under Cardinal Molmeniue's neck and firing three rounds through his skull. The priests and attendants gapsed, but before they or the more attentive members of the crowd could wail or cry, it was over. I swiftly drew my own pistol, but Vorn was just as quick, gripping a small cartridge at his belt and squeezing it. Something shattered and a brilliant flash of light erupted from the device, blinding everyone in the vicinity even as their grief stricken moans left their lips. I managed to hit him in the chest, but the bullet ricocheted off his power armor in a spark before I too, saw nothing for the next handful of moments.

"Find him!" I ordered, tears of pain around my eyes as I stumbled forward, knocking aside the panicked members of the crowd in pursuit.

Hello Again--It's Been a While!

Welcome back to the site!

bye ~

Welcome back Ahri! I remember you and it's lovely to see you again

Rytsas.

You may call me Isolabella. I am just a nyctophile-slash-bookworm-slash-writer, who is trying my hand at honing my craft and creativity.

Someone made me join, I'll admit. However, I hope that this will be a fun journey.

@Isolabella

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Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

Hey guys, your resident muscle-mod here, wishing everyone on the guild a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from the team! Luckily, there's not been too much controversy recently which is a big relief to us mods, and I wanted to say we appreciate it and you. Thanks for the many years of roleplaying, and here's to many more! Have a great one, friends :)