POOHEAD189

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren had dreamed, but what he had dreamed he couldn't remember. There was something elusive in his thoughts, something he couldn't quite grasp, and as he opened his eyes, it faded away into nothingness. He was suddenly aware he was covered up by rough blankets, his shirt having been stripped off and his axe and staff were lain beside him. His head was propped on the soft end of his pack, and the ceiling above was so tall, he almost could not see it from the dim lighting. A fire crackled noisily, and he turned his head slightly to watch small embers leaping onto the cold, stone floor as Jocasta placed another piece of kindling in the fire. The dwarves had brought a few wooden logs for just such an occasion, and they were known the world over for making a fire in even the worst conditions. Across the fire, the fat merchant Buri slept, snoring loudly.

"I thought I was dead," Beren chuckled. Jocasta sprang up and turned, lips parted as she scampered to him. Immediately her hand moved his hair and felt his forehead, and the other pulled the blankets up further.

"You call me crazy? Don't ever do something like that again." She lectured.

"Waking up a draugr king for research purposes is kind of crazy," He pointed out, raising his brows.

"I did not know that was going to happen!" She responded, a bit sulkily. "Anyway, the dwarves went deeper into the city. I thought it was for some honor thing, but Otar thinks he can heal Varin by finding some shrine. He was pretty injured..."

"I should help," Beren said, duty immediately coming into his mind. He started to rise, the blanket falling off his muscled shoulders. Jocasta protested, trying to push him down with her hands before giving an exasperated sigh and dropping atop his chest, rump first. Beren immediately fell back to the floor, Jocasta now sitting on him, arms crossed. "Your butt hits harder than the building." He said, and she burst out laughing. He groaned and still tried to lift himself. "At least let me sit up!"

She acquiesced and scooted over, which meant she was now on his lap again. He braced himself with his hands and sat up fully. His pendant hanging from his bare chest glinted in the firelight. He might have been a warrior monk, from a secret order originating high in the mountains across the sea, but with his tanned skin with wan scars and his unruly mane of dark hair, he looked more like a barbarian from the fringes of civilization. Except for his lopsided smile.

"You did good with the beast." He complimented her. "Those earrings are badass. Who got those for you, by the way?"

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Neil showed his teeth in the grin, and he pushed the bottle up off his palm to catch with a quick grab. His stomach grumbled loudly, and the smell of the cheese was overwhelming. Meatlovers was his favorite, and he hadn't had pizza in a hot minute. He plopped down on the couch, leaning forward and grabbing a slice for himself. With his cold bottle beside him, he scarfed down a slice, too hungry to initially savor the taste. His second slice he took his time with, rolling his shoulders so they loosened up from all the leaning they had been doing a mere minute ago.

"I win in the ring, I win in the game." He shook his head, as if lamenting a sincere tragedy. "I'm just too good." She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but it only caused him to break out a smile. He remembered when the two of them had first met, back on Hyperion. It was true, she had played him from the start, and admittedly they had some subsequent bumps. But when he had first flirted with her, he saw genuine interest in her eyes. Maybe he had knocked that out from his silliness, but a part of him wondered.

"You got some right..." He began, pointing to his left cheek. She gave an 'mmm' and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at it.

"Usually my drones tell me, but I guess they're lazy tonight." She remarked, the latter half of her statement rising an octave so the little machines could hear. There was a light buzzing in response.

Neil had finished his second piece and reclined in the sofa, taking his cold beverage and idly sipping it. "Where'd you learn to play like that?" He asked curiously. "I know it's a cliche that bounty hunters are slick and cool, but you're pulling it off well." Next she'll tell him she drive a grav-bike and wears a black leather jacket.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren blinked dust out of his vision, gripping his axe hard as the leviathan came back into view. Jocasta's tricks had harmed it, but unless they moved quickly while it was down, it was still immensely dangerous, and now enraged. It brushed aside debris and shoved away stones larger than Beren with its colossal sinews, raising its grotesque head high to bellow. Beren and the dwarves clamped their hands over their ears to keep their ear drums from shattering. Even shielded, Beren heard something deep in its throat burr, giving the monk the image of a shoddy tank engine sputtering to retain life. Unfortunately, that seemed to be a unique aspect of its mutated anatomy rather than any sign of ill-health.

Beren picked his axe back up again, taking a deep breath before he played his part. Just as he was about to step out into the open, a strong hand clamped on his forearm. It was Otar, eyes closed and his beard shifting as he whispered, laying a blessing on the tanned younger warrior. Beren felt a thrum of something indescribable pass between the two of them, and the pendant under his shirt lit up like a flaring torch.

"May Runar go with you," He remarked solemnly.

"Fucking run, long legs!" Radsvir hooted. Beren gave the two dwarves a thumbs-up, a small sign of assurance or agreement the dwarves had developed millennia ago. Then he turned and sprung out of the archway, skidding into the street right before the thrashing behemoth. The spined fins framing its ugly head fluttered, sensing movement, and it turned to gaze its two remaining eyes at Beren. They looked lifeless, like a fish's, and yet he could somehow see a malign web of cruel thought behind the uncaring orbs.

Beren glanced at Jocasta's hiding spot, knowing she likely saw him. He gave a wink, before turning tail and running up the central street. It took less than the time to blink before a reverberating growl erupted behind him, followed by the sound of crashing stones as the gargantuan serpent gave chase, it's immense shape moving side to side like molasses to the untrained eye, and yet even damaged, it was gaining on Beren in a straight run. The nimble warrior made it to the turn, spinning into a leap and planting his foot against the opposite wall, redirecting his momentum and landing in full sprint, now heading down the left street. Moments later, the immense beast crashed into the building Beren had used to spring board his run, breaking its foundations, causing it to fall into itself, crumbling and sending up further waves of dust. The beast was not deterred, its scales blocking most of the debris as it continued its pursuit.

Feet pumping, Beren leaped over ancient rubble from a previously felled structure, and then slid beneath a long, three foot thick arch of stone set above the street, a picture of the daily life of the ancient dwarves, sculpted along its length in a mosiac, likely built by ancient dwarf artisans to give the street more grandeur. Beren looked back over his shoulder, watching the leviathan slam into the arch he had just passed under like a flood, shattering the stone. It bellowed again, this time in rage, but rather than continue his forward pace, Beren saw a light ahead, and skidded to a halt, leaping to the right down a small space between two massive structures and landing on his side. He had leaped, and just before he had thrown himself out of the street, he had seen a terrific flash.

There was a crack and a resounding boom that rivaled the beast's horrific screams, and blacksmoke rose out of the din as Beren collected himself. For a moment there was a deafening silence, and the warrior monk, now on his feet, crept to the edge of the alley, peering down. To his right, Gurin with his broken arm, and fat Buri, stood atop a broad flight of steps at the edge of the street, just under the grand pillars of one of the outer citadels. Before them, a huge cannon engraved with imperial dwarven regalia in brass smoked from a fresh shot. Beren looked left, and he saw the beast down, the vast bulk of its serpentine center opened by a huge gash. It looked small, but Beren felt it was equivalent to being shot with a blunderbuss in his abdomen.

"Wishful thinking," he breathed as he watched in growing alarm.

The monstrous mutant began to writhe, and gave a hiss that was louder than a steam train's whistle. Fangs as large as Beren's legs glinted in the sallow light, and for a moment he was frozen, wondering if the thing was simply in its death throes. The dwarves held no such fascination or curiosity, however. Out of the buildings they came, axes and mattocks in their brawny hands. Radsvir and Varin came from the opposite street, huge picks with armor piercing heads made for wartime held aloft as they charged. Muragrim came out of the building next to Beren like a vengeful ghost, double-headed axe reared back as the black bearded mercenary went straight for the thing's head. Electrocuted, crushed by rocks, and shot dead center by a large cannon, and it was still ready to fight. Beren had to admit the monster was tenacious, and though he was usually loathe to kill beasts, he had looked into its eyes and had seen wickedness. Grimly, he strapped his axe onto his back, turned to the intricate designs carved on the wall on the massive apartment next to him, using them as handholds to climb.

Varin and Radsvir, the latter who must have followed immediately and made it to position with his long legs, found what could pass for the thing's 'neck' and impaled it with their mattocks, piercing scale and sinking into the softer flesh beneath. Muragrim reached its bat-like face, rolling under a sudden snap of its jaws and planting his axe into the fish-like vestige on the side of its great head. It shrieked and wriggled with unyielding strength, knocking Radsvir back while Varin clung to his weapon desperately. The beast flung its head, ripping Muragrim's axe out of his hand. The burly dwarf tore out a thick knife from his boot and followed, leaping as the head swung back and, grabbing onto the spines along its head, stabbing into any weak spot he could find. Beyond them all, a voice rang in the air. An sonorous voice, brimming with wisdom and speaking in the ancient tongue of their forefathers. The voice found itself in every door, ever corner, and could be heard across the city as it intoned a dirge. Suddenly, the weapons of the dwarves burst into flame, their steel heads turning dark from the immense heat. Even Muragrim's axe, embedded in the thing's skull, began to sear the skin around it.

Radsvir, having hit the wall and fallen on his rump, managed to dust himself off and take out his short sword. The blade symmetrical with hard edges like most dwarven weapons, wrought in the mountains of Gradlock in the far off east. The steel bled with flame, and he smiled wickedly as he ran forward back into the fray. He leaped over flung rubble, and on the downswing, took off one of the small vestigial fins on the side of the massive mutant's body. He landed, and his first act now he was on his two feet was to shove the blade into the huge body up to its hilt. Thanks to Otar's incantation, the blade slid in easier than the mattocks. At this point, the entirety of the colossal thing's body frozen up and bristled, before slowly but surely, it began to roll. The beast had changed tactics. Radsvir yelped and leaped to the left, scrambling free of the path of its bulk. Muragrim was flung from the head, hitting the ground in a roll. Of Varin there was no sign, having last been seen hanging on to the mattock. Inexorably, the roll brought the vast serpent's form to slam into the buildings opposite. Pottery and loose stones fell from above, crashing and clattering into the stone of the street. At that, finally free of the dwarves and their wicked weapons, it used what strength it had left to rear its head high, maw open to cry out in defiance.

"Woegrim's arse!" Gurin cried when he saw what happened next, pointing in the air. Buri gasped.

A muscled, lean form almost seemed to glide from the rooftops of the left apartments. In its hands was a large handaxe, flame waving madly in the rushing air as it was lifted above its head. Beren let out a warcry that echoed across the street, and with the arc of his axe carried by the momentum of his leap and his powerful arms, the enchanted head sliced through bone and muscle into the beast's brain, ending its life without the monstrous behemoth even realizing it. Its maw gave a strangled, almost pitiful gasp as its still form held for a breif moment, a great pillar of muscle and bone, before it slowly started to sway. Beren held onto his axe, shaking from the adrenaline. He grabbed whatever he could, his free right hand gripping one of its massive fangs. Everyone watching saw the monumental head inexorably topple, falling like one might see a huge tree be felled, or a large keep hit by a warwolf trebuchet. Both Beren and the head fell headlong, and the next moment, crashed into a stone building, disappearing behind a veritable explosion of debris as tons of stone crumbling upon the both of them.

The silence that followed sounded much like that of the grave.

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal gave a wide grin that showed his white teeth. "The important cities? Depends on who you ask." He said, though he understood her point. His point, however, was that even the lesser cities did their best to emulate the bigger ones like Calimport and Baldur's Gate, and whatever city they came across in the frozen north likely tried to treat itself as the pinnacle of civilization. Easy to look good when next to a frozen moor or a burning farm, ravaged from an orc raid.

The two skulked along in silence, until Charynrae halted her thoughtful musings to pose a question to him.

He stopped, and his smile slipped away when she had used his name, and what's more asked how he felt. It was unexpected, even after they had introduced themselves to one another. It almost seemed familiar, and it caught him off guard. He shrugged his broad shoulders. "A bit. I usually can handle bad conditions, even cold ones. But I think before we leave I'll need something more than my vest to keep me well for a few days. You likely might as well, I think." He reminded her.

His words were suddenly caught off, when they heard a low, heaving growl down the tunnel. Instantly Amal had his knives out, swinging around Charynrae to land in a crouch, ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger. But nothing appeared. Instead, they saw a faint light, and a vast shadow gliding across it, along the tunnel wall. Amal crept forward quietly, one dagger flipping into a back-handed grip, and he peered around the corner.

The next chamber was larger than the last, and far colder. Amal first noticed barrels upon barrels stacked in the far right corner, with blankets haphazardly draped over them in a mockery of concealment. Closer, he saw another tunnel leading back into the cavernous underground at his right, and a few crates placed there, with a few coins and a dagger atop them. To the left were two orcs, both arm wrestling for a slab of meat they had between them, grunting and showing their tusk-like teeth, porcine yellow eyes narrowed in effort. They weren't the gravest concern, however. Beside them, just settling down to take a load off, was a massive ogre. It squatted on the ground and picked at its teeth, huge club now resting on the ground beside it.

But the most important detail of the room? The large oaken door, half opened directly across from the tunnel Amal and Charynrae hid themselves in, and the light of day poured into the room.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Can you even read the runes?" Beren asked her, curiously. The two humans in one of the adjacent rooms, using it with the excuse they had a good vantage to overlook the undercity from the open window to their left. It felt more like an indoor porch made of stone, had that not been underground and without the usual elements of the surface world.

"No..." She remarked, a tad defensively. "But it's dwarven runes, you get credit for trying. I'm certain someone knows-..." She stopped her walk of appraisal, eyes popping open wide. "Wait, you know how to read these!"

She rushed over to him and leaned close, and Beren leaned back, one part holding his ground and one part trying to change the subject. "I do, but that's because I earned their trust. And because of that, I have to stay and fight with them." He said, and Jocasta sighed, shaking her head. Beren threw his arms out wide. "I can't just leave them to this alone!"

"I get it, and I won't leave you here alone!" She said suddenly, but after a moment she looked away from him and seemed to realize what she had declared. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Besides, it's not like I would survive long in the underworld alone anyway."

Beren grinned, suddenly standing very close to her. She tried to hide behind her hair, but he had leaned in close enough to where she couldn't avoid him. "That the only reason?" He asked her teasingly.

A guttural clearing of the throat drew their attention, and the two turned to see Gurin standing in the doorway, almost filling it with his squat and armored frame. He raised an eyebrow, and Beren made a show of looking past Jocasta's shoulder to peer over the edge of the windowless gap. "Coast looks clear," He remarked absently.

"That's because the beast approaches." Gunir said, and his mouth quirked in a half smile, though his eyes remained hard. "The lass knows a few tricks, aye? We were hoping ye would use them for a small distraction if the beast ever seems to have too much time on his hands. And as for ye, lad, it's time to get yer axe. We've slaying to do."

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

"Just hold on a minute!" A gruff voice growled, his voice rising above the whispers of the crowd. Out of the rough phalanx of town guard, a burly man in the only (relatively) well-made tabard stepped forward. His mustache was thick like his chest, and his eyes were small but fierce as they gazed at us, the veritable refugees. His eyes scanned Camilla, and unlike his men, he didn't oggle, merely looked suspiciously, before they moved to myself and dare I say, he seemed even less enthused to see me. I couldn't imagine why, I might not have my robes on me, but I did not carry a weapon save for the symbol of my office on the staff. He leveled his gaze. "Who are you and where do you come from?"

This seemed like an interrogation, and a very real means of keeping my lover and myself out of the village. Luckily I was used to such aggressive behavior.

"Why," I chuckled amicably, placing a hand on my chest and giving my most handsome smile. "I am but a humble priest of our lord Sigmar, coming to heal the sick and feed the poor. I have heard tell of how many of the afflicted live in this verdant land, and it shocked me to my very core. I, and my lovely assistant, have traveled many miles to grant absolution and blessings to your modest township."

"Gustav, we should let them in," one of the men said.

"Oh, and let a potential spy from Bradolf walk into our streets?" The lieutenant said. I cordoned off the information, but kept myself in 'character', holding up my free hand and closing my eyes, concentrating. The large soldier looked back our way. "What are you doing?"

"I sense a presence a... a daemon..." I said breathlessly.

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and though a few looked disbelieving, the potential of the prospect settled on their minds. Gustav tried to hide his stress with fury. He began to deny it, but I simply opened my eyes and strode past him with a purpose, my hand in the air, acting as a probe. He went and grabbed for my shoulder as the other men parted out of my way, but Camilla kicked him in the left shin, causing him to yelp and spin left. She slid to the right as soon as he did so, slipping beside me before he could do a full spin around to see who was responsible. Even the crossbowmen on the steps overlooking the walls watched us with curiosity and interest as we strode into town, the villagers before us stumbling out of the way, nearly dropping what baskets or cartons they carried.

"Worry not, it seems a small daemonic presence. Merely a curse," I declared, halting at a well with a bucket full of water and a ladle draped within. "I am quite certain Zinoca is as clean of heart as its drinking water." I scooped the ladle in the water and lifted it to my nose, sniffing. I gave a face and a muted 'eugh' and dropped it back in, not to be dissuaded. "Hrmmm, yes...yes I am getting closer."

The buildings were not tightly packed, with enough space between them for small gardens or refuse piles. Most of the architecture was a single story, with simple thatched roofs and only a window or two to speak of. As we drew deeper into the town, the crowd following us like ripples in a clear stream, the buildings grew larger and shops began to appear, along with larger residences. My eyes shifted back and forth, and once I found one that satisfied me, I frowned and stopped just before a two story home. There was even a stone base in its construction. I turned back to the crowd, my visage clouded with grim certainty.

"Here, this is where the daemon resides!" I announced, drawing more strangled gasps. One man in particular wailed, running out of the crowd. He wore a feathered cap and a well to-do jerkin, and seemed to be well manicured and groomed. He had a small brass ring with a signet on his left hand.

"Say it's not so, sir priest!" He cried with an imperial accent, worried.

"Who are you, my son?" I asked him, my eyes filled with concern but my smile kindly. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I am Gregor von Ludendorf, the alderman. Is it truly as you say?" He asked, and before I could even say 'I am afraid so' he leaped to the next question. "What am I to do?"

Camilla bit her lip, and I nudged her with my shoulder to keep her face straight.

"I sense you have had bad luck recently, sir. Not everything in your life has gone as expected, yes? Yes, I see. It can be fixed quite easily, herr Ludendorf. Tonight my companion and I will stay the night, and I will perform the necessary rituals." I raised my hands and staff, as if a beam of light was expected to pierce the heavens and fall upon me at that very moment. "By morning, the foul presence will have been banished!" My voice carried over the crowd, and as Gustav watched with suspicion, I leaned in and whispered. "_{Oh, and for your tribute we require food and strong drink, preferably whiskey, and a comfortable place to sleep.}"

"Yes, yes of course!"

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Is there potentially room for another?

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

Part 2

Power Plays

---

I was tackled by the brutish greenskin, which gave me the misfortune of losing my breath just before I plunged into the frigid knee deep water. The clear blue sky above was suddenly obnubilated by a cascade of bubbles and foam, and a big green silhouette that leered down at me from his perch atop my prone form. I was not the most thick-bodied man, but I was not small either. I managed to kick the orc's legs out and have him slip into the river as well, bellowing another stream of bubbles as his warcry was drowned by the water. I swiftly rolled atop him, doing my best to keep him under, but I was too busy taking in a lungful of air. I was unfortunately thrust straight back into the water, and the big orc managed to get atop me and keep himself there. I couldn't hear his roar of victory other than a muffled shout, but I saw him grinning down at me with cruelty in his eyes.

The orc suddenly lurched, and bright drops of blood began to stain the river water as the greenskin slowly unhanded me and began to topple into the water. A lithe arm shot into the water and took me by the hand, and with some help from myself I was pulled out of the water, coughing up liquid as I tried to regain my breath once again. Camilla withdrew the blade of her rapier from the back of the orc's skull, cursing in Tilean.

"You have never been sexier," I told her, and she dazzled me with a smile. I grabbed my fallen staff, smiling tiredly.

"Yu alwees say that," she replied with her lovely accent, dark hair still amazingly styled despite the rough traveling the last week, not to mention the subsequent fight. I would have kissed her, but I spied something hulking past her shoulder, her keen eyes catching my own widening causing her to duck. I stepped past her, running my hand up the length of my staff to brace myself as the cleaver-like weapon that had been meant for Camilla's head was parried by the holy staff. I swiftly flipped my weapon, shoving the butt of the staff into the Orc's nose. It squealed like a stuck pig, but raising its head gave me the opening to thrust my staff into its exposed throat, collapsing it. It gave a pitifully small, hoarse cry as it topped into the river with its other two companions, the first dead from an oath granted to me by holy sigmar.

"Are you alright?" I asked, this time giving Camilla the helping hand. She took it gratefully, her hair glistening from dipping into the rushing river, but somehow it just enhanced her natural beauty.

"I wil haf to git thees rah-pi-air cleaned," She lamented.

"If we get through these mountains alive, it will be my treat." I offered, though my proposal was swiftly drowned out by a chorus of shouts from within the forest, screaming a phrase everyone in the old world knew portended doom.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"

There must have been dozens of voices, perhaps even over a hundred. Camilla and I spun to the treeline, watching like hunted deer. I grabbed Camilla's hand, entwining her fingers in my own as I pulled her along, moving the other way. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" I asked, and she needed little encouragement. Together the two of us fled eastward, past the river and into the opposite woodland that rose higher and higher as we raced into and under the shadowy canopy. If the old map was right, we were close to the pass that would lead us into the borderlands and out of these sigmar-forsaken mountains.

I nearly stumbled from a gnarled root, but my staff caught me and I raced on, Camilla running alongside me, bounding over obstacles with a dancer's grace. My legs soon felt like lead, and after a few minutes of running full sprint uphill, I felt like I had run hours. Having finished our food the day previously was doing no favors for my stamina either, and I prayed to holy sigmar we made it out of these mountains, if for nothing but Camilla's sake. I was little better than a lecherous thief, but she was certainly the most interesting and worthy woman I had ever met, and that was no small boast on my part.

More roars erupted, this time to our left and right. By the grace of the gods none were ahead of us, and though I thought every shadow was a greenskin lying in wait, I did nothing but run straight forward, thinking somehow we were falling into a trap. Even the ground leveling out seemed deceptive, as if the mountains themselves wanted me to relax my guard. But suddenly the canopy opened, and light sprang forth as the two of us leaped out of the woods into a small crevasse; a breach in the rock wall that towered over the forest. We launched ourselves through it and nearly lost our footing. It was Camilla's sure-footedness that kept me from rolling down the slope that fell just before our feet. We both breathed heavily and wearily, but to my relief, the cries had grown quieter and less frequent, and though the slope was steep, beyond another thicket or two of trees, we saw dozens of smoke pillars rising from a walled village a mere handful of miles away.

We had made it to the land of opportunity.

We had arrived at The Border Princes.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt felt strange. He wasn't sure if it was nostalgia. He could barely recall having dinner with his family, and what he did remember, it wasn't nearly this warm. His family all loved one another, of course, but there was a lot of bickering and childish fights or his overworked parents yelling. Here, he somehow felt more at home. Silke did the heavy lifting in that respect, but even her father and Vincent had a familiarity they shouldn't have. While it confused him, he wasn't about to complain and the thief decided not to dwell on it.

He also had to make a mental note not to pocket the expensive silverware. Not a good impression for a husband-to-be.

His eyes did widen a bit when the conversation started to veer toward Silke's marital status. It wouldn't be noticeable unless someone was looking intently at him. Fortunately, he gathered himself by the time Vincent's eyes were cast in his direction, probing him for any sign of guilt. He pretended not to notice, and smiled warmly at Silke when she offered more of the appetizers. He gave a breathless chuckle at her jest on Vincent's behalf, and plucked a few more from the tray she offered. Galt tried to focus on that singular moment, how nice it was sharing food and talking to Silke, how he would do most anything to keep it going, even announcing it in front of the table of various lords.

He took her cue, giving the barest hint of a nod and a look to Silke that spoke volumes. He breathed out through his nose, and before he even touched the appetizers he had been given, he turned to the head of the table. He cleared his throat gently.

"I've known Silke for what seems like quite a while, but truthfully it's only been a few months. But Lord Kasper, you have raised an incredible daughter." He began, and all the chewing in the room stopped. Lord Bryne watched with interest, brow raised. Vincent looked on intently, face unreadable save for a growing alarm, though whether mere anticipation or dread it was hard to gauge by Galt's estimation. "This entire world is new to me. I've done things I've had to do to survive, being a lowborn. I've lived in squalor and hunted for food on the street. And then I get thrust into the aristocracy by the grace of the Duke and our wise King..." Galt shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts from crumbling.

"One might think that would have been the greatest blessing one could get in this life. But I have to confess, even with all the wealth, food, and warm comforts, I would give it all away if I could spend just another moment with your daughter. She is the most intelligent, thoughtful, and lovely woman I've ever known, highborn or low. And that's why today, before our ride in the rain, I asked her to marry me, and she said yes..."

Lord Bryne was grinning, clearly trying to hold in his glee so as not to interrupt the drama. Vincent looked shocked, aghast at the pronouncement. He tried to speak but he merely managed to mumble something incomprehensible. Galt's gaze was transfixed on Lord Kasper's face, who studied Galt with an intensity, trying to decry any lie in his words. Galt had lied much in his life, but this was not one of those times. Finally, Galt glanced back at Silke, and gave her a shaky grin. He was nervous, but he had still be waiting for this moment for some time, even if most of it had been in his fantasies. He turned back to her father, head held high.

"I would ask for your blessing, my lord."