POOHEAD189

Who's still around?

@Fuzzybootz What sort of stuff are you into rn?

Who's still around?

@Fuzzybootz Hey, Fuzzybootz! Lovely to see you again :)

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"They're not real works," Neil whispered to Emmaline. She nearly choked on the mead halfway down her throat.

The small band of bandits had found a table near the center of the left room, connected by a large opening to the wider right room where the hearth lay. A few men in hard leathers and armed like them have given them a few looks, ranging from suspicious to a jovial 'cheers.' Within a moment, Johann and his band were seated and mead and ale were swiftly granted to them. Emmaline said she wanted something sweet, and so mead it was. After Neil forked down some links of sausage, he leaned over, elbow on the table, and whispered to her.

When she regained her dignity, coughing a couple of times, she whispered back hoarsely: "Who?"

Neil nodded forward to the armed men across the floor. At her next unspoken question, he elaborated. "They're wearing their swords wrong. Any hard man would keep it in easy reach, and their armor looks castle-made in some places and scrap in others. And that one's helmet, see the ridge at the top? There was a plume there."

"Their looters," She reasoned quickly, and Neil nodded. She liked to pretend she was clueless, but she was smart as a whip. Emmaline glanced at Neil, and he glanced back. Their faces were very close, and he gave her a wink.

"Just keep your valuables close by," he said, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang had begun discussing the past few days, glad the hunger and thirst was over, but still demoralized by the lack of a good score. Neil caught some of it, and he could empathise. But sometimes one's life was good enough, at least for people not blessed by Ranald like he figured he was. How else could he and Emmaline still be alive after all the chaotic messes and near misses they had been through?

"I'm tellin ya, all we need is some food and we can grab a prize tonight," Brandt said a bit too loudly. Neil glanced around, but luckily people were too spooked or too busy in their own conversations to really pay attention. Johann looked grim, looking at Brandt like he was asking him to sacrifice his first born child.

"We just got in here, ya fool. You really want to sleep on the ground tonight? And on Hexennacht? You heard the woman."

"Blind superstition!" Kurt said, banging his fist on the table hard enough to shake the silverware. "But gold is very real."

"We thought the walking talking rats were fake too, didn't we?" Johann remarked, and for a second, no response was forthcoming. Neil thought that simple piece of logic was enough to turn the tide, but Gert spoke through a mouthful of mutton.

"We can't get back in the city like this, boss." He reminded him, chewing loudly as he did so. "If we don't get a score, we'll be on the ground for another few weeks."

Johann deflated at that, and Emmaline's eyes widened at the thought of not sleeping in a bed again. Neil steadied her, but before he could speak, Johann groaned loudly. "Fine, you bloody louts! We're going out, but if by morning we have nothing but sore backs, I'm gutting everyone of ya and finding a new band." He warned. Neil doubted he meant it, but one could never tell with bandits. A few glanced at Neil and Emmaline, who had been just whispering to one another, and by their looks it was clear the two of them were expected to follow.

Emmaline's head fell into her arms, crossed atop the table, hiding her face behind flesh and her waves of blonde hair. Neil rubbed her back, sympathy on his face. "Hey, you can sleep ontop of me, babe." He told her.

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Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Bahadir rubbed his wrists, surprised she had bothered to help him there. It had been a long time since he had spoken to a woman, and he had never fought alongside one. He had shown her some hospitality to spite the Sultan and Vizier, and yes, because she was beautiful. But now he was curious on other matters. He had picked locks like that as a child, but she did it so casually and without feat of any reprisal of the guards if they discovered his manacles had been undone.

"I had expected to be back at sea, not in some thrice-poxed underground prison for the entertainment of the pompous elite that should be paying me, rather." She lamented, a piratical slur in her inflection. The dark woman crossed her arms, glancing at the ceiling. Bahadir had understood a small portion of that, but he felt like he got the gist of it. But her next words, he was not sure he understood. "How do you get out of a place like this?"

Bahadir chortled. He said the word, and even were he fluent in Reikspiel, it would have sounded awkward. "Out?" He asked, and when she merely looked at him, he shook his head. "No out. Fight. Die."

"I'll fight and die on my own terms, with a belly full of wine atop a mound of gold." She said. He was hoping he was interpreting her right.

He decided to reply back in Arabyan, albeit slowly. "They wanted you dead enough to throw you in the cage of beasts. Tomorrow, you'll fight, and they will make you fight until you are dead. And if you live through all twelve days, they will simply kill you after."

She seemed to get the last part, at least. "Not much incentive for me to stay then, is it?" She remarked, flashing a grin and leaning back, placing her palms on the stone floor. She eyed him up and down, her eyes lingering on his forearms. "I'm without a ship and a crew. If you're up to escaping with me, I'll make you first mate."

"Madha?" He asked. She raised a hand to make it more clear, extending it.

"Escape." She said, letting the word fill his mind with possibility. "Partners. Yes?"

"You're crazy," He remarked in his native tongue. They would castrate him, then nail his hands to planks and let him rot in the sun until he was baked unto death. But, there was a glint in her eyes and a promise in her grin that he had never seen before. It had been too long since he had harbored feelings of escape. And so he slowly reached out and took her hand, and she shook it powerfully, needing to in order to move his big arm. Clearly handshaking was not a normal Arabyan custom.

"We have an accord!" She exclaimed, flashing her teeth. "Once we're out of here, we'll celebrate with some rum. _{And once I get some revenge...}"

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Four days ago, they had been surrounded and assailed at all sides but creature that, by all rights, shouldn't exist. Three had died that night, and the rest had fled hungry, and wounded, and tired. Four days of running, beyond certain they had beastmen or skaven at their heels, and for four days they had barely any sleep or food, and stopped to drink only when they happened to cross by a stream. Fear had kept them in motion, had kept them running as fast as they could. But now, on the fifth day, it was the general consensus that they had evaded the terrors of chaos, if the ruinous monsters had even chased them. It was just as likely they had slaughtered each other and took no notice of the six humans that had slipped away in the night.

Of the seven bandits there had been, there were now just four left. You might count the charming Nuln thief and the voluptuous Altdorf swindler amongst them, but Neil did not, which meant there were the two of them and the four bandits left. It was two days ago when they had found the road, and like as not the news of the great attack on Nuln had swept across the province, because they had yet to meet a single traveler or coach on the road thus far. However, the further they walked, the more recent the signs of activity were. Hoof prints here, an abandoned cloak there, an old campsite that had been used within the week.

But without a map and just the general direction of the sun, they knew they were moving generally west, just not how far west they had gone. Every now and then, when they crested a hill or the trees thinned, however rare either were, they could see the ominous, sweeping silhouette of the Grey Mountains in the distance. Which meant Neil knew they were likely in Riekland.

"I need a bath..." Emmaline complained in his ear.

Johann and a his crossbowmen Kurt strode ahead of them, the leader 'leading,' though Neil would have felt more inspired if he didn't spit constantly and moan about as much as the rest of them. The adulation of survival quickly gave way to hunger pangs and foot aches, and though they did escape with a few supplies and had managed to catch a fish or two after some embarrassing attempts, it still wasn't enough to stifle the mood. Kurt, on the other hand, still kept his eyes peeled, afraid of anything coming out of the forest. Neil was glad of it. Just because they had left the beasts behind didn't mean there wasn't the usual terrors ahead. Even Reikland wasn't completely rid of beastmen or orcs, even wild animals. Behind them, Neil heard the other two muttering and talking. Neil and Emmaline walked in the middle of the party.

Well, Neil walked in the middle. A few miles back Emmaline had come to him about her feet cramping, and so after looking into her big blue eyes, coupled with Johann's insistence they kept moving, Neil had done the only thing a boyfriend could do. He carried her. The front of her against his stooped back, her legs wrapped around his waist with his hands supporting her thighs like a seat, and her arms over his shoulders. He recalled having done the same thing when they first met, after they had narrowly survived being attacked by rampaging greenskins. If it was anyone else, even a pretty girl he did not know, he would have told them to piss off, but alas, he was in love.

"We'll be at a city soon, Emm." Neil assured her, tiredly. "Once we get to Altdorf, I'll bathe you myself."

"Ooo, I like that," She cooed in his ear, sending a shiver up his spine. Suddenly he felt a renewed sen of purpose, energy swelling in his breast. Her nuzzling into his neck also helped immensely, and she giggled as he stood up straighter. It was amazing the magic a woman could bring, and Emmaline had more than most, and Neil did not mean her sorcerous powers.

"Quiet!" Johann whispered suddenly, scrambling for the brush. Neil blinked, and followed Kurt as the crossbowmen too went to a hiding spot. Neil crouched down behind a wide thicket, Emmaline clinging to him tighter as the whole band hid from view. Neil took a deep breath, and soon only heard the beating of his and Emmaline's hearts and his lover's steady breathing. Until they heard something rhythmic. Something solid and minacious. The engineer turned thief realized it was a black coach, being drawn by four coal black horses. He could see Johann's figure tense, but as the coach came into view, there was something unsettling about it. Something unnerving. Even the horses seemed intimidating, their eyes blazing in a way that made them look every vigilant and wild. Neil wondered if Johann would give the signal to attack, but before he knew it, the coach was gone, the horses cantering and taking their cargo gently into the distance.

It had been an easy enough score, and no threat. Why hadn't they gone after it?

And why did he feel such a cold chill down his spine?

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Rannon

---

Rannon was used to taking orders and giving them when the time came, but long conversation was not his forte. It muddied the objective and kept him on his toes about where the orders were truly coming from, what exactly they expected of him. He was a man of few words, but he was decisive. Deliberating got men killed, and unfortunately that sort of mentality leaked into peacetime or preludes before a battle. He almost wanted to tell Cadmus to keep his mouth shut, albeit in a gentler manner. But he had to admit the question was valid. Meanwhile, he pushed the inclination away for other matters.

He was not too keen on going so far beneath the world, but it was not the worst thing he could think to do. It would simply be an ignominious and pointless death if he died in a cave-in, and his large stature and great sword was not best suited for tight spaces. And the water nor air could be trusted. What would he do with Gideon? He glanced at his mabari, who seemed to sense his eyes and looked back up at him. Rannon guessed they would make-do like they always did, but the logistics of the venture with food and water would be a nightmare, even with the aid of the dwarves. In fact, the combat against the darkspawn seemed the easiest part. Even the promise of more blights was not too unwelcome to him.

Rannon had always been a good soldier, and a good warrior. He could fulfill both roles, and even if someday he did not come back from a campaign or a fight, as long as he was killing darkspawn, he was happy. Gideon felt the same way, to a point. Though, Gideon also fed off of Rannon's temperament and desires in a way. A part of him wished he was a different man, so Gideon could live a better life, but he also knew if he was a different man, then Gideon would not have imprinted on him in the first place. But fighting darkspawn where they slept in their beds, or whatever passed for their homes... it felt like vengeance, or justice. He did not know which, as of yet, but he would figure it out.

As for his part, he at least wished to introduce himself. It was expected of him, and though he did not speak much, it was not out of shyness. He cleared his throat, pushed his chair back, and stood to his full height, towering above everyone present save the Qunari, and even then they did not dwarf him in size. "I am Rannon Bryce, of Fereldan. This is my companion, Gideon. I am known by many of you, but to those who do not know me, I simply wish to say we are brothers and sisters of the order. I will fight, and if by some need, die to see that our mission is done. Let us go forth and take their spawning pits by storm." He spoke matter-of-fact, without raising his powerful voice, and then simply sat down, letting his words hang in the air.

For good measure, Gideon gave three hearty barks in agreement, and they echoed across the walls. Rannon placed a hand on Gideon's massive head to keep him steady, but the mabari merely nuzzled the hand back, happy for the attention.

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