POOHEAD189

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Kasimir had learned long ago that his status as a bastard made things quite awkward. He had grown used to it, and so he put that into the next logical step of this undesirable situation and merely answered matter-of-fact, even though he had not quite expected someone to ask him about it to his face. "Word spreads quickly. I am he, regrettably."

"I hear yu attack't heem before he coot even draw hiss swerd." She said, looking at him with the most innocent eyes Kasimir had ever seen. He was about as convinced as all the rest, but it was a stark contrast to the sharp eyed looks she had cast both times he had seen her previously. A nobleman sucked in a breath at the abrupt statement, and the two aristocratic women shared concerned glances. Even Oderik glanced at Eleanor, though only out of unease for her own embarrassment. It was only a reflex however. Kasimir knew whatever she said on the incident, it was his reputation on the line, not hers.

"I can say with honesty that is just a rumor." Kasimir said confidently, gingerly inclining his head to the woman. He sighed, as if the whole thing were some tragedy. He did not have to pretend much. He did not care about Clausewitz, but the duel's aftermath had been a headache. "I tried to alleviate his grievances but he attacked me and I defended himself. I never attack first, if I can help it."

"Ah, I zee." She said, as if she had just been granted the meaning of a particularly troublesome riddle. "It iz funnee. You say zis, and yet you, vat iz ze verd, assult our conversay-zhun and place yourzelf at ze center?"

"I am certain sir Reinhardt had no such intentions," Sir Oderick remarked, placing a comforting hand on Eleanour's dainty fingers. Despite the assurance, Oderick gave Kasimir a look of warning. Kasimir subtly glanced at the others, and it seemed half of the small crowd looked morbidly curious on the affair, while the two men were taking the opportunity to oggle Eleanor while the brettonian was distracted. Kasimir's eyes met one of the noblewomen, and her gaze averted sharply with a light blush. He guessed his reputation was not entirely detrimental.

"If I offended you, I apologize." Kasimir lamented to Eleanor. "I believe my manners have fled me with my weariness. I have just returned, actually. I have spent the better part of three years in the south, mostly Altdorf."

One woman nodded and the other said 'ah,' as the men listened. Oderick took it as a bandaid for this entire disagreement.

Eleanor smiled. "Iz it beautiful? I haf never been."

Kasimir looked at her, turning his head slightly. "But mademoiselle, you had to have traveled through reikland in order to get here."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Whatever was going through her mind, it reasserted itself as quick as a whip crack. "Non, I took a sheehp. I landed in marienburg and travelled nurth from zere."

Kasimir kept his face a mask of congeniality, but he was not going to let it go. "My mistake. It is good you did not travel through the capital. A lovely city," He remarked, casting his gaze to those around him before settling back on Eleanor. "but I find the people arrogant, uneducated, and as plump as wine sacks."

There. For the briefest moment, he saw utter annoyance behind her eyes. She played it off well, however. Her gaze was disapproving, her full lips almost in a pout. "Zat iz a very root thing to say, monsier. Yu are quite uncouth."

"This is Middenheim, my lady De Aberville. We are nothing if not uncouth." He said, granting her a bow to hide his smile. "I am certain your man is familiar with such things, especially after a successful battle." Oderick nodded at the compliment, though he still seemed a bit uneasy about the direction this conversation had taken.

"And yit no von seems out uff plece, bet you." She replied, her laughter like angelic bells. It put the group at ease, and a few laughed with her. Eleanor gave a playful smile, even though he was certain she was attempting to be scathing. "Small vonder you did not appear here viz a voman."

Kasimir's mirth fled and he stiffened.

It was a sore subject for him. He had no trouble with his appearance, but he was constantly thrust into social situations where he was the lowest on the social ladder. He would be lucky to marry anyone at all, truth be told. Even if he took the noblewoman who had been eyeing him aside after the party, she would deny it the next day and likely have him caught in a scandal. There was a touch of victory in Eleanour's eyes, Kasimir imagined.

He gave a wintry smile. "I have my eye on one," He said as if to no one in particularly, however his second statement landed his gaze squarely on Eleanors. "-but I believe she is untrustworthy."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"Do I really sound like that?" Beren asked Buri as the dwarf was unsteadily rising. Beren had a relatively deep, noticeably smooth voice. But of course it was always hard to hear how others heard one's timbre. For his part, Buri almost fell flat on his face again. Unfortunately, Buri was most definitely the least fit of all the dwarves, with a well groomed beard and attire more suited for a day merchant than any sort of dangerous travel. His small merchant's cap had fallen off, the dwarf grabbing it groggily.

"She makes a good effort," He said by way of an answer. The dwarf groaned, blinking away the spots in his eyes. It said something about the dwarven race, that even the most coddled were tough enough to get up after a head wound that would have left a man on death's door. "Better than I could, least ways."

The darkness, even with the glow worms, was still all-encompassing to the senses. Beren reached into his pack, grabbing the second to last torch. Buri grunted, taking out a small flint and tinder from his belt.

"I could just make some light, you know." Jocasta reasoned, her hands opening up as if emulating a small burst.

"I don't know much about magic, but a torch should be ok for now. I have a spare, and you should conserve what energy you have." The warrior monk said, unstrapping his axe as Buri set the torch alight. The sparks caught, and the flame whooshed to life. Buri handed it to Beren. The handsome warrior took it gingerly. "Buri, stay at the back. Jo, stay between us, and I'll take the lead."

"Alright, boy. But if we have to run, just remember my legs aren't that long." He complained. Beren grinned as Buri started muttering about the mead and salted pork he missed from back home. His voice echoed gently through the chasm. "Only reason I came was fer the wealth. Aye, the legends had me as enthralled as the next dwarf, but I was promised funds! Not traipsing around in the darkness..." His accent and the rolling r's caused his voice to doubly reverberate along the stone.

As they crept along, the mosaic grew noticeably cracked, bits of stone flaking off of the walls. Beren had expected it, and it nearly made him as forlorn as a proper dwarf. He decided to change the subject. "You know, speaking of funerary rights, there's probably some good research opportunities up ahead." He chimed in to Jocasta.

"That's true..." She said, mulling it over. Her earrings had zipped back onto her ears obediently, a glow worm propped up on her shoulder, like a miniature lamp.

"And there's probably an outpost up ahead too, with beer and running water." He continued conversationally. It was just a hunch, but as long as there were tunnels that led out into the underworld, there was always a guard station.

"Really?" She said, hope in her voice.

"Really?" He echoed, his voice as high pitched as he could manage. Jocasta stuck her tongue out at Beren and he responded by giggling like a boy.

"I'll turn you into a frog," She threatened, wiggling her fingers. A glow worm was just at the brink of her heavy bosom now, casting a light above and giving her cheekbones and eyes a shadowed, eerie look like a mad witch. He doubted she could do that, even if she wasn't playing around, but still it made him shake his head.

"Oh, so you can make fun of me, but when I do it-"

"When I do it it's tasteful-" She asserted, tossing her hair back.

They bickered for a few more moments, both failing to suppress smiles as they continued until Buri cleared his throat. "Oi, are the both of ye gonna flirt or can we keep going?"

"He/She started it," the remarked in unison.

Buri mumbled something in dwarvish that was clearly derogatory. Jocasta placed her hands on Beren's left shoulder and got on her tip toes. "What did he say?" She whispered.

"You don't wanna know," He whispered back.

The chasm soon blossomed into a hollow cavity in the endless stone. Initially it was a natural widening, but it sharpely turned with hard right angles. They stood just outside of the main structure, and from where they had entered, they saw there were three levels of the 'graveyard,' every dwarf body either interred within the well-carved walls, or in stone tombs inlaid with runes along each level. The stairways were easily accessible and wide.

Stout, protuberant pillars stretched from ground floor to tiled ceiling, drawing the eye upwards to see an incredible piece of artistry. Every tile was hexagonal, and every hexagonal shape was filled with sparkling gilded veins that had been formed into runes that spoke the name of every dwarf interred within. At its center, one large hexagon held an immaculate canvas of Mahal, the fortress guarding the dwarven afterlife.

"Muradin's beard..." Beren muttered, and Jocasta grabbed his hand as she looked skyward with him.

"Aye..." Buri agreed, taking his hat off in respect. A few moments later, he added: "The most wealth I've seen here, and I would be damned for eternity if I touched any of it. The gods have a way of testing you."

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

"Fraulien," Kasimir greeted cooly, but the baroness Grimhausen did not seem to hear. In fact she seemed to steer clear away from him, turning from her original route across the floor to veer left. Kasimir sighed, not entirely surprised. A serving man walked by him with six glasses of stout being carried to the tables. Kasimir nabbed one with an effortless grace without the fellow noticing, downing half of its contents before a count of three.

Perhaps he should insist upon conversation with one of the many houses or well-to-do upstart nobles. Already he could see people watching him, whispering as he stood there. Every fit of laughter caused him to feel as if it was at his own expense, but he also noticed whenever he cast his gaze in a direction too long, the gossip grew quieter and the looks were less overt. Perhaps his duel with Heilwig was poorly timed, but he could use his reputation as a swordsman to his advantage. He had enemies yes, but he was also one of the few men here who were dangerous without household guards bolstering their confidence.

He sequestered that bit of philosophy to the back of his mind and waded into the crowd, past a congregation of portly, mustachiode men and their giggling wives. He found himself at the table of appetizers, and upon the cloak of one man, he recognized the sigil of house Boeslegar. The man was broad, but not overly so, with a brown beard that reached into his oaken hairline behind his ears. If the guard captain could be believed, the patriarch of the Boeslegar family, Ingvald had slain a beastman warchief in battle with his own spear.

"Pardon me," Kasimir said by way of announcement, reaching past the burly man to grab a small plate with honeyed ham and steamed bean, grabbing a fork while he was at it. "It would do my reputation even less service to bump into you, honored sir."

The man looked at Kasimir gravely for a few, pregnant moments. Then his face widened in a smile. He seemed to have the magnetism of a man used to leading in battle. "I believe I know you. You're Graf Todbringer's new pup, are you not?"

"I've not been called that to my face, exactly." Kasimir remarked, and Ingvald chuckled.

"I have no talent for rumor, be it by ear or tongue." Ingvald said by way of apology. "But it is good to meet you. The Graf has spoken of you, and not without some small measure of praise, which is hard to garner. Most usually have better luck finding good farmland in the Drakwald. But perhaps he had reason. You are one of the two most famous newcomers to the city, after today's killing." Kasimir tried not to make a face at the term. It sounded a bit too close to murder, for his liking.

"Who is the other?" Kasimir asked casually.

"Ha, well I suppose it is unsurprising you've not heard, as most men steer clear when a white wolf is guarding one, even a woman so beautiful as that." Ingvald replied, granting a nod across the table. Kasimir's wintry gaze passed a small winding opening in the pressed bodies to see a curvaceous woman standing there, smiling prettily up at the hulking white wolf guarding her. The two of them were speaking to another two aristocrats, one older and one at the cusp of youth, and a number of noble ladies. "-But we've a brettonian in our midst, and between you and me, she's got a pair on her as lush as a reikland field. Don't keep your eye on her too long, though. You've enough enemies as it is."

"Enemies, you say?" Kasimir wondered idly, watching the woman. Kasimir had to admit Ingvald's assertions of her beauty were right. The classical green dress and gilded girdle only enhanced her feminine charms. But there was something else about her that drew his attention. The Knight of Ulric handed her a second glass of what looked to be wine, which she graciously accepted. However, when her escort threw his head back in a laugh after the younger noble said something particularly crass, she swiftly poured the drink out, the wine falling into the soil of the potted plant next to her. Within a blink, she had her glass back to her lips, acting as if she had just drained it.

"Now as I said, I am not one for rumor. I only know of whispers, but if I were you, I would keep that sword on you. And try not to step on anyone else's toes." The Lord Boeslegar said, patting Kasimir on the shoulder, and taking his leave of the food table. One fat man eyed the table, but seemed frozen, his eyes going between Kasimir and the food. The bastard decided to grant him his wish, quickly finished the plate, and walked away to leave the man to his own dinner.

He dodged and shouldered his way through the crowd, sliding up to the small gathering beside the White Wolf and his prize. The golden haired woman giggled with the group, and Kasimir gave a small token laugh as well to act involved. Perhaps it was nothing, he thought. Perhaps his suspicion of...something, was just his attraction working into his mind.

"I hear your Athel Loren is as dangerous as our Drakwald, my lady." The older noble said, smiling to the woman graciously. The women went quiet and the men turned their eyes to her. She nodded emphatically.

"Oh oui monsier. Iz ver-ee dangeroos. Bit beauteevul."

"Might we hear a story or two of the place?" Kasimir added, and for the first time, it seemed the entire crowd had noticed he was there. Not the woman, of course. She had noticed as soon as he had arrived. "Or, I'm sorry, does the forest reach your province? I have forgotten."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren watched her spectacle, thoroughly enjoying Jo just being herself. It was difficult to describe how he was feeling. He had just been through one of the most horrific experiences in most people's lives, and then had a building fall on him. But he wakes up and Jocasta pops over, and he was enjoying every word, every movement, every idiosyncrasy. If he had a mirror he would have advised himself not to be so obvious about it.

"I don't sound like that..." He said though he was grinning, but she cut him off and poked his chest, talking to him about honor. His grin disappeared, and he looked at her with pure honesty.

"I'm not gonna die." He replied, shaking his head. He meant it. "You tell me to jump I jump, you tell me to stay alive I will. We're a team. We have been since I pegged that Orc with a wooden chest."

"And I opened that hole in the ground that sent us to the draugr caves," She said, remembering it fondly. The memory of magic bringing sparkles to her eyes.

"And it looked like a tiger and swallowed us..." He said, the glow worm now having popped back down her shirt, and glanced at. Beren shook his head.

"What are you looking at?" She asked.

"I'm just jealous of that little guy." He said, resignedly. "It's your best quality."

Beren held it together for a good two seconds as she realized what he said, but his face twisted into a laugh and she burst out laughing too, acting like she was going to hit him. Instead she just tapped his chest, trying to push her smile away. "I guess we have that in common..."

Their laughter died away as they looked at one another, their lips parting and their faces drawing together to finally share a kiss they had been waiting on for months...

The ground started undulating violently. Jocasta nearly flew off of Beren, and it was lucky they hadn't banged their faces into one another. A thunderous roar rolled all around them, and a cacophony of cracks sounded around the immense cavern overlooking the city. Beren kept her from launching into the rocks, but despite the immediate danger, Beren looked for all the world like he had just lost an important card game rather than being thrust into an earthquake underground.

"Why!? Why can't I kiss her? Is it me? Is it something I did!?" He exclaimed, and gave a guttural curse in dwarfish. Jocasta unsteadily got to her feet, the rumbling slightly subsiding enough to allow movement, and across the fire Buri bounced twice before the rock his body fell on opened him up, halting his snorting. With a small word, Jocasta's earrings hopped off her ears, zipping around to go and locate the other dwarves.

She thrust his shirt into his arms and whispered. "Soon!"

"We need to find the others," He said, swiftly pulling his shirt down over himself. "I'll go and-"

This time she did give him a punch in the stomach. Not hard, but enough to make his sore form feel it. "What did we just talk about!?" She cried.

He paused, and then nodded. "Alright, we'll get out of here. But we can't go far. Buri!"

"What in the blazes!?" The dwarf barked, running a fat hand over his eyes and grimacing. Across the endless chasm, buildings collapsed in cascading showers of rocks. "The whole city's going down!"

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Sleep had fortunately not eluded him.

He had killed before Clausewitz Heilwig, though even his first hadn't riled him up more than a minute. He suspected he might not be what the sigmarite priests called a 'man of conscience.' He would dispute that, if he had the care to. The half a dozen men who had fallen to his blade had either tried to kill him, or were scourges the empire could do without. Fortunately, it seemed Clausewitz Heilwig happened to be both. The weariness of the road had worn off of him, and true to his word, Hammershaldt had provided clothes for the evening for after he had washed up.

His fears of being put in some ostentatious display were alleviated. He had been given a handsome black jerkin with embroidered patterns of ulrican wolves mirroring one another. His wolfskin cloak had been replaced with a gilded cape that swept about his shoulders, and the shirt beneath was colored light and made of satin, and his trousers were comfortable and loose fitting save for when the fabric met just above his ankles. His traveling shoes had been polished to the best of the court's considerable abilities, likely not having the time to find something else in his size on such short notice.

Once he donned the outfit and slid on a pair of belts, one to hold his hunting knife and the other for his sword, opened the door leading out of his chambers.

"There's no need for that."

Kasimir found himself standing face to face with what happened to be the captain of the guard, flanked by six men with halberds. He had a mustache that would make an ostermark man proud, and grey eyes that looked far too striking for his relatively mundane, aged face. He wore no helmet, but he had on armor and a surcoat that would be the envy of any imperial swordsman. Kasimir knew immediately he meant his own sword. The bastard glanced down at his hip, and then back at the captain.

"Have you been ordered to make sure I don't bring it?" Kasimir asked, wanting to be specific.

"Yes. I was told you would likely argue, but I want this to be as easy as possible. If you please..." After a moment's hesitation, Kasimir acquiesced. He unhooked the belt, and laid it across the bench next to the door, and stepped out into the hall. The nap had lasted for a few hours, as the windows showed the sun was now finally dipping low, the clouds having fled and Ulric blessing them with a red sky. As soon as Kasimir stepped out, the captain smiled. "If you please, sir."

"Let's not keep them waiting," Kasimir quipped, and the troupe marched north, leaving the southern wing of the Graf's palace. Kasimir strode at the head, acting for all he was worth like the captain himself, confident and fierce. They were making good time, as the grounds of the fortress were vast, until a pair of workmen hauling a large table stalled them, trying to manuever out of a chamber for some refashioning project to one of the rooms. Kasimir glanced out one of the windows. To fill the silence, the real captain spoke. "Have they told you of your responsibilities yet, herr Reinhardt?"

Down below, Kasimir saw an odd pair walking across the flagstones, followed by a small entourage of servants. The man was clearly a white wolf, broad shouldered and red bearded. With some chagrin, Kasimir noted he was armed. On his arm, walking with him was one of the most lovely women he had ever seen, pretty of face and curvaceous in every place a man dreams of. But she clearly was not from here, that was evident just by the way she moved. Her eyes flicked to every exit, glinting with some hidden secret, though perhaps he was imagining things. She smiled and seemed to be laughing at the man's jokes, but somehow it did not reach her eyes.

"Not specifically," Kasimir said, turning away. He had only taken a second to glance outside.

"That is because specifically you're to do what the Graf or Hammserhaldt tells you, or any other noble for that matter, unless they are superseded by one of the two. I know your position, and I don't envy it. I had one much like it, once upon a time." The older man said, and spread his mustache in a smile. "I am originally from Nordland, and I also found refuge in the court of Middenheim. Perhaps one day you'll have my job, or one like it. Or if you're lucky, you'll seduce some baron's daughter. Stranger things have happened."

"I appreciate the advice, but I've only been here a day. Let's not make ambitious plans just yet." The bastard replied, indicating they move forward now the hall was clear.

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal laughed, though not loudly. He admired her carefree attitude in such a dangerous situation. He was used to being cavalier in dire circumstances, but as a thief he was also someone who appreciated the act of taking an escape route while it was available to them. Still, he managed to rummage for a few more choice cuts of beef jerky before he took her hand and helped her forward.

"You'll see better at the trees, and night is not far off." He temporized to her. Despite himself, he found her discomfort something he wanted to alleviate. When she was annoyed it reminded him of a pit viper, and somehow that was not off-putting. And truth be told, if he was smart he would simply kill her now, as they had made it out of the caverns and into freedom. But he found he did not do the smart thing, and somehow he felt neither would she.

---

Chapter 1: The Bloodstone Lands

---

Amal whistled appreciatively, and for once it wasn't at Charynrae's backside.

On the small hill at the cusp of a miserable little dell, they had finally spied civilization past a copse of trees. It wasn't a hut or a cabin, or a guard tower to watch over the ruined lands of Vaasa. Instead, it was a massive wall that had dammed a pass between the Galena mountains that had loomed over the horizon for most of their trek. From southwest to northeast, the wall stood like an impenatrable bulwark, and Amal honestly did not know how an army could conceivable assail it.

"It looks a half a mile wide, and sixty feet in height." He breathed, for once putting on a professional air. Amal was quite good at ascertaining the length and breadth of structures, as he had been required to scale them more often than not. His sharp eyes could only see a handful of men, however. Well-armed men, but still. If he had to guess there was less than a thousand to guard the entirety of the vast structure.

The white wind of Vaasa suddenly picked up, ruffling his dark locks and sending another chill down his spine, as if to tell him he and his companion had overstayed their welcome in the inhospitable land. It had been rough going, rationing their food and finding little water to drink save for the brackish or muddied bogs and moors that dotted the landscape. Once they had spotted a troll and had kept hidden, the long-limbed monster loping across the murky, wet landscape to disappear into the gloom. Amal had swore he had seen a dragon in the distance as well, once as he had kept watch, but by the time Charynrae had awakened, it was gone.

He was ready for a warm bed and some food that someone had actually cooked. Even living off scraps on the streets as a boy wasn't as loathesome as trekking through that gods forsaken wilderness.

"You may want to keep yourself cloaked until we find a room," He surmised, his cloak hanging about his shoulders, almost making him look the part of an exiled prince. Amal then shrugged. "Or not, and let them take you as they will. I've gone this far with you, I won't abandon you now."

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

"You! How dare you cut in line, and doing so in the presence of such a lady?" The courtier sneered ostentatiously. A light rain garnished the scene, the clouds bloated and picturesque above the Great Temple of Ulric. The aristocrats and their servants scattered as well-to-do merchants and squires moved to the edge of the street, revealing the belligerents in question. On one end stood a stately, albeit squat man, with muttonchops the envy of a fellow twice his age. He stood protectively before a golden haired lady of the court. On the other end stood a lean, stern man with a wolf pelt upon his shoulders and traveling clothes, his boots still stained with mud.

Clausewitz was a drunkard, but he was a fiend with a sword. He had reason to be arrogant, beyond his favor of Hausmeister Brugal, the Graf's tall and stately Chamberlain. The lady's honor meant little to him, it was clear. She was beautiful, but there was little in her Clausewitz saw as valuable save as an excuse. Kasimir did not even look at her, stepping away and clearing room to draw his sword. He knew he was the perfect target. He had the prestige of favor without the favor itself. The bastard's death, given in a legitimate duel, would grant Claueswitz fame without really offending anyone.

"I did not cut in line, Herr Heilwig. I was merely trying to enter the door of the esteemed temple. Let me buy you a drink after the service." Kasimir offered cooly, his calm words not quite reaching his wintry eyes.

"So not only do you call me a liar, but you do not even apologize to the lady!? What, you wish to placate me to save your own skin?" Clausewitz Heilwig laughed with an ironic wickedness. He drew his slim rapier, the freshly sharpened blade whistling through the air, its cup hilt gleaming in the soft light of the overcast sky. "Draw your sword, bastard! You will answer for this insult, and even Graf Todbringer will not be able to protect you from my blade."

The crowd gasped as Clausewitz lunged across the flagstones at Kasimir, aiming for his heart.

---

Thirty minutes later...

The Councilman's study was warm and comfortable, but spacious enough to play the part of a small library. The works of Detlef Sierck and Tarradasch were lined next to medical books from far araby and navigator's tales west of the Westerlands. Kasimir stared at one of the shelves, not deigning to look at the good councilmen as he aired what he felt were his more than minor grievances.

"What were you thinking!? Getting into a duel, and on the steps of the Temple, by Ulric's sake!?" Ulf Von Hammershaldt exclaimed. His mug of ale knocked to the floor and his hair disheveled. Kasimir imagined a better man than himself would feel guilt over the debacle, but he merely wanted to find a place he could rest from the road. Unfortunately he had been escorted straight to Von Hammershaldt's study as soon as the duel had ended. Apparently the good councilman was to be his 'handler' for the time being, which meant they sank or swam together. Kasimir had known the councilman as a small boy, and he remembered how kindly the man had been despite his prowess on the field. It seemed the stress of the high court of middenheim had prematurely greyed his hair and left him distraught over the smallest things. Granted, a dead courtier was not unimportant news.

"I had assumed the god of battle did not fret over such things." Kasimir remarked without passion.

"He might not, but anyone can spin this into a scandal!" Von Hammershardt warned, slamming his hands on his desk. A bottle of ink rolled off the well carved wood and fell to the floor. Luckily for the carpet, it did not spill open.

"A scandal for defending myself?" The bastard asked, finally turning to regard the man. Kasimir was not an unintimidating sight. As lean as a blade and fierce as a winter wolf.

"What matters in a scandal is how others perceive it." He reminded him, doing his best to calm down and play the part of a teacher. Kasimir was half his age, and the old soldier turned politician to realize that. He walked round the table, the firelight igniting the gold regalia cascading down his surcoat. "Whether you had cause or not will not make it less so, if everyone is already against you! I would have thought you would have learned of such things in your studies at Altdorf."

"I was not aware Middenheim was Altdorf's lesser twin."

Von Hammershardt's eyes widened in bewilderment and offense. "Careful boy! The fact of the matter is, you have been here one day and a prized courtier is dead, and witnesses are saying you attacked without warning and broke the rules of engagement! Even if it's not true, you must behave yourself. Your position is-"

Kasimir had finally had enough, cutting him off with a slice of his hand. "My position is what Graf Todbringer says it is. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Very true," The councilman temporized, but he grew notably quieter as he spoke his next words. "-but Graf Todbringer is not the one whom you should worry about. Not even he rules absolutely here."

Kasimir understood his meaning, of course. Every imperial court, no matter how strong, ruled by the consent of the nobles and wealthy merchants, just as the emperor ruled by the will of the elector counts. Boris Todbringer was an exceptionally powerful count, second only to Karl Franz many claimed, but he could not be everywhere at once. Kasimir knew the advice was sound, but he would not apologize for defending himself. "I am here to faithfully serve my count, and if anyone gets in mine or his way, I will go through them. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few hours of rest before the grand ball tonight, and I plan on sleeping as soon as possible."

"Clothes will be brought to your quarters." The councilman said, and added as an afterthought. "And an armed guard."
@Penny

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal rolled into the room, knowing even if he were to attempt to lurk in silently, the orcs face one another and one would always have its peripheral vision on their entrance. Instead, Amal made sure the one who saw him would have only a split second to warn his comrade. It was too quick for the bewildered orc, but not for the cutthroat. Orcs were tough and brutally strong, but Amal was as swift as a zephyr. His dagger planted into the back of the orc's neck just as it had started to turn from its companion's warning.

A crossbow bolt bloomed in the eye of the remaining orc, and Amal whistled quietly at the marksmanship. The two brutes were dead, but the shadow of the ogre still lingered as it strode down the hallway, angrily searching for prey that did not exist.

"Quickly!" He whispered as loudly as he dared, rushing to the barrels and leaving Charynrae to the crates. Amal pried one open, and then another. There were dates and dried, salted meats used for travel, likely meant for whatever army this necromancer was cooking up. Amal grabbed what he could and shoved it in his pack, taking the tarp and wrapping it around his shoulders to serve as a cloak. If Charynrae grabbed the other, they might be able to cut the two and make some more insulated garments.

Pity, he had been looking forward to seeing her in her priestly robes under daylight.

He kicked the door open, sunlight flooding in and making the small torchlight seem bland and gloomy. "Come on, let's get to the treeline so we can make a fire!"

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal's eyes scanned the room, lingering on the chamber another few moments before silently and swiftly, he slipped back into the shadows and approached Charynrae so they could talk in whispers. He had good ears, but hers were far better, and it was his human hearing that couldn't handle breathing small sounds across the long tunnel. He also knew the numbers one and two in her sign, but she moved so quickly with it, best to talk it out.

"There's two other directions. One to the left and one to the right. I don't know where left leads, but the right goes further down into the mountain I think." He said, stroking his fine chin. He wasn't aware at how close they were, but their body heat made the two of them marginally warming as they conspired. "If we can just get the big one out, we can handle the orcs. You can shoot one and I can take the other by surprise. Do you have magic that might help get the ogre off his ass?"

Once she answered, he would nod. "If we have time, there are barrels and crates out there, and a blanket covering the crates we could take if nothing else. But we will need to move quickly. We can always sneak back in if the elements are too much and steal more. But hopefully we'll be long gone before that happens." He tried not to think about it, but it felt very nice being so close to such a beautiful woman. He had to quell a more carnal thought from his mind to complete the task at hand.

"I'll follow your lead. Give me the signal and we'll move." He said, giving her a wink. Idly he wondered if drow even knew the concept of a wink. If not, he could fill her in later.