POOHEAD189

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

What Davian would not give for a good Saldean stallion. He had always enjoyed riding, when he could get the opportunity to. Now, however, he would have to make do with a forced march. He hauled his pack across his shoulder and brushed the fringe of his hair aside. He had definitely looked better, but he had been told the rough, unkempt look accentuated his features. Not that an Aes Sedai would likely notice.

"Well, the bloody one power map pointed north, Zoya, but we should make east for Godan. It is not far out of the way, and we'll need to stock up on some provisions before we truly begin our journey in earnest. A few good horses would not hurt, either. We could gain miles at twice the speed and spend a night in a soft bed." He reasoned.

"And if I were to say we simply go north?" Zoya asked, casually eyeing him with a neutral look the Aes Sedai were always so good at weaponizing. Davian shrugged.

"Then as your guide and companion, I will follow you. Though I heavily advise against it before reaching a settlement, and Godan is the only one in a hundred miles." He replied. "The choice is yours, Sakura Sedai." Davian gave an ostentatious bow, and she took the jest in stride. Playing along, she stuck her nose in the air as she walked past him, making a show of giving an imperious response to his suggestion.

"I suppose a thief taker can have a suggestion of merit, every now and again." She said with an ironic faux humility. "Very well, Godan it is."

Davian smirked, and as Zoya turned to regard him, she saw him grab the small sack with her things and sling it over his other shoulder. He saw her look and gave another shrug. "You're paying me and it's not a big pack, happy to help" He said, earnestly. She smiled back, and the pair began to move eastward, turning from the beach as it curved to the south. Little did either know that Godan, though a chance at respite, would also prove to be more trouble than it was worth.

Trouble finding rp partners

@BimboTheClown If I were you, I'd look at other people's interest checks and see how they portray themselves and their ideas, what kind of flair they use, etc.

Also, if no one is biting, then you go and message people who have interest checks you like!

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Not zo fest!"

Neil and Emmaline were suddenly obscured by an immense shadow, and Neil's heart skipped a beat when he suddenly remembered his boasting the other night, and all that implicated. Emmaline could see a myriad of emotions, ranging from regret to amusement to acceptance flash across her lover's face. However, that was only for a brief moment, for the sight past her was more attention-grabbing. She tried not to gape as the Ogre, for it was indeed an Ogre, approached, wondering what in Sigmar's balls Neil had done to gain its ire.

It was Folgtooth, the biggest patron in the Gilded Ox. He came every fortnight, to drink two barrels of mead and eat half the pies in the tavern. Fully nine feet in height, he used the common room's sofa as a throne. Every time he came around, he attracted would-be groupies, and though he broke more glasses and shattered more chairs than anyone, Kargi tolerated him because of the good business, and the fact the Ogre scared off the less scrupulous who thought they might could take whatever bouncer was on duty. Except this time, it seemed like the monster had something to prove with the bouncer.

"Li'l man sez tonight be the night!" He rumbled, speaking with what passed as an inside voice for the lumbering brute. He wore a sleeveless jacket that barely fit his shoulders, keeping his gut open. On each of his forearms, he bore three bronzed rings. Whoever had tailor pantaloons that fit him, bravo. "You fink Folgtooth fo'get, but he dunnit!"

"Hey c'mon, man. I was just talking out of my ass, why don't we call it even?" Neil asked him, raising his arms to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Folgtooth did not like that answer, leaning down and showing his massive teeth. Emmaline hid behind Neil, peeking past his shoulder as she clung to his shirt.

"What did you do!?" She whispered accusatorily.

"I said I could beat him at arm wrestling and uh, that he was a big baby far from home." Neil remarked. He heard Emmaline's intake of breath, and got a bit defensive. "He was insulting you, I had to say something!"

"No, you didn't!" She snapped back. As sweet as it was, the main goal was to survive until they could sell the warpstone token. Neil knew that was what she was thinking, leastwise.

"We were drinking!" He complained. She rolled her eyes, but was interrupted before she could chastise him.

Folgtooth bellowed a guttural roar, and this time he was not using his inside voice. So loud was his yell, Neil felt his hair pick up from the excess wind, and the Ogre stomped on the ground, splintering a wooden panel like stepping on a twig. The Gilded Ox had gone horrifically quiet in abject fear. "Table! Or I eat youz and yer girl!"

"Alright big gu-" Neil started, then noticed Emmaline's grip had slackened. He turned and saw the tail of her dress fluttering as she was out the door. Well, that was awkward. He sighed, and turned back to face the Ogre. A female mercenary in hard leather stumbled out of the way, as did a local gaoler and one of the dockside workers as Folgtooth stumbled forward and plopped down on his couch, placing his huge elbow on the table.

Neil lifted his left arm, and gave it a good long look. "Goodbye leftie, we had a lot of fun together. We committed a lot of crimes, but we also made some people super happy too. I bet Emma will miss you as much as me...if I live..."

Neil found his seat across the table, all eyes on him as he rolled his sleeve up. The silence was only broken by a few whispers of either disbelief or insulting his intelligence. The thief could not blame them in the slightest, if he was honest with himself. He placed his own elbow on the table, and Folgtooth chuckled malevolently. The massive humanoid turned his head, his eyes fixing on a merchant who sipped his wine. "'Ey, youz! Youz getz to count down!" He ordered.

The merchant nearly spilled his drink, surprised the Ogre had singled him out. But swallowing, he placed his cup down and shakily got to his feet. "Er, of course, herr Ogre." He remarked, fixing his feathered cap and approaching the table. Folgtooth grinned at Neil as the merchant took his position at the side of the table, his pig-like eyes boring into the thief with an unspoken threat. Neil could already tell he planned to rip Neil's arm off.

They closed hands, Neil's relatively big hand engulfed by the Ogre's massive fist. The merchant looked at Neil like he was gazing at a dog that was about to be shot, and he raised his hand to begin the count. "Yes, are we ready?" Neil was not, but that hardly mattered. Briefly he thought about spitting in the Ogre's eye or getting a knife, but none of the thoughts ended well. "On three!... One...Two...Three!"

Neil pushed with all of his might, gripping the table with his other hand to steady himself as his muscled bulged in exertion. Folgtooth's arm barely budged, and the Ogre gave a smile that showed his vast teeth, as if he were ready to devour Neil once he took his arm. The Ogre began to chuckle ominously, gripping Neil's hand a bit more firmly for the kill...

A loud whistle rang out from across the common room, and both Neil and Folgtooth turned their heads to see Emmaline sauntering up, a massive pie in her hands. It was freshly baked, and Neil could smell the pie even from there. Folgtooth looked at it like a fish staring at a worm. "'Ey, wots she doin, wit dat?" He asked, dumbfounded. Emmaline batted her eyelashes.

"Oh this? It's just for Neil to have, since I know he'll lose. Poor bouncer, he works so hard!" She said with a theatric pout, holding the pie under Folgtooth's nose. The Ogre inhaled the sweet scent of the cooked blueberries stuffed in it, and gulped. Neil renewed his assault, and unbeknowst to either him or Folgtooth, Emmaline concentrated as well, having already prepared a spell of manipulation to help move the bronze rings during her absense. As one, both Neil and Emmaline shoved with their combined physical and magical might while the Ogre sniffed the delicacy, and before Folgtooth even knew it, his arm had hit the table with a 'thud.'

"Oh, wow." Emmaline marveled, placing the hand she had held behind her back for the spell to her lips. "I did not think you'd lose, handsome! Here, have this pie! It's freeeeessshhh." She placed it in front of the Ogre, who had let go of Neil's hand and grabbed the large baked good, opening his mouth impossibly wide to devour it. By the time the food had tumbled down his throat, Neil had grabbed Emmaline's hand and the two of them were out of there, the door banging against the wall from their flight, laughter following them.

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

The fog that permeated the air hung heavily upon the road, the rain having just abated, leaving the faint smell of ozone. First, the small clip clopping of hooves betrayed their approach, but soon they coalesced into the shapes of two men astride horses. They were an odd pair, by all accounts. The attractive, if aloof, Kasimir rode beside the mustachioed errant knight, Reynald of Montfort. Both wearing similar modes of protection, though Kasimir's chainmail was under his jerkin and cloak, whereas Reynald wore his proudly, and even donned it upon his head and hands, though down the middle his armor was covered by a long surcoat, as was typical of brettonian knights.

"Youz say ve travele down zis roat until ze rivere?" Reynald asked for the third time in the last two hours. Kasimir supposed he was anxious for glory, like all enterprising knights. He guessed he could not blame him, entirely. Had Kasimir wished, he could have found a patron in Altdorf, stayed out of his father's court. Yet, for all of his problems with the Graf, a small part of him still wished for his approval, and that part of him had dragged him a few hundred miles north to be included in this farce.

"As I said, yes. Then we turn north for a handful of miles, and his manor will be nestled beside one of the grander hills of the region. I've been there, once." Kasimir explained, his eyes fixed forward, though a keen observer would see he glanced into the trees every now and then, remaining vigilant. The knight did not seem to have such paranoia. His faith in the Lady of the Lake must have been great, if only Kasimir's 'lady' was as useful, he thought ruefully.

"Et zis laydee ve zeek, zshe is beayootiful, non?" The Knight inquired. Kasimir could hear the implications in the question, but he was too busy having his mood soured by more talks of Emmaline.

"Unfortunately," He sighed, with barely concealed frustration. If she had been less beautiful, perhaps there would be less of a fuss over her.

"Hmm?"

"Yes, very beautiful." Kasimir said louder, trying to sound like the subject appealed to him. "Golden haired and a bosom that would sate any man's desires. I'm certain if we manage to save her, my father would not mind gifting you with her hand, or at least bestow you with a badge of true honor."

"Honuer is all I requier," He said, trying to appear modest, and failing on that count in Kasimir's eyes. "But ze moor beayootiful and high staytus ze lady, ze moor heroic ze deed, non?"

The bastard almost snorted. If that were the case, Kasimir would have the renown of Kurt Helborg or Felix Jaegar by now, if Jaegar's journals were to be believed, at least. He wondered if Eleanor... Emmaline that is, was even still alive? He found himself dwelling on that thought, curious on if it bothered him or relieved him. He did not know, and shook his head to waive the thought away.

"We'll be there in two hours if we keep this pace, there will be plenty of glory soon, sir."

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

Men who could not swim waved their arms frantically as the merciless god called gravity pulled them under, and those that could swim either tread water or tried their luck trying to board and take the closest boat, which Bahadir and Calliope resided on. The pirate woman cut them apart without giving quarter, her eyes flashing with anger and bloodlust as her sword moved like a zephyr, leaving red to pour off the side of the boat as Bahadir turned the craft around. At the back, a cunning slave with a knife in his mouth, one of the few that had survived the capsizing of his own shoddy craft, pulled himself out of the water and leaped at Bahadir, blade swiping. Bahadir let go of the rudder and backed away, using his arm to block. Better a limb get pierced than a vital area. The blade cut into his muscled forearm, but Bahadir's body was tough. His own eyes flashed with murderous rage, and he took hold of the slave's knife arm and shattered it with a twist of his hands, bending it an unnatural angle. The man screamed in pain, and then sucked in his breathe when he was subsequently lifted off the boat, and launched like a javelin over the water with a great heave. Bahadir watched as the flailing man, beginning to scream again, landed on a spike at the edge of the wall, his body falling atop it to be spit like a roasted pig.

Across the expanse of the water, the other two ships had traded javelins, arrows, even a few swords thrown in haste. Bahadir watched as scarred man with a burn mark on his face climb the mast of his ship, for a reason he could not fathom. The crowd's roar waxed and waned like a squall as the violence continued.

"Bahadir!" Calliope called, her saber raised like a beacon. The pit-fighter turned, and sharing just one look, he nodded and took hold of the rudder again. She grinned, but turned to the men who were happy to just sit and watch their enemies kill one another. The captain snarled, pointing at them, speaking broken Arabyan with a few sprinkled in words of reiskpeil. "Get rowing you lazy dogs, or it's you we'll come after next!"

They could understand her well enough, and took to the oars to row. The water sprayed from the wind and the oars slapping into it as they slowly turned to barrel toward the two boats, both now having struck one another head on, their 'crews' trading platforms as they threw themselves at one another in a bloody assault. One of the masts, the one with the burned man atop it, had broken and even now Bahadir saw it collapse into the other ship, crushing a slave and squashing the one that had taken it as a roost. A screaming man, skinny as bone, had ran through a slave who looked barely old enough to grow facial hair of his own, and tossed him into the water before he too was cut down by a man wielding twin daggers. Splotches of dark red had begun to grow in the virulent sea of the arena, like islands of death.

Bahadir and Calliope's boat was approaching at a good coasting speed, and at this rate they would strike into the middle of the two in a few more seconds.

"Let go of the rudder!" The corsair called, and Bahadir obeyed, letting the platform move freely as he took his spot next to Calliope, picking up the axe he had dropped. A few of the men in the other craft had noticed their approach, but most were now either wounded or still locked in combat, and they were about to be hit by a fresh crew of hardened men. Calliope laughed, and as the ship struck the two fighters leaped, Calliope's sword whirring and Bahadir hitting the 'deck' with a drop kick that sent an assailant flying off the platform to hit the wall.

The western section of the stands cried in rhythmic unison: "Mamba! Mamba! Mamba! Mamba!"

The eastern crowd whooped: "Namir! Namir! Namir! Namir!" Using the Arabyan word for Tiger.

The battle was over in less than a minute, the slaves too weak and confused from their own battle to survive the maelstrom of Calliope, Bahadir, and their slave fighters. With a last, contemptuous cut of her sword, Calliope slashed the throat of the last enemy slave, his body tumbling into the water to join the rest of them, swallowed by Manann.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Emperor's Teeth, I knew the platoon was in need of leadership and I figured I had not been sent to the Mordian Guard, but the state I found the 3rd platoon in was so atrociously deplorable I half wanted to avoid the red tape and shoot myself in the head right there. I did well to hide it, save a raised eyebrow as we rolled in. No sentries, a picket line that might as well have been drawn in the sand with a stick, a smell in the air that could only be described as abrasive. Even as we approached I saw men loitering and freely drinking from flasks, pushing one another in friendly gestures of comradery as if they were celebrating a victory. Granted, there was no imminent attack, but that was entirely beside the point. I had thought Sel had been somewhat lackluster, but these men made her seem like a Kasrkin.

As the woman pulled the car around, a burly looking man with a red face and bloodshot eyes approached. I could see the icon on his worn uniform that he was a sergeant, otherwise he had no source of identification. As he spoke, I saw drops of spittle hitting the cracked floor of the desert, the moisture being absorbed in front of our very eyes. It sounded like he was not very appreciative of my approaching unannounced, and I made sure to remedy that. Straightening my collar, I opened the car door and stepped out. I had to leave my chainsword in the vehicle, but my laspistol was fastened securely at my hip. A few dozen meters back, a pair of troopers woke up a man that had taken his post-binge nap atop a chimera, saying something I could not pick up with the wind and pointing our way. How the man was not burning from the sun, I could not guess.

"I not only gave permission, I ordered it." I told the lumbering sergeant, standing with my head high. My eyes glanced downward at the bottle in his hand. "And who gave you permission to drink on duty, sergeant..." I glanced back at Corporal Sel.

"Sergeant Matalow." She whispered.

"Matalow. What kind of platoon are you running here? I've seen penal legions that look more professional! In fact, if I did not wish to tarnish my first day on the job, that's where I would ship you off to immediately. Now give me that amasec." I was not asking, but the sergeant was a bit too inebriated to hear the order for what it was. His face had only grown redder, and though I saw a flicker of uncertainty, he was not about to back down. I heard a door shut behind me, and two heavy boots take three steps to reach my flank. It appeared Morek had my back at least, though at the time I was not certain just how much that was worth.

"Who the frak are you, pretty man? You've got two seconds to tell my why I shouldn't grab you by your nose and rip it off!" He said, taking a step forward, threateningly. It was at this point, I realized I might have made a mistake. The Sergeant was big, as tall as me, and likely half again my weight. He moved like a man used to others stepping out of his way, and I suddenly regretted not giving my rank immediately. Though, I had expected him to see the signs on my uniform that screamed I was his superior. I was green back then, one needs to take command, not assume it.

"I am First Lieutenant Kayden Caladwarden, assigned to this regiment and this platoon. If you do not hand me that bottle of amasec and salute me..."

I saw him grin and come at me, albeit gingerly. He did not necessarily swing, but I was certain he was about to grab me, overpower me before I even knew he was there to do so. I wanted to yelp, but my training kicked in. Not the correct training, mind, for I had my pistol I had completely forgotten about, but my self defense in case my pistol was not available. As he opened his arms, I struck his nose with the heel of my hand, breaking it loudly. Perhaps if he wasn't drunk, that would have ended the fight then and there, but it only enraged him. He swung at me with a fist that looked like it could take my head off, and in a desperate attempt to shy away I scrambled, losing my footing and screaming in the process. Falling back, I was caught before I could hit the ground, Morek having held his hands up to halt my fall that had allowed me to inadvertently dodge the punch, before pushing me back up like a spring. I was launched forward, and this time I managed to strike him in the neck right before his backswing. It was a lucky shot, I admit. I pivoted away as he stumbled, later being told I was dancing like a boxer, though in truth I was simply trying to put as much distance between me and the frightening fellow as I could. Luckily, the punch had been too much for him, and he grabbed at his windpipe, eyes opened wide. He stepped forward, somehow still on his feet. The man was like an Ork, I thought. It was then I remembered my pistol, and I hastily drew it. I heard a shout, no doubt crying at me for mercy for the rude sergeant, but they needn't have worried. I struck him on the back of the head with the butt of my gun, and the good sergeant fell to the ground like a dead grox.

All was silent around us, save the wind and Sel giving a faint whistle, though whether in appreciation or amusement, I did not know. Abruptly, my mind caught up with me, and I turned to the men that had gathered to watch. I pointed in the air and pulled the trigger, only for my gun to merely click. The safety was on...

I used my thumb to switch it off, and fired into the air again. There was a crack and a flash of red light that drew the attention of the men. A few had approached, but most watched from where they had been loitering, a few poking their heads out of the latrines or chimeras.

"I am Lord Kayden Caladwarden, First Lieutenant of 3rd Platoon in the 2nd Gendarmes Regiment! They have called me in because they expect discipline, honor, and loyalty to him on earth, and I intend to make it so!" I yelled, making sure to raise my voice in volume and not emotion. I pointed my pistol at the two closest guardsmen, who flinched at the barrel, though I was merely gesturing to them. "You two! Name and ranks!"

"Er, Private Harmak, sir!" The taller one said, saluting. The other hastily put on his helmet, and then roughly saluted as well. "Corporal Bickers, m'lord!"

"Harmak and Bickers, get some rope and restrain the sergeant. Hurry, before I change my mind and enact a more permanent punishment on attacking a superior officer!"

If I was good at one thing, it was giving orders. Yes, loathe me if you want, but it is not what you think. Well, not entirely. Yes, I was born into status and money, and yes, of course, that helps. However, I had a strong voice and a penetrating gaze, something only genetics and an undeservedly strong sense of will could get me. Where I got the audacity to feel so ready to yell commands? Well, the Emperor Wills, as they say. Perhaps I had been yelled at so much in my life from my bastard of a father and my equally strict teachers, I had learned from the best. The private and corporal nearly ran into each other to try and find a rope. I turned to regard Morek, and gestured at the prone sergeant. "Watch him for me, Corporal. Make sure he doesn't get up unless he's bound and escorted." Morek nodded, and Sel hopped over the door, her face bemused.

"Corporal Seldon, take me to where the Auspex and communications is located. I want to make sure someone is actually manning the damned thing." I said, though truth be told, I was more wanting to get out of the eyeline of all the trooper still staring dumbly at me. At the time, I took their interest as barely contained violence rather than awe. Violence always made me get the jitters, particularly if I had been in it. I holstered my gun, steeled myself as if I had just gotten back from a leisurely stroll, and walked with Sel through the sandbags and shoddy emplacements, men ducking away to perform the duties they had been neglecting.