POOHEAD189

Hello

@Liamdean4510 Mostly antiquity and the medieval era! Though I do like some of the early modern period :)

Hello

@Liamdean4510 Nice, I'm a historian too!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

I’ve also been broadly operating on the understanding that everyone kind of knows one another - at least what’s in the character sheets. For example, if someone heard the presence day Trajay’s real name, that’d be the first time they’ve heard that. In the same vein, I’m guessing we know that Blythe has a Dark Passenger, and we’ve variously come to terms (or not! That could be interesting) with that, and that Al seems like he might have tried to play fetch with Cerberus.

If that’s not the case, I suppose we should discuss it - for what it’s worth, I’m very not precious about Teajay. Everything in her character sheet is totally available for people to know. :3

@Naril

Yeah, I would say we have at least a soft understanding of each other. It would take a bit for someone to pry out his trauma, but people would generally know he spent some time in greece and traveled a lot and has otherwordly contacts, and would definitely play fetch with Cerberus!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

I'll probably give a post after that. Al always has some thoughts

Hello!!

Welcome to the site!

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Galt had no idea if he had been awake. One minute he had been standing there, and the next a wave of multicolored phosphorescent water hit him and bowled him over, and then light... or had there been light? He didn't know, and honestly his caring for the mystery swiftly fled him when he realized they had made it through. But he was surprised again when he came to with the pirate lord atop him. His heart began to thunder in his chest, not out of embarrassment or shyness, but he was afraid any disapproval on her part would send her small sword into his gullet.

Thankfully, she merely got up and checked their surroundings. The thief did too, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. His hair was no longer soaked, and he shook his head to get out whatever debris might have collected in it. The maelstrom they had endured was now pristine, almost picturesque. It was a small comfort, considering the ship looked to be a wreck. He ran his hands over his face to kindle his senses.

"Yeah, thought we were burnin' the ken there for a second." He admitted, drawing a curious look from Jesse. He grinned at her in spite of himself, not meaning to use the thieves cant. "Thanks, by the way. For keeping me onboard."

"Yer no good to me dead," She told him, leaning over the rail to check the waters below. The sea was as clear as glass, small fish meandering lazily beneath the Weather Witch. Seaweed billowing with every small current. She hopped off the rail as he replied.

"To think I was just starting to like you." Galt joked, peering at the island. "I'm not a sailor, but you're not bad at this." Her gambit through the portal reminded him very much like his mad dash to freedom and leap through the window, just before he had been taken by her. It brought back memories of Bonnie for a small, uncomfortable second. They had not even liked each other, but he still knew she was dead and he wasn't. Such was the life.

Jess chuckled, stepping across the deck to collect her sword. She gave him a fierce smile as she lifted herself back up, and this time his heart began to race again, for more traditional male reasons. Suddenly Bonnie was in the past. "You haven't seen nothing yet." She promised as she sheathed her sword.

Across the deck, Branch groaned. He lifted one scarred arm and grabbed at the railing above him. He missed it and hit the deck again. Galt looked around and noticed a few more crewmen coming to. He felt a small chill crawl up his spine when he realized half of the men on the rigging was now gone, as if the rift itself claimed a toll for their passage.

"Almost thought I was cleaved to the brisket!" One younger pirate complained, sitting up and rubbing his chest, blonde hair matted to his face.

Jess began to order men about, telling them to clean and repair the ship as best they could without taking it on shore. She then called for volunteers for a scout party on the island, and said by no uncertain terms Galt was coming. He was not going to argue, but at his incredulity she said: "First you can't wait to leave the ship and now you're wanting to stay?"

"Not at all, just figured you'd want to keep an eye on me."

"I am." She clarified with a glint as dangerous as it was amused, one hand on her hip. "I'm going too."

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Up close, the walls were even more impressive. Amal wondered if djinn had helped create them, despite their northerly aesthetic. The ballista and catapults stations atop the walls looked well maintained, and though the men were spread thin, they seemed well trained and carefully drilled. Voices from their captains and the men returning filtered out from the parapets as the two approached. Luckily for them, the large iron gate was open. It took them a number of minutes walking on open ground to make it, but the shadow of the wall was a comforting weight after being exposed to the elements for nearly a week.

Small bands of adventurers and lowly travelers trickled out of the gate as they approached, and though Amal was curious, the two of them steered clear so Charynrae was not discovered. Amal himself would probably draw an eye or two, and not just for his good looks.

With his keen eyes, he saw the guards questioning travelers every now and then, but Amal got a beat on the flow of the questioning, and with some small guidance to Charynrae with his hand gingerly taking the silhouette of her forearm, they managed to infiltrate a small number of peasants entering the gate, keeping to the middle and staying out of sight. The two entered under the tunnel of the gate, and a darkness cloaked them. Before them, the white of day illuminated the exit into Bloodstone pass, but Amal knew Charynrae likely felt more relaxed now than anytime the past week.

Likely, being the keyword. She was still surrounded by surfacers. And none likely as charming as he.

Closer and closer the light came, the two passing by large doors embedded in the stone, likely leading to more guard quarters. Seconds passed, and Amal then stepped into the light and blinked, taking the hood off his head and gazing about. To the left and right, there were shops and taverns and entertainment hugging the wall, some even carved into it. Men and women gambled and sang and mingled, some looking around aimlessly and others stalking with a purpose. Most were human, but Amal saw no shortage of doughty dwarves, and even a few halflings and surface elves. Beyond the wall was a small plain filled with makeshift shacks and tents, forming a shantytown almost two miles long. The populations were much the same, but many were mercenaries or thrill seekers, Amal guessed. He saw bards stringing their harps and tough men setting fires under cooking pots. Men in wizard robes held up maps and spoke in hushed tones to fighters or armored men with holy symbols. But of course, the largest portion of the men looked to be workers. Squires, curvasceous dancers, repairmen, true cooks, and the like. He grinned when he saw a few skulking figures from his vantage point, his trained eyes knowing the shadows of thieves when he saw them.

"Almost reminds me of home," He said to himself, though he did not doubt Charynrae heard him. He nudged her. "Come, let's see about getting a drink and finding a place to stay. Maybe I can even find some dice. Do you gamble, Lady Char?"

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Kasimir stalked down the hall, having left the party late. He had wished to linger, smiling as best he could and making small talk with whoever seemed receptive to it. He knew Hargulf was right. Tonight was the time he could repair his tarnished reputation, and then he would keep out of sight for a number of days, serving the Graf wherever the old Codger wished. He doubted Todbringer would make him do administrative work, nor anything social by nature. Bookkeeping was the most likely sentence, unless he had a shortage of swords in the drakwald. He had known him since childhood, but he had never been a direct vassal until now, or at least he had never been an adult vassal.

He turned a corner, passing by a resplendent painting of the Middenheim forces repelling the putrid goblin hordes of Grom the Paunch. Kasimir had read the histories extensively on that seige, being the closest the capital city had ever come to having its defenses shattered. Luckily for Middenheim, it had been the cunning but otherwise diminutive Goblins rather than a more ferocious enemy, and they did Middenland the favor of showing its prior weakness of not expecting an assault from under the very mountain the city stood upon. Now, after shoring up that veritable chink in its armor, the city truly was impregnable.

The moral of the story the scholars had often flouted was that if an enemy wishes to attack, let them. They will betray their greatest strength in the initial attack, and from there the defender could only get stronger armed with this new knowledge. Kasimir wished that were true in court politics, he thought derisively.

Utilizing his impressive memory and sense of direction, the bastard found his way back to the door of his room without needing an escort a second time. That was another reason he remained at the party longer than necessary. The guards had either been switched or had partaken a few drinks as well. He could slip out of the event easy enough once the moons were high above the city.

Kasimir passed by the small, marble statue of Ulric holding an axe in his left and a sword in his right, and unlocked his door with a sigh. Truth be told, he needed sleep. The door lock did not retreat, and he lowered his brow in slight confusion. He turned the key back, and then forward. The bolt fell into place, and then he undid it once more.

"Strange..." He said softly, and opened the door.

The room looked much the same as it had been, but his grey eyes flicked back and forth, his instincts telling him something was amiss. Finally they fell on the chair beside the door, where he had left his sword. The blade and sheath were gone! It took him only a moment of hesitation before he cursed, feeling warm anger slowly flow into his body.

"Bastards," He swore, fully convinced his blade had been confiscated while he was away. He would first go to Von Hammershaldt, and if the old soldier did not order it taken, he would go to the Graf himself. At the moment, he could not give two shits if that was a bad first impression after being gone for years. If the old bastard could not understand the duel had not been his fault, he might as well take his sword and leave the fucking city. A calmer side of him knew it was likely petulant, but he had done nothing wrong and everyone had shamed him for it.

He growled and turned out into the dim hallway, closing the door and striding determinedly back into the corridor, only to collide with the sudden appearance of a hurried figure. Immediately he knew it was a woman from the impact, but just as he was about to apologize, the light of the torch caught her face. It was the supposed Lady d’Aberville.

"You!" He remarked, his face two parts surprise, one part hostility.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"I want the biggest house..."

"Babe, you know if someone comes back that'll be the place they go to first, right? Shouldn't we be more covert?" Neil cautioned.

Well, caution was a strong word. He wasn't entirely against the idea, feeling the same sense of greed and desire for luxury and comfort as his girlfriend. Well, maybe not the same, mostly wanted her to be happy. But he did want to voice what might tip the balance in her decision making. He also should probably mention any war party, Imperial or Chaos, would want to use the big house as a main base. He doubted either would be welcoming to thieves.

Emmaline crossed her arms under her sizeable chest and gave Neil a pleading look, her eyes big and blue. Neil turned and looked at the reader, before shaking his head.

Neil picked the lock on the large oaken doors, using his shoulder to shove the stubborn portal open. Both scoundrels hurried under the ostentatious archway and into the foyer, eager to be out of the elements.

The foyer had still-clean tables with busts of various men, evidently a family line known as the Krumppers, as evident on the names beneath each, owning this manor for eight generations. Above them was a dome with an impressive quadratura, depicting Sigmar's retreat from the Empire during the latter years of his life, flanked by a massive wolf and a great boar as the myths often portrayed.

"Damn," Neil said after he whistled appreciatively.

"It's so overt it's covert." Emmaline said, smiling like the cat that got the cream as she walked past him into the wider atrium. To the right was a sitting room with soft, cushioned seats and couches where one could lounge with a beverage and overlook the small, wealthy village. To the left looked to be the dining area and the kitchens. Straight ahead, there was a well fashioned stairway, with a seaswept railing of dark polished wood. Past it on the first floor looked to be the gardens.

"Hey, check what they got in the larder." Neil called after her when she turned the corner. Then his mind caught up with him. He leaned out of the foyer to call down the corridor. "And don't drink all the booze yourself!"

Emmaline poked her head out and waved at him, a cork in her mouth already. She slipped back in as quickly as she appeared. Contented, Neil decided to check the perimeter to make sure there were no lurking ungors or thieves. Or, more dangerous thieves, at least. He stretched his arms for a moment, and then stepped into the sitting room. A wide bookshelf loomed above the biggest couch, filled with various tomes from alchemical treatises to playwrights, to the classics of ancient Tilea. Useful information, but merely novelties to be collected by the wealthy. The window, framed by the large chairs, showed the town as vacant as when they had entered. Still, he did not want to remain in front of it for long, and strode into the next room, turning his head from outside to a smaller dining room.

"Sigmar's flaccid balls!" Neil cursed, jerking back, stopping his foot from stepping right on a corpse. Blood congealed on the floor from a head wound obviously made by a pistol ball. The manservant lay sprawled, unmoved from the moment he was shot. The blood was dark and dry now, his stained, grey hair stiffened. Neil didn't need to touch his skin to know the corpse was cold.

"Well, that's awkward." He deadpanned, seeing no further sign of a struggle, save for the carpet being pulled a bit uneven. He stepped over the body into a smaller corridor, passing by a door that led to the outside, into a small room obviously meant for entertaining guests. Out in the back gardens, he saw no one. The flowers weren't in bloom yet, but from his cursory glance he saw it had been well maintained until recently.

He headed left, towards the kitchen, his voice echoing down the hall. "Hey babe? Babe, there's a dead person in there, but don't worry it's not contagious."

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

It was good fortune then, that he had been found by such a nice person. In life people often took things for granted. He almost had just there. Ali thought to himself 'of course I would not die there. Of course a pretty woman finds me and brings me back to health.' As if the stuff of dreams not only could but should happen. However, he intellectually understood that was silly to expect. He put on a congenial smile, though he did not look well enough to walk. Not yet at least. He still felt a bit dizzy, and the wounds had barely been tended to.

"Thank you," He said softly, taking the water she offered with both hands. He did his best to keep his hands from shaking, and he did a good job of it for the most part. He was aware of her eyes on him, and for some reason he felt self conscious. It was silly, considering she had seen most of his upper naked body and helped carry him here, bleeding.

He had never felt so good, quenching his thirst. The water was cold and pleasing, disappearing down his throat so quickly he almost didn't believe it was gone. A drop or two rolled down his chin and onto his well-formed chest, curling over the definition of his physique. Ali wasn't a laborer, but he was young and strong, often helping his family with chores and carrying heavy packages miles up the road.

He set the glass down, catching his breath. Wow, he really was fatigued. Still, Ali made sure he wouldn't immediately close his eyes. "I'm Ali. Alidren Baldyr, but just call me Ali." He said with a wan smile, shrugging. He regretted the action, pain shooting through his body, the bandages on him stretching a bit. His eyes widened and he grunted from the pain, but continued to talk with a strained voice. "It's lovely to meet you, miss...?"

He sounded like he had been smoking a pipe all his life. Smooth.