POOHEAD189

Happy Holidays from The Team

@nightmare medx I wish!

Blackguards!

excited to keep it going!

Happy Holidays from The Team

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, and any/all holidays you might celebrate, everyone! We hope everyone on the Guild has a lovely one. Thanks for being cool :)

Blackguards!

Amal's head hurt, and he wondered if he had been struck there. He had been knocked unconscious before, but never for so long. Then he wondered why he believed it had been a long time? Perhaps the growling of his stomach, or the aching of his bones. Perhaps it was just his sixth sense as a thief. He tried to shake his head, his thick mane of tousled hair brushing the length of his face as he tried to rouse himself. Or it would have, if he could move.

He smelled the fetid stench of others nearby. He hoped that was not just himself, because there was apparently a lady present. Her form seemed almost cloaked, ephemeral, like a silhouette. His eyes tried to focus, but the light slid off of her like oil, the shadows caressing her finer features to keep them obscured to his sight.

He tried to move, to let his hand casually slide next to the dagger on his belt, to lean on the wall, to balance on the balls of his feet, but he was rigid. He did not know how he was stuck in place, but he was. It irked him, and he wondered if he even still had the knife at his belt any longer, or his scimitar. He knew some women were controlling, but this was new. Then he heard a voice in his head, telling him to be still, to have patience. Great, a telepath now? Or some ghost or aberration, maybe. He had dealt with wizards and those with psionic gifts before to not be completely startled, but it was still somewhat off-putting.

He tried to give a sardonic reply, but he could not move his lips as well. So the cutthroat complied with reluctance. No sense struggling, he realized. Despite the fact he was standing upright, he could almost relax. Better to be rested when the time came for him to move, because then he would see what was what, and see if he should kill this woman or not. He never liked killing women, but he was not prejudiced. If it needed to be done, he would do it. Though he wished it would at least lead to some gold.

Then his mind drifted to other matters, recalling his final fight against the honorguard of the sultan. Had they bludgeoned him and dragged him to some strange slaves auction? The thief wondered if his was dead, and this was the underworld. Maybe the figure in front of him was granting him his judgement in life, and keeping him here as punishment.

If this was the underworld, it was pretty damned boring.

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal had already stripped himself of his cloak, though he regretted it immediately. He was still so used to the desert sun, the cold had its claws in this room, and so he lit a fire in the fireplace as swiftly as he could. He had gotten quite good at it now after weeks of practice. Once the kindling had been set alight, he turned and saw Char remove her own cloak. It was hard not to appreciate her form, but he was not that drunk. Plus, she had shown no interest in him as of yet.

Instead, he hefted the bottle of rum he had procured from downstairs, as if he had plucked it out of thin air with a spell. "Tell you something?" He remarked in his curious accent. "We have never been more than four yards from one another for two weeks now. I believe I can speak and you will know what lie I will tell next." He flashed her a devilish grin.

He plopped onto the couch, however, and took a huge draught from his bottle. The three great gulps had eliminated at least a mugs worth of the stuff before he removed it from his lips. "But...I can tell you of the time I stole a moonblade from a pasha's armory?"

He began to weave a small tale of daring, his style sardonic, pragmatic, but with humor as was his way. Amal's tale had begun when he had been approached by a vengeful half-elf who's mother's blade had been stolen in a raid that took her life. The half-elf had hired Amal to retrieve it. The adventure took him to the sewers of Calimport, through a wererat gang, up into the bowels of the pasha's pleasure house, killing the pasha's lieutenant and taking his apparel, and sneaking into the armory before his discovery. He made it out by the skin of his teeth, along with a bejeweled brassiere of the pasha's favorite girl he had managed to scoop up to add insult to injury on his flight.

"The half-elf paid well, and I sold the garment." He said with a shrug. "I lived on borrowed time after that. Pasha Visko took me under his protection for a time, but it was not long until he felt my head would bring a greater price than my fingers, and so I felt to memnom."

At this point, the fire had warmed him, bathing his caramel skin in warm light. He took another swig of the bottle, giving a satisfied gasp.

Death and Desire: A Warhammer Fantasy RP

The morning was met with blaring trumpets and the heat of the merciless sun.

Peddlers walked up and down the seats, plying their wares of baubles and gems they claimed had come from far Cathay or the sea beyond the Dragon Isles. So crowded was it, Arak sellers were making good business even before the noonday. Courtiers filtered into their seats below the Sultan's mightly overlook, cordoned off from the teeming masses that had come to watch the final day of the games. Dancers in pantaloons and flowing silks spun and gyrated as men gave undulating cries to appease allah for their sinful thoughts and good fortune on their bets this day. Upon one of the statues of the old gods, a street boy had climbed to watch the spectacle, eyes wide as the beating heart of the great city readied itself for the fight.

Bahadir and Calliope had slept in the same cell, but they were awoken with shouts and rough hands, and soon separated into different corners of the vast underground hall, given their favored weapons and a small time to prepare as the crowed outside swelled with life like a pregnant concubine. They were given water and a small breakfast of cakes and meat they ate standing, mamluks with halberds between them, as was traditional for a duel. It would not do for one to kill the other before they were set to fight in the arena, or to have second thoughts, in their case.

A rattling of chains and the clamor of wood rubbing against wood announced the time was nigh, and as the great gate opened and the mamluks filtered out, Bahadir and Calliope could hear the ending of the Sultan's great speech, his voice carried over the crowd by Azim's mystical talents. How Bahadir wanted to behead the both of them! But he needed to stick to the plan, trusting the dark woman that her idea would work.

"Move, scum!" The Mamluk closest to Bahadir snarled, moving to shove the slave. Bahadir deftly pivoted and struck the Mamluk in the face with his elbow in one, smooth motion. The honorguard fell to the floor, stunned for a moment as blood began to pour from his nose and split lip.

"Seems you stumbled, I hear that can happen with unendowed men. Messes with the balance." Bahadir remarked with a casual concern. It seemed the man had regained cognizance right when he made the quip. Calliope was a quick study, it seemed, for he said it in arabyan and she understood enough to laugh wickedly. The Mamluk retrieved his fallen weapon and growled, surging to his feet in wrath.

"You bastard son of a whore!"

The embarrassed Mamluk was stopped by two others, keeping his arms from ramming Bahadir through with his moon-bladed halberd. "No, he is the Sultan's to decide. He will die soon enough," they said. Bahadir smirked, giving Calliope a subtle wink, before stepping forward as he was bade. He knew he needed to be saved for the fight, but he was not about to press his luck any further. The guards kept their blades pointed at him from then on, however, and the two fighters were escorted into the blazing sun.

As the glare caught them, drums rumbled and trumpets rose once again, accompanying the crowd's roar of exultation at seeing the two legendary combatants in this dramatic finish of the Sultan's Games.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

This situation was irksome to say the least. I was not arrogant enough to think my presence here had caused it, but a lot of talk had been circulation about my platoon. Kayden's Conquerors the whispers had said, at least from what I'd heard. Had a ring to it, but it was also the thing to make petty men jealous, though as I said, I was not so full of pride I thought that was entirely the case. There was something else going on there, I gently warranted. Maybe if I did some digging I could find it, but first I would need to attempt to smooth things over with their CO.

I stood up, my chair sliding back from the movement. My face was neutral, and though Sel would later tell me she knew I was mostly making a show, I admit I also had an inkling of truth to my meaning. "Don't get the wrong idea, Corporal." I said to Sel. "You did a bloody damned noble thing, but you're not assigned to do damned noble things, you're assigned to me! If Kolcek wants to get himself killed, don't die trying to stop him! If he's an idiot, it's his problem. Besides, you won't do that again, will you Kolcek?"

My words were icy, and his smile faded. He shook his head vehemently. "No sir, not again."

"Good, and you better make sure of it, or you'll be a liar as well as an idiot." I barked. "I can handle idiots, I can even handle liars, but there's no room for idiot liars in the platoon. The Commissar wouldn't even get a body by the time I was done with you. Are we clear?"

He nodded, too nervous to speak. I took it as the best answer I would get, and drew my officer's cloak about my shoulders. "Dismissed." I told them without further ado. "Not you, Corporal. Stay behind." Sel gave me a look but stopped, Boffin and Kolcek almost tripping over themselves as they tried to squeeze out the door at the same time. Morek waited, knowing he was exempt. Sometimes, I felt like the squat only nominally followed my orders because he felt like there was nothing better to do. Either way, he had proven loyal so I'd take it for what it was.

"You're on light duty." I told her, grabbing my sword belt and strapping it to my slim waist. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

"Is that all, sir?"

"No. To your earlier thanks, no need to. I know you've saved my life, already... Word travels," I explained, and I could see it dawned on her that I had heard she had halted a coup before it had even begun. Though before it got awkward, I continued. "I am going across the ship to meet with their lieutenant, see if I can find a solution to all of this. Be careful around here, and keep an eye on anyone not in our outfit. Now, you're dismissed."

She gave me a crisp salute. "Sir," she said, and left. Of course, at the time I had no idea what activities she was in to, nor what she was about to do. If I had, I would have confined her in the office with a welding torch.

I turned to Morek, who already had my chainsword in his hands before I even had to request it. I took it and slung the weapon onto the swordbelt already snug on my waist. "Wear the ripper gun, but on your back. And bring a dataslate. Make sure you look like you're busy when I need you to." I told him. Morek pursed his lips, his large dark beard shifting, and he shrugged. Good enough for me.

Blackguards!

I'll give an Amal post this weekend! I work at Fedex so my weekdays in december are packed lol