POOHEAD189

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

He wiped the sweat from his brow, brushing aside the fringe of his hair with a quick toss of his head. The room was like a puzzle, with and no doubt when he was done placing everything in their correct spots, la dame headache would no doubt want him to switch it around once again. It would be his pleasure to tell her no, but he did admit he had a certain responsibility to her happiness and well being now. A part of him wondered if he should abscond from the capital again, take what money he could find and make a living for himself back in Altdorf, or maybe go to Kislev. He would rather that than be the glorified babysitter to this one.

"Kissymir, Ai need zees! Kissimyr, Ai am in need of zom more seer-vants!" He mocked in a faux brettonian accent, shoving another one of the many hundreds of pounds of furniture to where they would best be suited. Usually he was not so juvenile, but Eleanor of Coucernne had a way of rankling his nerve.

She called to him again, and he grunted in response. He went to go do as she wished, but once he had returned, the situation had changed drastically. He found Eleanor stumbling out of the room, and a man with a severed arm and death in his eyes falling to his knees, a dagger clattering to the floor. Guards rushed to the scene from his call, and they swept passed Eleanor into the room, swords raised and eyes darting across the room.

Eleanor sat on the floor, stunned for a moment, before she began to cry.

"Are you hurt?" Kasimir demanded.

"Non Non but mon mak up eez ruined," she wailed.

Kasimir sighed, and sheathed his sword. For a moment he lamented this task his father had given him, yet again, but looking at her there with tears in her eyes, he felt his disdain turn to a modicum of sympathy. He suspected she was a liar and a charlatan, and at best she was an overdressed popinjay. But someone had tried to kill her twice, and as someone who had experienced the same, he felt a rapport despite himself. Kasimir knelt before her.

"We'll fix your make up before we go out, madame." He told her, trying to make his tone tender and reassuring. "And once it's fixed, we can get some sweets before we have to meet people."

"Bonbons? Oui?" She asked, sniffling. She peeked at him between her fingers.

"Oui," He responded, and pushed himself up, offering her a hand. "I brought someone to help you with your hair, and you two may the room I just set for you." He said the latter louder so the serving maid could hear, and she nodded at once, eyeing the room within nervously and glad to be using the other door, as the guards upended chairs and checked the windows. There's only one exit, and Kasimir was going to watch it personally. Whilst Eleanor and the maid walked into the room Kasimir had prepared, the swordsman stepped into the room the two watchmen were searching.

"Anything?" He asked them.

"No, my lord. And that is strange." The taller one said, stroking his read beard. Kasimir raised an eyebrow, and the man turned to the bastard. Even though Kasimir's station was unsure, he was still the graf's son. They showed him some hints of respect, every now and then. He cleared his throat and said. "The man's without a forearm, but we can't find it anywhere. And no blood on the window. It's as if the limb just disappeared."

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

The days passed without much conflict, thankfully. At least at the start of their journey. Davian had made himself useful, hauling lines with the men and carrying what needed carrying, refusing only menial work like sweeping or mopping the deck. He had spent his youth doing such things, and he refused to do so again. The weather had stayed behind them mercifully, the looming clouds chasing them, but the winds were on their side. The men began to insist it was due to Zoya and her powers of the sea, but Davian had other things on his mind.

The Horn of Valere.

Even in Ebou Dar, the legend was a popular one. As a child he had imagined himself becoming one of the fabled hunters of the horn, finding the sacred object and putting it to his lips to save the westlands from a terrible fate. He entertained the idea of using it against the dreadlords of the trolloc wars, having risen again to swallow the world in darkness. Fancies of a child with a sword, ones he had not thought of for over a decade and a half. Now he was told by an Aes Sedai, a light cursed thieving Aes Sedai, that she was going after it, and that she needed his help.

That night she confided in him, he could not sleep. He had gone up to the decks to walk the ship back and forth, before he drowsed off there for an hour or two before stalking again restlessly. He was not sure if he should be angry with her or impressed, and the conundrum was driving him up the wall. The woman had convinced him she was innocent, he had saved her life, then found out she had tricked him and now required his help! Light blast her! He had a comfortable living in Tear! But now, it was bigger than him. This had to do with the world itself.

The journey grew a bit more exciting on day three, when Davian had been looking out over the waves. Land was not in sight, though the Captain had said they were close to shore by some measure. He had seen dolphins playing across the waves the past hour, and was hoping to spy them again, before he heard whispers on the wind.

"That bloody witch means no good for us. You think she's keeping the storm off? She is the storm! It's following her, just like the Defenders were coming after her and her man. She's no good I tell you." The voice said. Davian glanced to his left, one of the sailors speaking behind a few of the crates to a crowd of three who listened intently.

"But Gil, Captain says she's good for the waves, and the fellow Davian has been helping us out." One of the listeners replied.

"Fool on the Captain, then! Mark my words, these clouds won't leave us until we get rid of the witch!"

Davian had been on edge for days, and this was just the fix he needed. He pushed off the railing and strode past the crates, rounding on the small group of conspirators with a deadly grace. One man saw him first and yelped, and the others blanched at his appearance, save for the accuser. He was a wiry man with a wandering eye, with a short beard that looked like cut wheat. "I have killed men for less. Luckily for you, I will give you a fighting chance, sir."

"What?" He asked, confused. Davian reached forward, grabbing his collar, and yanked him out onto the middle of the deck. The man stumbled, but caught himself and pushed Davian off of him, his defenses now up. All eyes were now on them, the men in the sails above, the men swabbing the deck, and all those besides. Zoya nor the Captain were there yet, but a man left to likely inform the both of them. Gil reared up, eyeing Davian dangerously. "You put your hands on me again..."

"Go ahead and tell everyone what you were saying," Davian challenged him, raising his voice to be heard. His back was now to the aft, and he would not see Zoya present, though she arrived quickly. "Tell them all that you think our Athan’miere is a witch, and a curse on the ship! That I am a villain and a rogue, yes?" Davian watched as Gil began to look around, suddenly nervous. Davian snarled, and unsheathed his sidesword, the blade gleaming in the afternoon sun. "I intend to duel you."

"Duel? We don't due-"

"In Ebou Dar, a man duels another man if they cut in line or do not offer proper respect. Your insults are worse, and the mark of a coward. Fight me or swear silence to your tongue, or next time I will cut it out."

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

"When is it ever?" Markus asked under his breath.

They approached under the cover of the brush, creeping forward until they could hear the engines of the transports breathing as their engines were starting up or idling from some maintenance check. Huge, spacious hangers with open gateways stood unguarded and inviting, but both of them knew it wouldn't be quite that easy.

"You know, a lot of places let you walk in as long as you act like you're supposed to be there," Jocasta remarked.

"I'm aware, but right now I look like a mercenary who just survived a starship crash." He reminded her, gesturing at his armor and weapons. She wrinkled her nose but shrugged as if to say he made a good point. Looking back at the strip, the closest hanger was around forty meters away, and two men leaned against the huge plasteel walls, taking a smoke break it looked like. They were grey fatigues and hats that shielded them from the sun. Around their necks were large goggles.

"Here," She said, shoving her gun into Markus' lap. "I'll go take care of those two. Just be ready to come back me up if need be, ok?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I got into Adan Gallanis's secret meeting as a singer, didn't I? Just trust me." She said.

Despite their banter and this being her first job, Markus respected her skills. He nodded and sat back, but pulled out his Daiedron-C87 and leveled the weapon just in case. "Just watch your ass."

"I'll watch my front, you watch my ass." She said with a wink, and then sauntered out of the treeline with the surety of a performer on their twelfth set. He had to admit, looking now, it was a nice ass.

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Neil awoke to a loud, incessant alarm blaring in his ear. He gave a start, his eyes popping open. He felt a weight onto of him, and he realized it was Jocasta's slumbering form, her frizzles hair splayed everywhere, tickling his nose. His back and tailbone ached, and he realized that the two of them, drunk and horny, had fallen asleep atop the billiards table. Another alarm blared, and he was suddenly aware it was Cygi. She wore a loud pantsuit outfit with lights on every stitching and a huge sign, not unlike the one Jocasta held the night before, with large flashing lights that said 'WARNING.'

"Intruders! Gunmen! Get your lazy ass up, money bags!" She cried, her mouth having turned into a loudspeaker for the occasion.

"Jo!" Neil implored, and he realized his hands were still firmly on her butt. He started slapping it. "Jo! Jo! Jo! Get up!"

She snorted, lifting her head with one eye closed. It was then Neil understood just how good of a bounty hunter she truly was. It took her less than a second to come to terms with the situation, see Cygi pointing to the exit, and she swung her legs to pivot her body, grabbing the gun Neil had taken off her pants six hours before. She twisted, spinning to lay atop him at an odd angle, crushing his stomach with her elbow as three men with assault rifles entered the room, one after the other, firearms held at the ready. She killed the first two with well aimed shots to the neck, the gun itself firing ionized rounds that glowed white as they left the barrel. The third man saw his companions die and he rolled under the third shot, swinging his gun to the billiards table and firing.

At this point, both Neil and Jocasta pitched off the table at opposite ends, the bullets ripping into the wood and fabric, nearly sawing the table in two. Jocasta hit the ground and rolled, switching the gun to burst fire and returning fire to suppress him as she gathered herself.

Neil groaned, having landed on a number of the rock hard balls. His body felt like shit, but everyone who knew him remembered he was good at three things. Tenacity, survival, and causing trouble. He utilized all three by taking a red ball while plasteel and wood fragments were tossed in the air from the ensuing firefight, and with a quick look at the man's flank, suddenly raised himself up and threw it with all his strength. As usual, Neil had an air for accuracy. The ball impacted on the man's full-face visor, cracking it and sending him falling on his ass. The scoundrel had scrambled to his feet, and before the mercenary knew it, Neil leaped off the couch and hit the man full-tackle, knocking him to the ground for a second time. They struggled briefly, but Neil had surprise and the strength of urgency, and he found himself with his arm wrapped around the paramilitary soldier's neck. The gun had long since clattered to the ground, pushed away by scrabbling feet.

"Who sent you!?" Neil asked him, and when there was no answer he shook the man. "Who sent you!?"

"Harkssssssssshhhhhkkcsk" was the reply.

"Oh, right." Neil responded, letting go of his neck. He heard the man gasp, falling forward on his hands, catching his breath. However, it didn't end the way Neil expected. Behind him, in the doorway, a man cocked his gun and pressed it against Neil's back. Neil's face went from excitement to boredom. "Oh, cool."

"Drop the weapon!" A tall man in full body armor demanded of Jocasta.

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Kasimir would generally count himself as lucky for his education outside of Middenheim. It gave him a knack for accents, even Brettonian ones. However, at this moment he regretted the experience, as he would be able to blissfully ignore Eleanor's haughty expectations. The woman was either the most highborn woman in the Old World, expecting the drakwald to be traversable by red carpet, or she was blatantly trying to annoy him. Either was as likely as the other.

"Of course, allow me to escort you to a bedroom I know is unoccupied." He said, inclining his head as if he were dealing with a valued foreign dignitary. She arguably was at that, though he would not put her as 'valued' as she might think.

He led her away from the throne room, through the corridors and back rooms where he was reasonably certain no further assassins would be lurking in wait. He had nearly died tonight from the guards, just as she had from the men who had killed her poor patron. Kasimir lamented the death, he had always liked Oderick, or at least had never had a large problem with him. Skilled Templars of the White Wolf were hard to come by, and despite his taste in company, he was a stalwart and stout man.

Minutes later, Kasimir approached a large door in the center of a grand hall. He stepped aside and allowed her to enter. "Here we are, and I shall fetch the servants while you make yourself comfortable." Eleanor held his head up high, and Kasimir imagined that if she wasn't a fraud, she was used to looking down her nose at everyone in her life. She opened the door, and then blinked. Her lips opened to speak, but Kasimir pushed her into the quilt closet and closed the door, sitting down in front of it and crossing his arms. Inevitably he felt her pummeling the door, but he was easily half again her weight and stayed put.

"Easy princess, it's not all sunshine and roses for me, either." He remarked dryly, closing his eyes. "At least you have a soft place to sleep. I'll have to nap against the door."

He heard curses in several languages, but eventually the tantrum ceased. Kasimir would have given her his own room, but demanding even larger quarters had irked him, and even servants needed sleep. After an hour passed, he found himself to his feet and went to the great hall where he spoke to the master of servants, Algrik, to find a suitable place for a lady to sleep. He informed Kasimir that the red wing could have one available the next morning, as well as a connected room for Kasimir in his stewardship. Satisfied, Kasimir made it back to the closet. He looked in to see the lady Eleanor sleeping on a pile of quilts she had utilized for a place to sleep, and then he sat back down and slept until daybreak. He dreamed of things he could hardly remember, but one sequence remained in his head. He was running across a wooded area where men and women, all lost souls, trudged as if they were going to market. Somehow he knew they were going into the maw of a great daemon, and next in line was Eleanor, only she did not wear the dress of a lady. She looked more like a sorceress of the imperial college, and somehow he knew she was to be the tastiest morsel of all for the daemon.

A maid that had passed by the spot had woken him up just before she had stepped into the gaping mouth of the riunous being. He awoke with a start, and the maid gently informed him the Lady Elanor's quarters were waiting and ready. His tailbone hurt, but he thanked her and stood up. The bastard stretched his neck and opened the door to find a wild haired Eleanor staring daggers at him.

"Not to your liking, mon cheri?" He asked her with a grin. "Me neither, the stone does not suit me, I find. Luckily there's a room available now, and a change of clothes and a bath awaiting you."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"How come you by that mark, wretched and accursed?" It asked, and its voice had a malleable quality to it, as if it was made through the vibration of water rather than air. The air itself seemed to respond, and she could feel the voice on her skin as the second hand vibrations bounced across the ship. Jocasta crossed her arms, and glanced at Beren, who was still out cold. She had checked his pulse to make sure he was fine, but now he seemed to merely be asleep. With trepidation, she began to tell the tale of her encounter with the demon, and Beren's apparent death and revitalization, something he was still not wholly aware of. Her words poured out of her like a loosened faucet, spilling into the air, and without even realizing, she had even gone so far as to tell the tale of Iskura and their discovery of the dwarves, as well as their adventures in the deep beneath the world.

When she was done, she realized the eldritch thing had come closer, its eyes aglow with a rheumy yellow light. It watched her in unnerving silence for many moments, its shape in the water vast. Her dragonflies had returned to her, zipping around to inform her of priceless treasures and glyphs that even the greybeard of the Mythrim Tethir might have never seen. The mechanisms of the ship itself seemed derelict yet advanced beyond modern engineering.

"You have spoken truth." It rumbled slowly, as if contemplating some unknown mystery despite its words. "I have been here since the forging of the world, and I will be here long after your descendants are dead. But I sense in you a heart that does not match the mark upon yourself, nor does it match the one with whom you travel. But there are those who dwell in the deep who would ask such questions and carve it out of you, would use you to their own ends." A weight seemed to lift, and waters around the ship began to calm. They no longer seemed as if they were to rush in and crush them at a moment's notice. "I cannot remove the mark, but I can send you far from here, where your patron cannot follow without great difficulty. This will be my gift to you..."

The figure began to fade into the murk of the deep, and suddenly there was a change in the air pressure. The ship began to rumble, and it became clear she had no time to examine the ship. Water began to fall from above, and the last thing she remembered was a feeling of sleepiness falling over, like a great wave.

---

Beren's first realization was coughing, and a sluggish weight to his form. He rolled over, only to find his face pressed against a soft cheek. Groaning, the warrior monk opened his eyes, and realized he could see nothing. Absolutely nothing. He suddenly sat up, and realized he had felt Jocasta's soft breath against his skin moments before. He placed his hands on where he knew she lay, gently rocking her. Underneath them was sand, and while that was strange enough, he felt almost every sound he took to move was echoing softly, as if they were both in a very small chamber.

His hair still felt somewhat damp, and as Jocasta roused, he remembered seeing her sinking beneath the waves and the subsequent pulling of her form. The darkness of the water had become almost as oppressive as the pitch black they now found themselves in, but as to where they were or if Buri was nearby, he could not say.

"Jo," he whispered. Despite the pains he took to keep quiet, the words cut through the silence like a newly sharpened scimitar. "Jo, are you good?"

Shields of the Empire

"Seventy three cataphracts dead, Protos Kapetanos. And one hundred and twenty protostates. Over three hundred wounded."

Brasidas could smell the blood on his face, the excrement from released bowels of dead men, and the heat made both all the more pungent. The mixed stench was almost an old friend to him at this point, like the smell of woodsmoke during the winter, or the aroma of fresh water at summer's height. They brought back memories of earlier battles, and briefly he wondered how many more he might live through, or whether he would fight until the end of the world.

His contemplation passed quickly, and he nodded to the tetrarch. "Better than I had thought." He confessed. It seemed the Khareeds had not had the spirit to fight this day. They were lucky. It could have been the water they had drank the day before, the food could have been bad, their spirits low from some issue back home, or the will of the gods. He would not spit on good fortune. "Drag the enemy dead into a pile, and our men into another. Erect the Nimeia."

Brasidas spent another moment remembering the smell and the heat of the day. Another battle. Then he went with his tetrarch, dragging bodies and piling them along with his men. It took a quarter of an hour to help the wounded on horses and roughly erect both piles of men. The enemy dead towered over their own, and with a light addition of black wine atop their own dead, they burned them and praised Ares and Hades. For the mound of ravaged enemy corpses, they left them bare to rot in the sun, and before it was a small statue of a protostate made of gathered weapons and shields; a monument to their victory the Khareeds would find the next day, next to the decaying corpses of their own dead.

As the men took a needed drink from their flasks, Brasidas found Tychon lugging the last of the enemy dead, throwing two men at a time nearly a dozen feet into the air. Brasidas gave a smile that showed his teeth.

"Well done. I'm sure the ladies will love to hear how far you can throw dead men."

"Flattery is not your strong suit, old friend." Tychon remarked, wiping his nose with the back of his massive hand. "So we're off to see the amazons?"

"I must confer with Phaedra on our next move." He said, nodding. Whenever they spoke, they had a way of barely suppressing smiles, as brothers often did. "Want to tag along?"

"Sure, let the enemy scouts bake in the sun a bit longer as we speak."

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

"We are in your debt." Davian said, giving a bow to the captain to give at least a show of politeness. Despite the attempt, the man waved him off with a grunt.

"Just because I can hook a shark from a boat, I do not offer to wrestle it in the water." The Captain muttered, stepping away. Davian was not sure of the exact meaning, but he could hazard a guess. He turned away, hearing two men hauling one of the lines begin to whisper to one another, 'glad they were dealing with a sea folk woman rather than an aes sedai' they said. He hid a sardonic smile. In the distance, he fancied he heard yelling, and the lines of men and women on the docks were replaced with a more organized distribution of distant figures. Apparently The Defenders had arrived just a minute too late.

Davian pulled aside one of the crew, the man carrying a think timbered box in his bare arms. "Where can we put our steeds?"

The man shrugged Davian's hand off of him with a scowl. "The aft door, now leave me be, thief."

Davian let the matter drop. The men on the boat all held one eye on he and the aes sedai, and he could not necessarily blame them. He recognized a few Taraboners and Illainers amongst the Tearian and Andoran majority. At least none were sea folk that might be able to tell the aes sedai was lying, if lying one could call it. Davian would, but she might not. He then realized something, and filtered back through his memory to when he had spoken to her, before the chase through the street.

---

The Captain, a man named Farth Balgon, had granted them what quarters they could get, which was a cramped little space with a door and a bed. The aes sedai had insisted they bring it a hammock as well and set it up so Davian could have a place to sleep, and he was not certain if he should be insulted she had claimed the bed off hand or had gone to the length to find him a suitable subsitute. Either way, once their quarters had been settled, the two of them joined the crew in the kitchens for supper for a brief period. The men gave them a wide berth and shied away from even looking in their direction, though Davian felt eyes wherever he did not face.

After dinner, he ushered the aes sedai into their quarters, telling the captain they needed to retire early. He gave them a noncommital grunt, though he seemed to step lightly wherever Sakura was concerned.

After Davian shut the door, he turned to the aes sedai and took the only chair in the room, offering she sit on the small cot she had procured. She still wore the garb of the Athan’miere, and though it was fetching on her, it was a reminder that not all was likely what it appeared. He was used to being more charming or forthright with women, but even now he felt he should tread carefully with an aes sedai, so he gesticulated with his hand as if to invite her to an open dialogue and said. "I do not trust the walls here very much, but even still, you have not asked me why I rescued you in the Stone. And since you have not, I think I shall initiate the questions. Tell me, what was your true purpose in Tear, and what is your full name? Unless you wish for me to call you Mistress Sakura after we reach land. If we're to travel together, I require honesty, not..." He glanced at the door, and then spoke softly. "-tower honesty."

Worcestershire sauce?

War chester shire

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davian and Zoya clodded out of the gates on steeds of esteemed breeding, fit for the High Lords of Tear themselves. Zoya rode a splended white mare, and Davian was astride a dappled stallion. The two of them rode behind an carriage, likely to head for the docks and be brought back before day's end laden with goods. Davian was unsure if the men had recollected themselves and reported him being an accomplice of Zoya, or if the bodies had merely been discovered and they were seeking only the Aes Sedai. Either way, it felt safer going with a third party to not seem too suspicious riding out of the gates. It worked, light be praised, for a good quarter of a mile.

But a group of twenty defenders and two armored cavalrymen were marching back to the Stone, when one of the riders, a man of dark hair and a hook nose, squinted at Zoya suspiciously. Davian did not glance his way, urging the Aes Sedai on until they heard a call of "halt!" behind them.

Suddenly, some unseen force struck the cavalryman off his horse. The man fell onto three of his fellows, and Davian whipped the reins of his horse just as Zoya did, both turning right to barrel down a causeway. A men carrying a tray of turnips screamed and tossed his goods aside, scrambling out of the way before he was bowled over by the steeds charging into the busy street.

"Stop!" A voice yelled.

"You'll not get away so easily, witch!" Another cried with ardent fervor that would make the Children of the Light proud. The thief and the thief-taker charged past wagons, nearly ramming into men and women who squealed and shrieked from the heavy mounts. A woman yanked a child out of the way, but Davian fancied he saw the child fly to the right far quicker than his mother could have moved him with her own strength.

"This way!" He shouted, pointing left. The street turned onto a terraced walkway, their well shod hooved clapping loudly against the sandstone. The breadth of the Erinin appeared before them. The horses whinnied in fright from the steps, but at Davian's call they now slowed, changing their gallop to a canter. It was lucky for them that the only patrol that had seen them had yet made it to the gates. That meant at best twenty Defenders on foot would be searching for them, whilst the cavalrymen likely had ridden to report their sighting to the Stone. They still had some time to be hidden and make their escape, as long as the ships left when they desired.

Somehow, what the Aes Sedai prophesied was true. A large caravel with wide foresails were taking the last man aboard, hustling onto the deck before the gangway was removed.

"Hurry!" Zoya cried with all the command of an Aes Sedai of Tar Valon, and urged her mount on. Her white mare shrieked, and Zoya took the lead to tear into the docks with Davian in her wake.