POOHEAD189

just an old user lol

@TeaQueen360 welcome back!

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

"Yes ma'am," he replied, deciding not to comment on Jocasta's 'boring board.' Clearing his throat, he decided to head up the stairs and grab a cup of coffee. He trudged up, still feeling the light tug of weariness from the usual lack of sleep, and he came into the main office with a yawn. His eyes, slightly red, were still as sharp as the knives he was about to handle. But first, caffeine. He stepped into the break room and grabbed a cup, glancing at the brand of coffee Emmaline had ordered for the office. True to form, it had the skull and crossbones of Death Wish Coffee. His mouth quirked up so little it wouldn't have been noticed even if someone looked directly at him, but in his world, that was a smile.

Pouring in the small teaspoon of sugar and some light creamer, he took a sip and felt a well-balanced acidity, bitterness, sweetness. Not too bad, and if he remembered right, Death Wish had double the caffeine. He'd need it, he guessed. He stepped out of the breakroom, nearly bumping into an intern who swerved out of his path, and made his way to the back of the station, past the smaller offices and the main room, finding the big oaken door made from the ever-rejuvinating wood of a treant. He placed in the code 6167, and heard the door unlatch. He grabbed the handle and pulled it open, flipping the lights on.

One of the lights flickered for a moment, but stubbornly lit itself as he stepped in. The 'war room' they called it, it was more of an armory for wiccan wannabes. It was an austere room, with various charms, poultices, and weaponry stacked, shelved, and categorized. A big poster of the CW show Supernatural had been placed up on the wall by Jocasta, and Alcander thought the choice was only moderate cringe. But to give credit where it was due, Eric Kripke did get one thing right. Rock salt in shotgun shells were a staple, and he pulled a few boxes of shells out, taking out the rock salt bag from costco, and took out his pocket knife to peel them open and begin filling them, whilst carving small latin symbols on them for added measure.

He grabbed a few witch-doctor charms to protect against the undead and malevolent spirits, and he decided since he was not entirely sure what they were up against, he knelt down before a large cupboard and pulled open the bottom drawer. He reached in with both hands, and pulled out a safe made of yew. He unclasped the lock, and pushed the top open to reveal five serrated knives. Made by the dwarf Hunir, each knife had been forged with multiple pieces of ancient weapons. The spearhead of Cu Chulainn's spear, a shard of Fragarach of Lugh, a lump of silver, and a small sliver of the spear of Longinus. Their copper plated hilts were made from bits of the tabernacle of Moses himself. They were only brought out when they really did not know what else to bring, but he thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

After that, it was a fairly standard affair. He grabbed five leviathan fangs on cords to wear around ones neck, small crosses of bronze, some small arms rounds with holy water, garlic, and with silver heads, and a few miscellaneous items in the 'fun bag' for very niche encounters. He refilled the ammo in his own gun, the nickle in his M1911 procured from the blessed bells of notre dame. He stuffed his gun back in his pants, and readied the equipment to be grabbed. As he drained the last bit of his coffee, feeling more awake, he was about to step out of the armory before he realized he forgot something.

Alcander snatched a few grenades of holy oil. Never could be too careful, he surmised.

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Pre-Planning Banter

[A collab with @Randomguy@Vanq and myself]

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Gideon barked triumphantly, his barrel-shaped body slumped forward as his bent legs lowered his head to the ground, his wagging tail high in the air. He gave a great vertical leap, reaching Rannon’s eye level before he touched down again. Rannon smiled, but soothed his best friend and scratched him behind the ears.

“Alright, let’s go. But behave,” Rannon said to his Mabari, who gave a yawn to show he understood. Satisfied, Rannon set about making his way to the hall, determined to join the pathfinding team, Gideon walking briskly beside him. But after ten strides, he realized he was famished. Maybe swinging by the mess hall might be a good idea, since it was on the way. He did not wish to arrive late, but being distracted by hunger was not ideal either.

Cadmus walked away from the courtyard in a contemplative mood. After hearing the speech given by the High Constable, the mage found that he had mixed feelings regarding the whole thing. He definitely agreed with the whole retaking the Deep Roads part. For one, diplomatically speaking, it would earn them a lot of favour with the dwarves, and given that Grey Wardens and the Dwarves had longstanding relationship of mutual respect borne from dealing with the darkspawns, helping them reclaim their old glory of the Deep Roads was a surefire way of forging a strong and lasting formal alliance with the Dwarves. Strategically speaking, taking back the Deep Roads from the darkspawns also made sense, that meant they were pushing the darkspawns back and could establish outposts and forward operating bases right at the doorstep of the darkspawns.

The premise of a campaign to retake the Deep Roads and taking the fight to the darkspawns made sense. No, that was not the part of the plan Cadmus was worried about. He was worried about the allusion made by the Constable regarding ‘Slay them before they rise!’. Presumably ‘rise’ here referred to the Blight, so essentially, this would mean stopping the blight before it started. The question was how? The only way they knew of to stop the blight was to kill the archdemon, which followed that stopping a blight before it started meant killing an archdemon before it rose, which was…questionable. Cadmus did not disagree with the premise of the plan inherently, but considering how little they knew of the archdemons, it felt reckless to attempt slaying them while they slumbered. Cadmus would support finding out where they slumbered and establishing an outpost to observe them and perhaps attempt to find out if it was possible to safely kill them while they slumbered. But outright killing them? Cadmus hoped the higher ups had more information to work with than what was available to rank and file soldiers like him, otherwise, they were just rushing headlong recklessly, which was eerily somewhat reminiscent of the planned Deep Roads expedition by using demons courtesy of the Orlesian Wardens during the Corypheus fiasco.

Well, for now, he had better head to the pathfinding meeting. Unlike most of the wardens, having been selected as part of the pathfinding team, it didn’t seem like he would be able to fully partake in the feast. Feeling a bit parched, he took out his ritewine bottle. One of the good things about the Joining Ritual was the fact that the immunity also extent to alcohol, somewhat. Meaning that he would be able to drink some wine and keep a clear head for the meeting, as long as he didn’t go overboard. Cadmus shook his ritewine bottle, trying to measure how much alcohol was left. There was still some left, but it had been sort of his thing to never completely empty the bottle until the Calling, which meant, it was probably time to refill the bottle. He had the feeling he’d be busy in the upcoming days, so now was probably as best a time as any to refill his bottle.

Besides, it’s a feast. That’s when they serve the good wine.

And so, Cadmus headed to the dining hall, intending to quickly refill the bottle before heading to the meeting. He entered the dining hall finding wardens feasting and drinking, their morale high after the rousing speech. Spotting the wine barrel, Cadmus started making his way there.

“Pardon me. Apologies for cutting lines, brothers, but I have to join the pathfinding team briefing in a bit, and I’d like to refill my wine bottle beforehand. Terribly sorry, you know how it is,” he said as he tried to make his way over to the wine barrel through the wardens gathered there.

Still in high spirit, upon hearing Cadmus was part of the pathfinding team who essentially would spearhead the campaign, one of the wardens gave him a cheer, which was then followed by others, as they clapped Cadmus back, allowing him to pass through.

As Cadmus thought, being part of the pathfinding team seemed to come with its own perks. He wondered how the Southern wardens would react upon hearing he was a Tevinter mage who practiced blood magic, though. It would be rather entertaining to see their expression in some sort of ironic comedy.

Regardless, Cadmus made his way to the wine barrel, turned the knob, and refilled his ritewine bottle.

She had gone first to grab dinner, though with the meeting looming and her reticence at a drawn-out goodbye, Shiathari only briefly made an effort to find Edrick. A quick scan of the very full hall was sufficient enough to say that she had tried. She couldn’t really recall the last time it had felt this packed, this bustling, this loud.

She lightly picked her way through the perimeter of the hall, sliding between bodies of other wardens and their guests all the same. A bad habit returned, with the lithe ranger greedily gulping down the plate of food she had fixed herself, propped up against a wall, eyes keeping a careful eye on the crowd around her. Satiated, overly even, she deposited the plate - empty but for some streaks of gravy and crumbs - on the end of a table and made her way for a bit of wine to wash it down.

“Only a pardon for your brothers?” Shia chided, though it wasn’t harsh nor said with anger. She hadn’t even really looked to see who it was pushing himself through the line that she had patiently waited in. Her hands turned the knob in turn, deep red liquid flowed into her tankard, though she only allowed it to fill halfway. Her head turned to see who she spoke to, the tankard at her lips. A harsh gaze settled on him as she took a small swallow. “Will you push your way through first where we’re going too?” One side of her lips ticked upward, a half-smile that struggled to soften the rest of her expression.

Cadmus turned his head at the voice, finding himself looking at a black-haired elf warden, giving him somewhat of a smile.

“Ah. Apologies, I must have missed you,” Cadmus said. It was the truth, the elf passed completely beneath his notice. As far as keen sense of awareness go, Cadmus was far from an expert, but having been in the wardens for 4 years meant that he wasn’t exactly novice either. He doubted anyone would seriously try to sneak around in a feast, given the fact it might put some of the more veteran wardens on edge, so it’s likely that she was just doing it out of habit, just quiet enough to escape his notice. A proof of an experienced rogue.

Cadmus then smoothed his expression, as he smiled, “Like I said, I was just about to refill my bottle before–”

He stopped as a new arrival made his way to the two.

Rannon had arrived a few minutes prior, elbowing his way through rather than squeezing past. He didn’t want to be rude, but it was better him than Gideon, his hound at his heels until the Fereldan-born had found a plate and filled it to the brim. Pouring some off his plate for his companion, they both ate swiftly and a bit greedily. Warden food was Warden food, but all in all it was quite good. They had broken out the best cooks for today, he surmised. Once he was done, he put his plate up, and thanks to his height, his eye caught two familiar faces.

“Come on,” He said, his Mabari perking up.

Men and women laughed and chatted and jeered, toasting their flagons and engorging on the food as he passed. The tables were long and the hall wide, but his long legs got him to Shia in short order. He tapped her shoulder, briefly contemplating the poor joke of stepping to the opposite shoulder, but thinking better of it.

“Couldn’t resist the wine, either, eh?” He asked her, and then gave a nod to Cadmus when their eyes met. Gideon wriggled, and pushed through Rannon’s legs for Shia to pet him, if she would.

Cadmus nodded back at the blonde man who was seemingly about his age, before turning his attention to the mabari who was making his way to the elf. Mabari…a Ferelden warden, perhaps? It might be stereotypical, but mabaris were practically engraved in that nation’s history and culture, so…

He then replied, “The wine does smell excellent. They opened the good wine casket it seems.”

“In any case, allow me to introduce myself, I’m Cadmus. Cadmus Laenas,” he says, introducing himself to the two.

She felt the tap first, a sign she had grown complacent at not having picked up on the human’s approach. The smell and sound of a mabari was unmistakable though and eased away any discontent at being caught off-guard. Her head shook a quick no in response to the question, and then she was down, both knees bent and hovering over the ground in a crouch as the mabari wriggled before her.

“Who’s a good boy?” She knew Gideon, and by extension of that fact, his handler. Her thin fingers wrapped around his face and massaged the massive dog’s jowls playfully. War dog or not, like most animals he was eager to please the elven woman. She muttered a few more affirmations, something she doubted Rannon would be surprised at. It was the other man’s introduction that brought her back to standing, her body turned with a hand still resting on the mabari’s head, her elbow crooked slightly uncomfortably to do so.

Her expression evened out as she looked the man over more closely. A vint? No, something she had better not say aloud. With a quick glance to Rannon, she offered her name in return. “Shiathari, you one of the new arrivals?” She was certain she hadn’t seen him around before and something told her she would have noticed him if he had been.

Gideon wiggled excitedly, his huge mouth opened, his tongue lolling out as he panted happily. The mabari’s tail shook his entire back end, bumping into the table. Rannon had to pick him up by the haunches and move his back legs so they had room. Gideon had always liked Shia, and that was enough proof for Rannon to trust her, plus he thought she was funny. The other man, he didn’t recognize.

“Cadmus? Good to meet you,” Rannon remarked, his deep baritone easily piercing the din of the crowd. He shared a look with Shia, before he took Cadmus’ arm and shook it, making sure to not grip too hard. “Picked a hell of a time to join, but we could use all the help we can get, I’ll bet.” Gideon was inclined to agree, giving a yip, which could have been interpreted in many ways, but Rannon felt it was a greeting.

Cadmus nodded as he chuckled, “Hah…yes, a ‘hell of a time’ indeed, that’s quite the understatement. It’s good to meet both of you, Shiathari, Rannon.”

Turning to the Mabari, he added, “And you as well, of course. Though, regretfully, I do not know your name yet.”

He was part of the Imperial Senate, a politician. Part of the magisterium even, through one of the seats afforded to the Imperial Circle of Magi. Though not exactly a diplomat, he had spoken to some Ferelden dignitaries on occasion, and from what he had learned, ALWAYS gave respect to their Mabari lest you invite their scorns. They were called doglords for a reason, as unflattering the moniker was.

Cadmus continued, “I’m new to the Anderfels, but not exactly new to the wardens. It’s been about four years since my Joining now. I was in Orlais alongside some of my fellow Tevinter wardens when we received the order to come here. Then, when I arrived, I got the assignment to be part of the pathfinding team, and here we are. What about the two of you?”

Shia’s face remained flat beyond the sharp look that those she counted as friends would know was just how she was. “I’ve been a griffon-keeper here in the Anderfels for…” She paused, without purpose other than to quickly try and count the years. “Five? Years. A warden another five or so beyond that. The Free Marches, the border of Tevinter.” She enunciated that, her eyes trained on the new man for any weird tells. Gideon seemed to nudge her. “Right, this one wants you to know his name is Gideon.”

She lightly, or as lightly as she could that he would still feel it, pressed his head back down for her arm to rest more comfortably again. “I’ve had my fill here, seems we’re all meant to be seeing what the High Constable wants of us.” Shia bit her tongue to prevent the nickname she had for him from rolling off her tongue. Any of the wardens who had been at the fortress long enough had earned a nickname of some sort, mostly in good humor, or as a way to privately remember who was who.

Cadmus nodded, conveying his agreement, “It’s probably for the best. It would not do for us to be late to the briefing,” then, with a small smile, he added in a tone of a jest, “As senior wardens, we should be in the habit of arriving early. Good influence and all that.”

Rannon smiled, liking Cadmus’ pragmatic patriotism. “You’ll fit in just fine here, I think.” He said, his deep baritone powerful even amongst the party chatter. Gideon perked his head up, lifting Shia’s arm, sensing his master readying himself to move. The big mabari lifted himself up, and turned around, his fine coat brushing against Shia’s arm. “Come on, bud. Yeah yeah, Shia’s coming with us.” Rannon grinned, and he gave a nod to Cadmus to follow.

Greetings from a real chitty guy, lolol

joe mama

@chitinous guy

no u

Sci-Fi Bent Writer

@Schiraz Lovely to have you here!

The Blood & The Axe [POOHEAD189 & MacabreFox]

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Rhona could hardly believe her luck at this point in time, just when she had thought it had run out, here was this… man before her. Her dark green eyes, the shade of an evergreen gazed back at him. Everything had happened so fast that she was still coming to terms. He… had helped her, and even more so, he covered for her when the guards had approached. Her slender brows knitted together then as her gaze intensified. She didn’t recognize him as one of the Nightguard that her master had kept, not unless he hired him, but that didn’t seem entirely plausible. What were the chances that she would have met a potential scout to return her?

Rhona cleared her throat then, and then promptly bowed at the waist, a formal half bow, “T-thank you. I… I would stay, but I really must go.” She turned to leave, sparing him one last curious glance.

“Maybe I could help?” He asked, reaching out to her, before pulling his hand back. The words had been pulled from his mouth before he even realized, but she had seemed undeniably forlorn, and it did not sit right with him to just toss her away without the offer. But he wouldn’t push for it too strongly. He shook his head, feeling as if he needed to make an excuse for himself, as if her green eyes could cut through the heart of him. “I guess I just know what it’s like to be in a strange place, alone…” He said with a shrug.

He did not know what kind of help he could be, he realized. As he just admitted, he was not a local to the city either. Hells, he wasn’t even a local of the continent.

His words gave her pause, and after they had died away, she turned slowly to gaze back at him, quirking a brow.

“You would… help?” The notion of receiving help did not settle with her easily. She had been on her own for the better part of two decades, if one could say that, or at least in strange places. It was a feeling that she knew well, one that his words made her mull over with great consideration.

Given the situation, Rhona felt as if she didn’t have a choice. She was hungry. Footsore, and travel weary on top of that. She hadn’t slept in the past two days, and bordered on near collapse.

“Should I… take your aid, if one may call it that… w-what would you ask in return? I have no gold to offer you,” She said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the next.

Beren looked at her, his eyes keen for a human’s. He could tell she wished to hide her visage, but he was unsure why. He felt she must truly be without trust or companionship at all, and when she spoke he knew it to be true. Her words held naked suspicion and unapologetic unsurety. Not the sly, knowing suspicion of a cutthroat or a normal city thief.

In all honesty, he was somewhat lost himself. He had no real idea where he was, but he did know of an inn down the street, at least, and if he could not leave Greybridge today, there was good a place as any to stay the night. He spoke softly, so as not to alarm her.

“I want nothing in return, save maybe a little company?” He added, a light suggestion. While the concept of her being granted aid might be foreign to her, he wondered if he could make her understand, and said aloud: “Have you never wished to help someone before?”

She lowered her gaze, staring at the tops of her worn boots, two sizes too big. Everything in her nature told her not to trust him. Anyone offering help always had an ulterior motive, in her experience. And yet… he had helped her selflessly when she had made the desperate choice to steal food, and even went so far as to deter the guards.

Rhona couldn’t answer his question, not right at this moment. With a deep breath, Rhona reached up, her slender fingers tugging down the hood of her cloak. Her gaze met his then as she waited, holding her breath for a few moments. Sunlight filtered down over the rooftops and into the alleyway, shedding light over her.

While she was a dark elf, her complexion was lighter, a smokey grey with a curious rose undertone. Across her right cheek was an aged scar that spiderwebbed over her cheek, and tapered off at the bridge of her nose. Her hair was a different matter altogether, evoking the image of freshly spilled blood. Her hair was pulled back in a set of twin braids, with a few strands framing her face. Overall, Rhona looked… timid.

“Do you still wish to help me?” Her voice came out tiny, and incredibly small, her gaze focused on him.

Beren flinched, not expecting that at all. A part of his mind told him to take out his axe, to move before he was killed by some foul sorcery. He knew better than most the cruelty of the dark elves. But it was all wrong. If she had wanted to lure him anywhere, she wouldn’t have introduced herself in such a way. After his first thought, his second thought sent blood rushing to his face.

Pretty girl…

He took a breath, trying to suppress his untoward thoughts and his body’s reaction. She was exotic, beautiful even! His heart thumped, audible in his ears. But even that was thrown out of his mind a moment later. He had been trained to live a life of discipline, and though he did not always live up to that ideal, his training helped him prioritize his thoughts and words. Beyond her dark origins, beyond the fact she was breathtaking, he could tell she was sincere. Past it all, she was just a lost soul that was hungry, and he would help her even if they sent him to the chopping block for it.

It was the right thing to do.

He smiled and gave her a bow. “It would be my honor.” He told her in all sincerity.

She exhaled in relief, and rubbed the back of her head before giving him a half smile.

“Ah, I… don’t know what to say,” she said sheepishly. She then stuck out her hand, “I’m Rhona. T-thank you for helping me back there.”

Beren gave a small laugh, glad to see her easing up. He extended his hand and shook hers gingerly. “I’m Beren, and it’s cool. Happy to make a friend.” He told her.

She donned her cloak again, enshrouding her form once again. Beren led her out of the alleyway, turning right, moving north up Gargoyle Street, hitting the intersection where men and women strolled as carts rumbled past. Beren lifted himself up on his tiptoes, growing even taller compared to Rhona as he looked over the milling crowd. “Ok there it is, c’mon,” He bade her.

Ten minutes later, Beren had procured a booth behind a curtain in the corner of the common room. Rhona waited within, and the monk had bought two glasses of clean water and two vrettonian spiced trenchers, carrying the wooden plates over and using his muscled shoulder to brush the curtain out of the way. He placed one in front of Rhona, and then the other on his side. “Sorry that took a sec,” he apologized, plopping down. “I was not sure if you would stay the day, so I purchased a room for you.”

He didn’t tell her half his coin was gone. He could always get a bit more, or sleep in a barn. He was used to travel and rough living. “If you don’t want it, I’ll use it. But if you’re here tonight, you take it.”
He shook his head, expecting her protestations. “We can talk while we eat, but the world’s rough out there. Just get some rest and we’ll call it even, ok?” He had already grabbed his trencher, lifting it to his lips and taking a large bite. A small line ran down his cheek from the juices, and he let out a soft ‘hmm’ before placing his trencher down and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “Sorry, don’t usually sit with someone.” He chuckled.

Rhona glanced down at the trencher on the plate before her, she could do nothing but stare at the food on her plate, salivating heavily. Her eyes flickered to Beren then, watching as how he ate. She prodded at it with a tentative finger, examining it as if it were going to come alive, satisfied that it wouldn’t, and was safe to eat. Then, awkwardly, she picked up her own trencher, and took a massive bite. She swooned then, the amount of flavor washing over her taste buds making her head dizzy.

“Mm!!” She cried in delight, and quickly downed the entire thing with a few bites. Her stomach was full, sufficiently full for the first time in… years? She was accustomed to a diet of thin gruel, or mushroom bread. She was so eager to savor the meal, she ended up licking her plate clean.

Rhona sat there for a few seconds before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “S-sorry.” She said, her face flushing with a soft pink hue.

Beren laughed in delight. “Hey, no worries. Don’t got to impress.” He said, sitting back. He began scarfing his down as well. He looked much like a wolf.

“You… bought me a room? What about you? Where will you sleep?” She asked, concern lacing her words.

It was true, Beren had been traveling quite a long way. He was tired, and wanting of a bed. But not as much as her, he knew. Greybridge was going to be a place to relax for a bit, but every traveler knew that plans changed, even if it was of their own volition. Beren was too good-hearted to let the promise of a bed keep him from helping someone in need, even if his dwarven uncles would spit on him for aiding a dark elf.

“I can sleep in the common room.” He said, nonchalant. “Or find a place in the stables. I’m used to sleeping in hay, I’ll be alright.”

She lowered her gaze then, studying the grains of the wood beneath her hands, “N-no. I couldn’t accept such an offer, not knowing that you would be in less favorable situations. If… if I may be so forward, we could at least share the room. Please.”

Rhona had a peculiar way of speaking, her tone was gentle and soothing, almost akin to the sensation of warming one’s hands after time spent outdoors in the cold.

Beren paused. It was a kind gesture, and if this was any other situation, especially with a dorcha, he could see himself being a fool to accept. After all, they were known for their cunning and their taste for blood, but…he had initiated every contact between them, and she was as sincere as one could be in the request. He ran a hand through his thick mane of black hair and sighed. “Alright, but only if you get the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said, a smile on his face.

She glowered, crossing her arms over her chest, “No.”

“No,” she said again. “You paid for the room, you sleep in the bed. Besides, beds are too soft for me. I will take the floor.” Any of the uncertainty that was present in her voice, had vanished immediately, a confidence to her demeanor now. Rhona gazed back at him with half lidded eyes, her brows furrowed into a straight line, and even her lips turned down into a frown.

Beren was stubborn too. It was one of his main faults, actually. It was from spending all that time with the dwarves. But she was the one he was helping, and if she preferred the floor, it was only rational and right to give both of them what they wanted, even if a part of him felt like it wasn’t right.
“Alright,” he capitulated. “As long as you’ll be comfortable, then I’ll sleep on the bed.”

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

"Markus? As I live an breathe!"

The vast corridor was open, with very little in the way of outlets that would hide a face or a body save the shops, offices, and warehouse entrances that dotted the walls of the hall. There was even very little cover above, only two rafters that granted the space structural integrity, and thick windows that showed the great blue beyond of space. And yet even still, it was easy to lose yourself or someone else on the floor, even with a crowd that was merely moderate, along with a few utility and labor droids zipping or stomping by. When the mercenary heard his name called in that familiar baritone, he was surprised he had missed his old friend walking by.

Grimald Ironsides smiled widely, spreading his reddish-brown beard. The older merc wore his usual workmen's garb of yellow and brown, but he had his titanium-c cybernetic arm uncovered and glinting softly from the lights above. Markus saw he still kept his steel leg in his trousers though, thank the Red God. The codger stumbled to the center of the corridor and waved Markus over, a cigar in his mouth. He was half a head shorter than the younger merc, but broad and tough, and not just from the titanium appendages. Markus gave him a rare smile, though it did have to be said Jocasta had a knack of making him smile as well. He didn't consider that, however, as he approached. The two clasped each other's flesh-and-blood arms in greeting.

"What the hells are you doing here, Grim?"

"Me? This is what I do!" The older man extolled, waving his arms about to indicate the business sector. He waved Markus to follow him to the wall, and the two old friends stepped over near an antiquated kiosk, one without even a virtual intelligence to help navigate. Grimald shot the question back. "What in the hells are you doing here? Last I heard you were taking your chances in the southern quadrant, going after something big. 'Least that's what Leonard said."

"Yeah, I took my chances there. Didn't pan out." Markus remarked, glancing at a group of thugs stomping past them, laughing about something unmistakably sleazy. A couple split apart, nearly falling over to get out of their way. "So you're here to sell more of your wares?"

"Yeah, yeah, and sending home the proceeds to the family, 'course." He said, looking off into the distance as if something was warring in his mind. He suddenly came back. "It's easier bein' a merchant these days. Everyone wants to buy, no one wants to sell. And less competition than the blood and guns, game. I go to stations like here when I actually got stock."

"I don't think I'll join you anytime soon, but I'm glad to hear you're doing well." Markus said.

"So tell me, what's the reason for yer being here, specifically? You wouldn't gone so far east unless you had trouble." Grimald reasoned, and the glint in his eyes showed Markus he wouldn't take no for an answer. The merc sighed, and thought he could trust Grimald with the info, and began to recount all the events of the past week, involving Jocasta, Gallanis, the attack on the Caravan on Mazda, and the God's Eye. Grimald laughed a few times, wiggled his eyebrows once or twice, whistled in awe, and by the end of it, he barked a final, disbelieving laugh. The old merc handed Markus a cigar, and though the ex-solder did not usually partake, he decided he could enjoy one with a friend. Grimald lit a wooden match, cooking the stogy a few moments. Grimald had always said you never lit a cigar with a lighter. An old school matched preserved the flavor. "Well lad, can't win 'em all. She sounded promising, but ye did what ye could. Least you got a bigger payday for it with that ship."

"Yeah, there is that." Markus said, and placed his tongue at the bottom of his mouth, exhaling softly to blow out a smoke ring that wafted into the air. He felt like it was six years ago, back when he first started, fresh out of campaigning. His mind always wandered back to Brigval Manor and the shootout he and a few other soldiers-of-fortune had with the infamous Iron Wyrms. Tank had been killed in that fight, but despite that, he remembered it fondly. It was how he wanted to go, at least.

Grimald grinned. "Still remember, eh?" It took Markus a moment to realize he meant the smoke ring.

"Well, you taught me." He replied with a smirk, and the two enjoyed the cigars for a few more moments. "Hey, since you've been here a couple of times, you know where I can find some work here?"

"Well, Nevaro is the best place." Grimald said, pursing his lips. "It's the desert planet, closest habitable one to the sun. They got-"

Grimald's words faded off, as what the two had initially believed was a distant engine soon became a thunderous tumult of armored feet and military-grade equipment. Markus whipped his head to the right, and both mercs watched a large squadron of men charging past them, yelling for civilians and employees alike to make way. They rolled past the two of them with the force of a freight train, and Markus shook his head. "The hells do you think that's about?" He wondered, and heard a wheeze of static. He turned and saw Grimald placing a finger to his ear, and the old cyborg's hearing aids that doubled as comms came flooding back into his memory.

"Most channels don-...wait...seems there's a perp on the station. Woman, sounds like. Highly dangerous, they say."

Markus paused, squinting. His cigar was out of his lips now, his mouth dry. "Got a name?"

"J...Jocasta, but it came out static-y. That's not the girl you came with, right?"

Immediately Markus sighed, placing the palm of his hand to his forehead, his pointer and middle keeping his cigar from his hair chocolate fringe of hair. "Yeah, it is." He said, and he made himself keep his feet planted. "How she got in trouble in half an hour... no, no, I guess I can believe that."

"Well, y'know..." Grimald said, his words trailing off to an unintelligible mutter. Markus had known him long enough to know what he was getting at. He felt the resentment in his breast and the denial in his throat roiling up. She had saved his life, but he had saved hers multiple times. The fact that most of their successes had been a team effort was wasted on him. He had offered to be an equal team member to her, anyway, and he wasn't going to waste his time anymore.

"Forget it, she's on her own." Markus replied with scorn, taking another drag of the cigar. "If she wants to be a merc, she can try and handle herself for once."

Grimald shrugged, pursing his lips again as if in thought. Markus just stood there, trying to lean casually and enjoy his cigar. The men and women that had leaped behind terminals and scrambled into stores were now walking back out, just happy no gunshots had erupted in their vicinity. Markus told himself he felt just as happy to stay out of the action, and the next few moments was a long, awkward silence. Grimald opened his mouth, and then closed it. Markus inhaled again, but an instant later he tossed the cigar on the ground and let out a groan that ended all groans.

"Fuck me!" He yelled, breaking off the wall like he was shoving someone off of him, and without pause he started sprinting down the hall after the guards, wondering why in his wisdom he did not bring his Secare Saber, his main firearm, or his fucking armor.

The Blood & The Axe [POOHEAD189 & MacabreFox]

Honor, duty, and a pinch of curiosity. Without all three driving him forward, it was difficult to tell if he would have traveled so far north. Beyond the Seas of Swords and the Corsair Strait, passed the Land of Dead Gods and the Ruby Coast, traversing the waters of Leth Arian and the expanse of the western sea, he traveled without second thought on what lay before him and the miles left behind. Like the inexorability of gravity and the surety of stone, the monk pushed forward, beyond the Blackwood and Vrettonia, shining silver and gold like in the tales, and at the foot of the peaks of the Dragonback, he knelt at Malgrim's Tomb and paid tribute to his old friend, laying the Amulet of the Patriarchs within the sarcophagi, and he prayed to the Einjar and the Evergod above for their favor and blessing to the dead. He then sealed the stone mausoleum behind a door of bronze, with one great heave of his iron muscles. Only then did he think of where he was, and how long it would take for him to truly go back home.

The land was wintry and wet, though it was close to spring by the talk of the townsfolk he had passed by. The wind chilled him, and the sky wailed like a maiden in the throes of childbirth. He realized he missed the sun and the heat, the waterways that shattered the land and revealed hidden secrets of civilizations long passed. It would be some months before he would find his way back to the Black Delta, and that was if he was in a hurry. But truthfully, he was in no hurry. He merely meandered south now, doing his best to make ends meet. He helped an inn keeper with a few tasks of manual labor for a night spent out of the rain. He helped a woman and her children, refugees of a new war, down the road by acting as the beast of burden for their wagon. The children sang songs and giggled at him singing with them, when he recognized the words. He even saved a man from three bandits who had wanted to relieve him of his life and his money. One night, the monk had seen the yellow eyes of a wolf watching him, before it padded away as if it had never been. It had been an interesting two weeks, to say the least.

But now, after taking a small ferry ride downstream on the river they called the Heathric, Beren had made it to the baroque and towering city of Greybridge. It was the first large city he had ever entered in Northern Torek, save Port Nyrothlenaen on his way in. The architecture reminded him of dwarven work almost, grim and regal in countenance. Not as fine quality, of course, but it matched the colder climes and ancient history of the area. But the streets were packed, and the peasants that had been tilling the fields had flocked to the inner walls for protection or access to the other side of the great river. Beren had just been looking to resupply and travel further downstream, but the prices had gone up, and the market was filled with as many lost serfs and beggars as desperate individuals looking for food.

He wore a grey cloak over his broad shoulders, his trousers baggy but sturdy, and his torso was hugged by a crimson top over a dark blue undershirt. He wore no hat, his thick dark hair was shelter enough in all but the harshest rain. He stood there, hands on his hips, contemplating where to go, before he felt something solid ram right into the small of his back. Beren blinked, suddenly feeling very guilty.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he breathed, turning around to see a hooded figure clutching at her cloak. He could immediately tell it was a woman by her build, and the pretty green eyes that met his brown-eyed gaze. But he didn't catch her face well. Her skin looked as dark as dark iron, but the day was overcast and it could have easily been the shadow of her hood. Either way, he knelt a bit to check if she was harmed. "Are you alright?"

"Thief! Thief!"

The cries came from the milling crowd, arming swords waving in the air to part the throng of locals and refugees that wisely wanted nothing to do with any sort of illegal activity. Beren opened his mouth, his mind whirring to what was happening. For a second he was about to pull the woman out of the way of the guards, assuming she couldn't be the one they were after. But then his mind caught up with him, the cloak, the running, maybe he had stopped a thief? He tensed.

"I'm just hungry," She said in desperation, clutching something to her breast. The words cut into his heart like daggers, and he made his mind up without another moment's hesitation. All the downtrodden he had seen on the road, all of the refugees today, he had to help. He wouldn't realize it later, but the fact the voice was attractive likely had something to do with it, admittedly. He pulled her behind him and whispered 'play along.'

The watchmen nearly stumbled into Beren like the woman had, the men burly with calluses, but not nearly as imposing as the monk if they didn't have on armor and swords, wild eyes glaring at him from under iron helms. "Out of our way! That bitch stole from-" The front man waved his sword about, nearly hitting a curious bystander. Beren caught his wrist in an iron grip.

"Officers, please, this is a big misunderstanding," Beren laughed, producing a golden crown out of his pocket. "I told her to get me a sample from the marketplace, but she forgot the coin. It's my fault really, but when the tradesmen yelled at her she ran right back to me. She's skittish like that, but I should have been there. Here..." Beren let go of his wrist and flicked the coin deftly in the same instant. The man's eyes followed the gold greedily, forgetting the trouble for the moment and trying to catch it. Instead, it hit the ground and rolled between his feet. "This is so embarrassing, honestly. I hope you can forgive us..."

As Beren spoke those last words, he took the woman by the hand and led her away into the crowd, the watchmen now scrambling for the coin. A voice shouted 'hey!' and it echoed, but more bickering erupted, and soon the onlookers covered the square so thickly, the guards were lost within the tides of bodies. Another few moments, and Beren gently pulled the woman into the alleyway, before peering out once more to make sure there was no pursuit.

"Well, I'll miss the money, but it went to a good cause." He reasoned aloud, and then turned back to her, his smile warm. "I'm sorry, I hope you're ok."

(Don't) Burn Da Witch

@BurnDaWitch welcome!

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davian had cursed with 'Dark One's own luck!,' more than a bit wary of the strange devices the Aes Sedai was using. After Zoya had fallen unconscious, he tried to gently wake her, but to no avail. Instead, he took the heavy cloth she had used to carry all of her stolen items and poured them out into a neat pile in the sand, before propping the Aes Sedai up and wrapping her with the cloth to keep her warm. The next twenty minutes were far less pleasant, as Davian led a sortee into the wind and rain, wading into the light collection of trees past the sand and finding the driest bits of wood and foliage he could, and gathering all manner of stones, besides.

He got lucky once, chancing a look at a strange shape in the sand, and plucking an unbroken cup out of the beach. It was of Tairen make, which he supposed made some sense. He cleaned it best he could with the rain water, and then let it sit just outside of the small derelict ship Zoya was now slumbering under.

Another twenty minutes later, and Davian had begun a small fire near the aft, ensconced in stones and shielded from the rain as best it could be. A few drops of the rain found their way through the creases in the mottled wood, but overall it was a workable structure. Davian was freezing, but gradually he began to warm from the flames. His stomach gurgled from lack of food, but he was not starving yet. Every so often his eyes would gradually slide back to Zoya, and he wondered what pattern in the wheel had placed he and the Aes Sedai together.

Light, I'm already thinking about traveling with her. If I were smart I would wait until the rain abated and then simply leave. But he knew he was not going to do that. Eventually, he found a comfortable position, using his dried jacket as a place to rest his head as he decided to get an hour or two of sleep, the flames now all but embers. When she awoke, he was going to want to know what exactly all of these items were for, and it was his last thought before he drifted into a fitful slumber.